Perdita's Prince: (Georgian Series) (35 page)

The Queen could not believe it. She called for her carriage; she went to the house. There she found, as Schwellenburg had said, Fräulein von Busch looking after the children.

She explained in German that Herr von Hardenburg had thought it wiser to leave at once for he feared that their Majesties would be as displeased as he was by the Prince’s too fervent attentions to his wife.

The Queen was dumbfounded. Frau von Hardenburg! When there was this fresh young girl brought over for one special reason.

She could not understand it. Her little effort at diplomacy had failed. And that day the Prince, bored with a Windsor that did not contain Frau von Hardenburg, returned to London.

Danger on Hounslow Heath

ONE THING HE
was sure of, he was tired of Perdita. Her continual hints of sacrifice, her frequent tears, the theatrical tones in which she talked of her position and her wrongs, the turgid sentimental poems she was fond of writing – and they were all addressed to him – these were more frequent than the gay times. He was beginning to make excuses for not calling at Cork Street. And when he did call his visits were enlivened by the brief chats he indulged in with Mrs Armistead.

He was discovering how handsome she was, and she always seemed so sensible when compared with Perdita. When he kissed her hand in an excess of gallantry she did not protest or show any surprise but accepted his attentions as natural. Even when he went so far as to kiss her lips she returned the kiss in a sensible way.

He was greatly intrigued; and one thing the Hardenburg affair had taught him was that he no longer had any intention of remaining faithful to Perdita.

He had already accepted Grace Elliott’s invitation to be her lover. She was amusing – just what he needed as an antidote to Perdita. A little cynical, extremely worldly; and a woman to whom one did not have to swear eternal fidelity every few minutes. He knew what his affair with Grace meant. It was good while it lasted and when it was over there would be no recriminations on either side. He knew that Grace had several lovers. He believed Cholmondeley was still one. There was St Leger, Selwyn, Wind-ham … Safety in numbers. He could be gay with Grace.

But he was tremendously intrigued with Mrs Armistead. In fact it was an unusual situation. He visited the mistress and desired the maid. Opportunities would have to be made for they could not very well make love under Perdita’s nose.

She would be different from everyone else, he was sure.

His Aunt Cumberland knew that Grace had become his mistress and was delighted.

He talked of Mrs Armistead.

‘Intriguing creature,’ agreed the Duchess; and thought how amusing it was that under her very roof Perdita was housing a rival. If she but knew! And she would, in due course. Silly little Perdita had some shocks coming to her. ‘A meeting with Mrs Armistead could easily be arranged.’

‘It’s a devilishly ticklish situation.’

‘You will not have to consider it so much longer, I gather.’

The Prince looked startled. Of course he would not! How much longer was he going on with this farce of being Perdita’s devoted lover? Why should he not meet the interesting Mrs Armistead if he wished?

‘Why not invite her to Windsor. You could meet at an inn there. That would be discreet. I am sure the good woman would wish for discretion.’

‘An inn at Windsor. Why not?’

‘You will have to go there for your birthday celebrations.’

He was thoughtful. He could not help remembering the inn on Eel Pie Island to which he had gone in such a state of ecstasy.

His uncle appeared.

‘Ha, so we have the pleasure of His Highness’s company.
Looking well and debonair. Better to be the lover of women in the plural than in the singular.’

‘He speaks from experience,’ said the Duchess coolly.

‘Am I right or wrong, eh, Taffy?’

Taffy? thought the Prince. Oh, Wales, of course. It struck a discordant note.
Taffy
.

It occurred to him for the first time that his uncle was a very crude man and that he did not really like him very much.

*

Perdita was not at home. Gorgeously painted and patched she had gone out for one of her morning drives. She had not felt in the mood for such an outing, she told Mrs Armistead; the Prince’s attitude lately had worried her. But she did not want people to notice that she was less happy than she had been. The Prince was young and gay and he had fallen into bad company; and as she naturally had tried to make him understand this, it had caused a little lovers’ quarrel.

