Perdita's Prince: (Georgian Series) (29 page)

He kept a mistress, it was true, but very few held that against him. It all added to the gaiety of life and after years of old George – who was not so old but had always seemed so – with his virtuous but oh so dull Queen who did nothing but bear children for the state to support … after these two, young George was a source of great amusement and delight.

He was imbibing Whig politics at a great rate from Fox and Sheridan; they had become his closest friends, with Burke a good third. Elizabeth Sheridan was growing more and more anxious at the turn in her husband’s fortune. They had been in debt before, but how could they afford to entertain the Prince of Wales? For the Prince insisted on visiting his amusing friend and was enchanted by the beauty of his wife and her singing in which he joined her for many a musical hour. A simple evening at the Sheridans the Prince might call it; but Elizabeth was aghast to realize what it cost to give such an evening to a prince. And there
was Mr Fox with his careless attitude towards debts. Money was something neither of the three ever gave a thought to. It was merely a word … a magic sesame to give them what they wanted. One bought and forgot that it was necessary to pay.

The Prince had become a frequent visitor to Cumberland House. Perdita did not care for Cumberland House so she was not often asked, but that was not going to prevent the Prince visiting his own uncle. Fox took him along to Devonshire House where he met the beautiful Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, another of whom the King would call ‘those damned Whigs’.

The Prince was delighted with the Duchess as he had been with his aunt; she was gay, she was witty and there was the same sort of welcome for him at Devonshire House as there was at Cumberland.

Hostesses were vying for his company. He was half in love with Georgiana, half in love with his aunt; and it seemed to him that he was surrounded by beautiful women. If it were not for Perdita …

Perdita herself was drawn into the gay world. It was no use thinking she could hide her position. Everyone knew that she was the Prince’s mistress and the interest in her was at fever pitch. The papers mentioned her every day. Stories were told of her which at worst had little truth in them and at best were grossly exaggerated.

Tradesmen were constantly at the door with beautiful materials to be made into clothes for her; she bought lavishly. She had always had a passion for clothes and now recklessly unleashed it, for she believed there was no need to consider the expense. Several seamstresses were working for her night and day; newspaper men called to ask Mrs Armistead what her mistress would be wearing that day. Descriptions of her dresses were given to journalists and according to their accounts she was always decked out in diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds. ‘Gifts,’ the public avid for news of the Prince and his affairs were told, ‘of his Royal Highness.’

Cartoons were in circulation depicting her with the Prince; they were often ribald, often bawdy. Mr Robinson was not forgotten
either; he was known to the public through the horns without which he was never depicted. Every time she went out it was to find a crowd waiting outside the house; women came forward to touch her gowns, feel the material, comment on its cost; some would make jocular remarks about the Prince’s prowess as a lover. These she ignored and she would return to the house crying: ‘Armistead. I am exhausted! Oh, how vulgar the people are!’

And Armistead would say: ‘Yes, Madam.’ And despise her mistress more than ever. She was so false, thought Mrs Armistead. No one could have loved this interest she aroused more than herself. As she did, why not admit it, for this pretence of finding it tiresome was so stupid. In fact the more Mrs Armistead felt her independence, the more she despised her mistress. Lord Dorset had been very kind and considerate. At length he had prevailed upon her to accept a little present. A
little
present indeed! She was mixing in the right society, for what was little to such a gentleman was a great deal to Mrs Armistead. She reckoned she had enough to invest in a little house. Why not? A roof over her head. What could be wiser? And she would furnish it with simple good taste – and it should be as different from this gilded mock palace in Cork Street as a house could be.

It was inevitable that the King should hear not only of his son’s visits to Cumberland House but that he was keeping a young actress in Cork Street.

‘Small wonder,’ he said to the Queen, ‘that I can’t sleep at night. I have had ten nights without sleep thinking of that young rake. No good, eh? What?’

‘Your Majesty will speak to him?’ suggested the Queen timidly.

