Perdita's Prince

The Queen plots

NEWS OF THE life the Prince was leading came in time to the George … young George … little more than a boy and keeping King’s ears. He could not sleep at night for thinking of it. a play actress! The King’s mind went back to the days when he himself was eighteen. He thought of that establishment in which he had set up Hannah, where their children were born. But it was discreet. No one knew. It was wrong, it was foolish, and he deeply repented it; but it was discreet. That was the first quality a prince who would be king must acquire. It was not generally known about his affair with Hannah, although it had been rumoured and whispered of here and there. This was different. This was blatant. Going out together … her in her carriage … painted like a harlot – although the women in the Prince’s set all did the same. Rouge and white lead, bah! Didn’t they know it stopped up the pores and caused consumption?

And the company he kept. That was the real source of trouble! He was a frequent visitor at Cumberland House. Nothing he could have done could have been more designed to flout his father. To go … as soon as a little freedom was granted him … to that hotbed of Whiggery which was in complete opposition to everything his father stood for. To choose them as his friends. If it had been the Gloucesters it would have been different. But it was not. It was Cumberland, that lecher who had made a scandal with Grosvenor’s wife – Cumberland and that woman with her eyelashes. George must have set out deliberately to defy his father.

He summoned Gloucester to Kew and told him of his anxieties.

‘You’ve heard, of course,’ he said.

‘The whole town is talking of it,’ replied Gloucester. ‘He’s there every other night. Sometimes with his play actress, sometimes without her. He’s constantly in the company of Fox and Sheridan.’

‘Rogues, both of them. Fox would do anything to plague me. As for Sheridan, he’s a drunkard and a lecher and I think it the greatest shame that he should have married that charming Miss Linley.’ The King’s eyes clouded momentarily with sentiment. ‘I shall never forget hearing her sing in an oratorio. Never heard singing like it. Sang like an angel, looked like an angel. I’m sorry to see her married to a fellow like that.’

‘They say he’s talented. I heard it said that on the first night of his School for Scandal a journalist passing the theatre ran for his life because he thought the thunder of the applause would bring the roof down.’

‘Bah! Pandering to the senses! Low taste. The man’s a drunkard and a gambler and he and Fox are teaching George to be the same.’

‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘What can I do? The young dog’s eighteen. They say that’s the time for a little independence. Fox, Sheridan, Cumberland … Cumberland most of all.’

‘I wonder you allow them to meet.’

‘I don’t care to part relations.’

Gloucester looked surprised considering the manner in which he – as well as Cumberland – had been kept from their nephews and nieces for so many years. But old George was behaving oddly nowadays; one could never be sure of him.

The King began to pace up and down, his face growing scarlet.

‘What would you have me do in my present distress?’ he demanded. ‘Eh, what? If I attempt to put a stop to this I shall drive my son further and further into the arms of the opposition. And that would increase my distress.’

Gloucester agreed that taking into account the Prince’s age and the freedom he had already had it would be difficult to intervene now. Perhaps if he had not been so rigorously controlled beforehand he would not have rushed so madly into freedom. But he did not distress his brother still further by telling him this.

‘He comes to see you, I suppose?’ said the King.

‘Not often.’

‘But he is fond of you?’

‘Yes, I think so. But when I have tried to remonstrate with him he has hinted that he does not care to be preached at.’

‘You see. You see. What can you do with such a young dog? Tell me that, eh, what?’

‘It may be that after a while he will grow less wild.’

‘Less wild! Less wild! I hear that he is beginning to talk like that woman … that coarse creature with the eyelashes. I hear that he drinks to excess … that he has actually been carried home to that place where he lives with the actress. A pleasant story to be set about the Prince of Wales.’

‘Many princes have behaved in similar fashion,’ soothed Gloucester.

‘I won’t have my sons doing it. I won’t, I say. But how can I stop it? Tell me that, eh, what?’

The Duke of Gloucester could give no answer. ‘I fear Cumberland may be attempting to blackmail me into receiving that woman of his,’ went on the King.

‘Well,’ retorted the Duke of Gloucester, speaking for his own Duchess, ‘she is after all a member of the family.’

‘Eyelashes, bah!’ said the King.

When Gloucester left he went to see the Queen. She was a little worried about the health of the baby, for young Alfred had not picked up as her older children had and as little Octavius had never really been strong there were new anxieties in the nurseries.

She was sitting in her drawing room at her embroidery, her snuff box beside her, some of her women with her, contented apart from her anxiety about her family, to be staying at ‘dear little Kew’.

She gave the order for dismissal because she saw at once from the King’s expression that he was upset and she knew that if he talked too quickly or incoherently some of these women would gossip about it, so she took every opportunity of keeping them out of the King’s way.

She did not have to ask what was wrong. She guessed the American Colonies might have something to do with it, but he would not of course come here to discuss those with her. She was supposed to be unaware that any conflict was taking place. If she had offered an opinion it would have been received with cold surprise. She had grown accustomed to this, and only resented it now and then.

But the family was a different matter. So it was family affairs of which he had come to speak.

‘The baby?’ he asked.

‘As well as we can expect. He grows a little stronger each day, I think.’

‘I’m glad of that. And Octavius? Eh! What?’

‘He has had a little cold but it is better,’ soothed the Queen.

Now to the subject which had brought him here; George, Prince of Wales.

‘It’s young George,’ he said.

The Queen put her hand involuntarily to her heart.

‘Up to his tricks,’ went on the King. ‘Gambling, drinking and keeping a play actress.’

‘No!’ cried the Queen.

‘But I say it is so and something will have to be done about it. He’ll have to be taught his duties to the state, to his family … eh? what?’

‘There are always people to gossip … to lie … about us.’

