Perdita's Prince: (Georgian Series) (10 page)

‘We should go into rehearsal immediately,’ said Sheridan.

He was looking at her appraisingly. She was even lovelier animated than melancholy, and the most susceptible young man in the country was the Prince of Wales. Surely he would not be able to look on all this beauty unmoved?

Was that what Mary was thinking? She had refused the protection of many rich and notorious men. Suppose … But that was looking too far ahead.

He leaned towards her and kissed her lightly.

‘Well, think about it, and be at the theatre early. We’ll go into rehearsal right away. I want perfection. You must please their Majesties … and the Prince … Perdita.’

He rose to go and Mrs Armistead, who had been listening at the door, walked out of sight unhurriedly and with dignity just as he came out of the room.

*

‘Armistead,’ said Mrs Robinson, ‘Come here. I’m to play Perdita in
The Winter’s Tale
.’

‘Is that so, Madam?’

‘It’s not a bad part.’

‘No, Madam.’

‘There’s something special about this performance though. The King and Queen will be there with the Prince of Wales.’

‘That will be a triumph, Madam.’

Mrs Robinson sighed and looked at herself in the mirror on the wall. She always seated herself so that she could comfortably see into it.

‘I am not sure, Armistead.’

‘No, Madam?’ The cool raising of very well marked brows matched the voice. Armistead was merely respectfully polite to a mistress who wished to confide in her.

‘I should never have been a play actress. It is hardly becoming to a lady.’

‘No, Madam.’

Mrs Robinson looked surprised. She had expected contradiction.

‘Somewhat higher than a lady’s maid,’ said Mrs Robinson, a little tartly.

‘Certainly, Madam.’

‘And several of my friends have noticed you, Armistead. They say you look too good for a lady’s maid.’

‘Then, Madam, that makes two of us.’

Mrs Robinson was a little startled. But then Armistead did startle her now and then. But what an excellent servant she was! Always so discreet! Besides, she could not concern herself with Armistead now. She had Perdita to think of.

*

The Prince’s servants had prepared him for his visit to the theatre and very handsome he looked in blue velvet trimmed with gold embroidery. He was particularly delighted by the diamond buckles on his shoes. All the same he must go with his parents and this in itself was an indication of his position. His father had commanded that there should be a royal visit to the theatre, had chosen the play and selected the date.

What fun it would have been to have strolled into the theatre
with his chosen companions: to have gone to see a witty comedy such as
The School for Scandal
. Instead it was to be
The Winter’s Tale
. He did not share his father’s opinion of Shakespeare, but he would have liked to see a racy comedy of manners all the same, and the fact that his father had chosen the play immediately made him long for something else.

He turned to his equerry Colonel Lake and said: ‘I am ready. Let’s go.’

Together they went to the King’s apartments where his mother received him. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him. This gorgeous glittering creature, her son! She could never see him without recalling the wax image at which she had gazed so often and so fondly. Dear handsome George! In spite of his wildness and all the trouble he caused them he would always be her favourite.

‘You look … splendid,’ she whispered.

‘Thank you, Madam.’ He wished he could have said the same for her. Pregnant as usual, she resembled a barrel; her face was sallow and she looked old. He thought of Mary Hamilton’s rosy face.

Ah, Mary, Mary, I would rather be in my room at the Dower House writing to you than going to the theatre. In one of his pockets he carried the lock of her hair.
‘Toujours aimée
,’ he thought. Yes, Mary forever. A pure love. If he could have married her that would have been wonderful, but since they could not marry she was right of course to keep their love pure.

The King was ready to leave.

‘Ah.’ His anxious eyes were on his son. Not so many scandals now, he thought. Settling down, aware of his responsibilities. He could even look with approval on the Prince. He was a handsome fellow, all said and done; and the people liked a handsome fellow. If he would behave reasonably he would do very well.

People cheered the royal cavalcade as it passed through the streets to Drury Lane. The news that there was to be a command performance at the Lane had been circulating for days and since the Prince was to be present this won public approval.

