Perdita's Prince

‘A triumph of chastity!’

LETTERS AND POEMS were arriving frequently from Florizel and the theme of these letters was: ‘When shall we meet?’ But Perdita’s answers always showed the same evasiveness. The Prince must be cautious; he must remember his rank; he must not offend his father.

‘My fate is in the hands of my Perdita,’ he wrote. ‘My life is yours to save or ruin. Your Florizel.’

Carefully she preserved the letters, reading them over and over again, soothing her hurt vanity through them; dreaming that this chaste romantic idyll would go on all their lives and be a lesson for the whole world to admire. Lovers parted by two insuperable obstacles – his crown and her husband.

Florizel had different ideas. He raved to Maiden. There must be a meeting. She could not go on like this.

The romance was no longer a secret. It was hinted at in the more scurrilous papers. ‘A certain illustrious Personage and a famous actress have become aware of each other’s undoubted charms …’ ‘A new Florizel for Perdita …’ And such allusions.

The theatre was doing business such as it had rarely done before for people wanted to see the actress who had enchanted the Prince. They were more pleased with him than ever. What a change from his dull old father!

Sheridan was delighted with his audiences but a little apprehensive of the future. Perdita was a very lovely woman but he did not think for one moment that she would be wise enough to hold the Prince of Wales for long.

If she became the Prince’s mistress she would continue to bring in packed houses. He would not be able to accommodate all the people who would be clamouring to get into the theatre to see her; but of course the Prince would never allow his mistress to appear on the stage – and that would be the end of good business for Drury Lane. And if the Prince discarded her? A royal mistress could not return to the stage. The public would come to see her once, twice, and then lose interest in her.

He decided to speak to her and called at her house to do so, for they could enjoy more privacy there than at the theatre. In her muslin and ribbons she was very appealing. One of the prettiest women he had ever known. If she would not take herself and her virtue and her ladylike ways so seriously, she would be very attractive indeed. Being frank with himself he admitted that he had quickly tired of her. Beauty alone was not enough. Would the Prince tire as quickly? He was young and at the moment inexperienced, the prisoner in that Puritan Palace set up by Papa; but when he had his establishment, that would be different. We shall see a change in HRH when that happens, mused Sheridan. And I doubt that our dear ladylike Mrs R will then seem to him the ideal of perfection that she does seen through prison bars. Now his – Sheridan’s – dearest Amoret (Mrs Crewe), that sparkling witty creature whom he adored and to whom he had dedicated The School for Scandal, would hold any man. If she had been in Perdita’s shoes … But God forbid. Amoret was too enchanting to be thrown away on a callow prince; only the most brilliant play-wright in England was worthy of her.

Fleetingly he thought of Elizabeth. He was sorry Elizabeth had to know of these things. But Elizabeth was a saint and a man of flesh and blood cannot live with a saint.

But here was Mrs Armistead – that most discreet of women – to usher him in.

‘My dear Sherry!’ Perdita rose to greet him, so pretty with the faint flush in her cheeks. He knew what that meant. A letter from Florizel. What a correspondent the Prince was! And so was Perdita! She had always been one to pour out her heart and soul on paper, which was probably fanning the flame of HRH’s ardour. Those poems she had written from her debtors’ prison! No merit in them but lots of feeling – and that was a commodity the public were often more ready to pay for than genius.

‘My blessed Perdita!’ He kissed her hands ardently. It was always wise to feign regrets for a love affair that was over in the presence of the one who had shared it. It was advisable to blame circumstances – ‘coming to one’s senses’, ‘it is better for you, my dear, and I am thinking of you’, ‘my own inclinations are of no account’ – than to speak of satiety, boredom, a new and more exciting mistress.

‘But how enchanting you look.’

She would never grow accustomed to compliments. He wondered lightly what proportion of her life was spent studying her reflection in the mirror and deciding what clothes she would wear.

She sparkled at once – and now she showed some vitality which was more attractive than that look of melancholy which was her usual expression.

‘The simplicity of the gown throws up the contrast of your dazzling beauty.’

