‘There is mischief in the air,’ said the Queen, and it was the Queen who was becoming more and more influential at court. ‘We shall have to consider carefully what should be done.’

The fires stopped suddenly and soon everyone ceased to expect them. In September there was great excitement in the theatrical world because the new Covent Garden was about to be opened with Macbeth, and Kemble was to speak the address.

Carriages blocked the street and people jostled each other to get into the theatre; but when it was discovered that prices had been increased they were indignant; they had paid the prices and gained entry but they had no intention of accepting them for the future.

During the weeks that followed they crowded into the theatre for the purpose of creating what were known as the Old Prices Riots; and the fear that the new theatre would be wrecked if they persisted caused the management to relent and to declare that the boxes should remain at seven shillings and sixpence and the pit three shillings and sixpence and that there should be no more private boxes.

It was an uneasy year for Dorothy. William was ill again, suffering as he did from his periodic gout; he had developed asthma and this grew worse as the Queen harped on the damage he did the royal family by living openly with an actress. She pointed out the comments of that man Cobbett whom William knew wielded great influence.

He should abandon his mistress; or at least he could pension her off; and as for all those children, he would have to make provision for them, but that should not be an insuperable task.

He tried to explain that he regarded Dorothy as his wife.

‘An actress,’ retorted the Queen. ‘A woman who parades stages in men’s clothes for anyone to pay to go to see!’

‘She is the best and most generous woman in the world. I cannot tell you how often she has given me money.’

‘You should have been ashamed to take it. That’s another thing I’ve heard about you. They say you keep her working to keep you. That’s a very unpleasant thing to be said of His Majesty’s son, I must say. You should put an end to that connection as soon as possible… and in view of all that is happening the sooner the better. Your sister Amelia is very ill. If anything should happen to her it would completely turn the King’s mind. And all these fires and that bullet at the theatre. Where do you think all this is leading? And you – making an exhibition of yourself with an actress!’

‘The people love her. They crowd to the theatre to see her.’

‘Yes, to see the actress who is keeping a royal Duke. You should think about this. You should think about us all.’

William went to Brighton for the birthday celebrations of the Prince of Wales while Dorothy, taking a rest from the theatre, was at Bushy with the family.

She was sitting on the lawns with the young children playing about her when Fanny arrived with Thomas Alsop.

They had driven over to see her, they said, because of the news.

‘What news?’ she wanted to know.

Hadn’t she heard that there had been a battle at Talavera?

‘Talavera,’ she cried. ‘That is where George is.’

‘Yes, Mamma,’ said Fanny. ‘There were five thousand killed.’

‘Oh, God!’ she whispered.

‘George will be all right,’ said Fanny. ‘George would always be all right.’

‘I must know.’

‘Where is the Duke?’ Fanny asked.

‘At Brighton. It’s the Prince’s birthday. He has gone to help him celebrate.’

‘He’s with the royal family more than he used to be,’ commented Fanny, a little maliciously. She had always felt that she with Dodee and Lucy were slighted compared with the FitzClarence children – herself especially.

‘I wonder if he has heard,’ said Dorothy. ‘If so he will come at once.’

‘Perhaps the celebrations will be too exciting to miss.’

Dorothy did not answer.

‘Mamma, are you ill?’

‘I feel my old pain… here.’ She touched her chest.

‘You should be resting. Let me help you to your room. Then I’ll stay awhile and play with the babies.’

Dorothy lay in her room. She had been awake all through the night.

They shouldn’t have let him go. He was only a boy. Henry was training to be a sailor. They were too young to be sent from their homes. She should have refused to allow it. After all they were her children.

She rose from her bed and paced up and down and sat at her window looking out across the gardens.

Five thousand dead! So many. And among them one young boy?

It was five o’clock in the morning when she heard the sound of carriage wheels.

Her heart began to beat madly. It was William, she knew. He had driven all the way from Brighton and had come as soon as he had heard the news, for he would know how she was feeling.

She ran down to meet him. He looked tired and haggard, but he was smiling.

