The Duchess of Drury Lane by Freda Lightfoot Page B

became Peggy, the innocent young country wife let loose in town.
    I have to say that I had the most fun that night. I tripped about the stage delivering my lines with wit and humour, and had them rolling in their seats, crying with laughter. The applause at the end brought tears to my own eyes as the response of the audience seemed so genuine and heartfelt. How joyous, how uplifting it was to be so appreciated, and to give people such pleasure. I hoped they would all go home and tell their friends, so that we would have a better house for the next performance.
    Tom King was beaming as he met me when I came off stage, and warmly congratulated me. ‘Sheridan saw the first act before going on to Brooks’s Club, and passes on his good wishes, which I assure you is a rare compliment. As for myself, while I confess to a preference for tragedy, I foresee you will bring new life and prosperity to the theatre.’
    I was so grateful for this accolade I impulsively kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity.’
    The cast and my leading man, John Bannister, plied me with congratulations and a large glass of wine to celebrate. It was all most exciting. Gentleman Smith had also been present and was generous in his praise. ‘Did I not know what a treasure I had bestowed upon this great theatre, which I love? You will be a powerful magnet, my dear, bringing in a new clientele who will most readily come to see you on the nights Mrs Siddons does not perform.’
    I could hardly sleep that night for happiness. I had to keep reminding myself that I had actually appeared at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, London, for the very first time, and the audience had loved me. Long before Mama had gathered together all the reviews she could find the next morning, I knew that I was a success.
    She still insisted on reading snippets to me. ‘Listen to this one: “from first to last the audience responded uniformly in an astonishment of delight.” And this one, “her fertility as an actress was at its height in the letter scene . . . the very pen and ink were made to express the rustic petulance of the writer.” Ah, if only your dear Aunt Maria had lived to see this day.’
    ‘Enough, Mama, it is all rather alarming and over-exuberant.’ And utterly delicious, I thought. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy.
    Hester too was combing the papers. ‘This one is not in the least over-exuberant. It says “Mrs Jordan was vulgar”.’
    ‘Really, Hester,’ Mama scolded. ‘We have no wish to hear the bad ones.’
    ‘I thought you wished to hear them all,’ my sister sulked.
    ‘You are quite right, Hester dear, I do need to hear all sides. But that one seems to blame me for the playwright’s wit,’ I consoled her.
    ‘Here is one by our dear friend, Mrs Inchbald,’ Mama said. ‘“She came to town with no report in her favour . . . but she at once displayed such consummate art, with such bewitching nature, such excellent sense, and such innocent simplicity, that her auditors were boundless in their plaudits.”’
    ‘I wonder what her stepson George will have to say when he reads that,’ Hester quipped.
    ‘I sincerely hope he doesn’t,’ Mama sternly remarked. ‘That young man let our Dolly down badly. We’ll hear no more about him. Some of these reviews are merely grudging, but all are most satisfactory. Let us hope they help to spread the word.’
    There was no further performance for three nights as Mrs Siddons, who was expecting a child, was eager to put in as many performances as she could before taking a rest. My second night was therefore the twenty-first of October, and whether it was because of the press or word of mouth, I could not say, but the house was packed. I could hardly believe my eyes.
    The third performance brought the Prince of Wales himself to the royal box, and I recalled how I had once jested with George Inchbald that I was unlikely ever to set eyes on a royal prince. Now here sat the