‘This morning gown …’ she said disparagingly, and he could see that she was wondering whether to order a new muslin to be made … one in which she could appear in public and startle the world of Ranelagh, the Rotunda, the Pantheon by appearing in muslin and ribbon among all the satin and feathers.

‘… is most becoming,’ he finished for her. ‘But, my dear, I have not come to talk to you of gowns. I am concerned for you … greatly concerned.’

‘Sherry?’

‘I am thinking of Prince Charming’s very public passion.’

‘Alas, people in our position cannot live secret lives.’

‘That is indeed true and is why you should consider your situation from all aspects before taking any step.’

‘I am sure you are right. And that is what I am doing.’

‘So far you and the Prince have not met … alone.’

‘Certainly we have not.’

‘But how long do you think he will be content with this state of affairs?’

‘The Prince is content that he loves me and I …’

‘And you, Perdita, adore him. Naturally, all ladies adore royalty.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘A simple fact, my dearest.’

‘I hope you are not suggesting that I love the Prince because of his rank. You have forgotten how his uncle the Duke of Cumberland plagued me. But you should remember how I repulsed his advances.’

An ageing roué of a duke. A young and charming prince with a crown in view. The one was a much more glittering prize than the other. Moreover, the Duke’s character was well known. He had had several mistresses and had merely invited Perdita to join the group. He had not written the sentimental love letters which she had just been reading and which she would tie up with blue ribbons – or possibly pink – and gloat over in her old age … that was if she did not use them to financial advantage at some earlier stage. The very fact that Florizel wrote to his loved one pointed to his inexperience. The Duke was no scholar; he could not have compiled those flowing phrases had he wished to; but although the Prince might chatter in French, Italian and German like a native, although he was familiar with Horace and Virgil and was reputed to have some taste for Tacitus, he was clearly not aware of the ways of the world or he would never have so guilelessly handed over to an actress those letters which, Sheridan had no doubt, the young fool would in a year’s time curse himself for having written. In this Perdita had shown herself wise. She repulsed the roué and encouraged the innocent boy; for much as she might protest, her coy reluctance to become his mistress was the best method of luring him on.

‘I remember well,’ said Sheridan. ‘And that was wise. It would have done your reputation no good at all to be concerned with my lord Duke.’

Perdita shuddered piously.

‘And the Prince …’ mused Sheridan. ‘Oh, my dear, dear lady, you must tread very cautiously. What do you think will be the outcome of all this?’

‘The outcome? Why, I think we shall learn to content ourselves with our fate.’

Clichés, thought Sheridan. Could she really see a lusty young man being content with letters.

‘I think His Highness will become more and more insistent in his request for a meeting.’

‘I have advised him to consider his position.’

‘And I have come here to advise you to consider yours.’

‘That I am doing.’

‘I know you well. I shall never forget the day we met. I recognized your ability the moment I saw you and so did Garrick. God rest his soul.’

‘Poor Mr Garrick! Dear Mr Garrick! What I owe him! It is very sad to think he will never again coach ladies for the stage.’

A short pause to pay respects to Garrick who had died a few months before.

Garrick had said: ‘With looks like that, she’ll bring in the audiences. If we can teach her to act a little that could be a help.’

How right he was! How right he had always been! He was greatly missed.

‘But even now,’ went on Sheridan, ‘that you have your place in your profession, it could be easy to throw it away.’

‘Throw it away? How?’

‘By becoming the Prince’s mistress.’

She drew back at what she considered an unpleasant word. She would never see herself as the Prince’s mistress, no matter if he set her up in a house and openly visited her. His friend? wondered Sheridan. The lady whom he favours with his confidences? His wife in name only? Never mistress!

No, he would not give her a long hold on the fickle favour of a young Prince avid for experience, avid for life.

‘My dearest, let us face the facts. That is what is in the Prince’s mind.’

‘I appreciate your anxiety for me, dear Sherry, but I do not think you know the Prince.’

A little better than you do, he thought, for you my dear have not yet spoken to him face to face.

‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘You know I speak for your good. If you become the Prince’s mistress you will lose your place on the stage. You have too much sensibility to become the mistress of a king or a prince. You are too romantic. It would be necessary for you to consider all sorts of propositions which would be distasteful to you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Before entering into such an arrangement you should make sure that some provision was made for the days when it would be over. Tell me this, what would you do if you could no longer act? Don’t forget you have a child, a mother … and a husband to support.’

She turned away; he was forcing her to see the ugly truth; he was spoiling her romance. And she wanted to go on in her dream.

‘My dear Sherry,’ she said, ‘I know you speak out of your concern for me. But rest assured I shall never do anything which would make you ashamed of me.’

‘I should tremble less for you if I thought you would,’ he said.

‘You must have your quips.’ She swept away the unpleasant discussion with a wave of the hand. ‘Now, would you take a dish of tea, a dish of chocolate?’

He declined. Business at the theatre, he pleaded. He had no desire to drink tea or chocolate with a mistress of whom he had tired.

Mistress? he chided himself. No, lady friend … the lady whom I favoured with my confidences … once.

He took his leave, kissing her hand fervently to assure her that it was her good for which he was concerned and that she should consider very carefully before throwing away a career which had been built up to fame since that night when her Juliet had first enchanted his audiences.

Mr Fox chose a time when Mrs Robinson was out to call on her. He had his reasons for this. He had not been unaware of the lady’s maid. An extremely handsome woman he had noted, and he had a liking for handsome women; moreover, there was an air about this one which had specially intrigued him. Not only was she handsome but intelligent.

It was a matter of some importance to follow the course of Perdita’s romance with Florizel, because if the lady in fact became the Prince’s mistress and remained in that position when the Prince became a man of independence, Perdita could be a very significant person indeed.

Mr Fox had been present at the Oratorio and had witnessed the strange behaviour of the Prince; he had read the papers with those hints of the romance; he had heard rumours in Brooks’ and other clubs; and he had listened attentively.

But he wished to follow the affair more intimately and believed that if he had a friend inside Perdita’s establishment he could be completely in the picture and would not have to rely on hearsay.

A small matter in all his concerns? Not exactly. Because the Prince was destined to be in a position with relation to the Whigs that his father was with the Tories – and Mr Fox, being an ardent Whig and with nothing to hope for from the King or the Tory Party, was eager to bring back the Whigs to power – and who could be more helpful in this than the Prince of Wales?

The young man could not take his place in the Lords until he attained his real majority, that would be in 1783 – more than three years from now; but at eighteen he would gain his freedom and his own establishment and he must be drawn into the right circle before the time came for him to enter the Lords. Three years was not too long; and if Mr Fox was not ready, others would seize the advantage. Therefore the affair between the actress and the Prince was politics.

‘Madam is not at home.’ The young woman spoke coolly and none would have guessed that the sight of the famous politician had set her heart racing and her hopes soaring because she had a very strong notion that Mr Fox had been well aware that her mistress was not at home and that was why he had called.

Mr Fox had already entered.

‘Perhaps I could wait a while?’

‘I am sure that is what Madam would wish.’

‘And she would wish you to stay and have a civil word with me, I don’t doubt.’

‘It is my duty, sir, to be civil to all Madam’s friends.’

‘And mighty civil I am sure you are.’

Mrs Armistead curtsied and turned away, but he said: ‘Now, you promised to chat.’

‘I cannot imagine, sir, that a gentleman of your position would want to chat with a woman in mine.’

He smiled at her. ‘And I had imagined you to be a woman of … imagination.’

‘What would you wish of me, sir?’

‘To ask you first perhaps how a woman of your undoubted ability should be content to find herself a lady’s maid to an actress.’

‘I did not say I was content, sir.’

‘Ah.’ He smiled at her. He was a strangely fascinating man. She had thought him the most exciting of all those gentlemen who called on her mistress. Mr Charles James Fox who could make the King uneasy, who was said to be the most brilliant politician in Parliament, a rival to young Mr Pitt, to the Prime Minister, Lord North. He was scarcely attractive to the eye, for in this age of elegance he was noticeably slovenly. Now she could see the grease spots on his coat; he was too fat; he had a double chin and his paunch was obvious; he had not bothered to shave himself. She had heard that he thought nothing of losing twenty thousand guineas in a night’s gambling at Brooks’. But he was the great Charles James Fox and it excited her that he had noticed her.

