The Duchess of Drury Lane Read online

  A hand caught at my arm and gave me a little shake. It was Mr Ryder, the manager, a kind and generous-hearted man who had found me hiding in the dressing room. ‘Dolly, you are going on that stage, if I have to carry you on myself. You know your words. You can act. You will do this. Do you hear me?’

  And so I was dragged back and shoved on to the stage, the audience almost ready to riot as they’d long since lost patience with waiting for the farce that normally followed the main play.

  For a terrifying moment I stood transfixed, illuminated in that pool of candlelight. Then I took a breath and as I spoke my first tremulous lines the noise died away, the audience sat hushed and expectant before me. In that instant all fear left me. It felt as if it was the most natural place in the world for me to be.

  It was like coming home.

  I was playing the lead in a farce about arranged marriage, a popular theme. The girl, Lucy, obstinately refused a succession of suitors suggested to her by her rich father, only to finally admit that she’d secretly married a handsome footman. To my surprise I found that I delighted in the role, playing her as pert and cheeky, albeit with an air of pleasing innocence.

  When the audience laughed at my antics I felt my heart swell with pride and excitement at this amazing discovery that I could indeed entertain. It was the most wonderful sensation in the world for a plain tomboy such as myself, one slightly short-sighted who was often obliged to carry spectacles on a chain about my neck.

  Never considered to be a classic beauty, my nose and chin being somewhat too prominent, yet I was young and fresh-faced, with a cupid’s bow mouth and rosy cheeks. And with dark eyes some men might consider meltingly warm, even alluring. I must have possessed some charms as I had received and rejected one proposal of marriage already, aged fifteen. The press were later to describe me as more agreeable than handsome, not particularly tall but with a neat, elegant figure with interesting embonpoint, which was a polite way of saying I was full-bosomed and shapely. They were not always so generous, as like all actresses I suffered from bad press as well as good.

  Fortunately, I had the kind of expressive features that were perfect for this comic role. As was my mop of brown curls, generally a nuisance to control but creating the right comedic look beneath a mob cap.

  And the applause I received at the end of my performance felt like a kind of ecstasy, a warmth that flowed through my veins like wine. Utterly intoxicating!

  My first appearance on stage at the tender age of sixteen brought about a complete sea change in my attitude. I worked hard in the coming weeks, learning lines, watching how other actors performed, picking up tips and wrinkles. I felt so inadequate that I knew I must learn my craft quickly. Mama, of course, was in her element, I hadn’t seen her in such good spirits in an age. She would sit with a pile of newspapers on her lap and avidly scour them for reviews, pointing out the good ones to me.

  ‘Listen to this, Dolly, you are described as “a most valuable acquisition to the public stock of innocent entertainment”. And when Sheridan’s daughter Betsy came to watch you the other day, she said you surpassed what could have been expected. She even claimed that one day you would be a favourite and the first in your line of acting.’

  I laughed. ‘I think you exaggerate, Mama, or she does. Stop reading such nonsense.’

  ‘Don’t be unduly modest, child. All the reviews are good. Read them for yourself, dear.’

  I refused absolutely to do so, blushing at the very thought. Throughout my career, reviews, whether good or bad, were anathema to me. I hated them. But I was relieved to see my dear mother content.

  I next played the simple-minded shepherdess, Phoebe, in As You Like It, which was great fun. I was also allowed to speak the prologue and epilogue. One was written for me specially in the character of an Irish Volunteer, for which I was required to wear a soldier’s uniform and strut about the stage with sword in hand. The performance always brought shrieks of laughter and loud applause from the young folk of Dublin.

  Hester was given a few small parts, and George too was dreaming of an acting career, meanwhile helping out backstage where he could.

  My heart was now set upon the theatre. I was finding more fulfilment and happiness in my work than I had ever anticipated, gaining in confidence every week. My mother was right, I did have a natural talent for acting, particularly with comedy, and if I could use it for the betterment of my family, then I would do so, and bring myself pleasure at the same time.