‘These are not lies. I’ve heard from too many sources. He’s wild. He’s set this woman up in a house … He lives there with her. His friends are my enemies. Fox is always with him. He goes to Cumberland and that woman of his. He’s with the Whigs … he’s with the Opposition. His bosom friends are the people I most dislike. He does it to spite me, eh, what?’

‘A play actress,’ murmured the Queen. ‘George with a play actress.’

‘I’m afraid our son is too fond of women.’

The Queen was silent.

‘If that were all … I’d understand.’ The King seemed as though he were talking to himself. ‘Young man … hot blood. It happens now and then. They grow out of it … become sober …’ He looked at Charlotte with her big mouth and her lack of eyelashes. They do their duty, are faithful to the wives that are chosen for them … But he has deliberately gone to Cumberland. My brother is teaching him to despise everything that I wish him to respect. That’s what is happening to the Prince of Wales and what am I going to do about it, eh, what?’

The Queen did not know. She wanted to soothe him, to stop him talking too rapidly. She knew her son well enough to realize that if his father tried to direct his actions he would be more rebellious than ever.

And as the King walked up and down murmuring half sentences to himself she was more concerned for him than for her son. Loving young George she believed that there was nothing really wrong with him. He was a little wild, it was true. But he would grow out of that. The fact was that he was so attractive that he could not help being the centre of attraction, but he would settle down.

She was a little worried about the play actress, though. That was the woman who had made a scene at the Oratorio when George had attracted so much attention by staring at her.

She sighed. But young men would be young men and until they found a wife for him he must she supposed have a mistress.

She wished though that he would choose some good quiet young woman – someone at Kew so that he could call and see his mother often – and perhaps confide in her.

She had to prevent the King becoming too excited and she said something of this to him.

‘Young men will be young men. They must not be judged too harshly.’

And oddly enough this did seem to soothe. Then she suggested a little walk or a drive in the carriage round ‘dear little Kew which I know Your Majesty loves as much as I do.’

This was indeed a success, for he agreed to go. It was so pleasant riding in Kew, for the place was like a little village with the houses round the Green which were occupied by the children’s governesses and tutors, the ladies-in-waiting, doctors and gardeners. ‘Dear little Kew,’ murmured the Queen; and the King echoed her sentiments, for to him this little world seemed far from the ceremonies of St James’s or Buckingham House; and here George was the Squire – the benevolent landlord, beloved of his tenants. Farmer George, in fact, who delighted in the people who came out of their cottages to curtsey and pull a forelock as he and the Queen rode by.

The river flowed peacefully by and there on Strand-on-the-Green the Queen saw Mrs Papendieck about to go into the painter Zoffany’s house where she had lodgings, but when she heard the royal carriage she turned and curtsied; the King raised his hat and inclined his head. He liked Mrs Papendieck and Charlotte could see that he was forgetting his troubles momentarily, as she had intended he should.

The Queen thought a great deal about the play actress, trying to remember what she looked like. She recalled the performance of The Winter’s Tale in which the woman had played Perdita. What a pity they had ever gone to see that play! But then they would have seen something else and it would probably have been another play actress.

If only he could have found a nice lady – not an actress. There had been Mary Hamilton to whom he had been devoted and had written charming letters and looked upon as a sister. And that had taken him often to his sister’s apartments and no one could say that wasn’t a good thing! But a play actress! Suppose he had fallen in love with someone in the Queen’s household and it was all very discreet. The Prince would visit his mother often – and that could do nothing but good.

How pleasant if he would break this association with the play actress and find a kind, clever and above all discreet lady in his mother’s household.

At the Queen’s robing Madam von Schwellenburg was ordering the women to do this and that in her hectoring manner.

Charlotte had been helped on with her gown and her powdering robe was being put about her. While her hair was being dressed she read the newspapers and looked for references to the Prince and Mrs Perdita Robinson. She always tried to keep these from the King.

She was well aware that her women discussed this matter; in fact she believed that the whole Court was discussing it.

Perhaps she should ask Schwellenburg. Not that she wanted to talk of it, but at least Schwellenburg was German and she would be honest. She never chose her words with much care and would be as outspoken to the Queen as to anyone else.

While her hair was curled and crimped she was thinking of the women of her household. It would have to be someone young and there was no one young. It would have to be someone beautiful and there was no one really beautiful … at least not that a young boy of eighteen would think so; and most important of all discreet. The trouble was that people who possessed youth rarely had discretion and vice versa.

Should she speak of the matter to the King? She imagined his dismay at the thought of providing a mistress for his son. She wondered at herself. But she was desperate; and she proved in the past that, docile as she might seem, when she was determined she could act boldly.

She wanted to save the Prince from folly and the King from anxiety and surely it was worth while stepping outside one’s usual moral code to do that?

The thought of intrigue was exciting. This was one of the rare times in her married life when she was not pregnant. And the King had agreed with her that in view of the fact that Alfred was their fourteenth and that neither he nor Octavius were as strong as the others, perhaps the time had come to call a halt to child-bearing.

Just suppose she were successful in finding the right sort of woman who would lead the Prince away from his wicked uncle and bring him back into the family circle? Whatever means were necessary, the result would justify them.

She decided that she would choose an opportunity to speak to Schwellenburg to discover what was being said among the women; and she might even find out through her if there were any women of the household who combined enough beauty to please the Prince and enough discretion to satisfy his mother.

Madam von Schwellenburg was in her room surrounded by her caged toads when Madam Haggerdorn came to tell her that the Queen requested her presence.

Before obeying the summons she insisted on Madame Haggerdorn’s witnessing the cleverness of her favourite toad by tapping on his cage with her snuff box.

‘He know. He know,’ she cried animatedly. ‘Listen … see, he croak. You hear?’