At the theatre Mr Sheridan greeted them. The Prince was interested in Mr Sheridan. He had heard talk of what an amusing fellow he was – one of the most witty in London; and he certainly liked the look of him, and subtly Mr Sheridan managed to show
that, honoured as he was to receive a royal visit, it was the presence of the Prince of Wales which gave him particular pleasure.

He conducted the King and Queen to their box and the Prince to his.

The theatre was crowded and every eye it seemed was turned not on the royal box but on that one which jutted out over the stage and in which sat the glittering handsome Prince of Wales with his two attendants, Colonel Lake and Mr Legge.

The curtain went up and the play began.

*

The Prince was startled. He could not believe his eyes. There on the stage was the most enchanting creature he had ever set eyes on. He could scarcely believe that she was real. He could not take his eyes from her. What a figure! It was perfection! Those eyes. Had there ever been such eyes? That dark hair … those beautiful teeth, the softly smiling mouth. This was not a woman. This was a goddess.

‘Gad,’ murmured the Prince. ‘The most perfect creature I ever saw in my life. This is perfection. This is beauty. She is a goddess. What charm! What grace! What acting! Stab me – but I would not have missed this for the world.’

He was leaning over the side of the box and Perdita was close to him. She could not help but be aware of him. Beside her was Prince Florizel – but she was far more conscious of the Prince in the box than the one on the stage.

It was as though she spoke to him and not to Florizel. It was as though he were down there on that stage … She was his Perdita; he was her Florizel.

He was in a daze of delight. He knew now that he had never been in love before. He would never be in love like this again … except of course that he would be in love with Perdita until he died.

When her presence on the stage was not needed, the play had no interest for him, but actresses waited in the wings for their cue and they often contrived to stand where they could be seen by those who had boxes overhanging the stage. So even when she was not playing he did not lose sight of her, for she stood opposite his box where he might have a full view of her.

It was the custom in the theatre for young men to step up on to the stage while the play was in progress, and make comments on the performance or slip into the wings to exchange a little conversation and perhaps make assignations with the actresses. It was unlikely that anyone would criticize the play while the King was present, but Lord Malden, who greatly admired Mrs Robinson, could not resist the temptation to mount the stage and slip into the wings.

Malden, a handsome twenty-two – one year older than Mary Robinson – magnificently attired in pink satin and silver, with pink heels on his shoes to match the colour of his coat – was completely visible to the Prince as he chatted with the actress and young George could scarcely bear to sit in his box and see the young viscount in that place where he, above all others, longed to be.

Maiden, bewildered by her beauty, was unaware of the jealousy he was arousing, but Mary was fully aware of it and delighted by it. One of the actors had said to her in the Green Room before the performance had started: ‘By Jove, Mrs Robinson, you look more handsome than ever. You will surely make a conquest of the Prince tonight.’ And when he had spoken those words and she had caught a glimpse of her reflection, when she realized that it was true, that never before had she looked so beautiful, she had begun to consider what a conquest of the Prince of Wales might mean and the prospect seemed very alluring.

And sure enough there he was, beside himself with jealousy, leaning over the side of the box, paying no attention to the players on the stage, his eyes on her and Malden in the wings while he muttered to his equerries about Maiden’s great good fortune.

As all eyes were on the Prince, most members of the audience were well aware of what was happening. The King and Queen, however, could not see their son and they were unconscious of his behaviour; what they did realize was the pleasant mood of the audience and the King was congratulating himself that it was a very loyal company.

Perdita came on to play her scene with Florizel and the audience broke into frantic applause, in which the Prince joined,
and when she raised her eyes to his box and smiled he was in transports of delight.

‘What a night, what a play, what a goddess!’ he murmured. ‘What beauty! What Art!’ This was said so that she could hear and she blushed becomingly, which delighted him still further.

He could scarcely restrain himself. He wanted to leap on to the stage, to thrust Florizel aside, to cry: ‘I am your Florizel from now on – as long as I live.’