  Two

  ‘A treasure to be nurtured’

  Thomas Ryder, our manager, owned both Crow Street and Smock Alley. He constantly complained that times were hard, and was struggling to make both pay. ‘Dublin doesn’t have the capacity for two successful theatres,’ he would moan whenever the moment came to pay our salaries. There was the odd week when we received no pay at all or ‘the ghost refused to walk’, as it was termed in the trade. ‘We need to attract greater audiences, if I could but think how to pull them in,’ he would say, holding his head in his hands in despair.

  Mama would fall into a faint if I came home with nothing. ‘And what are we supposed to live on? How am I to buy bread, or send money to Blanche for Lucy? There are doctors to pay, medicine to buy.’ Lucy was failing, and this was a cause of great distress to poor Mama. We had to do all we could to save my little sister, no matter what the cost.

  I kissed her soft cheek. ‘Do not fret, dearest Mama, I will find the money for Lucy.’

  One of my fellow actors was a Richard Daly. He was tall and rather dashing, an elegant dandy who was always impeccably turned out, ruffled, beribboned and curled, pea-green being his favourite colour. He might even have been classed as handsome were it not for a cast in one eye, which was really rather off-putting when he looked at you. He was a member of the Fire-eaters’ Club and an avid duellist. It was said that his opponents could never be certain whether or not he was focused on them, which was apparently why Daly didn’t have a scratch on him. He generally wore a somewhat battered looking brooch pinned to his chest which was said once to have saved his life by taking the bullet.

  I didn’t much care for the fellow myself, as there was an arrogance about him, and a flirtatious insincerity which I did not entirely trust. He was forever under my feet when I came off stage, would lurk in the wings so that I’d be obliged to squeeze past him as he made no effort to move.

  ‘When will you allow me to take you out to dine, or to walk by the river?’ he would whisper in my ear as I slithered by.

  I might have said when I was old and grey and had lost all common sense, but instead I confined myself to a polite smile or a little giggle. He was, after all, an actor of some renown in the company who frequently played the lead, while I was a mere newcomer. He was forever bragging about his time studying at Trinity College, so was undoubtedly a gentleman. Rumour had it that he’d been obliged to turn to the stage having gambled away much of a personal fortune, although his skills in acting were not particularly well thought of. Nevertheless, he would readily dip into his ample pockets to help tide over his fellow cast members, particularly the young ladies of whom he was rather fond, so perhaps there was some good in him, I thought.

  Today he offered to help me with my lines.

  ‘I thank you kindly, sir, but Mama does very well at that task. She was once an actress herself, if you recall.’

  ‘Ah, but we need to rehearse our love scene. It is vitally important that we get it right.’

  I gave him a doubtful look, wary of this offer since I knew his reputation as a skirt-chaser. Yet I was badly in need of a small loan, not only to see us through the week but also for Mama to send money for Lucy’s treatment. ‘Perhaps we could quickly run through it this afternoon, before the evening performance,’ I agreed.

  ‘Gladly. What a delight you are, Dolly.’

  ‘Dora. Dolly is the name my family use. My stage name is Dora, or Miss Francis.’

  ‘Ah!’ His eyes glinted as his gaze roamed over me, all
owing it to linger on my breasts as men so often did. ‘Excellent choice, Miss Francis,’ and he flourished a bow as if I were a courtly lady. ‘We will foregather at one o’clock precisely in the props room where we might hope to find some peace and quiet.’

  I took my sister Hester with me. ‘Do not,’ I instructed her, ‘on any account leave me alone with this man. I do not trust him an inch.’

  ‘You’re a fool even to agree to this,’ she said, in her usual scolding way.

  Hester had no time for men, a prejudice presumably caused by a neglectful father. And in this instance she may well have been right, as I could see at once that Daly was displeased by her presence. Giving him no time to object I handed Hester the script, announcing that she would act as prompt. ‘Now we can concentrate on the action without worrying about forgetting our lines.’

  He frowned at me, but then of a sudden put back his head and laughed out loud. ‘Keep your chaperone if you must, dearest Dora, for now. But I am not fooled by your maidenly blushes. I am fully aware that you find me irresistible.’

