She could understand that. It would be a constant reminder to him of her relationship with Daly and Ford, both of whom were still alive.

She needed the money her profession brought to her; and William, who had his brothers’ disinclination to consider the cost of what he wanted and was unable to come to terms with money, was constantly short of it.

She must work. She must make sure that her children were cared for.

It was a shock to learn that Richard Ford had married. His wife was a woman of some property and he had become a city magistrate. His father had approved of the marriage and Richard was on his way up in the world.

Dorothy was angry.

For all those years he had lived with her, enjoyed the comforts her salary had brought them and their children, and had evaded marriage – which was the one thing she had asked of him. And now… shortly after their parting he had married.

He was an opportunist. He was weak. Why had she ever believed she loved such a man? And he was the father of her two little girls!

It was humiliating – and only the devotion of William could comfort her.

One day soon after the Nobody fiasco, a visitor called at Petersham and asked for an audience with the Duke of Clarence and Mrs Jordan. It was on a matter which he was sure would be of great interest to them both. His name was Mr Samuel Ireland which they would not know, but when he imparted to them the news of his discovery he was sure they would welcome his visit.

His curiosity aroused, the Duke ordered that the man should be brought in to the drawing room where he and Dorothy were alone.

‘Your Highness! Mrs Jordan!’ said Mr Ireland, with a bow. ‘It is good of you to receive me. I will get to the point without delay. My son, William Henry Ireland, has made a great discovery. An old trunk has come into his possession which he is certain was once the property of the late William Shakespeare, and in this trunk are certain plays and deeds which, since they were placed in this trunk by William Shakespeare himself, have not seen the light of day.’

‘This is incredible,’ cried Dorothy. ‘Where is this trunk?’

‘It is in the house of my son, Madam. He believes it to be the greatest discovery of the age. He said I should come to you, Sir, as a patron of the theatre, and to you, Madam, as our greatest actress.’

‘But when can we see these… plays?’ asked Dorothy.

‘If Your Highness would give me an appointment, I and my son would bring one of the plays to wherever you wish.’

‘There should be no delay about a matter like this,’ said the Duke. ‘Bring them to my apartments at St James’s Palace tomorrow morning.’ He smiled. ‘You will be with us there, my love?’

Dorothy said she certainly would. She was filled with excitement about this great discovery.

So the next day in the apartments of the Duke of Clarence in St James’s, Mr Samuel Ireland arrived with his son William Henry, and they brought with them a folio inscribed Vortigern and Rowena by William Shakespeare.

‘You will observe,’ said William Ireland, ‘that the play is in the style of Shakespeare. I was inclined to think that someone might be playing a hoax, but as soon as I read on… I was convinced.’

The interview was interrupted by the arrival of the Prince of Wales who had heard the news and wanted to see the discoveries.

Dorothy had not seen him since his wedding and thought he looked less healthy than he had before. She had heard from William how eagerly he was awaiting the birth of his child and though he hoped for a son, a daughter would do, because it was freedom from his wife that he wanted more than anything; and if she could give birth to a healthy child he need never see her again.

‘This is fascinating,’ cried the Prince. He turned to William Ireland. ‘Pray tell me how the trunk was discovered.’

‘My father is a writer and engraver, Your Highness. His work took him to Stratford upon Avon, for he is producing a book called Picturesque Views of the Avon and he went there to make his engravings. I accompanied him and there made the acquaintance of an old gentleman whose name I have given my solemn word not to divulge. He showed me this trunk and gave me his permission to bring the papers therein to the notice of the public.’

The Prince had picked up a document which was signed by William Shakespeare in a handwriting similar to that of the poet. It was sealed in the Elizabethan manner; and the Prince declared the parchment to be that which was used at the time.

A page came in to say that Mr Sheridan was without and asking leave to come in. He, too, had heard of the play and had come to see it.

‘Bring him in,’ said the Prince.

