Perdita's Prince

Love letters of a prince

BACK TO CORK STREET.

This is the end, she said. He will never come back now.

She took the bills from the drawer and looked at them. It was better to do something than nothing.

How can I pay all these debts? she asked herself. They were all incurred for him. But for him I should be a famous actress, earning a good living from the theatre. I gave up everything for him. Everything.

She forced herself to add up the amounts she owed. No, it was impossible. Seven thousand pounds. They could not be so much. She had been extravagant … for him, she repeated bitterly. But surely not as extravagant as that.

‘Where can I find seven thousand pounds?’ she asked herself.

Where indeed?

And then she remembered. She took a key from the drawer and opened a box which she kept in her bedroom.

From this she took out a piece of parchment. It was the Prince’s bond for £20 000, and it was sealed with the royal seal.

She remembered his giving it to her, and how she had declared she would not have it and he had had to persuade her to accept it.

It was the answer, of course. It would be the only way in which she could pay her debts.

And yet she shuddered to think of asking him to honour it.

Yet … £7000! How could she produce that sum of money unless he did.

If it were possible I would work, I would do anything, she told herself. I would not take a penny of his … if I could help it.

Work. There was a possibility.

In a feverish haste she put on her cloak. She could not bear to sit down and think quietly. The only way in which she could endure to live through this terrible day was by taking action.

She sent for her carriage and drove to Bruton Street.

The Sheridans had moved to Bruton Street when Richard had become a Member of Parliament and so frequently entertained the Prince of Wales.

Perdita asked if Mr Sheridan was at home, for she wished to see him urgently. She was taken into an elaborately furnished room and while she waited there the door opened and Elizabeth Sheridan came in.

Perdita had not seen her since she had become the Prince’s mistress and was shocked by the change in her appearance. Her beautiful eyes looked enormous, her face thinner, which did not detract from its beauty, but in fact accentuated the exquisite bone structure; and the flush on her cheeks.

Perdita rose and held out her hand uncertainly.

Elizabeth Sheridan took it and said gently: ‘Are you well?’

‘I am … distraught,’ replied Perdita.

‘I am so sorry.’ She said it as though she meant it and there was a world of understanding in the musical tones.

Poor Elizabeth Sheridan, who had suffered no less than Perdita herself, and there in that room Perdita – which was rare for her – ceased to think of her own tragic situation in contemplating that of this woman. Elizabeth, fragile and clearly not long for this world, for the change in her appearance could only mean that she was consumptive, had suffered even more at the hands of her husband than Perdita had at those of her lover.

I might have expected it; I broke the rules; I loved a feckless boy and expected fidelity; I was extravagant and vain. But this woman was a saint … and she had married a man of genius and had looked forward to a life with him which could have been perfect.

But Sheridan was ambitious. Not only did he wish to write immortal plays, he must be a statesman, friend of the Prince of Wales, lover of many women … And because he believed these glittering prizes to be more valuable than the love of his wife he had thrust her aside to reach them.

Ambition, thought Perdita. By that sin fell the angels.

‘I must see Richard,’ said Perdita.

Elizabeth nodded. ‘He will shortly be with you. I am so glad that you have found him at home. He is rarely here now.’

‘You have a magnificent home,’ said Perdita.

Elizabeth looked about the room sadly.

Perdita understood. Debts, she thought. Living beyond their means. But then he always had. And Elizabeth was not the woman to thrust the bills into a drawer and forget them. She imagined her brooding over them. I am not the only one to suffer.

And then Richard Sheridan came into the room.

How he had changed from the handsome man whom she had known when she first went into the theatre! It was not such a long time ago. Four years … five years. He had coarsened, grown fat, and his face was an unhealthy red. Too much drink; too many late nights. Would the Prince grow like this in time?

She could see at once that he knew why she had come. He had been a good friend to her even after they had ceased to be lovers, and she felt an uneasy twinge of conscience. How much did Elizabeth know of that episode which she, Perdita, would rather forget?

‘I will leave you together,’ said Elizabeth. ‘You will have business to discuss.’

She took Perdita’s hand and pressed it. ‘May God go with you,’ she whispered.

Perdita faced Sheridan; was she right and did she detect a faint impatience in his expression.

‘Sherry,’ she said, ‘I had to come and see you. You know what has happened?’

‘The whole of London knows,’ he said. ‘The whole of the Court.’

‘Does the news travel so fast?’

‘It is some time since he left you. He has other mistresses now.’

She winced and he smiled a little sardonically. So, after all her adventures she still could not bear to hear the word spoken. It was ironical to him that an act should be less repulsive than the words which described it. He thought there was an idea there for a bon mot. He should make a note of it and use it some time … but like all his ideas they came to nothing and he lost them because he would never put himself out to record them.

But the theatre took second place now. The future stretched out brilliantly before him as the politician, friend of Fox and the Prince of Wales.

‘I have debts, Sherry.’

‘You are – as always – in the fashion, Perdita.’

‘But I cannot pay them.’

‘Still in the fashion.’

