‘My dear Tom, didn’t you know I was a worker of miracles? We need a miracle or Harris over at the Garden will be taking our business away. You’ll consider yourself lucky that I brought Jordan to the Lane before Harris got her for the Garden.’
‘I sense that you feel some confidence in this young woman.’
‘I do – and you know that – theatrically – I am invariably right.’
King looked dubious and Sheridan burst out laughing.
‘I’ll persuade the Prince to patronize the show.’
‘He won’t want to be caught by another pretty actress just yet.’
‘He’s always interested in pretty actresses and he’s forgotten poor Perdita by now. We’ll see what she’s like on her first night and if she’s good enough she shall play before His Highness.’
King continued to shake his head, but Sheridan only laughed. His unerring theatrical sense insisted to him that he had done right to bring Mrs Jordan to London.
She was nervous. How could she help it – her first night at Drury Lane! Grace and Hester were anxious as she was – more so. She could assure herself that she knew the part backwards, and she did know that as soon as she got on to the boards and started to act all her fears would disappear. But poor Hester would be recalling the fiasco of that night in Dublin. Grace would be trembling, too.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Dorothy. ‘I’ll do it. I couldn’t have better than The Country Girl.’
‘It’s somewhat bawdy,’ said Grace timidly.
‘That’s what they like about it, Mamma.’
‘At least Mr Garrick adapted it,’ Hester reminded them. ‘So if he thought it was good…’
‘I believe you could have outdone that Siddons woman, Dolly.’
Dorothy began to play Lady Macbeth in an exaggerated manner reminiscent of Sarah Siddons.
‘You’ll be the death of me, Doll,’ laughed Hester.
‘Only hope they’ll be as easily amused tonight,’ prayed Dorothy. ‘Peggy is just my part. As good as the Priscilla Tomboy in The Romp really. I think Peggy will go down better in Drury Lane than Priscilla would have done. Stop worrying, you two, or you’ll make me nervous.’
She was rehearsing the part, remembering how she had watched Mrs Brown play it up in York, saying to herself: This is just the part for me. She would play it as no one had ever played it before. She would have that sophisticated London audience laughing or if she did not she would give up the boards altogether.
‘Stop fretting,’ she cried. ‘I’m not worried… if you are.’
It was not a full house. Had she been foolish to hope for it? Why should the fashionable people of London come out to see a little provincial actress who had not yet proved what she could do?
She wondered what it was like over at Covent Garden. Was there a full house there tonight?
Although she was as yet of no importance the critics would be there in full force. She could almost hear their comments: ‘Is this Sheridan’s newest venture? Does he hope this little girl is going to pay his debts?’
I’m going to prove to him and to them that his trust in me is not misplaced, she told herself.
Gentleman Smith was in the audience. She must not disappoint him either for she owed her presence here to him. She had to play as never before. And she was going to.
The joy of being on the stage was to forget all anxieties; she was Peggy and those who had come to see her recognized an actress when they came face to face with one. She had the true comic quality and there was something indefinable but definitely there, a charm which Siddons lacked. Dorothy wanted to make them laugh; Siddons wanted them to do homage to the muse and to Siddons. There was a difference. Sheridan recognized this quality at once; he grinned at Gentleman Smith who lightly flicked a fly from the lace ruffles at his wrist and looked, as Sheridan pointed out to him, ‘smug’ – and with reason.
‘You like the little Jordan, Sherry?’ asked Smith.
‘We might well keep her,’ was the reply.
‘I saw Harris of the Garden in the house.’
‘Ha! Worried about my little Jordan, no doubt.’
‘He has need to be.’
‘We’ll see.’ The applause at the end of the play was moderate. Dorothy, who had been used to northern audiences who expressed their appreciation or scorn with more abandon was a little disturbed; but Mr Sheridan came to her dressing room and kissed her warmly.
‘Well done, my dear,’ he said.
Grace could not wait to read what the critics had to say. They were not enthusiastic, but at the same time not all unkind.
The Morning Herald was the best. It commented on her delightful figure, pointing out that though small it was neat and elegant and shown to advantage when she appeared dressed as a boy in the third act. Her face might not be beautiful but was pretty and intelligent. Her voice if not peculiarly sweet was not harsh, if not strong was clear and equal to the demands of the theatre. She was active and brought out best in the comic aspects of the play and the conclusion was that she would be a valuable asset to the stage.
No one could have said more than that. Dorothy was a success.
This satisfactory début was not in the least impaired when Harris of the Garden tried to denigrate her. She was a vulgar little piece, he said, and might do for Filch in The Beggar’s Opera.
Some wit standing by, laughed at Harris’ envy of Sheridan’s find.
‘Certainly she would,’ was his reply, ‘for she filches our hearts away.’
So the world of the theatre after one performance of The Country Girl was sure that Dorothy Jordan had come to stay.
It was disappointing after that initial success not to be able to play for a week, but Mrs Siddons who was expecting a child was anxious to appear as often as possible before her enforced retirement and Dorothy quickly learned that every other actress and actor was expected to stand aside for the Queen of the Theatre.
But in due course Dorothy’s chance came and this time her fame had spread and it was a full house.
How right she had been to insist on comedy! She knew there was no one at Drury Lane to equal her in that sphere and she had always believed that although they might thrill to Sarah’s drama, audiences liked above all things to laugh. She had that god-given gift – to amuse while she entertained. She was going to use it whenever she had an opportunity.
There came the wonderful occasion when she had her first glimpse of royalty. The rumour ran through the theatre: Tonight the Prince of Wales is coming with his uncle the Duke of Cumberland.
There was a great deal of chatter about the royal family. The Prince was at loggerheads with his father. It was an old Hanoverian custom for fathers to quarrel with their sons. The puritanical old King who had remained faithful to his ugly wife for years and whose joint efforts had been to give the nation fifteen royal children to provide for, was estranged from his brilliant, clever and wild son, the Prince of Wales, who had already shocked his family and delighted the scandalmongers by his affair with an actress, Mrs Robinson, who had produced his letters and threatened to publish them if she were not amply rewarded.
The Prince’s friend, that wily politician Charles James Fox, had arranged the deal to the satisfaction of all parties and had himself become the lover of Mrs Robinson for a while which apparently seemed to the Prince a satisfactory conclusion, for his friendship with Fox was greater after the affair than before; and Fox and Sheridan were close friends, which meant that the manager of Drury Lane was on terms of intimacy not only with Mr Fox but with the Prince of Wales. Now there were rumours of his love affair with Mrs Fitzherbert and some went so far as to say he was married to her.