Mrs Armistead, who had overheard the lovers quarrel, thought it far from little. She had already decided that Perdita had not very many weeks left to her in which to bask in the glory of the Prince’s favour. Let her dress in her silks and muslins, her fantastic hats. Poor creature, she would very soon be dislodged from her position.

So she had driven out in the ostentatious coach with the wreath of flowers which looked like a coronet and she would be gone for at least another hour.

Mrs Armistead, reviewing her mistress’s position, was in fact thinking of her own. Things will change mightily when we have lost His Highness, she thought. Would that be the time to retire to Chertsey? She had not only her house but enough money to live on in modest dignity. Mr Fox was her friend. He would visit her there and they would talk politics together; he had paid her the compliment of actually letting her share in a discussion with him and although perhaps she could not go so far as to say he had taken her advice, he had listened to it.

The footman came to her room to announce that a Mr Meynel had called from the Prince of Wales.

‘Mrs Robinson is not at home, but perhaps I should see him. Bring him in,’ she ordered.

Mr Meynel appeared and bowing asked if he had the pleasure of meeting Mrs Armistead.

‘I am Mrs Armistead. But I’m afraid I have to tell you that Mrs Robinson is not at home. Any message you care to leave …’

‘I have not come to see Mrs Robinson, Madam, but yourself.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Yes, Madam. His Highness the Prince of Wales asks that you take supper with him.’

Mrs Armistead flushed a faint pink. ‘Is this really so?’

‘Yes, Madam. His Highness is shortly leaving for Windsor; he wishes you to take supper in an inn near that town, and wishes to know whether you accept this invitation.’

‘His Highness does not issue invitations but commands.’

Mr Meynel inclined his head in acknowledgement of the truth of this statement.

‘Then, Madam, I am to understand you accept His Highness’s command?’

‘Being fully conscious of the honour, indeed I do.’

‘I will tell His Highness, who I am sure will be delighted.’

‘And when …?’

‘Madam, you may leave these arrangements to me. A carriage will pick you up and take you to the inn. All you must do is hold yourself in readiness. You will have notice.’

‘Thank you, sir. I shall await His Highness’s instructions.’

Mr Meynel departed and Mrs Armistead sat down, for once without her usual serenity. So it had come! Fox, Derby, Dorset and now the Prince of Wales.

Oh, indeed Perdita’s day was done.

*

In the days which followed, Mrs Armistead was busy. During one of Perdita’s absences she moved many of her belongings to the house of a friend. They should be taken to Chertsey at the first opportunity.

It would not be possible for her to stay with Perdita after taking supper with the Prince. At least she would not deceive her and remain under her roof. There should be a complete break. A
friend of the Prince of Wales could not remain the lady’s maid of his ex-mistress.

It was a very extraordinary situation, but she would be able to handle it.

The message would come any day now for she knew that the Prince would most certainly be going to Windsor soon to celebrate his nineteenth birthday there.

She had no illusions. This would be no
grande passion.
She was not the sort of woman to inspire that; nor did she wish to be. Perdita was a sad warning to any woman who might have such dreams. No, she and the Prince would have a quiet discreet friendship which would go as far as he wished and be terminated at his desire – which was the best in the long run. Only a fool would expect fidelity from such a young man; she did not even expect it from Mr Fox and her feelings towards him were different from any she felt towards anyone else.

She was excited. She knew now that she was an extremely attractive woman. She guessed she would last as long as Dally the Tall; and she had no objections to running simultaneously with that notorious lady.

Perhaps she should warn Perdita. She imagined the effect that would have because the vain creature was beginning to learn how much she owed to her maid, and the more she considered the matter the more certain she was that once she had supped with the Prince she could not come back to Perdita. It would be undignified to do so; and her dignity had been her most characteristic trait; it had helped to bring her to the position in which she now found herself.

Meanwhile Perdita was growing more and more melancholy.

There were hints everywhere about the Prince’s friendship with Mrs Grace Elliott.

‘Friendship!’ cried Perdita. ‘That creature is so impertinent that she would presume on any friendship.’