‘Because of all this … they will not wait. I must earn money quickly. My creditors must be made to understand that although I cannot pay them immediately I intend to do so … in due course.’

‘And how will you convince them of these noble intentions?’

‘By going back to work. I want to come back to the theatre.’

He looked at her blankly. ‘You couldn’t do it, Perdita.’

‘Why not?’ she demanded shrilly.

‘They would never let you.’

‘Who … Who? Do you mean you would not?’

‘I have to consider my audiences. They would jeer you off the stage.’

‘Why, why?’

‘Because of the past. They would crowd the theatre for the first night and like as not there would be a riot. I could not risk it.’

‘How can you be sure if you will not give me a chance?’

‘I tell you I know it. It is not the way. I warned you. Remember? Do you remember?’

She nodded sombrely.

‘Did I not tell you that you should never have become his mistress?’

She was too shaken to wince now. Poor Perdita, denuded of her mask. She was herself now, and that was a desperate and frightened woman.

She nodded. ‘Yes, you warned me.’

‘And I told you then that afterwards you could never return to the theatre.’

‘You mean you won’t have me?’

‘Willingly would I, if it were possible. But it is not possible. You must find some other way.’

‘How? How can I pay my debts?’

‘I wish I could answer that one. Most willingly would I use the information.’

‘I owe seven thousand pounds.’

‘I wish I owed as little.’

‘But I have no means of paying it.’

‘I too am living beyond my means.’

Did she imagine it or was he bored? Oh, God, she thought, this is how people will be towards me in future. I am no longer of any consequence.

Then she said: ‘There is no help for it. I have his bond.’

‘What bond is this?’

‘The Prince’s bond for twenty thousand pounds. He gave it to me and I have kept it. I shall need this money … badly. I had hoped not to touch it.’

Sheridan was silent. A bond for £20 000! The Prince would never honour it. He happened to know that His Highness had a mound of debts of his own which would make his, Sheridan’s, let alone Perdita’s, seem paltry.

‘It has his signature and seal,’ she said. ‘He would have to honour it.’

‘You mean … you would insist?’

‘Please tell me how else I can pay my debts.’

Sheridan was silent.

Then she said wearily: ‘I will go. I see that you cannot help me.’

‘If I could …’

‘Yes, if you could you would. But you cannot give me this chance in the theatre.’

‘Perdita, if it were possible …’

‘Is it not possible to give it a test?’

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘No.’

She hesitated. ‘You are the Prince’s friend. Perhaps you could make him aware of my plight. I did not wish to ask him for money, but in the circumstances, what else can I do?’

Sheridan was alarmed. He did not wish to be the man who conveyed to the Prince the information that his discarded mistress was demanding the money he had promised her. That was not the sort of entertainment the Prince looked for from Sheridan. He wanted to be amused, not disturbed.

She laid her hand on his arm. ‘You will do this for me?’

What could he say but: ‘You may rely on me to do what I consider best for your welfare.’

Yet … &7000! How could she produce that sum of money

And Sheridan nodded and conducted her to her carriage.

He called on Fox in St James’s, and without preamble came straight to the point.

‘Perdita Robinson has been to see me.’

Fox nodded. He knew how the affair had ended. His good friend Mrs Armistead visited him now and then and let him know the Prince’s attitude to various matters not excluding that towards his old mistress. He was well aware of the meeting between the two women in the Magpie and how the Prince’s own relationship with Mrs Armistead progressed.

‘She is in a desperate situation. Her debts amount to some seven thousand pounds and the creditors are making a nuisance of themselves.’

‘They’ve heard of course that she is now discarded.’

‘She is a desperate woman.’

‘And came to ask you to allow her to resume her career as an actress, I’ll swear.’

‘Which I have most definitely refused.’

‘Naturally, naturally. The poor improvident creature!’

‘Well, Charles, we are two fine ones to talk of improvidence.’

‘We are not the Prince’s mistresses, my good fellow. Perdita should have made herself very comfortable on the gifts she received.’

He thought of his friend Mrs Armistead who was fast becoming a woman of some substance, with a house of her own most tastefully furnished, and she was now building up a pleasant little fortune. But Perdita was of course no Mrs Armistead. Such excellent creatures were rarely met with. All Perdita had accumulated were debts.

‘He gave her a bond for twenty thousand pounds and she is talking of claiming it.’

Fox was alert at once.

‘She will never get it.’

‘No, I daresay it’s completely invalid.’

‘She’ll put herself into an unfortunate position if there is a scandal over this. Does she realize this?’

‘The poor woman is too frantic to realize anything but that she has debts of seven thousand pounds and it seems her only possession is this bond for twenty thousand pounds. She has asked me to convey to HH that she intends to claim the money as her due.’

‘And what was your answer?’

‘I prevaricated. I was vague. I should certainly not like to be the one to pass such an item of news to the Prince.’

‘It would scarcely make him jump for joy. Imagine the news reaching the Hall of Purity. It would be as bad as the Grosvenor affair. Worse! This is not a mere duke but the Prince of Wales.’

