There would be a Regency, said some. There were quarrels between the Queen and the Prince of Wales. The Whigs wanted the Prince to have the Regency; the Tories wanted the Queen. Mr Fox who had left England after his estrangement with the Prince – for the statesman had denied the Prince’s marriage to Mrs Fitzherbert in the House of Commons and by so doing had incensed Mrs Fitzherbert to such a degree that she had left the Prince, who had great difficulty in winning her back – returned to England to be beside the Prince should he become Regent.
There was a tension everywhere; people talked of the King’s illness in the theatre; they talked during the play itself if the players failed to hold their attention.
As for Sheridan, he seemed aloof from theatrical affairs. It was clear that he saw great things for himself through a Regency. The Prince was his friend and if the Prince became the King in all but name, that would be a good augury for those who had been his friends when he had scarcely any power against his antagonistic parents.
Sheridan had always preferred drinking and gambling to work; he squandered his genius in conversational quips instead of preserving them for posterity. He had written brilliant plays but that was years ago; he was too intent on carousing with the living to work for posterity.
Who knew what Sheridan might become? Who was there to stand in his way since Fox was out of favour and some said could never come back completely, for all his sly genius, while Mrs Fitzherbert reigned with the Prince, for Fox had offended her mortally when he had denied her marriage. ‘Rolled her in a kennel as though she were a streetwalker,’ she had said. She would never forgive him; and although it was really the Prince’s lack of courage which was to blame and Mr Fox had acted in the only way to save the Prince’s hope of the crown, Mr Fox must be the scapegoat. But Mr Fox was coming home. Great events were in the air. Life was stimulating, full of excitement; and no one knew what would happen from one day to the next.
A young woman whom Dorothy had known in Dublin came to play at Drury Lane. This was Maria Theresa Romanzini. She was an Italian Jewess, small, inclined to plumpness with magnificent black eyes and hair which offset her heavy features. She had a beautiful voice and this it was which had secured her engagement.
She was delighted to see Dorothy and together they recalled some of the old Dublin days.
Maria shivered. ‘I was terrified of Richard Daly,’ she said.
‘You too?’ said Dorothy.
‘Were not all of us? I tremble to think of what would have happened to me if my mother had not been with me. He was always trying to seduce me and I told my mother. She knew we should very likely be turned out of the theatre but she said that she would rather that than that I should fall into his hands.’
Dorothy nodded. Mrs Romanzini had been more watchful of her daughter than Grace had been of hers. That was not fair. Maria had been younger – only a child; and she Dorothy had been seventeen, old enough, one would think, for an actress to take care of herself.
‘Mamma shrieked at him once in Mrs Daly’s hearing,’ said Maria with a little laugh. ‘I shall never forget it. Mamma was so angry. “You have a fine wife of your own,” she said. “Leave my daughter alone.” And he did., He dared do no other. And we were not turned out of the theatre and it made no difference to my career. But I am glad to be free of him.’
Dorothy took Maria under her care and praised her to King and Sheridan; but Maria was ambitious enough to look after herself and because of her very fine voice quickly became quite a favourite with the audience. Her personality did not match that of Dorothy, Sarah Siddons and Elizabeth Farren, who were clearly destined to remain the three queens of the stage, but young Maria was an asset to the theatre.
When George arrived he and Maria took an immediate liking to each other which meant that Maria was frequently invited to Henrietta Street as well as to the Ford household in Gower Street.
Dorothy was winning praise in many roles. People flocked to see her Sir Harry Wildair in The Constant Couple – one of those ever popular breeches parts.
In the summer when Drury Lane closed and the more famous actors and actresses went on tour she hoped to play in Edinburgh again but learned that Mrs Siddons had accepted an offer to play there which would mean that the Queen of Tragedy would be in direct rivalry; and it was hardly likely that good business would result from it. The dour people of Edinburgh did not care for the laughter-makers; tragedy was more to their taste; and in their view pert little tomboys – whose private life Mrs Siddons and her adherents would not hesitate to inform them was not all to be desired, unlike that of the great tragedienne herself which was without reproach – could not be accorded respect in a town like Edinburgh.
‘They wouldn’t be able to stand out long against you,’ said Grace. ‘You’d soon have them laughing their heads off.’
‘Not in Edinburgh,’ replied Dorothy glumly.
She had an increasingly large family to support. There was now little Dodee, and George was getting only the smallest walk-on parts; Hester was home most of the time taking care of the children and Richard’s income was not large. She could not view a long rest from the theatre with any complacence – much as she would have liked to have more time for her family.
An unusual piece of good luck occurred then. The King, whose illness had given rise to so much gossip, recovered and the Queen decided that it would be an excellent idea for him to recuperate somewhere right away from London and his royal duties. Brighton would have been ideal, but the Prince of Wales had made that delightful town his own, and relations between the royal parents and their son were strained, so definitely it could not be Brighton.
Cheltenham was little known but it was recommended to the Queen as a very healthful spa where the waters were most beneficial, so she decided that she, the King, the Princesses and their suites should spend a few weeks there while they nursed the King back to health.
Cheltenham for the first time in its life was on the map. There happened to be a theatre in the town, and since there was to be a royal visit that meant that the place would be full not only of the royal entourage but of many visitors.
A full town needed good players in its theatre.
Mrs Siddons was going to Edinburgh; clearly Mrs Jordan must come to Cheltenham.
Cheltenham was pleasant although Dorothy always preferred London audiences to those of the provinces. At this time, though, the town had three times its usual population and it was said that if royalty made a habit of visiting it, it would soon resemble Brighton. She heard that sixty-seven hairdressers had followed the King and Queen to the town because where the Court was there was the ton; and constant hairdressing was essential to the fashionable world.
The theatre was a converted barn but a royal box had been erected, all sorts of comforts added and the inhabitants were all prepared to enjoy the amenities induced by elegant society.
They even had Mrs Jordan.
She was greeted wherever she went with great enthusiasm. People stopped her in the streets and told her how much they were looking forward to seeing her act and how amused they were that they had filched her from London.
The manager told her that he thought it wise for her not to play breeches parts before their Majesties.
‘This is not for His Highness the Prince of Wales, Mrs Jordan,’ he said. ‘His Majesty believes in stern propriety so these are the plays in which I think it would be wise for you to appear.’
Dorothy looked at them: The Country Girl, The Maid of the Oaks, The Sultan, The Poor Soldier and The Virgin Unmasked.
She would have enjoyed playing Sir Harry Wildair.