‘She is certainly a very bold lady,’ agreed Mrs Armistead.

‘How do you know, Armistead?’

‘I have seen her, Madam. She is constantly showing herself in her carriage.’

‘And doubtless you have heard rumours?’

‘Yes, Madam, there are rumours.’

Perdita went into a mood of morbidity; and Mrs Armistead chose this moment to hint that she might be leaving.

‘Personal affairs are beginning to intrude a little, Madam. I may find it necessary in the near future to give up my post and attend to them.’

‘Personal affairs,’ murmured Perdita vaguely.

‘Yes … my own affairs, Madam.’

Perdita looked at Mrs Armistead. How strange! One had never expected her to have
personal
affairs. They sounded very vague. Perdita could not pay much attention to Mrs Armistead’s personal affairs; she had so many of her own. Then it suddenly struck her. Armistead wanted more money. This was her way of asking for it. Of course she should have it.

She offered it and it was gratefully accepted. Mrs Armistead had done her duty, she considered; she had warned Perdita.

*

Perdita was in her room; she was weeping undramatically. She was too unhappy for drama. It was true; he had a mistress. She was this woman who had been divorced by her husband for eloping with Lord Valentia. Mrs Grace Elliott – Dally the Tall – the golden haired beauty who had dared to give him rosebuds while she, Perdita, had looked on.

Of course she had opportunities of seeing him which were denied to Perdita. But they need not have been. He could have been constantly at Cork Street if he had wished. But he did not wish; he came less frequently and when he did come he stayed for such a short time. Why? So that he could hurry away and be with Grace Elliott at Cumberland House. For she had no doubt of this. Her enemies were the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland. The Duke hated her because he had wanted her for his mistress and the Duchess hated her for the same reason. They had been against her from the first. It was they who had brought this Grace Elliott to his notice. But he had been ready enough to be unfaithful to her.

And she had given up everything for him!

She had shut herself in her room; she could not bear to see
anyone. She had not even sent for Armistead to dress her. She could only lie in bed and contemplate her misery.

What would this mean? Humiliation. The whole world would know. One could not hope that it would be a secret. The papers would be filled with cartoons and lampoons; when she rode out people would laugh at her. There would be no more of those rides along the Mall when people stopped to stare at her, and gallant gentlemen doffed their hats and almost swept the ground with them to do her the utmost homage.

And the Prince would flaunt another mistress. And … hideous thought and one which she tried to shut out altogether … the creditors would demand their money. They would not humbly request payment as they had in the past; they would make ugly demands. And what would she do? Where would she find the money to pay?

She thought of the cold stone walls of the debtors’ prison … the hopelessness, the despair of those within.

No I she thought. Never, never! Anything is better than that.

The Prince was going to Windsor for his birthday celebrations. There would be beautiful women there … women of the Court. But she was shut out. She was not received. At one time he would have deplored this. He would have said: ‘I will go to Windsor for the birthday ball because I needs must and then I will fly back to my Perdita.’

But now he was going to Windsor days before the ball; he was going to make the arrangements himself. He had no desire to be where Perdita was.

Oh it was so different; it was all that the moralists would have told her that she must expect.

So she lay in bed all day, too limp to get up, to care, and it was a measure of her misery that she did not care what she looked like.

There was a scratching at the door.

‘Is that you, Armistead?’

Mrs Armistead entered. ‘A letter, Madam.’

Eagerly she took it because she saw that it came from the Prince.

Her fingers were trembling as she opened it. She could not
believe those words. They could not be true. He was telling her that their idyll was over and that they should not meet again.

She lay back on her pillows, her eyes closed. Mrs Armistead picking up the letter, took the opportunity to read it.

She understood. The moment had come.

‘Madam has had bad news?’ she asked soothingly.

Perdita nodded vaguely.

‘I will make you some chocolate.’

‘Chocolate!’ cried Perdita bitterly.

‘Then, Madam, a dish of tea.’

‘Leave me, Armistead. Leave me alone.’