‘That is why I came to see you immediately.’

‘I think,’ said Fox, ‘that I must, immediately, go and see Mrs Perdita.’

Sheridan was relieved. If anyone could handle this situation it was Fox; and Fox’s great attraction for his most ardent admirers – among them the Prince of Wales – was that he never sought to curry favour with anyone. He stated his views frankly. The Prince had accepted this and had the intelligence to know its worth. Other men might fit their words to suit a royal mood. Fox never did. It was his strength and his dignity.

Frantic with grief Perdita was going through the latest bills to arrive accompanied by demanding letters – insolent letters – when Mr Fox was announced.

She thrust the bills out of sight, hurried to a mirror and hastened to compose herself when he came in.

How gross he was! He was growing more so each week; his swarthiness was not attractive and his chins rested on his soiled cravat. One would never have thought that he was the great Mr Fox, who was received with delight in all the noblest Whig houses, until he bowed and began to speak. Then the regality and charm which he had no doubt inherited from his ancestor King Charles II was obvious.

‘My dear Mrs Robinson.’

What a comfort to be treated so respectfully by Mr Fox after the veiled insolence of servants and the truculent manners of creditors.

‘Mr Fox, welcome.’

He was holding her hand and seemed reluctant to let it go. She flushed a little. Everyone knew Mr Fox’s manners with women. He was as fond of them as he was of wine and gambling. And in spite of her misfortunes she was a very beautiful woman. ‘Pray be seated,’ she said.

He sat down heavily, legs apart, surveying her.

‘It is good of you to call, Mr Fox. People do not call so frequently now.’ Her lips trembled.

He said: ‘Had you asked me to call, Madam, I should have been here at once.’

‘How kind you are, sir.’

‘Who would not be kind to a beautiful woman? But let us speak frankly. I do not care to see beauty in distress. Sheridan has talked to me.’

She flushed. ‘If he could be persuaded to give me another chance …’

‘If those beautiful eyes could not entreat him, the case is hopeless.’

‘Mr Fox, I am desperate. I owe a great deal of money.’

Fox nodded lugubriously. ‘A situation with which I can heartily sympathize. I am in such a one myself at this time … in fact I have rarely been out of it. But you spoke of a bond.’

She hesitated and Fox went on: ‘Madam, I have come here to help you. I can only do this if you trust me.’ He rose and coming to her chair laid his hands on the arms and brought his face close to hers. ‘Shall I tell you this. I have long admired your beauty.’ He kissed her on the lips. She gasped and drew back and he thought: Not called Propriety Prue for nothing! He laughed. ‘Forgive the impertinence, Mrs Robinson, I wished to show you that admiring you as I do, I am ready to do what is within my power to help you. The kiss was a bond. Perhaps as significant as that of His Royal Highness. Would you let me see this bond so that I can assess its value.’

‘I cannot understand, Mr Fox, why you who are His Highness’s friend should wish to help me.’

‘Madam, I am the friend of you both. And I see this: I may best serve you both by helping to bring this little matter to a satisfactory conclusion. If you will show me the bond I promise you … on this new understanding which is between us two … that I will do all in my power to help you.’

Perdita said: ‘I will get it. I will be back with it shortly.’

In her bedroom she went first to her mirror. Her eyes were brilliant and there was a faint colour in her cheeks. She had not had time to paint her face but perhaps it looked more attractive without rouge and white lead. It certainly did with that faint rose-like flush. And the gown she was wearing … it was not one of her best but quite becoming. And Mr Fox? He was repulsive. How different from the Prince. And yet he was so clever. If anyone could help her he could. And what had he meant by that kiss? Was it a suggestion? She knew of his reputation. She was trembling as she opened the box and took out the bond.

When she returned Mr Fox was sitting back in his chair as though deep in thought. He took the bond from her without a word and studied it.

‘He won’t honour it,’ he said.

She cried in horror, ‘But what can I do? I must have money. All these debts … Do you think I should have incurred them but for entertaining him and his friends?’

‘My dear lady, creditors alas are never interested in why debts are incurred … only that they are.’

‘But, Mr Fox … what am I to do?’

Mr Fox said nothing for a few moments; Perdita began to pace up and down the room wringing her hands like a tragedienne on a stage. Fox watched her and thought: She acts naturally without knowing she is doing it. Poor creature, she will be demented if she goes on like this. And so pretty. He thought of all the jackals who would be waiting to step into the Prince’s place. There would be many of them. That old reprobate Cumberland was one. He only had to set her up and the creditors would be ready to wait. The jackals could wait. Meanwhile the Fox would step in. He had always thought that it would be rather amusing to share her with the Prince of Wales. Such beauty was rare and he never liked to miss anything. But although as the mistress of Mr Fox she would be able to hold her head up again in some circles – for he flattered himself that it was in fact no step down from the Prince to Mr Fox, her creditors would view the move with disfavour. Whereas Cumberland – royal Duke that he was – would not displease them.

A piquant situation.