‘Then I’ll swear that from your present post you are looking for a better one.’

‘Should not one always keep one’s eyes open for advantage, sir?’

‘Wise as well as beautiful.’ He moved closer to her and although she did not retreat she conveyed by her expression that she did not expect familiarities and for a moment her spirits sank, for she feared that he had come in merely for a quick physical encounter with the handsome lady’s maid who would be ready to serve Mr Fox in whatever capacity he thought fit for half an hour and then be forgotten. But that was not the intention of Mrs Armistead; nor must Mr Fox – famous as he might be – be deluded into thinking this could be.

He understood.

He said: ‘Shall we sit down?’

She led the way into the drawing room and with the utmost dignity seated herself some distance from the chair which he had selected.

‘I see that you are too clever for me to pretend my mission is other than it is.’

She inclined her head.

‘Mrs Robinson is on the way to becoming the mistress of the Prince of Wales,’ he went on. ‘I am sure you realize the significance of this.’

‘I do.’

‘The Prince is young and impressionable. And a mistress could hold considerable sway over such a romantically minded young man. It is very necessary for the heir to the throne to be guided by those who can do him most good.’

‘Such as Mr Charles James Fox?’ she asked.

‘Exactly. Exactly. The affair is hanging fire, is it not?’

‘It is many weeks since His Highness first saw Mrs Robinson in The Winter’s Tale and they have not yet met.’

‘Why.’

‘Mrs Robinson is a lady of much refinement.’ In some way Mrs Armistead managed to speak exactly as Perdita did in her most refined moments. ‘She wishes to be the Prince’s mistress but cannot bear to admit even to herself that this is so. She writes long letters telling him of his duty and urging him to consider his position.’

‘If she goes on in this way he will soon be considering some other fair charmer.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘It would be better if this matter were brought to a logical conclusion.’

‘Better for whom, sir? The Prince, Mrs Robinson or Mr Fox?’

He looked at her with admiration. ‘For all three,’ he said. ‘And possibly … for Mrs Armistead.’

‘Why should this last person be concerned, sir?’

‘Because her advancement could well depend on it.’

She nodded slowly.

‘Mrs Armistead, I should be glad to call you my friend.’

‘A simple lady’s maid is undeserving of the friendship of the greatest of statesmen.’

‘Not so simple, if I have guessed aright and it is ability at the guessing game which makes a great statesman.’

‘What is your wish?’

‘That you persuade your mistress to make the Prince a happy man and that you keep me informed of the lovers’ progress.’

‘Why should I serve you, sir, instead of the mistress who pays me?’

He felt in his pocket and she recoiled in haste.

‘I am not asking for money. I should not take it.’

He nodded. ‘Then,’ he said, ‘I would answer your question. You would serve me because you have no intention of remaining in a humble position for the rest of your days. It is you, my dear, who should have a lady’s maid. And I am sure that if you are as clever as I believe you to be, one day this will be so.’

She stood up, her eyes were bright, but she lost none of her serenity.

‘I know,’ he said, ‘I can rely on you.’

‘It will be an honour to serve Mr Fox,’ she said.

He moved towards her. She thought he was going to embrace her; but again she held him off with her eyes.

He accepted her decision, and when she showed him to the door, he bowed to her as he would have bowed to her mistress.

After his chair had carried him away she went to her room; she held the white and silver tissue dress against her.

Folly! she thought. I am being as foolish as our play actress. But from the way he looked, the way he spoke, it was obvious that he respected me.

On the evening of that day Fox made his way to Cumberland’s Mansion in Pall Mall where the Duchess received him with pleasure; and he was genuinely delighted to be in the company of this fascinating woman who had snared a royal duke and had kept her place in his affections because she was twenty times cleverer than he was. One of the most beautiful women in London – and she would have been so without the famous eyelashes – she was also one of the most witty; her wit was spiced with malice, it was true, and often expressed in the coarsest terms, but Fox admired and respected her.

