Quarrels between manager and performer were common. He’d had them himself although less than most. He was adept at flattery and thought how skilfully he’d handled the troublesome Perdita Robinson. But Dorothy was not like her. She had a real grievance.

‘You saw the paragraph in the Morning Post? “The drama will prevail when dowdies and hoydens are forgotten.” What a fool your manager is. He’s decrying the stuff he is trying to sell.’

‘You think he’s responsible for this!’

‘I know he is.’

‘You have disappointed the public on several occasions.’

‘Only when I was too ill to appear. Would you have me go on and collapse on the stage?’

‘It might not have been bad publicity. And you’ve refused to play the same night as Siddons.’

‘I certainly have. I am not going to bring them in and let her get the credit for it. What! At her thirty pounds a performance against my twelve pounds a week.’

‘Ah, money. It all comes back to money. The love of money is the root of all evil, my dear.’

‘You should tell Sarah that. There’s no doubt she loves it dearly.’

‘And you?’

‘I love it to the extent of thirty pounds a week. That is what I want and that is what I intend to have. If not…’

‘If not?’

‘I’ll say good-bye to Drury Lane.’

Sheridan looked at her obliquely. Did it mean an offer from the Garden? Kemble was a fool! They couldn’t afford to let Dorothy Jordan go. True, his sister had a reputation. The greatest actress of the day and that was generally accepted as a fact. But it did not mean that although the public liked to talk of the Divine Sarah they didn’t prefer to laugh with Dorothy Jordan.

Sheridan thought of those mounting bills, of disappointed hopes. God in Heaven, he thought, we mustn’t lose Dorothy Jordan.

‘You have a case, my dear,’ he said. ‘I shall consider it. There’s no doubt that you should be paid more.’

‘Thank you,’ replied Dorothy. ‘And a quick decision…’

‘Will be appreciated, I know, my dear.’

‘It will be not only appreciated, Mr Sheridan,’ retorted Dorothy, ‘but necessary.’

Theatre news always interested the public and there were spies all over the theatre ready to supply it.

The quarrel between Kemble and Dorothy Jordan, her refusal to work for her present salary – all this was soon communicated to the audiences. Dorothy wanted to bring herself in line with Sarah. Dorothy Jordan – who called herself Mrs Ford – was going into battle supported by Richard Ford and her family, who depended on her, against Sarah and the Kembles.

Gleefully the public waited for what would happen and took bets on which of their favourite actresses would emerge victorious.

There were letters in the press.

‘Take Mrs Jordan – who calls herself Mrs Ford – out of hoyden rusticity and what is she? Will the public sanction her in opposing the Manager and for demanding an increase because she can at present excite a little curiosity when perhaps in a little time her attraction may be wholly exhausted?’

But those loyal members of the public who supported Dorothy were not going to allow the other side to get away with that.

‘When the salary of performers is below the rank of their talents and the advantages rising from their labours, the public should interfere.’

The battle persisted and Sheridan conferring with Kemble pointed out that all prejudice aside it was absurd that Sarah – dear, excellent, wonderful Sarah – should take thirty pounds a performance whereas Mrs Jordan, who – comic though she might be and not in the same category for one moment as the Divine Sarah – King would have to admit, had the same pulling power as Sarah – some said better – should receive so much less. This was not, he hastily added, passing judgement on the quality of the acting of either lady… yet, it was not exactly just that two actresses with equal pulling power should show such a discrepancy in the manner in which they were paid.

‘In fact, Kemble,’ he went on, ‘you should never have paid Sarah so much. Now we have no alternative but to offer Jordan thirty pounds… but we’ll make it a week, not a performance.’

‘And if she feigns illness and plays but once a week?’

‘Then, my dear fellow, she will be in line with your sister.’

‘So you’re going to pay Jordan thirty pounds a week.’

‘No alternative. It’s thirty pounds a week and Jordan or no Jordan.’

‘We can’t afford to pay her thirty pounds a week.’

‘It’s true. We can’t afford it. But the theatre is a matter of compromise, my dear fellow. We can afford still less to lose Jordan.’

So the battle was won. Dorothy must play at least three times a week; she must appear in both plays and farce; and the public applauded. They wanted more of Dorothy Jordan and providing she did not disappoint them by not appearing when she was billed to do so they were on her side.