‘Madam,’ he said, ‘I pray you do not distress yourself. We will put our heads together …’ He smiled at her. He was giving her hints enough. Did she grasp them? She must. However innocent she was of financial matters she was well versed in dealing with the advances of men.

‘But Mr Fox, I am a desperate woman. I did not wish to take this bond, but the Prince insisted. I gave up a lucrative career for his sake. He insisted that I accept this recompense. I must pay my debts. Mr Fox, I have lived in a debtors’ prison. I will never go back to such a place. I will die first … I will do anything. Why should he not honour his bond? Everyone knows of the relationship which existed between us. Everyone knows what I gave up for him. If they do not … I have his letters to prove it. I would publish those letters. I would …’

Mr Fox sat up very straight. ‘Letters, you say, Madam? Letters? Ah, now that might be a very different matter. You have these letters … here?’

‘Indeed I have them and I must pay these debts. I will never again …’

Mr Fox interrupted. ‘Madam, show me these letters.’

She was not a fool. She had noticed the change in the atmosphere, the change in Mr Fox. The letters made all the difference. The letters were more important than the bond.

She hesitated. Fox was after all the friend of the Prince. What if the Prince had sent him to get the letters?

‘I cannot help you,’ said Mr Fox gently, ‘if you will not show me the letters.’

She went to her bedroom. She unlocked the box and took out the letters tied up with lavender coloured ribbon. How many times had she read them and treasured them … and wept over them. She hesitated. What if he took them away. What if he took them to the Prince. She could no longer trust the Prince.

No, she would not give Fox the letters. She would select one and that would be a good sample.

She untied the ribbon. There was one in which he had referred to his father in the most disparaging terms, also of his great devotion to herself. She glanced through it, remembering every word. Oh, he would regret he had ever humiliated her in the Park!

She was elated. These letters were the answer. Let him throw the bond in her face. There were still these most valuable letters.

Mr Fox read the letter she gave him and even he could not hide the fact that he was deeply impressed.

‘Only one letter, dear Mrs Robinson?’

‘There are many more.’

‘And all in this strain?’

‘Yes, Mr Fox.’

He smiled at her. ‘And you do not propose to let them out of your hands. I rejoice in your wisdom, Mrs Robinson, which in this matter almost equals your beauty. You should keep those letters under lock and key. They are very valuable.’

‘And what shall I do, Mr Fox?’

He rose and still holding the letter in his hand approached her.

‘Will you trust me, Mrs Robinson?’

She hesitated, and he laughed. ‘Again you show your wisdom. But in view of our growing er … friendship … I think you might trust me … a little. Not too much as yet. But remember that such is my position that I am one of the few people who could approach His Highness personally and believe me, Mrs Robinson, this is not a matter which should be handled with anything but the utmost tact.’

‘I am certain of it.’

‘Then allow me to take this one letter. For what is one among so many? If you will allow me to do as I think fit, I believe we shall together drive those braying dogs of creditors from your door.’

‘Oh, Mr Fox, if that could happen I could never be grateful enough.’

‘And I should be a very happy man to earn that gratitude.’

He took his leave of her; and she felt better than she had for some time.

Fox! she thought and shuddered. In a way he was so repulsive and yet not without attraction. And if he could only extricate her from this frightening situation she would indeed do anything to show her gratitude.

Sitting in the chair which took him to Buckingham House Fox read the letter again. By God, he thought, how could he have been such a fool!

He was not thinking so much of the Prince’s dilemma, nor of Mrs Robinson’s gratitude to come – although both these matters were in his mind – but the effect the publication of those letters would have on the Party. The Prince was to be the leader – in name only of course. It would be Fox’s party. But if these letters were published there would be a Grosvenor scandal all over again and it was clear that the Duke of Cumberland had lost much prestige through that affair. But he had not spoken in derogatory terms of the sovereign as this foolish young man had done. What would ministers think of a prince, a leader of a Party, who could be so indiscreet to a play actress who was his temporary mistress? Those letters would spoil the plans Fox had been making for that time when the Prince attained his majority and took his seat in the Lords. It was not the Prince’s morals which would destroy his prestige as a leader, but his indiscretion.

Putting the letter carefully into a pocket of his waistcoat Fox alighted from his chair and went to the Prince’s apartments where he was immediately received and with the utmost pleasure.

‘Apologies for disturbing Your Highness at such short notice.’

‘No need to apologize for giving me pleasure, Charles.’

‘I fear this visit will not give Your Highness much pleasure.’

‘Oh, Charles, what have you on your mind?’

‘Perdita Robinson.’

‘Oh, no. That’s all over.’

‘I fear not, sir. I wish to God it were. I have been to see her.’

‘You, Charles? Good God, don’t tell me you and she …’

‘Your Highness! How could such a lady step so quickly from a handsome Prince to a seedy politician.’

‘Well, if the politician were Charles James Fox …’

‘But the Prince was His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales. However, allow me to get to business. She is in dire distress. Her creditors are bothering her.’

‘Charles, have you any idea of the size of my own debts?’

‘A rough idea, sir, and it appals me.’

