William would be amused. It would remind him while he was in London of his family; and she knew that he would be eager to return to them.
With Sophie weaned and debts mounting Dorothy could not linger in idleness at Bushy House. Her audiences were demanding that she return and reluctantly she did so, dashing home to Bushy whenever possible, sometimes arriving at midday and leaving again in the afternoon for the evening performance.
Monk Lewis had written a new play in the Gothic tradition entitled The Castle Spectre and Dorothy had the part of the heroine, Angela. The play was an immediate success largely because of an unusual ghostly scene in which Angela’s mother rose from the grave to bless her daughter. The lighting effects were such as the playgoers had never seen before. They applauded madly and Sheridan was inundated with requests for more of The Castle Spectre. Dorothy’s portrayal of Angela pleased audiences and they would have no one else in the part.
Sheridan was delighted to have such success in the theatre again; but he was so deeply in debt that he made excuses not to pay his actors and there were often angry scenes in the theatre. He had never attempted to withhold Dorothy’s salary. He was too fearful of losing her; nor did he want the Duke to talk of his deficiencies in this respect to the Prince of Wales. More and more Dorothy thought longingly of retirement to her family in Bushy. She was once more pregnant; this always meant that she grew very tired and after a performance would sink into bed and wish that she could stay. But in the morning if it were possible she would be riding out to Bushy if only for a short glimpse of the children.
She was now often helping William financially.
In spite of the comparatively quiet life he led at Bushy he was always short of money and because of the intimacy between them he had no compunction in using hers. He had taken to reading all her contracts; he was at the theatre as often as possible to see her perform; he would criticize her performance and that of the other players, and was beginning to think of himself as a theatre critic. He was a constant visitor to the Green Room. ‘Royal patronage,’ Sheridan called it slyly; but Dorothy was delighted; it pleased her that he should take such an interest in her career, and she refused to consider the fact that the money she earned was so important not only to her but to him. Often she had to go away on tours but she made them as brief as possible. These were the most unhappy times of her life.
She would ask him whether or not she should accept certain engagements; if it was out of London he would always shake his head although he gave in later when she reminded him how much they needed the money. She would write to him ‘I received fifty-two pounds’ – or whatever the sum – ‘for tonight’s performance. Let me know whether you need it before I spend any of it.’
Sometimes she remembered the rhyme:
‘Does he keep her or she keep him?’
But she put it from her mind. There was nothing mercenary about William. It was simply that he could not keep within his income.
It was their hope that one day she would be able to leave the theatre and devote all her time to her family. It was what she longed for; and William assured her that he did, too. She might be one of the leading actresses of her day, but she was first of all a wife and mother. Her own mother had been the same, which was the reason why she had been so eager for Dorothy to marry.
It had been an exhausting day and she had been looking forward to leaving London on Friday morning and going down to Bushy House for a few days. Tomorrow night she must work and then there would be that brief respite.
As she was about to leave her dressing room a messenger came to her to say that Mr Siddons was at the theatre and asking if she would see him for a few moments.
‘Mr Siddons!’
That was correct, she was told.
‘Then tell him I will see him in the Green Room in five minutes.’
He was waiting there when she arrived. She was always rather sorry for poor Will Siddons. Sarah was so brilliant, so dominating, that she made him seem even more insignificant than he actually was.
‘You wished to see me, Mr Siddons?’
‘Ah, Mrs Jordan. I have come on behalf of my wife.’
What trouble now? wondered Dorothy, for she could not imagine it was not trouble between herself and the queen of tragedy.
‘We are in great distress, Mrs Jordan. Our second daughter, Maria, is dying.’
Dorothy was immediately sympathetic.
‘The doctors are with her now. They hold out no hope. She may pass from us this very night… or she may live for a few more weeks.’
‘I am so sorry. Pray convey my sympathy to Mrs Siddons. Tell her I understand her feelings.’
‘You are a mother yourself, well I know; and it is for that reason that I come to ask this favour.’ He hesitated miserably. ‘I know there has been little friendship between you and the family…’ Poor little man, thought Dorothy, it was not his fault that the Kembles had treated her so badly.
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It is but the usual rivalries of our profession,’ she said. ‘What favour did you wish to ask?’
‘Mrs Siddons has committed herself to play on Friday night. She cannot refuse to play unless someone will take her place. You understand that she cannot bear to leave our daughter, and in the circumstances hesitates to face an audience.’
Dorothy nodded. She was thinking that instead of driving down to Bushy she would have to stay in London to play.
‘Sarah sent me to ask… oh, I know it is asking a great deal… but if you would take her place on this occasion she would be most deeply grateful.’
‘Tell her I will do it,’ said Dorothy. ‘And give her my sympathy.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Jordan.’ There were tears in his eyes.
‘Pray think no more of it. It is the least I can do.’
When he had left and she was driving home to Somerset Street she could have wept with disappointment.
What is the matter with me? she asked herself. It was due to the fact that she was pregnant, she supposed. But she felt weary and longed poignantly for Bushy, the children and William.
Soon it will be time for my confinement, she promised herself, and then I shall go to Bushy; and when the new baby comes I shall be forced to rest awhile.
And tomorrow? Perhaps she would go down to Bushy in the morning and come back for the evening performance. And Friday would be a day of rehearsal to enable her to play that night.
The children would be disappointed; but they were accustomed to her frequent absences. William would be, too. Was she right to leave them all so often? Yet she must for the money was so important to them all.
Oh for that day when she would say goodbye to the stage and spend day after peaceful day in beloved Bushy House.
She wrote to William:
‘2 o’clock. I have just returned. You will be surprised to see me advertised to play on Friday night, but I trust not angry when you know the reason. Mrs Siddons has bound herself to play that night, but since she is in constant fear of losing her second daughter, Mr Siddons came here to request I would play otherwise Mrs Siddons would be obliged to quit her child. On such a serious occasion I thought it would not be humane to refuse and hope you will agree with me… I got fifty pounds last night… If you want this money let me know that I may not dispose of it…’
She lay on her bed and thought about the family at Bushy and the girls with Hester; and greatly she wished that she could gather them all under one roof and never leave them.
The child was born in November – another girl. This one was Mary. There were now four little FitzClarences as well as her three girls.