‘A game of faro is what you want,’ she said.

Of course he wanted a game of faro. He could not see a gaming table without wanting to try his luck. A born gambler, always hoping for the success which never came, he had already lost a fortune. It was his sublime indifference to money which had helped to set him in his peculiar position, for it was not only money, but honours which he did not seek. It was enough to be Mr Charles James Fox – the man recognized as the most brilliant statesman of his country, and not only by his country but by all the courts of Europe. He was bold and independent, aloof from all blandishments, even of the King himself – for George had at one time known that if he could have had Mr Fox as an ally he could have left the Government in more capable hands than those which guarded it at present. For all his affection for North, the King was well aware of his deficiencies. But Fox had set himself up in opposition to Tory doctrines; Fox was a Whig; and he opposed every Tory measure with the most cutting scorn. Fox declared he was for the people and he was going to maintain their privileges in the face of all opposition.

Such a man could have been an irresistible power in the land but for the fact that he possessed a dual personality. The statesman of integrity was a voluptuary of the most blatant kind. Drink, women and the gaming table were his recreations; and as he was a man of unbounded energy he gave to these activities the same indefatigable enthusiasm that he did to politics. He took a new mistress more frequently than he took a bath; his debts ran into five figures; and it was only because through long practice he could drink most men insensible that he was rarely drunk.

Yet he was sought by all the greatest hostesses in London and now the Duchess of Cumberland had caught the Duke’s eye and he, seeing that Mr Fox was with her, hastened to greet his guest.

‘A game of faro?’ said the Duke, his eyes glistening.

Fox replied that nothing would give him greater pleasure later; there was a little matter he wished to discuss with the Duke and if it were possible for him and the Duchess to leave their guests for a while, he would like a little serious conversation with them.

The Duchess replied that it should be arranged and if Mr Fox would slip into the anteroom near her bedroom they could be quite undisturbed there.

It was not easy for such flamboyant characters as Mr Fox and the Duke and Duchess to slip away unnoticed, but in due course they met in the anteroom and Mr Fox came straight to the point.

‘The Prince of Wales is making slow progress with his inamorata,’ he said.

‘A prude!’ retorted the Duke spitefully.

‘Dearest Henry must be forgiven a little sourness towards the lady, but he’ll make up for it in sympathy towards our nephew,’ explained the Duchess. ‘He once had a fancy for her. Poor Henry, it was such a waste of valuable time. I told you, Henry, did I not, that many other ladies would have been far more likely to provide a satisfactory end to the chase. Do you know of anything more frustrating, Mr Fox, than a hunt when the victim gets clean away.’

‘None,’ said Mr Fox. ‘But the victim must not be allowed to elude the hunter this time.’

Cumberland shrugged his shoulders. But Fox was not going to let personal resentment interfere with his plans.

‘He’ll soon be eighteen. We should not imagine that we are the only people who are aware of that. We have to get him on our side. If we don’t the Tories will have him.’

‘He’d be a Whig just because the King is a Tory.’

‘I am not so sure. You can be certain that your brother Gloucester will step in if you don’t, and don’t forget he has the advantage. In spite of his marriage and the fact that his wife is not received at Court His Majesty is quite fond of him.’

‘More than he is of me,’ grimaced Cumberland.

‘So Your Highness will see that it is necessary for us to act promptly.’

‘Our little encounter in the Park didn’t do much good.’

‘I am forced to disagree with your Highness. I believe that the Prince was most touched and thought his uncle a charming fellow. He was more resentful against his father than ever for denying him the company of such fascinating relations. When he is free – and that may well be in a few months’ time – he will want to show his affection, I am sure of it. That is why we must be ready for him.’

‘Mr Fox is right,’ said the Duchess. ‘This must be the house which he must feel is a home to him.’

Fox threw her a grateful glance. Trust Madam Horton to see the advantage. She would deal with her less perceptive Duke.

‘Well?’ said Cumberland, deferring to the Duchess as always.