The Prince laughed. ‘I fear I cannot give her money.’

‘She has a bond.’

The Prince turned pale.

‘Your Highness should not be distressed on that account. I have seen the bond and I think it is useless. It’s not to come into effect until you are of age and that’s two years off, in any case. I don’t think we need concern ourselves with the bond.’

The Prince’s relief was obvious. ‘Charles, how glad I am that she showed this to you.’

‘Yes, well I heard of it and thought I should see it without delay. But there is another matter which gives me cause for great disquiet.’

‘What is this?’

‘The letters you wrote to her.’

‘Letters … I wrote?’

‘Your Highness has a ready, fluent and eloquent pen. With such a gift it often seems a sin not to use it. I could have wished Your Highness less gifted in this direction.’

‘But these letters …’ The Prince wrinkled his brow, trying to remember.

‘I have one here,’ said Fox, and took it from his waistcoat pocket. He handed it to the Prince who read it, flushing.

‘It is not so much the tender and explanatory terms used as the references to His Majesty. I fear this would be judged a most damaging letter to the sovereign.’

The Prince flushed and was about to tear it in two.

‘Stop … please. I beg Your Highness’s pardon, but that would be unwise. Mrs Robinson would never part with the others … moreover she would realize even more than she does now their value.’

‘So she has been hoarding these letters … keeping them until she could use them. The cheat. The blackmailer!’

‘Your Highness … forgiveness again … but this will not solve our problems. We have on one side this frail lady who is – let us be fair – in a desperate position. I do not believe she would wish to sell those letters if this were not the case. I feel she would prefer to keep them tied up with ribbons to read to her grandchildren in the years to come and so recall those days of romance and passion. But she is in debt. She lives in terror of the debtors’ prison of which she has had a taste. Let us see Mrs Robinson as she is. It will help us. A blackmailer? Well, perhaps. But she is in a corner and she has to fight her way out.’

‘Well, Charles, you make a good advocate for the woman. I thought you were on my side.’

‘On your side in the past, now and for ever. But my plan is to settle this matter as speedily as possible. To have those letters where they belong – and that is consigned to the flames … before they have done irreparable damage.’

‘What damage could they do?’

‘They could hold you up to ridicule, they could place a strong weapon in the hands of your enemies; they could rob you of the popularity you now have and which is so important to you and our plans. Your Uncle Cumberland is an instance. He is not greatly loved by the people. They have heard passages from those letters he wrote to Lady Grosvenor and they will never forget them. Moreover, there is your father to face. He is after all the King. What have you said of him in those letters? You cannot even remember, but in this one you have been damaging enough. Even those with whom he is not popular recognize him as the King. This criticism of him, to a light woman … I know of course how deep your feelings towards Mrs Robinson were when you wrote those words and that you did not see her in this way, but that is how she will be looked upon … will be frowned on, not only by his friends but yours. Discretion is the first quality men look for in a leader and, my Prince, you are soon to be our leader. I know you understand.’

‘Yes,’ said the Prince heavily. ‘I understand that I have been a fool.’

‘Well, so are we all in our times. And Your Highness could turn this affair into valuable experience. But first we have to deal with this situation. We have to buy these letters from Mrs Robinson. We have to see that they and the bond are safe in our hands.’

‘Do you mean pay her twenty thousand pounds and buy the letters?’

‘I think she can be persuaded to hand over the bond; but the letters are what concern me. Any young man in love might give a woman a bond he finds it difficult to honour; but the letters are our concern.’

‘Charles, I know you are right. But I cannot raise the money. You know how short my father keeps me. It is easy enough to run up debts. People are only too glad to serve me. But I cannot raise this money.’

‘I have thought of this. There is only one thing to do.’

‘Yes, Charles, yes?’

‘You must go to the King, confess your folly and ask him to buy the letters.’

‘What! It’s the last thing I could do.’

‘Maybe, sir, but as I see it it’s the only thing you can do.’

‘I never will.’

Fox shook his head sadly and said: ‘Then, Your Highness, I must leave you to settle this matter your own way.’

‘Charles … how can I? You must help me.’

‘Everything I have is at Your Highness’s service. Unfortunately I have no money or it should be yours. I am in the same position as Your Highness. I can run up debts but raise no cash. I have nothing to offer you but my advice.’

‘Which is the best in the world, I know.’

‘It is disinterested, that much I can tell you. I have thought of this problem as though it were my own – and indeed it is my own, for apart from my affection and friendship for Your Highness my future plans are concerned in it. I dream of that day when Your Highness takes his place in the affairs of the nation and I want nothing to spoil that. But I can see only one way out. These letters must be bought back from Mrs Robinson and the only way this money can be raised is through the King. Your Uncle Cumberland was in a similar position. I pray this affair will not be so public. Nor need it be if we act with care and speed. But there is no time to lose. Let Mrs Robinson go to a lawyer … and she is desperate … and we are lost. We have to find that money quickly and settle this matter once and for all.’

‘Charles, you must help me.’

