Read Online Goddess of the Green Room: (Georgian Series) by Jean Plaidy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jean Plaidy
Ads: Link
off to give her the usual congratulations.
Grace invited him to supper and he accepted with pleasure; and during that evening Dorothy realized what his devotion had been worth, for he talked of the precarious existence of stage folk, who could never be sure of financial security. He hinted that he believed it would be folly for impecunious actors and actresses to marry. How could they be sure when their playing would not separate them? But chiefly how could they be sure that they would keep a roof over their heads? It did not seem to him wise to bring children into such an uneasy existence.
Dorothy understood.
He was telling her that while he had considered marrying an actress who had a chance of a London success, he did not want to unite himself with one who was a provincial player.
When he had gone she gave vent to her temper.
‘That is an end of Mr George Inchbald!’ she cried. ‘Reliable… oh, very! Reliable in his desire for a wife who can bring home a good salary. Serious in his intentions! Oh, yes. In his intentions to marry a woman with money! Men!’ she went on: ‘They are all alike. I have not linked myself with one so far. That has been wise of me. I shall go on in that way.’
And she was not sorry, for she had never had more than an affection for him.
‘I shall have to be besottedly in love,’ she told Grace, ‘before I consider sharing my life with a man.’
It was Grace who was heart-broken. The longing to see Dorothy respectably married was the dearest wish of her life.
The next three years passed quickly. Dorothy devoted herself absolutely to the theatre, Cornelius Swan coached her and she was never too sure of her own ability not to learn from others. Her spontaneous generosity brought her the friendship of beginners; her talents brought her the envy of her rivals; she was careless of their enmity and devoted herself to her family.
Then one day the letter arrived. Dorothy could scarcely believe that she was being offered a chance to go to London and appear at Drury Lane that autumn.
She called to her mother and Hester. ‘Read this,’ she cried. ‘Read this. Tell me that I’m not dreaming.’
Grace snatched the letter from Hester; they read it, their cheeks flushed, their eyes round.
At last – the great chance. Gentleman Smith had not failed them.
The news spread rapidly through the theatre. Dorothy Jordan is going to Drury Lane. Those jealous actresses, Mrs Smith and Robinson, ground their teeth in fury, but there was nothing they could do about it. They were sure Mr Sheridan would be unmoved if they tried to pass on to him news of Dorothy’s scandalous life. What scandals could a provincial actress hope to create to compare with those which circulated about him? Dorothy was going. In spite of them she was the one who had been given the great chance. She was to act in the same theatre as the great Sarah Siddons.
It was unfair; it was favouritism; it was intolerable; but there was nothing they could do about it.
Tate Wilkinson grumbled. ‘No sooner do I train an actress and make her of some use to me than I lose her.’
Grace tried to put a sympathetic façade over her elation.
‘She’ll never forget what you did for her,’ she soothed. She believed that Tate Wilkinson’s reward would be posterity’s gratitude to the man who had helped Dorothy Jordan when she most needed it.
Dorothy could think of nothing but her London début; she played indifferently; she even forgot her lines.
‘My God,’ cried Mrs Smith. ‘Is this our London actress?’
George Inchbald came to offer his congratulations, his eyes alight with speculation. Dorothy received him coldly. ‘When I’m in London, George,’ she said, ‘I shall think of you playing in Leeds and Hull and York.’
He flinched; but he told himself an offer to play in London did not necessarily mean an actress’s fortune was made.
Dorothy dismissed him from her mind. She could not wait for the summer to be over.
She
Grace invited him to supper and he accepted with pleasure; and during that evening Dorothy realized what his devotion had been worth, for he talked of the precarious existence of stage folk, who could never be sure of financial security. He hinted that he believed it would be folly for impecunious actors and actresses to marry. How could they be sure when their playing would not separate them? But chiefly how could they be sure that they would keep a roof over their heads? It did not seem to him wise to bring children into such an uneasy existence.
Dorothy understood.
He was telling her that while he had considered marrying an actress who had a chance of a London success, he did not want to unite himself with one who was a provincial player.
When he had gone she gave vent to her temper.
‘That is an end of Mr George Inchbald!’ she cried. ‘Reliable… oh, very! Reliable in his desire for a wife who can bring home a good salary. Serious in his intentions! Oh, yes. In his intentions to marry a woman with money! Men!’ she went on: ‘They are all alike. I have not linked myself with one so far. That has been wise of me. I shall go on in that way.’
And she was not sorry, for she had never had more than an affection for him.
‘I shall have to be besottedly in love,’ she told Grace, ‘before I consider sharing my life with a man.’
It was Grace who was heart-broken. The longing to see Dorothy respectably married was the dearest wish of her life.
The next three years passed quickly. Dorothy devoted herself absolutely to the theatre, Cornelius Swan coached her and she was never too sure of her own ability not to learn from others. Her spontaneous generosity brought her the friendship of beginners; her talents brought her the envy of her rivals; she was careless of their enmity and devoted herself to her family.
Then one day the letter arrived. Dorothy could scarcely believe that she was being offered a chance to go to London and appear at Drury Lane that autumn.
She called to her mother and Hester. ‘Read this,’ she cried. ‘Read this. Tell me that I’m not dreaming.’
Grace snatched the letter from Hester; they read it, their cheeks flushed, their eyes round.
At last – the great chance. Gentleman Smith had not failed them.
The news spread rapidly through the theatre. Dorothy Jordan is going to Drury Lane. Those jealous actresses, Mrs Smith and Robinson, ground their teeth in fury, but there was nothing they could do about it. They were sure Mr Sheridan would be unmoved if they tried to pass on to him news of Dorothy’s scandalous life. What scandals could a provincial actress hope to create to compare with those which circulated about him? Dorothy was going. In spite of them she was the one who had been given the great chance. She was to act in the same theatre as the great Sarah Siddons.
It was unfair; it was favouritism; it was intolerable; but there was nothing they could do about it.
Tate Wilkinson grumbled. ‘No sooner do I train an actress and make her of some use to me than I lose her.’
Grace tried to put a sympathetic façade over her elation.
‘She’ll never forget what you did for her,’ she soothed. She believed that Tate Wilkinson’s reward would be posterity’s gratitude to the man who had helped Dorothy Jordan when she most needed it.
Dorothy could think of nothing but her London début; she played indifferently; she even forgot her lines.
‘My God,’ cried Mrs Smith. ‘Is this our London actress?’
George Inchbald came to offer his congratulations, his eyes alight with speculation. Dorothy received him coldly. ‘When I’m in London, George,’ she said, ‘I shall think of you playing in Leeds and Hull and York.’
He flinched; but he told himself an offer to play in London did not necessarily mean an actress’s fortune was made.
Dorothy dismissed him from her mind. She could not wait for the summer to be over.
She
Similar Books