Madam Haggerdorn said it was a wonderful performance, for like everyone else in the Queen’s household she was afraid of offending Schwellenburg. The woman was heartily disliked; the King had made two mild attempts to have her sent back to Germany; but for some reason the Queen – although she herself did not greatly care for the woman – had insisted that she stay; and because the King was determined to keep his wife out of important affairs he conceded her complete sway in her own household. Consequently Schwellenburg remained, growing more objectionable and arrogant every week.

Schwellenburg’s repulsive face was softened by her affection for the animals – the only living creatures who could soften her; and Haggerdorn reminded her that the Queen was waiting.

‘Go when want,’ said Schwellenburg and deliberately went on tapping the cages and listening ecstatically to the croaking of her pets.

When Haggerdorn had left, with a studied leisureliness, Schwellenburg made her way to the Queen’s apartments.

Charlotte was alone and invited her Mistress of the Robes to be seated.

‘I want you to talk to me about the Prince of Wales,’ said the Queen.

Schwellenburg’s features formed themselves into the sort of smile she bestowed on her pets. She liked to think she was the confidante of the Queen.

‘Is vild,’ she said. ‘Very vild. Drink too much; too much gamble; too much vimen.’

‘I fear so,’ mused the Queen. ‘And the King is most distressed.’

Schwellenburg nodded, well pleased; she was glad the King was distressed. He had tried to send her back to Germany.

‘What have you heard? That he keeps a play actress?’

‘Everyvon talk. Everyvon know. Is dronk … has house in Cork Street. Herr Prince very vild.’

‘I fear there is truth in the rumours. Do the women talk much about it?’

‘All the time. Everyvon talk.’

‘Do any of the women er … envy this play actress?’ Schwellenburg opened her eyes in surprise. And the Queen went on: ‘Perhaps some of the younger and prettier ones … perhaps they feel that they would … like to be in her place.’

‘There vos von. Harriot Vernon …’

‘I know about her. She was dismissed from Court.’

‘He like very much Mary Hamilton … but no more. Never see now.’

Mary Hamilton! thought the Queen. Oh, no, that was no use. One could not expect to revive an old attraction. He had given up Mary Hamilton when the play actress came along; he could not go back to her.

‘I do not like his friends. I think this play actress is having a bad effect on him, taking him to his uncle. If there was someone here at Court … at Kew … I am not condoning immorality, of course, but young men are such that they need a … a friend, a female friend. You may know what I mean, Schwellenburg.’

Schwellenburg knew. She muttered: ‘These girls … they are vild. Like Herr Prince. All they think is … dance … and patch and rouge and white lead … That is English girls. German fräuleins do as told. Much better.’

The Queen was suddenly excited. A German mistress for the Prince. What an excellent idea. But where? The King had dismissed all the German women who came over with her – except Schwellenburg and Haggerdorn. There might be one or two others, but they were old, old as herself. No, what they wanted was a young, buxom German girl who was disciplined and discreet and would do as she was told.

‘Thank you, Schwellenburg.’

She was indeed grateful. Schwellenburg had given her an idea. When the Mistress of the Robes had retired she sat down and wrote home to Mecklenburg-Strelitz. In that poor little province there were always people who were longing to get to England and enjoy the patronage of Queen Charlotte.

In Cumberland House the Duke and Duchess were discussing the Prince on similar lines.

‘Do you fancy,’ asked the Duchess of her husband, ‘that he is quite so happy in our company as he was?’

‘He comes here.’

‘But not so often. And he is always in a corner with Fox or Sheridan. They often leave early together to go off to Devonshire House I believe.’

‘I’m sure we have entertained him lavishly.’

‘He’s certainly lost a lot of money at our tables.’

‘It’s at his wish.’

‘But he is drifting. I sense it. And I think that Propriety Prue is at the bottom of it. She doesn’t like us.’

‘She fears you outshine her.’

‘And she remembers that you once chased her. She may still think you have designs on her virtue. Have you?’

‘Pah!’ cried the Duke. ‘Does she think she’s so irresistible?’

‘I’m sure she does. Otherwise she might be a little more careful with H R H. Because I think that we are not the only people who have had the misfortune to weary him now and then.’

‘You mean Prue is on the way out.’

The Duchess nodded slowly. ‘I have seen the writing on the wall. She won’t last more than a few more months.’

‘And then?’

‘That is what we have to be prepared for.’

‘And knowing you, my love, I am prepared to stake a thousand guineas that you are already prepared.’

‘Dally the Tall,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Why so surprised? Have I not seen your lustful eyes studying this tall one appraisingly? You must admit your tastes are not dissimilar to those of your amorous nephew.’

‘Well, Dally’s a charmer.’

‘I know you think so; and I am sure the Prince will too.’

‘What do you propose to do?’

‘See that they have the opportunity they desire.’

‘You mean that you desire.’

‘Dally has a reputation for er … pleasing men.’

‘So has Perdita.’

‘And I’ll tell you something else. I am not the only one who has noticed a falling off in His Highness’s devotion. The jackals are gathering round … hopefully. Malden is ready to leap in as soon as H R H retires. Poor Malden. His faithful service should be rewarded. And Fox is biding his time. Malden should take care. He is rather lamblike and what chance has a lamb against a fox?’

‘And such a fox! So he is waiting to drag Perdita into his lair, is he?’

‘And I hope you, my lord, will have enough respect for your Ducal rank not to join the patient throng.’

‘What are you going to do about Dally?’

‘From now on she should be treated with respect. Mrs Grace Elliott, one of the most amusing and beautiful young women in London! She is perfect in every way. Three years his senior – as Propriety Prue is. Have you noticed how His Highness likes his women to be older than himself? And she will be a complete change from Prue because there is no propriety about Grace Elliott.’