‘I am asking Your Highness to place this matter in my hands; but if I am to be your adviser you must perforce follow my advice.’

‘To go to my father …’

‘To confess the whole affair, your folly, the realization of what you have done, your growing responsibility to your position. The King is not an ogre.’

‘You don’t know him as I do.’

‘He is a sentimental man … and I’ll swear at heart he is fond of you. Be tactful. He must supply the money. It is important to him that there should be no more family scandals. Do as I say and in a short while when this unfortunate matter is over you will see that it was the only way in which you could have acted.’

‘And Charles … you will be my ambassador with Perdita?’

‘I will. And I’ll swear that if you will face up to this interview, painful as I know it is going to be, you will very soon be able to put this matter behind you – and little harm will have been done.’

‘Charles, I rely on you.’

‘In which,’ said Mr Fox with a bow, ‘Your Highness shows your wisdom.’

The Prince humbly requested an audience with his father, which the King willingly granted. The terms in which the request was written pleased him. His son showed a proper – and unusual – respect.

He’s growing up, thought the King. He was wayward at first … but so are most young men.

He was in a mellow mood as he greeted the Prince who, he noticed, had what might be called a hangdog expression.

‘You have something to say to me, eh?’

‘Yes, Father, and I am going to ask Your Majesty’s indulgence for the follies of youth.’

‘What’s this, eh, what?’ The King shot a suspicious glance at his son. Such humility was a little disturbing. ‘Go on, go on,’ he commanded. ‘What are these follies, eh?’

‘I have to confess that I have formed an … an association with an actress.’

‘I know. I know.’

‘A Mrs Robinson who played at Drury Lane with Sheridan’s company.’

‘Can’t abide the fellow,’ said the King. ‘Drinks, gambles … leads that nice woman a life. Pity she married him. He’s not faithful to her. Rackets about the town. Don’t like the fellow. Friend of Fox.’

The Prince saw it was a mistake to have mentioned Sheridan.

‘Well, Father, this woman is no longer … my friend.’

‘Come to your senses, eh? Perhaps time you were married. Bit young. I was young myself … but perhaps it’s best.’

The interview was going badly. The outcome might be that his father would discover some plump German princess for him. That he would stand out against with all his strength. If his father would wait until he was twenty-one he would have some say in the matter … but if he should produce the woman now … But he was straying from the unpleasant point and the sooner this was reached the better.

‘I wrote her letters … foolish letters.’

The effect on the King of that word letters was great. His mouth slightly open, he stared at his son.

‘It was foolish,’ admitted the Prince. ‘I know that now. I’ve learned my lesson.’

‘Letters?’ breathed the King. ‘It’s like that fool Cumberland all over again. What possessed you, eh? Letters! Don’t you know better than that, eh, what?’

‘I do now,’ said the Prince.

‘Letters,’ murmured the King. He looked at his son and thought of the folly of youth; and Hannah Lightfoot’s image rose up before him. Remember your own youth, George. Were you so wise? ‘Not letters,’ he mumbled.

‘Yes, Father, I fear so. She has them and she is threatening to publish them.’

The King closed his eyes.

‘There is only one thing to do. We must buy those letters from her.’

‘This woman … she has a husband?’ The King could not get the thought of Lord Grosvenor out of his mind.

‘Yes … a low fellow … a clerk of some sort.’

‘Shocking! Disgusting! You realize that, eh, what?’

‘I realize it fully but I know something has to be done.’

‘What sort of letters, eh? Love letters? That sort?’

‘That sort,’ admitted the Prince; ‘and I fear that I was a little indiscreet about … family matters.’

‘Family matters! You mean you discussed your family … the royal family … with this … this … woman. Eh! What?’

‘I fear so.’

‘And she wrote you letters?’

‘Yes.’

‘And where are they?’

‘I destroyed them.’

‘So you destroyed hers and she kept yours, eh?’

‘It seems so.’

‘It seems so! How do you know she has these letters?’

‘I have been shown one … and that itself is enough to … er …’

‘I know, I know. Letters!’

‘I gave her a bond.’

‘What?’

‘A bond for twenty thousand pounds.’

‘You are mad.’

‘I fear I was at the time, sir. But the stipulation was that I could not honour it until I was twenty-one.’

‘I doubt it’s valid. And you’ve another two years to go. I trust you learn a little sense by then.’

‘I trust so, sir.’

‘Letters,’ mused the King. ‘Damning, humiliating letters! What have I done to be cursed with a family like this?’

‘We are not so bad, sir,’ said the Prince soothingly. ‘It is only when compared with Your Majesty’s high code of morals and blameless existence that we appear so.’

The King looked sharply at his son. The young dog was too free with words – always had been. One never could be sure what he was driving at.

‘Go away,’ he said. ‘I’ll think of this.’

‘Sir, we must get those letters.’

‘Do you think I don’t understand the trouble this sort of folly can bring to the family?’

‘I did not think that for one moment, sir, that was why I plucked up my courage to bring the matter to your attention.’

‘You’d do better to consult me more often.’

‘I know that now, sir.’

