William bowed abruptly and left her.
Dorothy noticed that he was worried. She knew that he had been to see the Queen and she guessed that there had been some criticism of their relationship.
‘You had better tell me what it is, William,’ she said. ‘It concerns us, doesn’t it?’
He nodded glumly.
‘The Queen is urging you to break off our relationship?’
‘It is not quite that. She doesn’t approve, of course. She merely pointed out my duty to me. Even if Caroline miscarries George has sworn he won’t go near her again. Nothing will induce him to. There will be no hope of an heir. And it is the same with Frederick. He refuses to live with his wife. My mother pointed out that the country needs an heir to the throne… and there can’t be more delay. She says that I…’
‘William… but your two brothers come before you.’
‘George will refuse and so will Fred. That leaves me.’
‘Why should you not refuse?’
‘Because… one of us will have to…’
‘You mean that if there is no child…’
‘It would be my duty. I should have to do it… for George.’
‘What about Frederick?’
‘They believe the Duchess of York to be barren.’
‘But the Prince must live with his wife. It’s what he married her for.’
‘He won’t. He will expect me to make the sacrifice… My parents expect it. It was what my mother wished to say to me.’
‘And us…’ she asked blankly. ‘Our children, George, and little Henry…’
He began to kiss her frantically. ‘I would always care for you,’ he said. ‘But it won’t happen. Caroline must bear a child.’
‘And if she fails…’
Dorothy thought: It would be the end. I know it. He wants me to know it. He wants to prepare me. And yet not so long ago he said that nothing would induce him to marry. If they cannot let me marry whom I wish, he said, at least they cannot force me to marry if I don’t want to.
He had changed. She could see that if pressure were brought to bear on him by his parents and his brothers he would give way.
She was sad; he had changed. He was no longer the passionate lover to whom she had meant everything; he was devoted to her and the children; he would be a good husband and father if he were allowed to be. It was not quite the same.
She was afraid. The pattern was changing. Just a little here, just a little there – and by and by everything would be different.
My children, she thought – my three little girls, my two little boys. I must care for them and particularly the girls for surely he will always provide for his own.
She must continue to work. She must never lose touch with her audiences. She must build up a fortune so that her girls would never want.
She thought of that life of ease and comfort of which she had sometimes dreamed: living at home in the heart of her family, far from the smell of greasepaint and the candles, the triumphs and disasters, the applause and the catcalls, the compliments and the jealousies. Would it ever be hers?
She must be careful over money; she must bargain that she was paid the highest prices, and she must never give up; for how could she be sure when she would be without a protector and her girls in need.
William was a boy of nature. A little naïve and wanting to be honest, he had reasoned with himself that it was only fair to warn her; and having done so he now wished to dismiss the subject.
‘There is nothing to worry about. Caroline’s pregnancy is going just as it should. There’ll be a healthy boy, you’ll see.’
Perhaps, she wanted to say; but that will not alter the fact that you could contemplate a marriage of State. And if you did, what would become of us?
He wanted to forget the unpleasant subject. He had done his duty; that was the end of it. She refused to dwell on it. He did not wish to be depressed; he had been upset enough by his mother’s implications.
It was better to pretend to forget it, to pretend all was well.
On a cold January day the Princess of Wales gave birth to her child. It was a girl and they called her Charlotte.
They had hoped for a boy, of course; but there was no Salic law in England and girls could inherit the throne as easily as boys. There had been two great queens to prove that women rulers were no bar to a country’s greatness; under Elizabeth and Anne the country had expanded as never before. Charlotte was the heir-presumptive to the throne. If her parents had no more children one day she would be Queen.
She was a lusty young creature right from the start. The Princess of Wales was almost hysterical with joy to have a baby of her own; the Prince was delighted because he had done his duty; the country rejoiced for it had no prejudices against girls, and in fact preferred their rulers to be feminine.
Dorothy breathed more easily. There would be no plan to marry William off now. Strange to think that she owed her peace of mind to that infant at Carlton House who lay in her cradle all oblivious of her importance.
It was fortunate that the child was healthy for when she was three months old the Prince wrote a letter to his wife in which he suggested that they part amicably for he had no intention of living with her again.
There was one ominous phrase in the letter:
‘Even in the event of any accident happening to my daughter, which I trust Providence in its mercy will avert, I shall not infringe the terms of the restriction by proposing, at any period, a connection of a more particular nature.’
William was aware of this clause in the letter which his brother had sent to his wife. He told Dorothy of it. They both understood what it meant. If any accident befell the baby Princess Charlotte and she were to die, William would be obliged to marry.
It was an uneasy thought; but Dorothy knew that the period of complete happiness was over, that they had passed through the honeymoon and now the harsh realities of life had to be faced. How right her mother had been when she had warned her daughter to marry. Security was very necessary to peace of mind.
I shall never have it, thought Dorothy. But I must see that my daughters do.
Theatrical conflicts
MONEY! SHE MUST earn it; she must save it; it must be there for the girls when they married. They would need a bigger dowry than most to offset their illegitimacy.
She had a benefit night coming along and hoping to do well out of it decided that she would play Ophelia. This was a departure from her comedy roles, but she was sure she could do justice to the part; and made her announcement that she had chosen it.
She was unprepared for the storm this decision aroused.
When she arrived at the theatre it was to find John Kemble raging in Sheridan’s office. As she had received a message to go along there as soon as she came in she knew that something was wrong.
Kemble was shouting. ‘Ophelia! It is ridiculous! It’s quite out of her range.’
She cried: ‘Are you afraid I shall take attention from your Hamlet?’
Kemble drew himself to his full height and struck a pose which might have been Hamlet’s own. ‘Such fear has not occurred to me, Madam. I have not yet come to terms with the absurdity.’
‘And why should it be absurd? I am an actress. I believe there are few parts which would daunt me.’
‘One could not introduce comedy into Hamlet, nor could Ophelia rise from her watery grave to sing a ditty and do an Irish jig.’
‘I have no intention of doing either on my benefit night, as you will see.’
‘I shall not see, for you will not play Ophelia on your benefit night.’
‘And why not, pray, since I have chosen it? Is it not the custom for players to choose the plays for their own benefits? Mr Sheridan, I beg of you, explain this custom to Mr Kemble.’