Perdita's Prince

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.

When the lady’s maid had left the room, Perdita said: ‘You have what you have come for … now go.’

‘I don’t intend to go. I like this little place. Why should I live in my little hovel while the wife of my bosom has a snug place like this?’

‘Please, please go at once.’

But Mr Robinson sprawled in a chair and regarded the tips of his boots, a sly look of determination on his face.

‘I want some compensation for losing my wife,’ he said in a whining voice.

‘You have … as you said. Your kitchen sluts.’

‘Even they have to be kept and living’s costly.’

‘So it’s money you want. Well, you’ve had it.’

‘I want it regularly. I want to know where I stand. I want an allowance from you. Why shouldn’t I? I’ve a right.’

‘If you will go away you shall have it.’

He nodded slowly and began to haggle over the amount.

She lay back on her pillows thinking: Go away. Leave me. If he were here when the guests arrived what would happen? The Prince would be annoyed. But Thomas Robinson would never dare. He was a coward. He was a braggart. He would go before they came. But he was in a truculent mood. He had clearly been drinking. And she needed to rest. Late nights with the Prince were beginning to leave their mark – very slightly it was true – but she had noticed faint shadows under her eyes this morning.

Go! she wanted to scream. Leave me in peace.

But the more she showed her agitation the more advantage that gave him. She was ready to promise anything if only he would go.

‘Then that’s settled,’ he said. ‘And I want it regularly remember.’

‘You shall have it. I must rest now. I am very tired.’

‘Yours is an exhausting profession.’

She did not answer that and he continued to sit there leering at her.

At length she said: ‘Well, you have what you want.’

‘Partly, but not entirely.’

‘Pray, what do you mean?’

‘I like this place. There’s plenty of room here.’

‘Are you mad?’

‘No, only a husband with rights.’

‘Do you think your presence here would be tolerated?’

‘Not welcomed probably, but that wouldn’t worry me.’

‘Thomas, I beg of you to go. If you stay here … you will ruin everything.’

He still continued to leer at her.

She closed her eyes; she had a horrible vision of her guests arriving to find this unkempt drunken sot sprawling in her house. Mr Robinson of the cartoons, husband of Perdita.

She was distracted. What could she do? The more she showed her terror the more determined he would be to plague her. She thought of some of the people who were coming tonight – outwardly her friends, but a woman in her position had to face a great deal of envy. It was everywhere – in the lampoons, the wicked verses, the eyes of women who called lewd names after her. Everything she did was noticed. They would say Mr Robinson has moved in with his wife. Ménage à trois. And the Prince would never tolerate it.

And what can I do? she asked herself.

Mrs Armistead came into the room. She was a little flushed and breathless and looked as though she had been hurrying.

‘Madam,’ she said, ‘Lord Maiden is here.’

Perdita looked alarmed and glanced in horror at Mr Robinson, but Mrs Armistead said firmly: ‘I will show him in.’

Mr Robinson said: ‘So you receive men in your bedroom, do you?’

‘Don’t be a fool. I am not alone here.’

‘No, your husband is here to protect you. Ha! ha!’

Mrs Armistead appeared with Lord Maiden, exquisitely dressed as usual in a light brown velvet coat with gold frogging. He kissed Perdita’s hand and turned to Mr Robinson.

However truculent the latter had felt before the entrance of Lord Maiden, he could not prevent himself being overawed by the elegance of dress and manners, and as Lord Maiden treated him with the utmost courtesy – and interest – his mood changed completely. He was ingratiating and pleased to be noticed.

While Perdita lay back on her pillows exhausted, the men talked and after a while Lord Maiden suggested Mr Robinson come with him to a club he knew that they might continue their interesting conversation.

Mr Robinson was delighted and both men took their leave of Perdita.

When they had gone, she cried: ‘Oh, what a stroke of good fortune. I shall never be able to thank Maiden enough. And the manner in which that creature went … as meek as a lamb.’

Mrs Armistead said demurely: ‘It was certainly a stroke of good fortune that I found Lord Maiden at his residence.’

‘You?’

‘Yes, Madam. When I saw that Mr Robinson intended to stay I slipped out of the house and went to Dean Street. As I say it was fortunate that his lordship was at home. I told him that Mr Robinson was here and in what mood and begged him to come at once and dislodge him. This he did. He will take him to some club or tavern and there ply him with drink. So I do not think we need worry ourselves this evening with Mr Robinson.’