Surely he could not look like that if George were dead?

‘William!’ she cried. ‘I heard…’

‘I knew you would,’ he said. ‘That’s why I came right away. He’s safe, Dora. There’s no need to fret. He’s been slightly wounded – his leg grazed by a shell splinter, but he’s safe. He’ll be home to see you soon and tell you all about it.’

She was sobbing with relief.

‘Oh, William, my good, good William. I knew you would come.’

Another scandal occurred in the royal family – and this was the greatest of all.

The Duke of Cumberland’s valet was found murdered in the Duke’s apartment at St James’s in most mysterious circumstances. The popular theory was that the valet had found the Duke in bed with his wife, had attacked him and then either been murdered by the Duke or committed suicide.

This was the greatest scandal of all. The Prince of Wales might be guilty of profligacy, Frederick of dishonesty – and all of the Princes of immorality; but this was the first one who had been involved in murder. Of course the Duke was exonerated but the general opinion was that there was one law for a duke who committed murder and another for ordinary men.

‘Such terrible scandals,’ groaned the King. ‘I never knew the like. What does it mean, eh, what? What will become of us all?’

The Queen sent for William to discuss the affair.

‘I do urge you to show some sense,’ she said, and added ominously: ‘Before it is too late.’

Dodee had married and an arrangement had been made that William should pay the dowry – borrowed from Dorothy – by instalments. He found the position humiliating but he saw no way out of it. He was deeply in debt – more so than he had ever been. When he confided this to his eldest brother the Prince advised him to forget about it, but it was not easy. William knew the reckoning must come.

Meanwhile Dorothy had undertaken extensive tours to bring in more money. For some time Fanny had been talking wistfully about a chance to go on the stage; she had always wanted to act, and married life, she confided to her mother, was not all she had hoped it would be. She would welcome the opportunity of being separated from Mr Alsop for a while and would Mamma consider taking her with her when she went on tour?

‘Think, dearest Mamma, I should be company for you and it would give me the chance I never had.’

Dorothy considered this and finally agreed to take Fanny with her.

It turned out to be not such a bad arrangement for Fanny proved herself to be a tolerable actress. She would never be great and she was not pretty enough nor was her personality charming enough for her to succeed to any great extent with audiences, but she could manage a small part and Dorothy was delighted to see her momentarily satisfied.

The tour took them to Bath, Bristol, Chester, up to Liverpool and over to Ireland. It was exhausting and she was constantly thinking of Bushy and home and longing to be there. She was terrified that something would befall George and she had five sons with whom to concern herself. Henry had started off in the Navy which had disappointed him and had begged to be transferred to the Army; and even little Molpuss was being sent to a nautical school to prepare him for his future.

She wanted them to stay young and be babies for ever.

In any case, she told herself, they are too young.

When she returned home it was to receive the news that Lucy was engaged to be married.

Pretty, charming and modest Lucy had been the most amiable of the three girls and had consequently been more welcome at Bushy House than the two elder ones. She could not remember the time before her mother had been the mistress of the Duke of Clarence and being nearer to the age of the FitzClarence children she had been more at home with them than Fanny and Dodee.

It was at Bushy House that she had met Colonel Hawker of the 14th Dragoons. He was fifty, married, with a daughter of Lucy’s age, but he had always been fond of her. As aide de camp to the King he was often in the company of the Prince of Wales and was a frequent visitor at Bushy. When his wife had become ill Lucy had comforted him and on Mrs Hawker’s death the Colonel asked Lucy to marry him which she consented to do.

Dorothy was not sure whether to be pleased or not. She liked Colonel Hawker; he was a man of good family, but he was so much older than Lucy. Still, Fanny’s marriage was far from successful and she had married a young man. Dodee, however, seemed happy and was expecting a child. As for Lucy and Colonel Hawker they had made up their minds and Lucy seemed contented.

So that April Lucy was married to her Colonel in the parish church at Hampton and Henry and Sophia with their mother were witnesses to the ceremony.