‘Mrs Robinson should be your guest.’

‘If I asked her she would suspect an attack on her precious virtue.’

‘Her Highness the Duchess would be her hostess.’

‘The lady shall come,’ promised the Duchess. ‘Why not with Sheridan?’

‘That is no hardship I do assure you.’

‘An entertaining fellow. He’ll bring a new shine to Cumberland House.’

‘And the lady should be persuaded to stop teasing the Prince.’

‘Why?’ demanded Cumberland.

‘Because, my lord Duke, if she does not, our Prince will grow so impatient that he will look elsewhere. We cannot expect a full-blooded young man as your nephew undoubtedly is to live on sighs. What if he chose a mistress in the Tory camp? It could be fatal to our hopes. No, it shall be Perdita. But she has to be persuaded that there is more glory to be found in the arms of a Prince of Wales than in prudery.’

‘Her prudery could be overcome,’ grumbled the Duke.

‘How so?’ demanded his Duchess. ‘How was it that you who are skilled in the arts of overcoming that horrid vice could not overcome it in her case?’

‘Every woman has her price.’ He looked hard at his Duchess.

That she conceded. ‘Even if it’s marriage.’ She fluttered her lashes, as though calling attention to her big bargaining counter. ‘But Perdita could not be such a fool as to imagine she could marry the Prince of Wales. And since she is answering his letters and writing to him as passionately and as yearningly as he is writing to her, somewhere underneath all that display of virtue there must be some small idea of what she would accept.’

‘That’s it,’ said the Duke. ‘After all if they’re going to make the affair so public – and his behaviour at the Oratorio suggests he will – she would have to give up the stage; and if he tires of her in a month or so, which is not inconceivable, the lady should naturally look for some security.’

‘The Prince should offer her a bond of some sort,’ said the Duchess. ‘He should do so in the most delicate terms. The lady will refuse indignantly; then it will be offered again and she will refuse hesitantly; and at the third time she will accept reluctantly. Would you care to take a bet on it Mr Fox. A thousand guineas.’

‘Done,’ said Mr Fox, ‘Although I think you have the better chance. But I’d be so pleased if it happened that I wouldn’t mind paying up. But how is the Prince to be made to realize how he should act?’

The Duke and Duchess were silent for a while then the Duchess said: ‘Lord Maiden is the messenger. Part of his duty as HRH’s equerry is to carry his master’s love letters to the ladies of his choice. Maiden has been our guest. He shall be so again. Never fear, the Duke shall drop a word of advice into Malden’s ear. Poor Malden, I fancy he is in love with the lady himself. He will be glad to please his master and at the same time release himself from a mission which, in the circumstances, must be somewhat odious.’

‘But if he is in love with the woman will he want to pass her over to the Prince?’

The Duchess looked mockingly at her husband. ‘Sometimes the dogs enjoy the crumbs which fall from their master’s table. Maiden will be waiting, chops slavering, tail wagging, ever faithful for the day when Florizel takes on a new role. After all, we must have a change of show sometimes. And when The Winter’s Tale becomes The Lady Dishonoured, Malden will step in with a show of his own, Patience Rewarded.’

Mr Fox said: ‘The Duchess as usual has found the solution. Now we will see if this lady – like so many others – has her price. I have no doubt that she has, but it may be marriage, which in her case would be impossible for her lover, however enamoured, to meet. But if she will set her sights a little lower …’

‘Then,’ said the Duchess, ‘the Prince shall have his Perdita and Mr Fox would lose a thousand guineas.’

‘In the circumstances,’ said Mr Fox, ‘’tis a consummation devoutly to be wished!’

Perdita was thrown into a state of excitement by the invitation from the Duchess of Cumberland. She called to Mrs Armistead, for the woman was growing more and more useful and more and more Perdita was taking her into her confidence.

‘An invitation from a very illustrious quarter. I confess I should refuse it immediately if it had come from the Duke.’

‘The Duke admired you greatly, Madam.’

‘He was in the theatre night after night and I remember when we were playing Vanburgh’s Relapse under the title of A Day in Scarborough and the audience showed their annoyance, how he publicly defended me.’