‘Then go and I will consider this in due course. But I’d have you know that I am preoccupied with weighty matters of State which one day perhaps you will know something about. And you have to disturb me with your follies. I tell you this, sir, I am displeased. I am disgusted and this sort of thing will have to stop. You understand that, eh, what?’

‘I understand it well, sir; I admit my folly. We all have to learn by the mistakes of youth, sir.’

For one moment the King could almost have believed that this son of his, who knew so much, was aware of that period of his father’s life which all this time the King had been striving to forget.

It was on occasions like this that one remembered and the past came up to mock. It had the effect though of making a man more lenient than he might have been.

He said in a milder tone: ‘If it’s taught you a valuable lesson then perhaps it is not such a disaster as it appears. Go now. You will hear more of this from me.’

The Prince knelt and kissed his father’s hand. There were tears of real gratitude in his eyes – but tears came easily to the whole family. Yet, this had changed the young dog. He was worried, and there was no doubt that it had brought him to heel.

Charles James Fox was a constant visitor to Cork Street. Perdita had also received a visit from Lieutenant-Colonel Hotham who had told her that he came on the King’s business.

Perdita was thrown into a state of great anxiety by the visit of this gentleman who pointed out to her that in attempting to blackmail the Prince she was placing herself in a very dangerous position. The Prince had confessed to the King the fact that he had written indiscreet letters to her and the King was most distressed, first that his son should have written the letters and secondly that he should have so far forgotten the dignity due to his position as to become involved with a woman who could offer to treat them as merchandise.

So terrified had Perdita been that she had almost agreed to hand over the letters; but the thought of her debts and her interview with Mr Fox sustained her; and she had told the Lieutenant-Colonel that she could do nothing without consulting her friends.

Thank God for Mr Fox!

He listened gravely to all that Hotham had said and had told her that she must act with the utmost caution and not allow herself to be bullied. He would tell her exactly what she must do.

She was very ready to lean on him. He was so clever. She had never known such a clever person. Of course his appearance was a little repulsive – particularly if one were as fastidious as Perdita undoubtedly was – but even that was a little piquant. On each visit he became a little more familiar; and she could see, of course, to what he was leading. No, she told herself. Never. Yet what would she do without him? He only had to appear and she could forget those hideous bills. Moreover, it was known that Mr Fox was visiting her and this meant that the tradespeople were not so insolent. They were holding off a little. Mr Fox was making some arrangements for her, therefore they would be patient for a little longer.

Mr Fox persuaded the Prince of Wales to allow her to remain in the house in Cork Street until some other arrangement could be made. That was a great comfort.

And now there was this terrifying man, Hotham, who wanted to know the extent of her debts and how many of the letters there were and to see some of them (but not to let them out of the house, said Mr Fox) and with whom she could never have bargained, if Mr Fox had not been in the background telling her exactly what to do.

There came a day when Hotham arrived, stern and disapproving and not even glancing at her as though she were some ordinary woman and not one of the most beautiful in London.

‘I have an ultimatum from His Majesty, Mrs Robinson,’ he told her. ‘You will be paid five thousand pounds and on accepting this you will hand to me the bond given to you by His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales in addition to the letters he wrote to you and this will be an end to the matter.’

‘My debts alone amount to seven thousand pounds,’ she told him.

‘This, Madam, is no concern of His Majesty nor the Prince of Wales.’

‘But indeed it is. The debts were incurred for the Prince’s pleasure; and for this also I gave up a lucrative career.’

‘The King’s last words are five thousand pounds or, Madam, I fear you may publish the letters and take the consequences.’

‘I will take the consequences.’

‘They will hardly bring credit to you, Madam, I assure you. If you are wise you will take this money, sign these papers and hand me the bond and the letters.’

‘I will consider this,’ said Perdita. ‘Call back tomorrow.’

Mr Fox came to Cork Street. He embraced her with passion. The consummation could not be long delayed. Mr Fox very clearly showed that he had worked indefatigably on her behalf and that her gratitude was the natural course of events.

She told him of Hotham’s ultimatum.

‘Five thousand pounds,’ he said. ‘Not a bad figure.’

‘But he promised twenty thousand pounds.’

‘I told you to put the thought of the bond out of your beautiful head. It’s practically worthless. The five thousand pounds is for the letters. I think we shall have to consider this very closely.’

He gave the impression that if he stayed the night they could discuss it at greater length. He would have more time for working out a satisfactory conclusion, for although they must not say no to the £5000, they should make it a bargaining point towards a solution.

‘What solution?’ Perdita wanted to know.

Mr Fox said he had no doubt he could work that out.

They had a pleasant supper. Perdita was excited, for she reminded herself that he was an unusual man, and there was nothing to be lost by being his friend. Perhaps if they became more and more friendly she would give him a hint about changing his linen more frequently and bathing now and then.

‘You’re thoughtful,’ he said.

‘I was thinking of the future … when this terrible anxiety is no more.’

‘Our future?’ asked Mr Fox.

