‘You’ll be all right,’ said Wilkinson.

When he left her she studied her reflection in the glass. She looked really scared. She would be all right once she trod the boards. She was actress enough for that.

But she could not forget that everything depended on what happened at Drury Lane. And Sarah Siddons, at this moment, was seated regally in her balcony box over the stage, come to pass judgement.

Dorothy played for the statuesque woman in the box which was poised above the stage – a place of honour for Sarah – but it was not one of her best performances. It was not the way to play. One did not act to impress. One forgot an audience when on the stage; one became the part which was the only way to play it. But who could forget Sarah? Sarah herself had no intention that anyone should.

The eldest daughter of Robert Kemble had acting in her blood. She was the Queen of the Drama and she intended to keep the crown until she died.

She was some thirty years old and had appeared at Drury Lane when she was seventeen and David Garrick had been the actor-manager, so she was not going to be easily impressed by the performance of a provincial player. And she made it quite clear that she was not.

When the performance was over she was escorted back-stage with the ceremony of royalty – for the part she played off-stage was that of a queen – and asked for her opinion of Mrs Jordan’s performance.

‘Since it is asked,’ said Mrs Siddons, pronouncing her words clearly as though to reach the back of the house, and striking the pose of a seer, ‘I will give my considered opinion.’ She never used one word when six would fit the same purpose. ‘I have come to a conclusion while watching this performance and it is this: Mrs Jordan would be well advised to remain in the provinces rather than to venture on to the London stage at Drury Lane.’

It was what Dorothy’s enemies had wanted to hear.

Dorothy herself laughed. Nothing Mrs Siddons could say could stop her. She was under contract now. It had been signed by Richard Brinsley Sheridan himself together with his business partners Thomas Linley and Dr James Ford. With such a contract in her pocket should she care for the attempts of any actress – even Sarah Siddons herself – to undermine her?

‘The woman’s jealous!’ declared Grace.

And although it seemed incredible that the Queen of Drury Lane could be envious of a little provincial actress as yet untried, Dorothy liked to believe this was so. After all she was some seven or eight years younger than the great tragedienne; and although Sarah was one of the most handsome women she had ever seen there was something forbidding about her.

In any case, what was the use of brooding?

She was going to Drury Lane to seek her fortune.

And that September she left the North for London, taking with her her mother, Hester, her daughter Frances and brother Francis. The rest of the children went to Aunt Blanche in Wales; but Dorothy would support the whole family on the wages she was to receive in her new position.

Début at Drury Lane

LONDON DELIGHTED AND fascinated. Dorothy knew as soon as she set eyes on it that it was here she wanted to stay. The bustling streets with their noisy people who shouted and laughed and seemed bent on enjoyment were full of life; and the carriages, the sedans with their exquisitely dressed occupants, powdered and patched, their faces made charming and sometimes grotesque with rouge and white lead were in great contrast to the beggars who whined in the alleys and the street traders calling their wares. Here was the lavender seller thrusting the sweet-smelling branches under the noses of passers by; the piemen offering to toss for a pie; the shoe black; the ballad sellers singing their latest offerings often to thin reedy voices; the crossing sweepers ready for a penny to run under the horses to sweep a passage across the muddy roads. It was life as she had never seen it before.

Dorothy was determined that she had come to stay.

They took lodgings in Henrietta Street, which was not very grand, for Dorothy was going to have many calls on her purse; but the whole family was enchanted with London and to be in those streets, Grace declared, just did you good. You knew that this was the only place worth being in.

The theatre was different from anything Dorothy had played in before. Royalty came here quite often, she understood. The Prince of Wales was a frequent visitor and came with his friends, his brothers and his uncles. Sometimes the King and Queen came; then of course it had to be a most moral play. They accepted Shakespeare because everybody accepted Shakespeare, although the King did not think much of it and had been known to refer to it as ‘sad stuff’, but the people expected the King and Queen to see Shakespeare so they saw it.

It was different with the Princes – those gay young men – who were always satisfied by the appearance of pretty actresses, especially in breeches parts.