The first night she played after the news was out that she was to be paid thirty pounds a week, all seats were filled and people stood in the gangways.

They cheered so loudly that Sheridan declared he was afraid the roof would fall in.

‘You see, my dear Kemble,’ he said, ‘one must always please the public however much, in doing so, one displeases oneself.’

Kemble accepted his defeat as gracefully as he could. He had to admit that whatever he thought of Dorothy Jordan as an actress, the public had a very high opinion of her and she could fill a house as no other actress could.

Dorothy was not vindictive and Kemble realized his mistakes and seemed ready now to advance her career.

There was one concession she did ask of him; this was to take on her brother George and rather to her surprise he did so. So George started at Drury Lane with a salary of five pounds a week, which caused great rejoicing in the family.

Grace had watched the battle with indignation and delight; and when Dorothy received the large salary of thirty pounds a week she could not contain her joy.

Dorothy remarked to Hester that she looked almost her old self; and that was an admission that Grace was ill.

George was delighted and eager to prove himself. He accepted the smallest parts with enthusiasm – and they were small and usually consisted of walking on and perhaps saying a line or two. But he could do this with an air and was already beginning to be noticed, but perhaps that was because he was Dorothy Jordan’s brother.

Not long after her battle with Kemble, Dorothy found that she was pregnant again.

Royal visit

THE COMPANY WAS doing Love for Love and Dorothy on this occasion was not playing, so she took the opportunity to have a night at home in Gower Street where the rest of the family had moved in with her and Richard. It made it so much easier for Hester to look after the children. Young Frances was giving them some cause for concern; she was a naughty child and jealous of little Dodee. Dorothy could not look at her without remembering the child’s father and wondering whether she had inherited his characteristics. Hester, however, was an excellent guardian and with Dorothy so much at the theatre this had become a full-time occupation.

Hester declared that she had never felt the urge to act which, seeing Dorothy, she realized a true actress should feel.

‘If I had been a true actress,’ she would say, ‘I should never have dried up on that first appearance.’

‘Poor Hester. You never forgot it. You let it haunt you for ever.’

‘Some things do,’ said Hester.

And remembering her experiences with Daly, Dorothy supposed it was true.

After the show George came in full of excitement.

It had been a most interesting evening at the theatre. The Duke of Clarence had been in the audience.

‘Let’s see,’ said Dorothy. ‘He’s the third son, I believe.’

‘Yes – and jolly… a regular sailor. They said he was only home for a brief leave, and so he came to the theatre. I’m surprised he didn’t wait until you were on.’

‘Or dear Sarah,’ said Dorothy. ‘But why all the excitement? We’ve had Dukes in the audience before.’

‘He was in the Green Room, you see, and young Bannister who was playing Ben went in all ready for the stage. He was meeting some girl there and going to show himself off and who should he find in there but the Duke. The Duke said to him: “Hello, young fellow, what are you supposed to be – a sailor?” “Why, yes, Your Highness,” said Bannister, “I’m Ben the sailor.” “Then you won’t do, Ben, my boy.” He laughed a great deal, and his language is not what you’d expect from royalty, because royal he is and the brother of the Prince of Wales.’

‘Naturally,’ said Hester, ‘if he’s the son of the King. Go on.’

‘The Duke said “No sailor wears a handkerchief that colour round his neck. You want a black one. I won’t accept you as a sailor, Ben, with that colour handkerchief. Oh, no. I shall protest. If you’re going to be a sailor you must look like one.” Well, by this time several people had come into the Green Room and someone ran and fetched Kemble. You should have seen him bowing and scraping and Your Royal Highness this and Your Royal Highness that. It was something not to be missed. And then Kemble sent someone for a black handkerchief. Bannister put it on and the Duke said it was not tied as it should be. And he tied it himself… with the right sort of knot. “I ought to know,” he said. “I used to do it myself when I first went to sea as Midship-man Guelph.” And everyone laughed and he laughed with them and he said that young Bannister at least looked like a sailor now. The play was late in starting and there was nearly a riot and then Kemble came on the stage and said His Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence was honouring them and told them that he’d tied Sailor Ben’s knot for him and the audience roared and cheered and there was the Duke taking the bow – not like the Prince – but jolly and friendly. And it was an evening I wouldn’t have missed.’