‘When does the battle start?’

‘Tonight, my love. We dare not delay. Don’t imagine because you are blind to what is happening about you others are. Depend upon it, many people are noticing that the chains of love are slackening. But she could do harm to us before she goes. And others will be bringing forward their candidates for his approval. It is always best to be the first, my love. Leave this to me.’

This the Duke was very happy to do.

Perdita was far from tranquil. Mr Robinson was constantly threatening and he demanded his payments promptly. She wished that she could have had her mother and daughter to live in Cork Street. What a comfort that would be! The little girl adored her and Mrs Darby was so proud of her beautiful daughter and on her visits to them, taking costly presents, Perdita was really happy.

Then she would come back to Cork Street and rest for a while and submit herself to the ministrations of Mrs Armistead to be prepared for the night’s company. There were times when she would have given a great deal to go to bed and stay there. But the Prince’s energies were unflagging.

She had returned from a visit to her mother and daughter and had rested and been powdered and rouged and dressed in a gown of rose coloured velvet when the Prince arrived.

He kissed her absentmindedly and made no comment on her appearance, but sprawling in a chair said he had only come to stay an hour or so.

She was disappointed, although a short while before she had been longing for a restful evening. What she had meant was a quiet evening with the Prince.

She said: ‘I had hoped we could have been together … just the two of us … for one evening. I have a new song I want to sing to you. We can sing it together, too.’

‘Another time,’ he said.

She looked mournfully up at the ceiling and pressed her lips slightly together to imply resignation and restraint. This annoyed the Prince. He would rather she had openly protested. He was becoming a little exasperated now and then with this martyr’s role which was such a favourite one of hers.

There was a pause. The Prince was thinking it was a mighty long hour.

She said: ‘I saw little Maria today.’

‘I trust she is well.’

‘And so delighted to see me. She wept when I left. Sometimes I wonder …’

The Prince said nothing.

‘It was a great sacrifice to make,’ she went on. ‘Perhaps I was wrong to give her up. After all, I am her mother. I think sometimes she wonders … One day I shall tell her of how I suffered because I could not give her the time which most mothers give their children. I hope she will understand.’

The Prince yawned. It should have been a warning.

‘Yes.’ She was warming to her role now. She had risen, and putting her hand to her throat gazed before her. There were tears in her eyes. ‘It was a great decision to make … this renunciation. Husband, child … and virtue … all I abandoned.’

‘I did not know,’ said the Prince coldly, ‘that you so regretted leaving your husband.’

‘He was not good to me but at least he was my husband.’

‘Then perhaps, Madam, you feel you should return to him?’

Danger signals. She changed her tactics. ‘I would never return to him. You must know that better than anyone.’

‘Yet you sounded as though you regretted his loss.’

She went to him and put her arms about his neck. ‘You … you are handsome … all that a Prince could be. How could any woman be blamed for not being able to resist you?’

This was more like it.

‘My angel,’ said the Prince, but he was still a little absentminded.

‘Pray come and sing a little.’

‘Not now. There is not the time. I but called in to see you for an hour.’

‘You used not to be so eager to get away.’

‘Eager? I’m not eager. Or if I am it’s because of all this damned melancholy.’

‘And you promised me not to use bad language.’

‘I only do so in your presence when goaded.’

‘Goaded!’

‘Oh, Perdita, stop being the tragedy queen. You came here because you wanted to. And there’s an end to it.’

She was silent, and going over to the harpsichord played a melody. Even her tunes were melancholy, thought the Prince. Why be melancholy when there was so much in the world to be gay about?

She looked over her shoulder. ‘And where are you going to in such haste? Or would you rather not tell me?’

‘I have no reason to hide my actions. I am going to Cumberland House.’

Cumberland House! And they had not invited her. She knew they called her Propriety Prue and mocked her behind her back. And when she thought that the Duke had once pursued her so relentlessly and had admired her so! Of course it was the Duchess, the woman was jealous.

‘My dear George, do you think you should go to Cumberland House?’

‘In God’s name, what do you mean?’

‘I do not think the Duchess behaves in a manner which could be called ladylike.’

‘She doesn’t have to ape ladies. She’s a duchess … and a royal one at that.’

‘I still think she is a little coarse. And I do not like to hear you talking as she does.’

‘Madam,’ said the Prince, incensed now, ‘I have been treated like a child by my father for eighteen years. I have no intention of allowing my mistress to do the same.’

Mistress! That dreadful word which always unnerved her. She felt the tears brimming over on to her cheeks. They were splashing on to the red velvet. She hoped they would not mark it. It was too good and too new to be given to Armistead just yet. But she could not hold back the tears.

The Prince saw the tears and said in a shamefaced way: ‘Well, you should not attempt to dictate to me, you know.’

She could never stop play acting; she wanted all the best lines. So she said: ‘I have angered you, but I cannot let that influence me when I speak for your own good. The King and Queen do not wish you to go to Cumberland House. This distresses them.’

‘So you are in Their Majesties’ confidence?’

‘Everyone knows it.’

A suspicion came into his mind. ‘They have not given you some command to stop my going to Cumberland House, have they?’

‘Do you think they would notice me! They despise me as so many do … because I gave up my home, my husband, my daughter … everything … for you.’

Because the Prince had known his fancy was straying, because he realized the inconstancy of the vows of constant devotion, he was ashamed of himself and sought to shift the blame to her.

‘I believe,’ he said, ‘that you wish to be rid of me.’

‘Oh, no … no!’ That at least was genuine.

‘I have seen men here … with you. Maiden for instance. You are so grateful to him, I overheard you telling him so.’

‘That was because he had helped us to come together. Why should I be grateful to him for anything else?’

