‘You’re tiring yourself,’ said Grace.

‘What does it matter? I haven’t much longer in any case.’

Mary talked rapidly and excitedly of past triumphs, failures and her love of what she called the bottle which had been her downfall. ‘We all have our weaknesses. Don’t let yours interfere with your career, Dorothy. I ought to have worked harder. I might have done it then. But you’ll do it, Dorothy, I know it.’

She was like a grim prophetess lying back on her pillows, her feverish eyes fixed on her niece.

She died a few days after; but it was said that she seemed contented after she had seen Grace and her daughter. She left all she possessed to her niece Dorothy Jordan. It was mostly clothes and many of these were in pawn; but she had some fine costumes.

They were getting better off now. Dorothy had her fixed salary which Wilkinson had raised to twenty-three shillings. This was not riches, of course, but Dorothy was careful; and with the little Aunt Mary had left her she felt that she would be ready to give the coming child a good start in the world.

Cornelius Swan had followed the company to York because he was eager to see all of Dorothy’s performances. When Dorothy was feeling ill, which she was more and more frequently now, he would come to see her and sit by her bed going over some of her parts with her.

This passed the hours of enforced rest pleasantly enough; and they were a delight to the old man.

He said that she was like his adopted daughter and he had great plans for her future.

With her aunt’s prophecies and Cornelius’ interest Dorothy felt more and more ready to face the ordeal ahead. Mrs Smith’s unpleasantness could be borne, even when she tried to wreck Dorothy’s benefit.

All appeared to be going well but it seemed impossible to have too much good fortune; and it was her very success which was proving her downfall.

Daly’s letter reached her in York.

He had heard of her recent successes and knew where she was playing. She had deserted his company and so broken her contract and for this he demanded the immediate payment of £250. There was also a matter of an outstanding debt. He offered her three courses of action: she must return to Dublin and complete her contract with him; she must pay up what she owed; or she would be arrested at once and committed to a debtors’ prison.

Grace found her staring at the letter and taking it up read its contents with horror.

‘This,’ she said, ‘is the end of everything. We cannot fight this. We are trapped.’

Cornelius called at the lodgings. He was excited.

‘I have persuaded Wilkinson to revive Zara so that you can have the title role. You’ll need some coaching but I am prepared… But what’s wrong?’

Dorothy held out Daly’s letter. ‘I don’t think I shall be playing Zara or anything else,’ she said. ‘I’ve thought of running away. But where to? If I go on acting and make any sort of name he will find me. If I don’t, how can I live?’

‘Well, what are you planning to do?’ he asked.

‘I’m trying to make some plan.’

‘And didn’t it occur to you to consult me?’

Dorothy shook her head. ‘There is nothing to be done. I see it all clearly. From the day I set eyes on that man there was no hope for me.’

Cornelius laughed. ‘You forget, my dear, that I am not a poor man. You forget too my interest in you as my adopted daughter and one of our finest actresses. Daly shall have his money at once and that will be an end of the villain as far as you are concerned. I will send off the money without delay then we can continue with the serious business of rehearsing for Zara.’

It was like a great weight which had burdened her for a long time suddenly dropping from her. She was free. She need never wake in the night from a dream of a dark attic, and lecherous tentacles stretching out for her across the sea.

Her dear friend Cornelius Swan had severed the chains which bound her to that evil man.

She was free… almost, but not entirely.

She still had to bear his child.

One night when Dorothy was playing Priscilla Tomboy there was great excitement in the theatre because an actor from London had arrived in York to see the play.

It was stimulating to know he was there and Dorothy, free from menace for the first time for more than a year, gave a sparkling performance, after which Mr Smith – who was no relation to the envious actress of the same name – came back-stage to congratulate the performers and in particular Dorothy.

‘You have a genius for comedy, Mrs Jordan,’ he said. ‘By Gad, I never saw Tomboy better played.’

This was great praise indeed coming from an actor who played in Drury Lane and had won the approval of London audiences.