‘No good,’ said the King sadly. ‘Too late. My eldest son … the Prince of Wales, is a … profligate, a rake … he keeps a play actress. You see, he’s gone over to my enemies … eh, what? Took the first opportunity. Always knew we’d have trouble with him. Keeping a play actress! Gambling! Going to see Cumberland when he knows that I …’ The King was too distressed to continue. He could only look at the Queen and whisper, ‘Eh? What?’ again and again so that she wanted to stop her ears and
shout to him to stop, because she was so frightened to see him in that mood.

*

Perdita was faintly uneasy. Was the Prince changing towards her? Did he treat her with more familiarity? Was he using the bad language which she so deplored more frequently?

He was constantly at Cumberland House and she was not invited. Sometimes he talked of his aunt in a manner which disturbed her.

‘By God, what a woman! I’m not surprised my uncle flouted my father for her.’

It was as though he were comparing them. Surely he could not compare her with that coarse-spoken woman!

But she was at least a Luttrell … a noble family. ‘How strange,’ she had said, ‘that a woman of noble birth should be so coarse.’

‘She’s damned amusing,’ retorted the Prince.

‘For those who like vulgarity, yes.’

Had she seen the look he gave her she might have been warned, but she did not; she had a glimpse of herself in a distant mirror and was admiring the blue satin bows on her white dress.

‘I personally could never endure it.’

The Prince did not answer; he was studying the buckles on his shoes with a sullen expression.

He left early although she had expected him to stay the night. And he gave no excuse for going.

So she was anxious; but the next time he saw her he was all devotion. Gently she reminded him of all she had given up for his sake. She did not want him to take her for granted. Her husband … well he was not much to relinquish, but she had loved her child and although the little girl lived not far away with her grandmother and she could see her now and then, the devotion she gave to the Prince left her very little time.

The Prince would suggest they sing together or perhaps take the air. He liked to ride with her through the Park and the crowds came to watch them, for she must be exquisitely dressed on these occasions and they made a colourful picture.

Even she was cheered on occasions like that.

Sometimes he would stay away from Cork Street for several days; and then he would come in a mood of such gaiety that she could not doubt that he was happy to be with her. He would stay for several days and nights and declare that all he wanted in the world was to be with his Perdita.

She loved to ride in the Park, St James’s or Pall Mall, in her newest creation – always a different ensemble for she could never appear twice in the same; she would be most exquisitely powdered and patched; her face flowerlike with its contrast of rouge and white lead. Sometimes she was in frills and ribbons, at others she would wear a flowing cravat and a tailored coat, the very masculinity of which only accentuated her femininity. In satin and brocade, in muslin and linen, dressed simply in a hat resembling a sun bonnet or in a fashionable hat spilling feathers down her back and round her face, she always provided excitement for the spectators and there were crowds to see Perdita Robinson as they called her on parade. As she passed some called after her coarse enquiries but members of the Prince’s circle doffed their hats and bowed low as they went past on foot or rattled by in their carriages; and members of the King’s circle looked through her as though she did not exist.

She would return home, as she said, ‘exhausted’, and walk up and down her bedroom declaiming: ‘Am I a peepshow for people to peer at? How I long for the quiet and peace of obscurity.’ And, as Mrs Armistead reported to Mr Fox, savouring it all with relish.

She had ordered a new carriage and when it arrived she was delighted with it. No one could fail to notice it and to realize that its owner must be a very important person indeed. It was scarlet and silver; and the seat cloth was decorated with silver stars. It was lined with white silk and scarlet fringe. On the door had been painted a basket of flowers beneath which was a wreath and her initials M R in silver. The wreath had all the appearance, particularly from a distance, of a coronet, which was exactly what Perdita had intended.

She was delighted with her carriage and went everywhere in
it. When it was seen outside shops people would gather round it, recognizing it, so that they might have a glimpse of her when she came out.

If the Prince was in love with his life so was Perdita with hers; but whereas he was all gaiety and high spirits, her method of enjoying life was to dramatize it. She would talk to Mrs Armistead of her child for whom she said she longed; and indeed Mrs Armistead believed she did miss little Maria, for she was fond of her. But it was absurd, commented that practical lady in her private thoughts, to choose a way of life and then complain because one had not chosen another.