‘Madam was wise to spurn the gentleman. He has not a good reputation with the ladies.’

‘But since it is his Duchess who invites me …’

‘Madam will not refuse to grace their company with her presence.’

‘I am of half a mind to refuse, Armistead. Perhaps the Prince would not like me to go.’

‘But this is his uncle!’

‘A well-known seducer.’

‘His Highness was pleased to act most affectionately with him in the Park and I cannot help feeling that it would give him a great deal of pleasure if he knew you visited his uncle’s house.’

‘I am not sure, Armistead.’

Mrs Armistead, knowing that it was Mr Fox’s wish that Perdita should visit Cumberland House, was determined to persuade her mistress to do so; and Perdita was so bemused with the daily letters from her lover that she allowed herself to be persuaded.

It was with a sense of a good piece of work completed that Mrs Armistead put on her becoming cloak with its concealing hood – a gift from Perdita and therefore of excellent cut and material – and hurried to Mr Fox’s lodgings in St James’s to tell him that the first step in his mission was accomplished.

Such pleasant company at Cumberland House! And how they had acclaimed Perdita! The Duchess was quite charming to her, and although Perdita was a little uneasy in the presence of such a woman and was a little afraid that such dazzling good looks might draw attention from her own, she could remind herself that the Duchess was considerably older than she was and that she, Perdita, had youth on her side.

There she met old friends. Sheridan was present, enchanting the company with his witty sayings; and with him his Amoret, so he had little time to spare for Perdita. She had no cause to complain. Mr Fox was charming to her; Lord Maiden of course could always be relied upon to play the faithful swain; and the Due de Chartres paid marked attention.

She was not of course interested. She did not wish it to reach Florizel’s ears that she had encouraged the attentions of that notorious roué from across the Channel.

‘How pleased I should be,’ the Duchess whispered to her, ‘if our beloved Prince could be here.’

Perdita blushed becomingly; and the Duchess continued in the most friendly manner: ‘Perhaps in the future I shall have the pleasure of being hostess to you both … together.’

If that was not an indication that she would be accepted in some of the family circles, Perdita was not sure what was.

She went home flushed with triumph and confided in Mrs Armistead during her disrobing.

The Prince’s impatience was increasing. When, oh when, was he going to see her, to hold her in his arms, to tell her by word of mouth of his devotion. He could not live on letters for ever.

‘Patience,’ she replied. She would not have him act rashly. He must never forget that he was heir to the Crown.

To which he replied impetuously that he was ready to forget – and forgo – everything if he might but be the lover of Mrs Robinson. It was now May, nearly six months since he had seen her in The Winter’s Tale and he had not yet kissed her lips. Something must be done.

She was kept busy at the theatre. She played Mrs Brady in The Irish Widow and went on to a stupendous success in the part of Eliza Camply in The Miniature Picture. People crowded to the theatre to see her in this part because during it she masqueraded as Sir Harry Revel, which meant that she appeared on the stage in breeches. These set off her fine figure to perfection, revealing her shapely limbs, and the people went mad with joy over her, and demanded Mrs Robinson in more breeches parts.

When she appeared at Ranelagh or the Rotunda and the Pantheon, she was surrounded by people who came to look at her. She was becoming notorious, for many people believed that she was in fact the mistress of the Prince of Wales.

And then Lord Maiden came with a very special gift for her.

‘Madam,’ he said, ‘it is imperative that you give His Highness some satisfaction or I fear for his health. He is pining away. He has sent you this gift as a sign of his devotion and good faith. I beg of you accept it and help to restore His Highness to his former robust health.’

‘He is ill?’ She was all concern.

‘Pining for you, Madam.’

She opened the package and turned pale and then red as she glanced at it. It was a bond for twenty thousand pounds which His Highness would honour at his coming of age. This was sealed by the royal arms.

Twenty thousand pounds! How long would it take her to earn so much in the theatre with Mr Sheridan always hinting at cuts in salaries because in spite of full houses he could not make ends meet.