Perdita sighed. She must endure Armistead’s familiarities now and then; she really was a most excellent servant.

The incident had unnerved her. She could not help thinking that but for the prompt action of Armistead Mr Robinson might be at this moment in the house. The Prince noticed her lack of spirits and chided her affectionately.

‘You look tired, my angel,’ he whispered.

Oh God, she thought, and looked for the nearest mirror.

‘Smile,’ urged the Prince. ‘You’re more beautiful when you smile.’

And she fixed her features into a false smile which could not deceive any.

Perdita was melancholy by nature, thought the Prince, faintly critical. He was comparing her with his aunt Cumberland and the very thought of her made him smile. She could always amuse him. She was so full of gaiety always and never failing to come up with a quip which brought tears of mirth to the eyes. And Georgiana, the lovely Duchess of Devonshire – there was another. His eyes grew soft at the thought of her. She was a beauty and no mistake. Of course Perdita was the queen of beauty – but so damned melancholy. Then that lady’s maid – Mrs Armistead – he had asked her her name the other day and she had curtsied so prettily … Well, elegantly, he would have said. It was a curtsey that would have become a duchess and she was a handsome woman too. Not perhaps his ideal of beauty; he liked dazzlers like Georgiana, Anne Luttrell … and Perdita; but that waiting woman had something.

It was a good evening. The usual practical jokes which he so enjoyed and at which Sheridan was beginning to shine. Sheridan was a great fellow – he loved the man. He had yet to find a friend who compared with Fox or Sheridan. When he was with them he could talk and talk and as they talked they drank and he was beginning to be able to drink as much as they could, which was a good deal. They never bored him; they never wearied him; they were never melancholy, whatever the subject they made it amusing. Cynics both of them – and yet both capable of affection and devotion and they made it clear that they had this for the Prince of Wales. They were sycophants and he was not such a fool as not to recognize them; but these two were his genuine friends. He had never understood the American situation until it was explained to him by Fox, Burke and Sheridan. Fox railed against North’s conduct of the affair – and that included the King’s because the King and North were together in everything that was done. The more he learned of affairs, the more the Prince deplored his father’s attitude. He himself was firmly against the Government and that meant North and his father; the Prince was determined to take his stand with Mr Fox and the Whigs.

This was the life! He regretted that Fred was not with him to enjoy it. Poor Fred learning army tactics! The use of arms! By God, one thing Mr Fox had taught him was that words were the finest weapons in the world.

Gambling, prizefighting, horse-racing and loving a beautiful mistress – these were some of the greatest pleasures life had to offer; but he was not sure that he did not enjoy most being in the company of Fox and Sheridan, listening to their erudite conversation, joining with it, growing more and more mellow as the evening wore on. Sometimes of course he was a little hazy after these sessions; sometimes they had to take him back to Cork Street and help him in. This they never failed to do with the utmost care and tact and they would recall similar incidents in their own youth in case he should feel he had not yet learned to take his liquor like a man. He was not a fool. He knew they were wise men of vast experience in all the ways of life which were most exciting to him. He was willing to be tutored. And Perdita would be waiting for him … reproachful. Oh yes, she was reproachful, even though she might not put her reproaches into words. There he was back at Perdita’s melancholy. He’d be ready to swear that that was one thing his lively aunt at Cumberland House never felt – melancholy. Nor would she ever be reproachful. Why she would have to be continually so when one considered the exploits of that wicked old reprobate his Uncle Cumberland.

There was some music and he became proud of Perdita as she sat at the harpsichord in her becoming pink draperies; and a pretty voice she had too. Not as good as Sheridan’s wife. Poor creature! There was another. No gaiety, no spirit. Poor Sherry. But he managed to enjoy life in spite of her. She never appeared at these parties. He would never have thought of her being at them – except at moments like this when she might have sung for them. But he liked a gay song – the sort Sherry put in his plays. Elizabeth Sheridan was all for serious music. The King admired her. That spoke for itself.

The Prince must sing, the company declared.

Nothing loth he obliged. He sang by himself and he sang with Perdita. In perfect harmony, he thought, as we shall be all our lives, forgetting that he had only such a short time ago deplored her melancholy and compared her unfavourably with other women.

And afterwards a game of faro, with Perdita’s lips slightly pursed, not approving. The stakes were very high. Mr Fox always played for high stakes and the Prince had lost a thousand guineas in a very short time.