It cannot last, thought Mrs Armistead. Most certainly it cannot last. And then what? Where shall we be? The debts which were accumulating were alarming, but Perdita was becoming like her lover and gave no thought to them. She was the mistress of the Prince of Wales and no one denied her credit.

Mrs Armistead often thought how differently she would have behaved had she been in Perdita’s position. There would have been no debts. Quite the contrary. Mrs Armistead would have had a nice little fortune tucked away by now. In her own small way she was not doing badly. Lord Derby had shown interest and the Duke of Dorset had not lost his; so she had her little house in Chertsey very pleasantly and safely waiting for her.

A refuge! How unusual it was for a lady’s maid to compare her position so favourably with that of her mistress.

But this was, of course, no ordinary lady’s maid.

Blackmail

THE PRINCE HAD
sent word that he would be visiting Cork Street that evening. A quiet evening, he said, merely a few friends, Fox and Sheridan among them.

Mrs Armistead would arrange the evening; they no longer had to hire their footman but Mrs Armistead thought they should have more servants for this occasion. Because of the excellent qualities Perdita was constantly discovering in her lady’s maid she was delighted when she had suggested she should take over the arrangement of dinner parties; and Mrs Armistead performed these duties with distinction. Now she set herself to plan the meal and order the wine … plenty of it. What drinkers Mr Fox and Mr Sheridan were … and the Prince was beginning to rival them.

‘Madam,’ declared Mrs Armistead, ‘you must rest during the afternoon so as not to be too tired.’

Perdita agreed that this was so.

‘The Prince is so full of high spirits,’ she said fondly.

‘And expects Madam to be the same.’

‘Ah yes, indeed. Sometimes I long for a quiet retreat, Armistead. A little house in the country …’

‘It would not suit His Highness, Madam. He has just escaped from a little house in the country. Kew, to be precise.’

Perdita looked coldly at her maid. There were times when she thought that the woman was inclined to forget her place.

There was no time to reprimand her for there was a loud knocking on the door.

Perdita gazed at Mrs Armistead. ‘Who can it be?’

‘The footman will discover, Madam.’

They were soon in no doubt, for the visitor did not wait to be announced but strode straight into Perdita’s bedroom. It was Thomas Robinson, his face flushed, his eyes bloodshot.

The creature is drunk, thought Mrs Armistead.

‘Where is my wife, eh? Where is my lady wife?’

Perdita lay back on her pillows looking as though she were about to faint.

‘Why have you come here?’

‘Why should I not? I have a right.’ He looked at the coronet into which the curtains were gathered above the bed and sneered at it. ‘So this is the bed where you frolic with His Highness? You don’t think of your husband then, I’ll warrant.’

‘I prefer never to think of him.’

‘I daresay, I daresay. So do most whores.’

Perdita flinched and blushed scarlet. ‘How dare you! How dare you! Go away.’

‘Why? This is where I belong. It’s my wife’s house … and what’s hers is mine.’

‘No,’ cried Perdita, too upset to act. ‘Go away, Thomas. Go away, I beg of you.’

‘Would you make it worth my while if I did?’

‘Yes … yes … yes …’

‘Now you’re talking. I’m in debt. I want some money. I want it now.’

‘Armistead! Armistead!’

That excellent lady was at the door listening, and appeared immediately.

‘Bring … bring …’

‘That’s right,’ said Mr Robinson, ‘bring all you have … and that won’t be enough. Why should I be jeered at? Why should
I see my picture all over the place? And not a good likeness either. Me in horns!’

‘We all have to suffer from these scandal sheets … I more than most!’

‘Well, you deserve to. I don’t.’

‘When I think of all the serving girls … the dirty sluts …’

‘Compensation, Mrs Robinson. So you’ve still got that lady’s maid. She’s a sly piece … and not all that unbedworthy either.’

‘Thomas. For God’s sake be silent.’

Mrs Armistead had overheard. So even he had noticed. She was not displeased. She had brought a few pounds for the man and she told him that this was all there was in the house. Perdita shot her a grateful glance and once more asked herself what she would do without Armistead.