‘So you are grateful for that, are you?’

‘More than I can say. Oh, if you but knew …’ She was smiling through her tears; and now she was very appealing. He wanted to be the faithful lover; he did not wish to break the vows he had made. If only she would not be so melancholy, if only she would not talk so much about her sacrifices.

He kissed her.

‘Please don’t quarrel with me. It breaks my heart.’

He quarrel with her? But she was the one who made the quarrels. Still, she was loving and sweet now, declaring that it was only her anxiety for him that made her so sad.

So they embraced and when she said: ‘Is everything as it was,’ he answered: ‘Nothing has changed. Constant unto death, my Perdita.’

So she was relieved and not sorry too that she had voiced her disapproval of his going to Cumberland House. Lord Malden had told her that that was what had upset the King more than anything and that if the King and Queen believed that she kept him from Cumberland House they might begin to take a much kindlier view of her relationship with the Prince.

But in spite of the reconciliation the Prince would not linger. He went, as he had said he would, when the hour was up.

Saucy Grace Elliott was delighted at the prospect of taking Perdita’s place. The Duchess of Cumberland had explained the position quite frankly for Grace Elliott and Anne Luttrell were of a kind and understood each other perfectly.

Grace was very tall but slender and willowy; her hair was of a delightful gold colour, fine and abundant; she had large grey eyes; the manner in which she walked, gesticulated and talked betrayed her sensuality. A glance from Grace was an invitation and a promise, and as she kept her promises she was constantly surrounded by would-be lovers.

Perhaps her father, Hew Dalrymple, a Scottish Advocate, recognized this, for at a very early age she was married off to a Dr Elliott, who at forty looked fifty, and in any case in years was quite old enough to be her father.

In her mid-teens she was already a lusty creature and marriage with Dr Elliott was not her idea of bliss and as shortly after the marriage she made the acquaintance of Lord Valentia, she became his mistress and eloped with him.

This caused a great scandal because Dr Elliott decided to divorce Grace and at the same time demand damages from Lord Valentia, which he was granted. The escapade with Grace cost Lord Valentia £12 000 and the case was compared with that of the Grosvenors and the Duke of Cumberland. Lord Valentia’s expensive escapade proved to be impermanent, and when he left Grace, unprotected and ostracized by society, there seemed only one course for her to take. She announced her intention of going into that French convent where she had received her education and left the country.

Grace’s character was not exactly suited to convent life and very soon she left this refuge and, living on the fringe of the Court of France, met Lord Cholmondeley who was on a visit from England.

Lord Cholmondeley was gallant, and Grace was homesick, so they comforted each other and Cholmondeley brought her back to England … and to Cumberland House.

Grace was gay and unscathed by her adventures. She knew herself well enough to realize that though men were necessary to her full enjoyment of life, she would never remain faithful to one for any length of time. She would flit from one to another, enjoying each encounter to the full because she knew that when it was over there would be no regrets, no looking back and sighing over the past; Grace could only live life in the present; it was this quality which many found so attractive and Golden Daily the Tall was welcomed into society such as that at Cumberland House.

She had seen the Prince of course and could imagine nothing more desirable than to be his mistress for a while. She was growing a little tired of Cholmondeley in any case.

So she listened to the Duchess’s plans and agreed at once that if she did not win His Royal Highness from Perdita it would not be her fault.

Cumberland House looked gayer than usual after the scene with Perdita.

There was dancing and gaming as usual, as well as good talk. The Duchess had a word in private with the Prince when he arrived, asking if all was well. ‘Your fond aunt fancies you look less contented than usual and she is concerned for you.’

‘I’m not discontented.’

‘But it is not enough that you should merely be not discontented. I must see you basking in complete contentment.’

‘My dearest aunt!’

‘So tell me what I must do for your delight.’

‘What more could you do?’

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘Anything in the world you asked of me, dear nephew. And I will tell you this: I certainly feel very angry towards any who disturb you.’

It was a reference to Perdita, he knew, for she suspected that Perdita was playing the injured woman who had given her ‘all’. She had told him an amusing story about a woman who had left her husband for a lover and who comically dramatized the situation. He had laughed with the rest of the company and it was not until later that he had realized how those timeworn clichés she had put into the woman’s mouth were the very ones Perdita would have chosen.

She was frowning, which was rare with her. ‘I am a little disturbed, dear nephew. So disturbed because I know it is my duty to speak and wondering whether it will make you angry with me.’ Again one of those coquettish looks. ‘Could you imagine circumstances in which you would be angry with me?’

‘Impossible because none exist.’

‘Not only the most elegant, the most handsome, but the most gallant of princes!’ She was laughing again. ‘I have found my courage and I will speak. You should take care. I believe your father has set a spy very close to you.’

‘To report on my actions! The newspapers do that very well.’

‘More than that. He wants to guide your actions. He is trying to stop your visits here.’

‘He’ll never do that.’

‘Poison works slowly sometimes but it can kill in the end. I know that your father deplores the fact that you come here. He hates Cumberland because he married me. He’s never forgiven him. And that you should choose to visit us infuriates him. He wants to stop it.’

‘He has not commanded me to stay away.’

‘No, because he realizes he could not do that. If you refused, the people would be on your side. There is Fox or Sheridan to mention it in Parliament. It is not the wish of the people, dearest nephew, that you should be treated like an infant in arms.’

‘That I will resist at all costs.’

‘The King wishes you to live as he does. Early to bed, early to rise. Lemonade your drink; a little backgammon your sole dissipation. Lucky nephew, to have two Holy fathers – one in Heaven and one on Earth.’

‘He knows it’s hopeless to force me to live the kind of life he does.’