A thousand guineas. What was that added to all he owed? And a Prince of Wales should not concern himself with money. It was so easy to scribble an IOU. Mr Fox did it constantly and with the same abandon as the Prince.

And after that … talk, political talk, because after all this, with Cumberland House and Devonshire House, was the centre of Whiggery, and any hostess who could get Mr Fox to talk was sure of a successful party.

So Mr Fox talked and of course he talked of America which was the great controversy of the moment. The King, he said, would accept no man who disagreed with him. This was no way to govern. Were the King the most brilliant administrator in the world – which Mr Fox very respectfully wished to point out that he was not – still this would be wrong. It was through discussion and debate that conclusions should be reached.

‘We are going to lose America,’ declared Mr Fox, ‘and I say this: Serve us right. There should never have been this conflict with our brothers. Fools … fools … fools … have governed us, have decided on our policies and they are destroying the greatness of this land. This government must go before it is too late. There is a country to be saved.’

The Prince listened entranced. He knew that they were looking to him to be the saviour. When he was in control he would summon men like Fox, Burke and Sheridan to form his government and he would not presume to think that because he had inherited a crown he was some supreme being. And to think that the King was that bumbling old gentleman the farmer, the button maker, the home lover, the man who was only capable of begetting children and making their childhoods unbearable with his discipline which was absurd and old fashioned … and should never have been in fashion in any case.

But never mind. The day would come. In three years time he would take his place in the House of Lords – and during that time he would learn his politics and Mr Fox would be his most excellent tutor.

Across the room he caught sight of Perdita and Maiden. What a handsome fellow Maiden was and that coat of his was of the latest cut and fashion. He admired the new style of button. He had not seen them before. In a second he had crossed to them, but so absorbed were they in their conversation that they had not heard him approach.

Perdita was saying: ‘I shall never be able to show you how grateful I am to you …’

The feeling in her voice was astonishing.

Why? He wondered what Maiden had done that she should be so grateful; and Maiden was looking at her with such a look of devotion that the Prince felt a wave of indignation.

They were aware of him. Perdita’s face was transformed by the most loving smile.

‘I trust Your Highness is enjoying the company tonight.’ He was immediately delighted with her. She was so pretty; and what love for him shone in her eyes. She was merely being gracious to Maiden. Hadn’t he been an excellent emissary during their courtship?

He replied that it was an excellent gathering and that there must be more like them. He had particularly enjoyed her singing and would like to hear her again.

And she sang once more and they sang together, in harmony.

Mrs Armistead called at St James’s Street to tell Mr Fox that Mr Robinson had called and was making a nuisance of himself.

‘I brought Lord Maiden to come and take him away. The drunken fellow had no notion that it was a plot to get rid of him. He went with the utmost alacrity to drink with a noble lord.’

‘Excellent, my dear Lizzie. You’ll make a fine politician.’

She was pleased to please him. His approval was the only reward she asked. She would have liked to serve him – to see that his linen was washed and a clean shirt laid out for him each day; she would have liked to have sponged the grease spots from his coat.

‘And how it is between our lovers? I thought Mrs Robinson looked less blooming than usual.’

‘I think we are moving into the last phase.’

‘Is that so?’

‘You are displeased?’

‘No, no. I had thought in the beginning that she might have carried some influence, but I see she carries none.’

‘So it is of no interest to you whether the affair continues or not?’

He shook his head and was thoughtful. Perdita was a most desirable woman, but doubtless he himself would be interested in her for no more than a very short time – but for that short time he would be definitely intrigued. He was rather amused by the manner in which she acted her way through life and would have liked to discover a little of the real woman beneath; but it would probably not be worth the trouble. No, it was not very important that the affair should continue, except of course that if the Prince gave Perdita her congé, there would be another – and perhaps someone who might influence him.

He answered: ‘Perhaps on the whole it is better that it should continue a little longer.’

Mrs Armistead nodded. She would do her best to keep it going. Mr Fox would understand that but for her prompt action this afternoon there could have been disaster.

He did understand. He could trust her. It was interesting how they could work together.

She told him about the house in Chertsey. He knew, of course, how she had earned the money which had bought it. He advised her about her affairs which he was well able to do in spite of the fact that his own were in disorder.

‘Why, Lizzie, you are a woman of property.’ And he did not speak slightingly but with admiration.

He talked of the American situation with her for it was very much in his thoughts. He believed that if the Colonies were lost it could bring down the Government.

She listened, made intelligent comment, and later spent an affectionate hour in his company.