When Sheridan glanced at the play, he saw that it was very long and written in blank verse in the style of the existing plays; the language was similar, and he decided that forgery or not he would have to have it or Covent Garden would get it and that would be a great calamity. In any case it was so long – he’d have two plays there for the price of one. He declared there and then that he would put on Vortigern and Rowena.

The whole theatrical world was excited about the discovery and the play went into immediate production with Mrs Jordan in the part of Flavia and John Kemble as Vortigern. At the first rehearsal Sheridan suspected it was a forgery; and as the company ploughed through their turgid lines it became increasingly clear that it had never been written by the Bard of Avon.

Sheridan considered the position. He had paid a good price for the play. The audience would flock to the theatre to see a new Shakespeare piece. Was he going to let the manager of Covent Garden laugh at him? No. They had been duped; they would feign ignorance of that and see if it were possible to dupe the audience.

Mrs Siddons failed to arrive for rehearsals. A message came to the theatre that she was indisposed and was so ill that she was afraid she must abandon her part.

The play was not going well. Dorothy was aware of that. The memory of Nobody was still fresh. Not another night like that, she prayed.

The actors were cautious. Kemble would doubtless have liked to throw in his part, but as Sarah had already done so, for him to follow in her wake would have proved disastrous.

The uneasy first night arrived. People waited in the streets for hours, all determined to get in to judge Vortigern and Rowena and the house was more than crowded; it was overflowing; many of those who usually went to the pit, finding it full, bought boxes; and discovering them to be already filled climbed down into the pit. Quarrels ensued over the possession of seats. It was a noisy, eager and excited audience when the curtain was raised on the first act.

The theatre audience knew its Shakespeare and did not take long to recognize the fraud. Lines of other Shakespearean plays were recognized with shouts of derision.

‘Be quiet!’ cried a man in one of the boxes who was obviously under the influence of drink. ‘Don’t you know you are insulting Shakespeare.’

There were howls of derision. Someone threw an orange at the man in the box and very soon he had to duck down to dodge a shower of them.

Kemble went on reciting his lines without fire, without enthusiasm or belief, while the audience laughed, jeered and hissed. Dorothy came forward and tried to make herself heard.

‘Take it off!’ screamed the audience. ‘It’s a miserable fraud!’

‘Fraud! Fraud! Fraud!’ chanted the audience. ‘Shakespeare – my foot.’

Back-stage William Ireland was almost fainting with fear.

‘Cheer up,’ said Dorothy. ‘They are sometimes like this.’

‘Little Pickle!’ cried the audience. ‘We want Pickle.’

It was as bad as Nobody; and she could never face such audiences with the nonchalance some could. She felt sick and ill and had to keep running off stage to prevent herself retching.

There was pandemonium; and when the curtain went down on Vortigern and Rowena it was never to rise again on that play.

Dorothy could not help feeling sorry for the frightened boy she found cowering in the Green Room. He dared not go home to his father’s house; he dared not go into the streets. He feared the people would tear him to pieces for what he had done.

He looked so young – not much older than Fanny – and Dorothy said he could have a night’s shelter in her house in Somerset Street and the next morning he would have to disappear and hide himself where no one could find him.

He slipped out of the theatre and when Dorothy returned home she found him already there.

‘You’d better tell me all about it,’ she said. ‘Why did you believe you could get away with such a thing?’

‘It seemed as if I would. My father believed me. Everybody believed me at first. Mr Sheridan bought the play.’

‘But did you really think you could hoodwink us all?’

‘People like what they think they ought to like,’ said young William stubbornly. ‘They go to see Shakespeare and sometimes sleep through the performance, but they feel some merit because they’ve been to something good. Then they will go to a farce and laugh themselves hoarse and apologize for it.’

‘It’s true,’ said Dorothy.

‘I wanted to show that it was Shakespeare’s name they admired as much as his plays.’

Dorothy was thinking of what William had said about the King who when he went to the theatre invariably saw Shakespeare because that was what the people expected, but secretly he thought it was ‘sad stuff’.