  ‘Shall we begin?’ I said, deliberately cool.

  Hester sat in the corner, barely glancing at the script she held in her hand as she watched open-mouthed the ‘love scene’ performed before her eyes. I do not care to recall the number of times he insisted we go through it, far more than was strictly necessary. And on every occasion came ‘the kiss’.

  ‘No, it still isn’t quite right, you must sink into my arms, lean back when I hold you. Like this.’

  ‘Like some fainting virgin?’ I caustically remarked.

  ‘Exactly. Is that not what you are?’ His good eye fixed me with a challenging glint, but I managed to slide from his arms with some of my dignity still intact.

  ‘I think that’s enough for now, don’t you? I feel confident we know this scene well enough, and I’m in need of a rest before the first performance. Thank you for sparing the time to help me.’ I was invariably polite, although fearful of seeming to encourage him, and pointedly avoided joining in his banter. ‘Before we go, there is just one matter I wish to discuss with you.’ I cast a quick glance across at Hester, who instantly jumped up to start tidying away the props that we’d used, deliberately keeping herself busy as we had agreed. ‘I wondered if I might ask a small favour.’

  ‘Your wish is my command,’ he simpered, taking my hand, the moistness of his lips leaving an imprint of his lingering kiss long after I had gently withdrawn it.

  I quickly explained about Lucy and the need for money to pay for a physician and medical care. ‘I wouldn’t ask otherwise, but we have no way of raising the necessary funds, so a small loan would be most appreciated. Well, not too small. Physicians are expensive and times have been hard for Mama recently. Twenty or thirty pounds perhaps?’ I timorously suggested, thinking of the creditors whose accounts we also needed to settle. ‘I will, of course, pay back every penny, perhaps in regular instalments if that would be agreeable?’

  He smiled. ‘I am so sorry to hear of your sister’s illness, and only too happy to help. We can discuss the exact terms later.’

  Perhaps, I thought, Richard Daly was not so bad after all. But I had no wish to repeat that ‘love scene’ save on stage.

  To my great relief, by the following year of 1779 I learned that Daly was engaged to Jane Barsanti, a leading actress of note whom he was to marry, which meant he’d be unlikely to trouble me again, or so I thought. She was a widow, her former husband, Lyster, having died. I guessed he’d left her sufficient funds to add to her attractions, certainly so far as Richard Daly was concerned.

  Once she was his wife, he offered to take the Smock Alley lease off Ryder’s hands. Our poor beleaguered manager clearly had mixed feelings on the matter. While still struggling to maintain both theatres Ryder was nevertheless aware that with money behind him, Daly would prove a powerful rival. He therefore put up little resistance.

  ‘I am sorry to see it go, but have done all I can think of to make it pay,’ Ryder mourned. ‘I’ve engaged at considerable expense the finest that the London stage has to offer in such actors as Mrs Abington, Sheridan and the Barrys, all to no avail. You are welcome to it, Daly.’

  ‘He does not mean it,’ my mother whispered. ‘Poor Ryder fears Daly will bankrupt him, for it is true what he says, Dublin cannot sustain two theatres.’

  Perhaps Mama was right in her surmise as Ryder made a sudden decision to put on a comic opera, as if in a last valiant effort to survive.

  ‘I intend to stage The Duenna, but we’ll switch all the characters, making men play the ladies’ parts, and vice versa. It will be a completely transvestite performance and we’ll call it The Governess. It will be a travesty and a delight.’

  I was given a leading role, dressing as a man in the character of Lopez, and although I say it myself, I, like the show, was a great success. The audience loved it, and my part in it. Perhaps I radiated more charm than usual; my laughter certainly bubbled up straight from the heart, so much did I enjoy myself. I love playing these comic roles and dressing up as a boy. Certainly the men enjoyed a rare view of my legs in breeches. Whatever the reason, I attracted attention other than that of a satisfied audience. Richard Daly himself returned to see me perform, and apparently liked what he saw.

  He cornered me, as was his wont, when I came off stage, but on this occasion followed me to the dressing room. I stood holding the door, deliberately not permitting him entrance. He smiled in that squinting, devil-may-care way he had. ‘You’re wasted here, Dora dear.’