When the play was over and the players assembled for the applause the Prince leaned forward. Perdita lifted her eyes to his and smiled; he inclined his head twice and everything he felt for her was in his eyes.

But it was time to leave the theatre. He was in an agony of despair. What was happening backstage? He imagined amorous gallants like Malden storming her dressing room, daring to approach her, talking to her, paying compliments. It was unendurable.

His equerries were waiting. The King was growing impatient. He scowled. He – the Prince of Wales – was not free. He must go home with Papa and Mamma like some schoolboy.

He
must
have his independence. It was never so important as now that he had found Perdita, sweet Perdita!

But wait, he thought. I may not see her tonight, but there is tomorrow. And I shall never forget this night.

*

He spent a restless night. He dreamed of her; he longed for her.

It was no use trying to think of Mary Hamilton. What a child he had been to have imagined that was love. A
pure
love. He laughed. He had grown up tonight when he had fallen in love with Mary Robinson. He was going to waste no time in letting her know of his devotion.

He was still fond of Mary Hamilton, but this was different; this was real love such as he had never known before.

He would not completely neglect poor Mary. He would still write to her because writing to Mary had become a habit with him. She was after all his dear sister and he her brother.

He could see nothing but Perdita … talking in the wings with Maiden – pink satin jacket and pink heels! he thought
disparagingly, but the rogue had looked handsome and
he
was not treated like a schoolboy – Perdita acting a love scene with the actor who had played Florizel.

Oh, beautiful Mrs Robinson, I am a
real
prince. I am your Florizel.

It was impossible to sleep, obsessed as he was by such emotion. So he did what he had done frequently when he needed to be soothed; he wrote to Mary Hamilton. He told her of his visit to the theatre and all that had happened there, that on this night he had discovered a goddess. What a comfort for a brother to write to his dear sister.

‘Adieu, adieu, toujours chère
,’ he wrote. And added for the sheer thrill of writing that name: ‘Oh, Mrs Robinson.’

*

Such a tumultuous success must be celebrated and, anticipating it, Mary Robinson had invited a few friends to supper at her house near Covent Garden.

Lord Maiden, who was at her side as soon as the curtain had fallen and the royal party had left, begged to be allowed to be her escort, and knowing of his close association with the Prince of Wales graciously she accepted this.

Sheridan was of the party. He was flushed with triumph. The evening had been as successful as the first night of
The School for Scandal,
and he had to acknowledge the part Mrs Robinson had played in that success.

It was a gay company which assembled in her drawing room. Mrs Armistead, hovering in the background, never obtruding, noticed a new face among the guests.

We are rising in the world, she thought. Not only Lord Malden but Mr Charles James Fox himself. Who knows where this might end.

And she was elated, seeing in her mistress’s success her own; for Mrs Armistead knew that she was too handsome and more important still, too clever, to remain a lady’s maid all her life.

Lord Maiden whispered to Mrs Robinson: ‘I never saw His Highness so enchanted before, Mistress Perdita.’

And Mrs Robinson flushed and said he was very young, the
dear Prince, and so handsome that she could scarcely believe it was possible.

Everyone was talking of the Prince, how different he was from his father; how elegant, how graceful, how gracious. An Englishman, nothing of the dull German about him.

He was no longer a boy either. They could not keep him in leading strings much longer. And when he attained his majority he would be the most powerful young man in the country.

Mr Fox was determined to ingratiate himself with the beautiful actress and she was wary of him. She was deeply conscious of his reputation with women; and had no intention of offering him any encouragement – particularly now the Prince had made his interest so clear. It was a pleasant compliment, of course, that the great statesman should visit her house; it meant that everyone of importance would be clamouring for an invitation; especially now that the Prince had noticed her.

Mrs Robinson felt intoxicated with success and the excitement of the prospect before her.

‘You have won on all sides,’ whispered Mr Fox. ‘The Queen thought your performance very fine. As for the Prince …’ He laughed aloud. ‘He gave the whole house no doubt of
his
feelings. He could not take his eyes from you. I congratulate you on making the greatest conquest in the world.’