Mr Smith was known as ‘The Gentleman’ because of his exquisite manners – he followed the Prince of Wales in his dress, they said; and he certainly had an exquisite way of taking his snuff. He bowed with elegance and flattered most of the players, but Dorothy sensed that there was a certain sincerity in his praise for her. Why else should he be in the theatre every night she played? She was excited to know he was there, and was fully aware that when he was she played her best.

There were rumours throughout the theatre. Mr Sheridan had sent him up to look for talent. There was a chance that some of them would be invited to play in London. Covent Garden and Drury Lane were not an impossibility.

Wilkinson was a little dismayed. He did not want his big draws lured to London; he was particularly afraid of losing Mrs Jordan, for he had seen how interested The Gentleman was in her.

He raised Dorothy’s salary and said she should have another Benefit. Dorothy was delighted, but when Gentleman Smith returned to London and no offers came, he was forgotten.

While Mrs Smith was obliged to leave the theatre temporarily to give birth to her child, her parts fell to Dorothy who played them with a special verve and won great applause. She could not repress a certain malicious delight in picturing the incapacitated actress grinding her teeth wondering how much progress the Jordan was making during her absence. ‘Hers will come,’ declared Mrs Smith delightedly.

And in due course Dorothy retired from the stage to give birth to her child. It was a healthy girl and she called her Frances.

Mrs Smith had been working hard during Dorothy’s absence – both in the theatre and out. The company had gone to Hull where Dorothy would play her first part since her confinement. ‘Return of Mrs Jordan after a six weeks’ absence,’ ran the play bills, but Mrs Smith was determined that her rival was to have a cool reception.

Through friends in Hull she made the acquaintance of some of the leading citizens, and in the seclusion of their houses to which the famous actress was asked as a welcome guest she spoke of ‘that creature Jordan. A loose woman if ever there was one.’ She did not think that gentlemen of Hull would wish their wives and daughters to see her perform if they knew the whole story. It was nauseating. The creature had been absent to give birth to a bastard – father unknown. Such was their Mrs Jordan!

The ladies were duly shocked and declared their intention of staying away from The Fair Penitent in which Mrs Jordan was playing the part she had made famous – that of Callista.

Some, however, were determined to make their disapproval known.

Dorothy, who during her enforced absence had been longing to return to the stage, was immediately aware of the attitude of her audience. They were hostile. She had never before played before such a house.

They seemed to have come to the theatre for anything but to see the play and when they should have been spellbound they chatted and laughed together. What has happened? wondered Dorothy. Can it be that I have lost the gift of holding an audience?

The play was a disaster. When she died they applauded derisively. She caught sight of Mrs Smith’s delighted face in the wings and guessed she had helped to bring about this fiasco. Could she have carried her enmity to this degree? Yes, because people had crowded into the theatre to see Dorothy in those roles which Mrs Smith had reckoned to be entirely hers.

Mortified, she changed into her simple gown and mob cap. Greenwood Laddie had never failed to charm them, yet it did on that night, and her voice could not be heard above the hissing and boos.

The curtain came down. It was disaster. For the first time Dorothy Jordan had failed to please an audience.

There was a knock on the door. It was one of the male actors.

‘Oh,’ he stammered. ‘I thought I’d look in.’

‘Why?’ demanded Dorothy.

‘Tonight… You shouldn’t let it worry you. You know who’s responsible, don’t you? It’s that confounded jealous woman. I could wring her neck.’

He was moderately good-looking and a moderately good actor. She had always liked George Inchbald. He had shown her little acts of kindness often but tonight she felt drawn towards him because after her recent humiliation she was in need of comfort.

‘You don’t want to take any notice of it, Dorothy. It was arranged… deliberately.’

‘Do you think so, George?’

‘I know it. Why, she has been talking of nothing else for days. I’ve heard all the whispering in corners.’

‘How can she be so malicious?’

‘Because you’re a better actress than she is and because she’s jealous.’

She knew it, but it was comforting to hear George say it.

‘Ignore it,’ advised George. ‘Go on playing as though you don’t notice it.’