This was settled, but somewhat uneasily; and as she was now working hard in the theatre and not feeling very well, Dorothy was beset by fears of the future.

Soon after Fanny’s marriage Dodee was betrothed to another clerk of the Ordnance Office, whom Thomas had brought to the house. He was Frederick Edward March, a natural son of Lord Henry Fitzgerald.

‘We plan to get married soon, Mamma,’ said Dodee.

Dorothy said she was delighted to see her daughter so happy; and then she began to think about the money.

She had found Fanny’s dowry but Dodee’s would be another matter. It was going to be necessary to ask William to return the money he had borrowed.

He was not well, and he always hated talking of money. There was something undignified, he always felt, when a member of the royal family was asked to pay. The Prince of Wales felt the same; but he dismissed these matters with an elegant shrug and allowed the debts to mount until they were of such proportions that only the Government could settle them for him. Then they came up with conditions. It was such a condition which had brought him to marriage with the wife he loathed.

Marriage, thought William. What if they were to demand it of him!

Perhaps Dorothy did not understand this.

‘I have promised the girls this money,’ cried Dorothy in distraction. ‘I must have it. Everything else must be put aside but I must have it.’

‘They will have to wait for their money like everyone else.’

‘Not the dowry, William. They must have it.’

‘What about their father?’

She drew back as if he had struck her. It was not like William to refer to those unfortunate incidents in her life. She had thought he understood them. She had told him of the persecution of Daly, her devotion to Richard Ford and the latter’s promise to marry her.

‘I could not ask him now.’

‘Why not. He’s comfortably placed. Sir Richard now – and didn’t he marry a rich wife?’

‘I would not ask him,’ she said. ‘I have promised this dowry. You must let me have it. I have your bond.’

There was nothing that could infuriate him more than the reference to a bond. He owed her money, he admitted it. He believed it was somewhere in the neighbourhood of £30,000, but to think that she could refer to the bond in that way. As though she were a moneylender.

‘So what will you do?’ he demanded. ‘Send me to a debtors’ prison?’

‘William, I only meant…’

‘I know full well what you meant, Madam Shylock. I have had money from you… which you were pleased to give me and now I must repay it. It says so in the bond.’

She was distraught. So was he. He hated to see her so worried. But he thought of all the creditors who were crying out to be paid. So how could he let her have the money he owed her?

His frustration whipped up his temper. He was saying things he did not mean, unkind things which were untrue; and she had turned and hurried away.

They were reconciled afterwards but the question of money was between them. It hung over them and would not be dismissed.

He would find the money, he declared, if he had to go to the moneylender he would find it.

‘I must take more engagements,’ she said. ‘I shall work all through the season if I can get them.’

George was now fourteen and William had said he should join the Army as a Cornet.

‘He’s far too young,’ she argued.

‘Nonsense!’ retorted William. ‘I was sent to sea when I was thirteen. It did me no harm.’

So she lost her darling George, and not only did he become a soldier but one on active service. She was distracted when he was sent out to Spain to join Sir John Moore’s army. This made a further rift between herself and William, because she blamed him for sending George away at such an early age.

There was the continual round at the theatre. She had to go on stage and play parts like Miss Hoyden, for which she felt far too old and tired when all the time she was conscious of great anxieties. What was happening in the Alsop household? Would Dodee be happy? Would William be able to find the money? What when Lucy’s turn came? What of George – such a boy to be thrust into battle!

In May of that year there were riots among the weavers of Manchester. The military were called in to deal with them and two people were killed while several were wounded.

In September Covent Garden was burned down and the rumour was that the fire had been started on purpose. The roof collapsed and nineteen people were killed; the losses were tremendous and a shudder of horror ran through the theatrical world.

Dorothy was concerned about George, for young as he was he was engaged in the battle of Corunna where Sir John Moore the commander was killed. As news of the battle reached home she was frantic with anxiety and so was William until news came of George’s safety. This brought them close together again; and Dorothy was at least grateful for that.

That January there was another spectacular fire. It occurred in St James’s Palace and this was declared to be very strange following on the burning of Covent Garden; and as that part of St James’s which suffered was the royal apartments, some significance was attached to this.

The Queen said: ‘It was done purposely. I always said people would not endure the Princes’ behaviour. Our sons will not do their duty. Just think – there is not one who is respectably married. At least the King and Queen of France were that. At least they had legitimate children.’

The Princesses were in a state of nervous anxiety. Amelia was growing steadily more and more feeble and the King asked every few minutes what the doctors had said about her and had to be told, untruthfully, that she was in good health. The tension in the royal household was mounting; it was very bad for the King.

At the beginning of February the New Sessions House at Westminster was burned down. There was clearly a dangerous arsonist at work. But was this the work of one person? Was it intended as a warning? The Queen was sure that it was. The King was becoming so vague that he was not sure of anything.

Then there was real panic in the royal family for the biggest scandal since the Delicate Investigation broke upon them.

The trouble had begun with the startling revelations that a woman named Mary Anne Clarke, who had been a mistress of the Duke of York, had been selling commissions in the Army – which his position as Commander-in-Chief of the Army gave her the opportunity of doing.

What would the royal brothers do next? The subject of the Duke and Mary Anne Clarke was discussed in every club and coffee house. The affair could not be hushed up. The truth must be brought to light. The profits may have gone into Mary Anne’s pocket, but how deeply was the Duke of York involved?

The publicity was enormous and when the case was heard in the House of Commons the Duke’s love letters – ill-spelt and naïve but intensely revealing – were read during the hearing. People were talking about the ‘Duke and Darling’ and quoting from letters; and although the Duke was acquitted of having been a party to the sale of commissions and it was judged that he was ignorant of what was going on, he could no longer hold his position of Commander-in-Chief.

George came home for a short leave – full of vitality and eager to talk of his adventures as a soldier. General Stewart, whose aide George had been, called at Bushy and told the proud parents that George was going to be a fine brave soldier and that there was no one he would prefer as his aide de camp. William was delighted, but Dorothy was apprehensive, fearing that George would be leaving them soon; and she was right.

The next fire broke out in Drury Lane itself. It started in the coffee room on the first floor which led directly to the boxes; and as the safety curtain did not work all the highly inflammable material on the back-stage made a mighty conflagration when the walls crashed in and the crowds were in danger of being suffocated by the smoke.

Sheridan was at the House of Commons at the time, where the reflection from the fire could be seen through the windows. On the Surrey side of the river people could see the glow for miles; and from Westminster Bridge the effect was startling.

When it was known that it was the Drury Lane Theatre which was ablaze it was proposed that the House should adjourn since the tragedy so deeply concerned one of the House’s most distinguished members.

Sheridan would not allow this, although he himself left the House with a few friends and made his way to the burning building.

His theatre in flames! But what could he do to save it? He saw his financial difficulties increased, for the theatre was insured only to the extent of £35,000 which could not cover the entire loss.

Sheridan turned into the nearest coffee house and ordered a drink.

‘Mr Sheridan, how can you sit there so calmly?’ asked one of his friends.

To which Sheridan replied: ‘May not a man sit and drink at his own fireside?’

The remark was repeated with the pleasure that was taken in all Sheridan’s witticisms; but no one else could joke about this great calamity.

And when later there was a fire in Kensington Palace, happily soon put out, and the Prince of Wales received anonymous letters that more fires would follow, it was clear that there was some purpose behind these conflagrations.

Almost immediately afterwards there was a rumour that Hampton Court was ablaze. This proved to be false, but this was not the case in the Quadrangle of Christchurch College, where fire did £12,000 worth of damage.