And then he began to talk of what he envisaged as his future. England was going to lose America and this would bring down the Government. Then those who had deplored the way affairs had been conducted would come into their own. Mr Fox would doubtless lead a new ministry.

Perdita saw herself queening it in a salon in which she would receive all the most important people in the country. It was a wonderful dream. She saw herself in velvet and feathers. Society’s leading hostess. The Prime Minister’s dearest friend and adviser. Had she really stepped down when she lost the favour of the Prince?

She toasted the future with Fox. For the first time since the Prince had deserted her she was really happy.

And everything depended on this man who was clearly going to be her lover.

In the morning a gratified Mr Fox had the solution. She would surrender the bond and letters on these terms: her debts were to be added to those of the Prince (which were so enormous that hers would not make much difference in any case) and paid by the Treasury; instead of the £5000 she would accept a pension of £500 a year for the rest of her life and on her death her daughter was to receive £250 per annum until the end of her life. To these terms and these only would she agree.

Mr Fox was a wonderful man.

She was not surprised that he was so universally admired.

The King wrote to Lord North:

I am sorry to be obliged to open a subject to Lord North that has long given me much pain, but I can rather do it on paper than in conversation; it is a subject to which I know he is not quite ignorant. My eldest son got last year into a very improper connection with an actress and woman of indifferent character through the assistance of Lord Malden and a multitude of letters passed which she has threatened to publish unless he, in short, bought them off her. He has made very foolish promises which undoubtedly by her conduct to him she entirely cancelled. I have thought it right to authorize the getting them from her and have employed Lieutenant-Colonel Hotham on whose discretion I could depend to manage this business. He has now brought it to a conclusion and has her consent to get these letters on her receiving £5000, undoubtedly an enormous sum. But I wish to get my son out of this shameful scrape.

The King sat back and put his hand over his eyes. Memories came to him. Hannah would never have attempted to blackmail him. Hannah had been a good woman. Why should he be reminded by this ‘scrape’ of his son’s of that episode in his life?

But he was and the last few days Hannah had begun to haunt him as she had years ago.

He was weary. This continual conflict among the ministers; Fox standing threateningly with the opposition; the family – Frederick in Germany, William at sea. Were they going to confront him with similar episodes like this?

There was no peace …

‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown …’

Didn’t that fellow Shakespeare say something like that? Not that he admired the poet. Too much fuss made of him and he had always said so; but now and then he would say something which was true – and by God, he had when he said that.

What sort of a king would young George make when his time came? It was years away. He himself was not old. It was the Prince who made him feel old. He was in his early forties. That was not old.

And yet somewhere at the back of his mind there was an uneasy feeling, a foreboding of disaster.

There had been a time when a mysterious illness had overcome him, changing him while he was in its grip. It had terrified the Queen so much that she never spoke of it. But he had seen her looking at him oddly sometimes when he became too excited.

It was nothing. It would pass. It was just at times like this … times of great anxiety when his head started to buzz with strange voices and ideas darted in and out of his mind and escaped before he could catch them.

How dared his son add to his troubles! As if he had not enough.

But George was young yet. He had to learn his lessons, and what of himself? Had he lived so blamelessly?

He picked up his pen and added to the letter he had just written to Lord North:

I am happy at being able to say that I never was personally engaged in such a transaction which perhaps makes me feel this the stronger.

Mr Fox’s arguments carried weight and Perdita’s terms were accepted.

She was happy. She was no longer bothered by her creditors. The Prince would take on her debts. She could live in Cork Street until other plans could be made; she had an unusual lover, and the whole world knew it. She could still ride out in her carriage and people stopped to stare at her.

‘Mrs Robinson has quickly found a new protector in Charles James Fox,’ they said.

When the Prince heard that his old love was Fox’s mistress he was very amused.

‘Why, Charles,’ he cried, ‘if you have done me the honour of taking on my mistress, I have done the same by you, for I believe you were once on very friendly terms with Mrs Armistead.’

It was amusing, said Mr Fox; and more than that, most convenient.

But when he returned to his lodgings in St James’s he thought of Mrs Armistead and he was surprised that he had not enjoyed hearing the Prince discuss her as though she were a woman of the town, lightly to be exchanged from one man’s bed to another.

Yet he had felt no such resentment at the mention of Perdita in the same connection.

He had known from the start that he was quickly going to tire of Perdita. She had little to offer him but her beauty. She was undoubtedly a pretty creature and she had a certain slender talent both for acting and writing. She liked to read her poems to him – sentimental stuff, but a pleasant enough jingle.

Thinking that the day would come when his sojourns at Cork Street would be less frequent he had taken some of her poetry along to various newspapers with whose proprietors he was on excellent terms.

As a result poems were appearing now and then under the name of Tabitha Bramble and the little money they earned was greatly appreciated by Mrs Mary Robinson.

Poor Perdita, thought Fox. So soon to be deserted again. Well, at least I arranged that she should have five hundred a year and see her poems profitably in print.

Not poor Perdita. Lucky Perdita. There were many who would be eager to supplant the Prince and Mr Fox.