Then every actor and actress must be thrilled to meet Richard Brinsley Sheridan, for the author of The School for Scandal, The Rivals and The Duenna, the notorious wit and friend of the Prince of Wales was the biggest name in the theatre. And now that he was going into politics and had become Secretary to the Treasury in the Coalition Government and had allied himself with that great statesman Charles James Fox, one could not even compare him with managers like Daly and Wilkinson. Sheridan was as different from them as London was from the provinces.

No sooner had Dorothy arrived in London than she was completely convinced that this was the great opportunity and that she needed all her special gifts, everything she had learned since she had begun, to hold her place there.

She talked over her affairs with Grace and Hester. Her great anxiety was Sarah Siddons.

‘I think I know,’ she said, ‘why they have brought me here. They want a rival for Sarah Siddons, and what worries me is that I can never be that.’

‘Why not?’ demanded Grace indignantly.

‘Because we are not the same type. She has all that dignity; and you must agree, Mamma, that my dignity is more often off-stage than on. She wrings their hearts: I make them laugh. She’s Lady Macbeth; I’m the Romp. There’s room for us both, I’m sure, but I have to make them see this.’

‘You are going to make Mr Sheridan see?’

‘I have to, Mamma. I can never rival Sarah. How could I! She’s already there. They accept her. She’s the Queen of tragedy and nobody is going to jostle her off her throne. As well try to take the King’s crown from him. I’m not going to let them put me into tragedy. I’m going to insist that I choose the play for my début – and it’s going to be comedy.’

Hester said: ‘She’s right, Mamma. Absolutely right.’

‘Do you think they’ll allow you to choose?’ asked Grace fearfully.

‘Surely it’s the right of any actress to choose her first play.’ Dorothy laughed. ‘Don’t be frightened, Mamma. Leave it to me. I’ll make them understand. There’s one thing I’m determined on. This is the great opportunity. It may come only once in a lifetime. I’m not going to miss it.’

It was easier to persuade Mr Sheridan than she had anticipated. With his manager, Tom King, he received her in his office and listened courteously to what she had to say. She was earnest and very appealing, he thought, and he was quick to recognize that quality in her which was rare and yet so essential to an actress. It was not beauty – in fact when she was not animated she was not even pretty – but when her face lit up and that inner vitality was visible she had a fascination which he guessed would be irresistible to an audience.

‘You see, Mr Sheridan,’ she said, ‘it is no use my trying to rival Mrs Siddons. The public has made her its Tragedy Queen. They’d accept no other, however good. Miss Elizabeth Farren plays like a perfect lady and the public accept her for that. I have to be different. They love Mrs Siddons for her dignity, Miss Farren for her elegance; I have to win them through laughter. I must play comedy, Mr Sheridan. It’s necessary if I am going to succeed.’

She was vehement. Sheridan looked at Tom King and knew what he was thinking. An actress must have the chance of choosing how she would make her début. And she was right when she said she could not take over Siddons’ role. It was hardly likely that she could out-tragedy the Tragedy Queen and if she did there would be trouble.

‘All right,’ said Sheridan. ‘Comedy. What do you say to The Country Girl?’

She smiled delightedly. ‘I’d say yes please.’

‘Good. The Country Girl it is.’

‘Well, Tom,’ said Sheridan when she had left them. ‘What do you think of our actress?’

‘I’ll reserve my judgement till after the play.’

‘Coward. I wasn’t asking for the judgement of the audience. I was asking but yours.’

‘I don’t know. She’s small.’

‘You’re thinking in terms of Siddons. We don’t want another Juno striding across the boards.’

‘Her voice is good but it doesn’t boom…’

‘Like Sarah’s. I tell you this, Tom: One Siddons is enough in any company.’

‘I thought you were looking for another Siddons.’

‘Then you haven’t been thinking enough. Consider all we suffer from our divine Sarah. Do you think I want to double trouble. Do you?’

‘She’s a draw.’

‘Sarah’s a draw. No one denies it. But she does condescend somewhat, eh, Tom? I feel I should bow from the waist every time I approach and walk out backwards after being received.’