Twenty thousand pounds! It sounded almost as joyous as wedding bells in her ears.

There was a letter from Florizel. He implored her to take this gift because it would show her confidence in him. He hoped he had not offended her by offering it but it was given from the depth of his heart. He would like to lay all he had at the feet of his fair Perdita.

Her eyes filled with tears, but she did not let them fall; they were so disastrous to the complexion and she never for one moment forgot what an ardent admirer Lord Maiden was.

‘The Prince is the most generous of men, but I could not accept such a gift.’

‘But Madam, it will break His Highness’s heart if you don’t.’

‘Wrong constructions could be placed on such a gift.’

‘His Highness would be desolate if you placed any but the right ones.’

‘I know … I know … I never for one moment doubted his intentions. But if it were known …’

‘Why should it be known?’

‘You must take it away. Tell him the whole notion is repugnant to me.’

‘I dare not, Madam. You cannot believe how deeply upset the Prince can be on your account.’

‘How I wish he could have all he deserves.’

‘It is in your power to give it to him, Madam. I fear he will become ill if he does not see you soon.’

‘Take this away!’ She picked up the bond. Maiden laid his hand lightly on it but did not take it – nor did she release it.

‘At least do not make a hasty decision, Madam. Think of the Prince.’

‘I am thinking of him … constantly. Not what would be best for me but for him.’

‘Hold the bond here for a while, I beg of you. To return it now would be such a blow to him.’

‘Very well, I will do that. But I have no intention of taking it.’

Lord Maldon left and Mrs Armistead learned from her mistress that she had received the bond. She was even allowed to study it. ‘You are so clever at that sort of thing, Armistead.’

A bond sealed with the royal seal, for £20 000 to be paid when the Prince came of age. There was no doubt about it. There it was in black and white.

At the earliest opportunity she reported to Mr Fox.

‘She says she will not take it but she will. She studies it even more constantly than she does his letters … and more lovingly. She will accept it.’

‘And once she has,’ mused Mr Fox, for he was finding Mrs Armistead worth a confidence or two, ‘the meeting will take place. The Prince will gain a mistress and I shall lose a thousand guineas.’

He kissed Mrs Armistead lightly on the forehead as though to say, Well done, thou good and faithful servant.

Their relationship was changing. Attraction was springing up between them which might have seemed incongruous. She was so neat, fastidious in her cleanliness; he so slovenly; she a servant in the house of an actress and he a welcome guest in high society.

They were both aware of the incongruity of this attraction because it was of the mind as well as the body; but it was none the less irresistible because of this.

She would keep the bond, she explained to Lord Malden, because she feared that to return it would hurt the Prince’s susceptibilities.

‘It is true,’ replied Malden.

‘I fear it to be a little indelicate to take it … but I see no alternative.’

There was no alternative, Malden assured her.

And she bowed her head.

And each day she looked at it, at those magic words: ‘Twenty thousand pounds’, and the royal seal. It is after all, she told herself, a measure of his devotion to me. I must try to see it in the spirit in which it is meant.

And after accepting the bond it was a short step to a meeting.

When? the Prince was constantly demanding, and Perdita knew that she could hold out no longer.

She explained to Lord Malden.

‘The Prince is asking me to give up my career, my husband … my reputation for his sake. Oh, do not mistake me. I would gladly give my life for him. I fear, though, the anger of the King and Queen. And what if he should change towards me? I should have no wish to live.’

Lord Maiden reminded her of the paper heart which had come with the miniature. ‘Unalterable to my Perdita through Life.’

‘Madam, all this time when you have refused to meet him he has been faithful. How much more so will he be when you are his.’

‘Do you believe that, Lord Malden?’

‘With all my heart,’ said Malden.

‘And when the world knows what I have done …’

‘Yours is a triumph of chastity,’ he told her.

A triumph of chastity! The expression appealed to her. Yes, she could see it that way. For nearly six months the Prince had sighed for her, implored her to meet him; and always she had replied that he must consider his position, that she must not think of her own desires but what was best for him.

And now at last she was capitulating; and it was a triumph of chastity.