‘It’s wonderful,’ cried Dorothy. ‘The sort of house I’ve always dreamed of.’ Then she said: ‘It will need a fortune spent on the furnishings.’
‘Oh, I’m taking care of that,’ he told her easily.
She was momentarily alarmed. He had no idea of the value of money. She had her house in Somerset Street which was necessary for when she was working; he had his rooms in St James’s Palace; there was the separate establishment she must maintain for Hester and the girls – and now Bushy House. The cost would be great.
But this was not the day to worry about such matters.
Bushy House with its rural situation, its spacious rooms, its charm and grandeur was the ideal family home. The children would love it.
She said: ‘I know I am going to be happy here.’
Mrs Siddons in distress
AND SHE WAS happy at Bushy House.
Almost immediately she settled in to prepare for the birth of her child, and this time she had a little girl, Sophia.
How pleasant it was to rest after her confinement; to sit in the garden with the baby on her lap and the little boys playing on the lawns. Young George was getting remarkably like his uncle, the Prince of Wales. He swaggered about, sure of the approval of nurses, parents and younger brother.
‘You’ll have to watch young George,’ was the constant admonition. ‘He has the strength of two boys of his age, and the mischief.’
When his father came he would clamber all over him and fight him with his fists because the Duke wanted to make a fighter of him. William delightedly declared that he did indeed have to defend himself.
Young Henry stood by watching with admiration.
If only we could go on like this for ever! thought Dorothy.
But there was always anxiety about money and the fact that William did not greatly concern himself tended to make her more anxious.
Her brother George was not happy in his marriage. His wife Maria, who was so much more successful in the profession than he was, bullied him and was unfaithful to him. He was constantly short of money and naturally turned to Dorothy. Her brother Francis who was in the Army, and whom she had believed to be happily settled, had also run into debt. He wrote to his sister, knowing her strong family feeling, and when he had heard of the vast sums of money she was paid merely for appearing a few hours on a stage, he had been sure he could rely on her to help him.
What could she do? How explain? She could say: I do earn large sums of money but I have so many dependent on me.
Even William was embarrassed now and then.
‘A fellow demanding payment of a paltry four hundred pounds or so. I can’t lay my hands on it for the moment.’
So she must provide it. And all the time she was thinking of the girls and the dowry she must have ready for them. She had set her heart on ten thousand pounds apiece. It was expected of her. She was a famous actress and the mistress of a prince. She could never make them understand how difficult it was to keep the money she earned – although she spent so little on her own needs.
But she was happy at Bushy House. Happier, she kept telling herself, than she had ever been. If it could only go on like this for the rest of my life, she thought. Living here in this gracious house, with the children gradually growing up around me, I would ask nothing more.
The domesticities of life were so happily uncomplicated. If only she could have devoted herself to being a wife and mother! Wasn’t it what her mother had always wanted, what she had taught her to want for herself?
The baby began to cry. Little Sophie was not so contented as the boys had been. Dorothy rocked her to and fro and watched young George attempting to climb one of the chestnut trees. He could come to no harm for he could not possibly climb it.
She would write to William and tell him all the news of the children. He was at St James’s now; he was most concerned about the country’s affairs. She knew that he longed for a command at sea and very much resented the fact that the King would not give it to him. The country was at war, and he was powerless. But she was glad he must stay at home. What anxiety if he had been at sea at such a time!
But it was natural that he should wish to serve the country and he had been brought up to be a sailor so he would want to do it in the manner in which he could be of the greatest use. It was no desire to leave his family that made him long to fight for his country. He was devoted to them. Since they had come to Bushy House there had been an even closer unity. When he was not at home he wanted constant news of the children and took a great interest in the smallest details concerning them. When she had to go away to play in London he contrived to be with the children at Bushy. The children should always if they could possibly manage it have one parent with them.
She thought of the royal brothers. Edward, Duke of Kent, was faithful to his mistress Madame de St Laurent; they were devoted to each other and an aura of respectability surrounded them. There was William and herself, and even the Prince of Wales had been happy with Mrs Fitzherbert for a few years – and he had had so many temptations. There were rumours now that he was tiring of Lady Jersey and was writing impassioned letters to Mrs Fitzherbert begging her to take him back.
So perhaps there was a streak of fidelity in the brothers – and she had been fortunate indeed to have William.
He had shown her a letter he had written to Thomas Coutts, his banker, in which he had said:
‘I have long known Mrs Jordan’s generosity but have never had so favourable an opportunity of making her merits public. In short, I may be permitted to be partial, but I cannot help thinking her one of the most perfect women in the world…’
That after seven years together! He had watched her read it with an almost boyish pleasure.
‘There, you see how I speak of you when you are not present.’
He did love her – sincerely, deeply; and if he was not forced for State reasons to marry they could go on happily together for the rest of their lives, rejoicing in their children and their grandchildren.
It was a pleasant dream, to picture them on this lovely lawn – growing old together. The theatre would be a part of her past. She would not wish to go on playing when she was old. Her parts in any case were young parts.
Thinking of it she could almost wish she were old with all the tribulation behind her.
She laughed at her thoughts and said: ‘Come, George, my darling. Come, Henry, my pet. We are going in because I have to write to Papa. He will want to know what you have all been doing while he is away.’
‘Will you tell him that I jumped down four steps?’ asked George.
‘Yes, I will.’
‘And I did one,’ said Henry.
‘I shall tell him everything. So come along in now.’
So she went in and wrote to him.
‘I hope I need not say how I wish your return… The children are as well as possible. I shall wean Sophie tomorrow. George’s new boots are excellent ones. I expect the others to arrive tomorrow. Sophie has been very cross but now she is composed and easy.’
She smiled. George had come to kneel on a chair beside her.
‘Is that a letter to Papa?’ he asked.
‘It is.’
‘When is he coming to see me?’
‘As soon as he can, I am sure. Will you put a kiss in this letter for him?’
‘Yes I will,’ said George, and bending over spat on to the paper.
‘Do you call that a kiss?’
‘Yes,’ said George, ‘It is a kiss for Papa.’
She kissed him; and taking his hand guided it for him to make a cross. Then she wrote:
‘I asked George if he would put a kiss into this for you. He immediately spat in it.’