‘Does Propriety … Does Perdita ever mention your coming here?’

The Prince hesitated.

‘Oh, you are too honourable to tell, but of course she does. This is why it is so difficult. She wishes you to stay away because the King wants it. He would be even ready to accept the fact that you keep a mistress if he could stop your coming here and break up your friendship with your uncle and myself and Fox and Sheridan.’

‘Nothing would induce me to break up the friendships I most treasure. You cannot mean that the King has approached Perdita …’

‘I do not mean that His Majesty has been visiting Cork Street nor that your mistress has been summoned to St James’s or Kew. But there are ways of communicating messages, and I know for certain that the Queen believes that although it is deplorable that you keep a mistress it is not the first time an heir to the throne has done so. The King is more concerned with your politics and the fact that you have made a friend of the brother he refuses to receive than your association with a mistress.’

‘Is this so?’

She laid a hand appealingly on his arm. ‘Do not believe me until you have proved this for yourself.’

‘I will prove this. I will ask her if she is doing the King’s work for him.’

‘She would deny it. Imagine her. “Do you think I would allow myself to be the King’s spy!”’ The Duchess had put her hand to her throat and was staring before her in a perfect imitation of Perdita. ‘“Do you think I would work in the dark against the man for whom I gave up husband, home and child?”’ It was cruelly similar and he felt ashamed and yet not as angry as he should have done. There was almost a feeling of relief. Once again he felt that the door of a cage in which he was locked – and this time he himself had turned the key – was slowly opening for him to escape if he wanted to.

The Duchess was quick to sense his mood. ‘Don’t blame her too much. She would naturally wish to please the King, and if it meant that her liaison was not frowned on in those circles, imagine how relieved that would make her.’

‘It is certainly a disturbing thought,’ he said. ‘But I believe your zeal for my comfort has perhaps led you to the wrong conclusion.’

She was smiling happily. ‘Oh, I do hope so, for your happiness is the most important thing to me. I do want all to be well. The King may banish us from Court if he wishes. Who wants to visit the Palace of Piety? But if you should withdraw your presence … well, then Cumberland House would hang out the mourning.’

He laughed. ‘You’d look very well in purple and black.’

‘But better wrapped in smiles.’

‘Dear aunt!’

‘And I have not offended? I have not been too outspoken?’

‘As if you could ever offend.’

‘Then I am happy. But, Prince of Princes, you will be watchful.’

He promised that he would.

He was thoughtful when Grace Elliott was presented to him. He could not help assessing her charms though. She was exciting. But he kept thinking of Perdita, perhaps receiving a message from the Court. Could it be Maiden? No, Malden had been a good friend. Yet if the King commanded Maiden to tell Perdita his pleasure, who could blame Malden?

An uneasy thought. Spies in the very house which was to have been his refuge!

He danced with Grace. He complimented her on her dancing and her beauty.

She conveyed as she could so well that she had other attributes which she would be pleased to put at the Prince’s service. He was aware of this but his attitude was vague; and Grace knew that she was not going to step into his bed immediately.

The next day the Prince called at Cork Street, his mind full of the accusations he had heard on the previous night.

Perdita had had a sleepless night; when he had left her she had gone over everything that had been said and she remembered those early days when he had contrived to be with her every possible moment and had never left her side until he was forced to. Nowadays he merely announced that he was going to Cumberland House or Devonshire House, to neither of which households was she invited.

She had thought the Duchess of Devonshire might be her friend since, when Perdita had been in the debtors’ prison, the Duchess had helped her. But while the Duchess was ready to help a poor woman of talent, she was not prepared to receive a play actress in to her house. Perdita had been very angry and instead of making it tactfully known to the Prince that she longed to go to Devonshire House – for had he asked that she should go his request would have been immediately granted – she had tried to outshine the Duchess in public at such places as the Rotunda, the Pantheon and Ranelagh. She had dressed herself in magnificent gowns, colourful and dazzling, certain to attract the eye and wherever the Duchess was there was Perdita – always calling attention to herself, determined to oust the Duchess from her position as the leader of fashion.

And when she had, coming face to face with the Duchess, bowed, the Duchess had looked through her as though she did not exist and the crowds had seen the snub.

That had sent her home in tears, railing against her position and all she had given up for the Prince; and she continued with the theme when the Prince called to see her.

So, after that near quarrel Perdita was uneasy. She lay in bed thinking not so much of her child as of the changing attitude of the Prince. There was one other subject of which she refused to think. Every time it came into her mind she pushed it away. This was Debts. She did not know how much she owed but she knew the amount must be considerable. The cost of entertaining at Cork Street was enormous; her dresses cost a fortune; her wine bill she dared not think of – the Prince and his friends were heavy drinkers. No, she dared not think of money. And while she had the Prince’s affection it was unimportant.

She must keep that affection; so when he arrived that day she was all charm and sweetness and he was obviously deeply affected by her beauty.

During his visit he mentioned Cumberland House.

‘Why,’ he said, ‘do you dislike the place so?’

‘Because I think it is not a worthy setting for you.’

‘My uncle’s house!’

‘But an uncle who, in the King’s eyes, has brought disgrace on your royal family.’

‘So you would side with the King against me?’

‘I would never side with anyone against you. They could torture me … they could do anything they would with me … but I would always stand by you.’

It was the answer he wanted. In fact when he thought of his father’s approaching Perdita he saw how improbable that was. Dear Aunt Cumberland! It was her concern for him, of course … and her fear of losing him. She need not have feared. He would remain faithful to her and to Perdita. As for the King, he could go to the devil.

It reminded him that the King’s Birthday Ball would soon be taking place. He told Perdita of this and said: ‘You will come.’

She clasped her hands in ecstasy. Pink satin? White perhaps, as she had worn at the Oratorio. Lavender? Blue?