  ‘I disagree. Thomas Ryder was the first to offer me a trial as a green girl, and is generous in giving me excellent parts. I have no complaints.’

  ‘And does he pay you well? Do you have the three guineas a week he promised?’

  I looked away, not wishing to admit that despite his best efforts Ryder had been unable to keep his promise on wages. ‘We are hoping for good houses all week for this comic opera,’ I stoutly remarked, in the manager’s defence.

  Daly sadly shook his head, making a little tutting sound. ‘It will not be enough, Dora. Crow Street is on its way out. You are a good actress, and I would welcome you at Smock Alley at any time. I intend to engage Sarah Siddons, John Kemble and other star names for future productions, and you could be part of that success.’

  He pestered me time and again in the weeks and months following, which put me in a terrible quandary. My darling sister Lucy had sadly died, despite all our care of her, so there had also been the funeral to pay for. Ever since her death, Mama had slipped into a decline, and rarely ventured out of bed. I was deeply concerned over her state of health. Losing a husband and a child in one year had all been too much for her. I certainly needed to earn more money, painfully aware that I was falling behind with my repayments on the loan Daly had made me.

  Yet I felt a loyalty to Ryder as he’d been the one to take me on and give me my first chance.

  ‘I can’t just walk away,’ I would say, still hesitant to commit, and wary of throwing in my lot with Daly.

  Finally, he issued an ultimatum. ‘This is your last chance. You must decide now or find some other way to repay the loan.’

  And so I went to tell Ryder about the offer, wishing to be open and honest with him. He gave me a measured, rather sad look. Then after a long moment of silence, came his reply.

  ‘Take the offer, Dora. Daly is right, the doors of Crow Street will be closed for ever by the end of the year. Sadly, I don’t have a rich wife to back my enthusiasms. I wish you every success in your career, and am glad to have been a part of its inception, but there is no future for you here. You must go to the Smock Alley.’

  Only when I heard these words did I realize how very much I had longed for a different reply. There was something about Richard Daly that sent shivers down my spine, but I had no choice. I must accept his offer, or my family would starve.

  Three

  ‘I won’t kiss him, I would spit in his face first’

  1780
/>   It was soon apparent that Daly revelled in his new position of power, and the company trod delicately around him, obeying his every word for fear of losing their place. He had not the care or respect for women usually found in an Irish gentleman, and it was not uncommon to see some weeping female leaving with her carpet bag via the stage door. Or, for that matter, an actor storming off in a fury. Daly certainly meant to keep us all on our mettle. And he continued to wait in the wings, watching me closely.

  I began with the role of Priscilla Tomboy in Bickerstaffe’s The Romp. It was a naughty part, some might call it very slightly vulgar, but I did my best to give her a warm heart and good humour.

  ‘I would as lief marry the old-clothes man . . .’ I said to Young Cockney, bringing a roar of laughter from the audience. ‘. . . I won’t kiss him, I would spit in his face first.’

  Words I could easily have said about Daly, remembering that earlier rehearsal.

  The audience loved it, and by association, me. I am sure it was no more than that, but I was delighted by my reception. Daly too was well pleased, pecked me a kiss on each cheek and gave me a warm hug of approbation. His reaction was such that an idea suddenly came to me in the glow of the moment.

  ‘I wonder, may I have a benefit? If the audience likes me and we manage to fill the house, it would help with the repayment of my debt.’

  He gave me his squint-eyed look. ‘There is absolutely no hurry to pay that off, Dora. Have I harassed you about it in any way?’

  ‘No,’ I admitted, unwilling to say how it unnerved me when he sometimes refused to accept the meagre sum I was able to offer him each week by way of repayment, as if money were of no account to him. ‘It is most kind of you to be so generous, and so patient, but I would welcome the opportunity of a benefit.’ Since all the profits from such an event went directly to the actor concerned, I saw it as an excellent way to resolve our financial difficulties. Mama might rally then if the debt were paid off and we had more cash for the family each week.