‘Why not?’ cried the Prince. ‘You cannot join the dancers, but you will be watching in a box of course … and you will be there.’

The Prince specially noticed Mrs Armistead that evening. A strange woman who, while she did not immediately catch the eye, remained in the mind. How gracefully she moved! And there was an air of assurance about her. He had often wondered why a woman who had such an air of breeding should be a lady’s maid. A disloyal thought occurred to him. One would have thought she was the lady of the house rather than Perdita, but for Perdita’s fine clothes.

And then a thought suddenly struck him.

He called at Cumberland House to see the Duchess who received him with arms outstretched.

‘Prince of Princes!’

‘Most enchanting and incongruous of Aunts.’

They embraced.

‘I have come to speak to you about our recent conversation.’

The black feathery fans shot up to disclose the glitter of the green eyes.

‘There may well be a spy in Cork Street.’

‘So you have discovered …’

‘The lady’s maid. Her name is Mrs Armistead.’

The Duchess threw back her head and laughed. ‘Now there is a woman.’

‘You know of her?’

‘She is becoming rather well known.’

‘For what reason?’

‘The usual reasons.’

‘Dear Aunt, pray explain.’

‘Dear Nephew, certainly. She is a very unusual and attractive lady’s maid, is she not? You think so. So do other gentlemen … Mr Fox, Dorset, Derby … so I’ve heard.’

‘By God, but why does she continue to serve Perdita?’

‘She is no ordinary woman. She wishes to preserve her independence.’

‘In being a lady’s maid!’

‘In rather special circumstances. I … who make it my pleasurable duty to keep a close watch on all that concerns my Prince …’

‘At least a very charming spy.’

She curtsied. ‘But I love you as a mother, as an aunt … as anything you care to name. And so I learn these things. No, you must look elsewhere for your spy. It’s not the lady’s maid. She is a Whig … a good Whig. A friend of Mr Fox. She would never spy for the King.’

The Prince was laughing. ‘I had always thought there was something unusual about her.’

‘So you must look elsewhere, dear one.’

She was thinking: Armistead. Not a bad idea. If Grace cannot do, why not Armistead?

It was a scene of splendour at the Haymarket theatre where the King’s birthday ball was being held, and although as many members of the royal family who were of an age to attend were present, it was the Prince of Wales who attracted all the attention. As usual he was dressed in the height of fashion, augmented by inventions of his own which would be copied immediately to become the very pinnacle of good taste and elegance.

Watching him from her box Perdita’s feelings were mixed. Pride, pleasure, gratification, apprehension and humiliation. She herself came in for a good share of the attention; in fact it was divided between her and the Prince and whenever he gazed up at her box, which he did frequently, many were aware of it.

It had been most galling to arrive to find that she was to share a box with Mrs Denton who was the mistress of Lord Lyttleton. It was, she felt, a humiliation – as though she were judged to be of the same calibre. Why, when she had been at the theatre Lord Lyttelton had pursued her and offered her a luxurious house and a good income if she would become his mistress, and she had refused him. Mrs Denton had accepted – and here they were in a public place – grouped together as it were.

Mrs Denton was leaning forward in the box pointing out this person and that, excited and honoured to be present. How difficult life was! sighed Perdita. She wished she had not come.

‘There is the Duchess of Devonshire,’ whispered Mrs Denton. As if I did not know the creature, thought Perdita. ‘Is she not beautiful? And her gown! No wonder she is the leader of fashion.’ Is she! thought Perdita. Indeed she is not. I can outshine her any day. And I will. The arrogant woman snubbed me in Pall Mall. I shall not forget it.

And the Prince was talking to the Duchess and showing so clearly that he admired her and was delighted with her company.

‘Of course she is very clever and her house is the meeting place for the Whig opposition. His Majesty won’t be too pleased to have her here, but it’s clear the Prince is delighted. And look … Oh, is she not beautiful! The tall one with the golden hair. I know who she is. Mrs Grace Elliott. There was a big scandal about her. I wonder the Queen allows her to come to Court.’

‘She is too tall,’ said Perdita.

‘Do you think so? They call her Dally the Tall. It’s because her name was Dalrymple before she married Mr Elliott … who divorced her, I might say.’

Perdita pursed her lips. Such a woman could mingle with guests while virtuous people must be seated in boxes!

‘Oh … look.’

Mrs Denton had no need to direct Perdita’s attention for she had already seen. The tall Mrs Elliott had selected two rosebuds from her corsage and had approached the Prince, curtsied and offered them to him.

‘What … blatant impudence!’

‘They say she is very free in her manners, but … at a public ball …!’

‘It is quite shocking.’

‘He’s taking them.’

‘He’s too chivalrous to do anything else.’

The Prince was standing smelling the rosebuds while Grace Elliott remained before him, smiling complacently. Then the Prince looked up at the box and caught Perdita’s eye.

He called to one of the members of his suite and handed the rosebuds to him.

‘What does it mean?’ twittered Mrs Denton.

Perdita was silent. It was a direct insult to her. This tall woman with the golden hair was telling her, and the Court, that she was ready to be – or already was – the friend of the Prince of Wales; and the fact that he had taken the flowers was almost an acknowledgement of this.

There was scratching on the door of the box.

Perdita did not look round; she felt too mortified.

Then a voice said: ‘Er … Mrs Robinson …’ And she saw the gentleman of the Prince’s suite to whom he had handed the flowers standing there in the box and holding in his hands the rosebuds.

‘With the compliments of His Royal Highness, Madam.’

Perdita felt almost hysterical with joy. She took the roses. She was well aware of the watching eyes. Dramatically, as though acting for an audience, she put the rosebuds into her corsage making sure that they were very prominent.

She sparkled. It was a successful ball. No matter that she must sit in a box while others danced with her lover. He had shown his regard for her publicly.

She was happier than she had been for some time.

The King and Queen were at Windsor – not so homely and comfortable as ‘dear little Kew’ but preferable to St James’s.

The Queen was pleasantly excited and the King was pleased to humour her.

She explained to him: ‘It is always pleasant to see people from one’s native land even though it has ceased to be one’s home.’

The King could see this point.

‘Herr von Hardenburg and his wife are charming people. I trust you will honour them with an audience.’

‘Pleased to, pleased to,’ said the King.

‘They have with them a young woman … about eighteen years of age. She is very pretty and of good family. I wish them to be comfortable during their stay here.’

Any such problem pleased the King. There was nothing he enjoyed more than planning domestic details. So he threw himself wholeheartedly into the matter and questioned and cross-questioned the Queen about the arrangements which had been made for the Hardenburgs.

She had asked that a house be found for them in Windsor; and she believed that they were very happy there. They had several small children and Fräulein von Busch, the young lady whom they had brought with them was such a pleasant creature … very handsome but modest; the Queen was sure that His Majesty would find her a pleasant change from some of these garish women who seemed to be considered so fashionable nowadays … women like the Duchesses of Cumberland and Devonshire …

‘Dabbling in politics,’ grumbled the King. ‘Never should be allowed. Women … in politics, eh I what?’

The Queen did not answer, but her resentment on that score was appeased a little. There were ways in which women could play their part in state affairs – for the amours of a Prince of Wales could be state affairs, witness the way he had fallen into the hands of Mr Fox – subtle ways; and because she was not pregnant she now had the time and energy to exert herself in her own particular brand of statescraft. And the King knew nothing about it. Comforting thought.

She suggested that they go for a drive and ordered the coachman which way to go. This took them past the house occupied by the Hardenburgs and as Frau von Hardenburg was in the garden with her children and swept a most demure and becoming curtsey, the Queen ordered the coachman to stop.

‘Would Your Majesty allow me to present these pleasant people to you?’

The King was happy that this should be so. Beaming with goodwill he even condescended to dismount and go into the house.

It was pleasant to talk in German again. Even the King spoke in it as though it were his native language. The Hardenburgs were delighted and honoured. The wife, the King noticed, was a very pretty woman indeed, and as for the children they were quite enchanting. The King sat down and took several of them on his knee, questioning them and smiling at their bright answers.

‘Charming, charming,’ he muttered.

And there was Fräulein von Busch. What a pleasant creature! Plump, pink and white, golden haired and so modest.

When the visit was over and they rode off the Queen was smiling complacently. As for the King he declared himself to have been enchanted.

‘Must make friends from Germany welcome. Very nice people. Homely … pleasant … eh, what?’

The Queen agreed that the Hardenburgs – and Fräulein von Busch – were indeed homely and pleasant and she could wish that there were more like them.

The Prince came down to Windsor. This was what the Queen had been waiting for. The King had gone to London on government matters, and she had taken advantage of his absence to summon the Prince.

Windsor, thought the Prince. What was there to do in Windsor? There was only one place to be and that was London.

He was bored; he could not think why his mother had sent for him.

Did she want to chatter to him of what a bonny baby he had been while she did her tatting or sewed for the poor (Pious Person in the Palace of Purity). If so he would return to London at the earliest possible moment. He would do that in any case.

‘You should drive with me,’ said the Queen.

‘For what purpose?’

‘Because the people would like to see us together.’

So he rode with her and the carriage stopped at the Hardenburgs’ house and there was Frau von Hardenburg in the garden making a pretty domestic scene with her children which would have delighted the King, but the Queen feared it would not make the same impression on the Prince of Wales.

‘I should like to present you to these visitors from Germany.’ She spoke quickly knowing that the Prince did not care to be reminded of his German ancestry.

The Prince was however extremely affable – and how charming he could be when he wished to!

He stepped down from the carriage and went into the house; and there was the enchanting Fräulein von Busch, flushing with her realization of the honour and looking so pretty and modest.

The Prince was clearly impressed. On the drive back he asked a great many questions about the Hardenburg ménage.

The Prince stayed at Windsor to make arrangements, was his excuse, for his birthday ball in August. He would be nineteen – only two years off his majority. In the last year he had changed considerably; in the next two years there would be more changes.

In the meantime he was happy – yes, really happy to stay at Windsor, and the Queen was so pleased with the success of her little bit of diplomacy that she was looking forward to telling the King about it when the Prince had given up that play-acting woman and his Whig friends and settled quietly down with that young German girl who would do as she was told and help to guide the Prince to a better life. How amazed His Majesty would be! Perhaps he would realize then that women were not such fools. After all it was the Duchess of Cumberland who was the leading light in Cumberland House. But one did not have to be a bad woman to be clever.

She knew that the Prince was calling frequently on the Hardenburgs, and about two weeks after she had introduced the Prince to them, Schwellenburg came bustling into her room in a state of some excitement.

‘Haf news. Said vill tell Her Majesty selfs. Herr and Frau von Hardenburg left … is gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘To Germany. The childs are there. He come back for them.’

‘You mean that Herr von Hardenburg and his wife have gone away and left their children behind?’

‘Come back for them, Fräulein von Busch stay and look after them.’

‘So Fräulein von Busch is here. But how strange. Why have they gone?’

Schwellenburg looked sly.

‘Herr Prince,’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He likes too much vimen.’

‘But … Fräulein von Busch …’

‘It is Frau von Hardenburg he likes … so her husbint say. There is von I can do … I take her vay from Herr Prince. So he go in night … and come back for the childs.’

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.