Perdita's Prince: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘Colonel Hotham,’ she said. ‘His Majesty has given the Duke of Gloucester permission to see the Prince of Wales. I want you to be in the room during the interview. I want you to tell me everything that is said.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  ‘I feel sure that your presence will prevent the Prince’s uncle from saying anything that it would not be good for His Highness to hear. But if he should … I wish to know.’

  Colonel Hotham assured the Queen that she could trust him to be her very good servant … now as always.

  When the Queen dismissed him Colonel Hotham went back to the Dower Lodge, but on his way there he reflected that if he insisted on remaining in the room where the Prince would meet the Duke he would have some explaining to do. The Prince was on the whole good tempered, but he could fly into rages – particularly if he felt his dignity was impaired. And surely by appointing an onlooker at this interview it could be said that the Queen was treating him as a child.

  What a quandary! It was, in fact, a choice between pleasing the Queen or the Prince. The Queen had no power whatsoever. Indeed the King himself might be displeased by the presence of a third party at the interview, and as it would be only on the Queen’s orders that he would be there, was he not placing himself in an invidious position?

  Family dissensions would make a great deal of trouble – not only for the family but for those who served them. Wise men remained outside them, particularly when a dangerous situation was arising – a powerful king and very soon to be an equally powerful prince.

  Yes, he must drop a hint to the Prince before the meeting took place.

  *

  ‘What!’ cried the Prince. ‘You will stay in the room when my uncle calls. But on whose orders, pray?’

  ‘On those of the Queen, sir.’

  ‘So the Queen sees fit to meddle now. And His Majesty?’

  ‘I have no orders from him, Your Highness.’

  The Prince smiled slowly. ‘I do not think you will be present, Colonel Hotham.’

  ‘Do you not, sir?’

  ‘No, because I will write to the King and ask that you may not.’

  ‘Very well, sir. As you know I shall await orders.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the Prince.

  He sat down at once and wrote a letter to his father. The Queen had ordered that one of his servants should be present at the interview between himself and his uncle, and as he was certain that this would give displeasure to his uncle, he was humbly entreating His Majesty to rescind the order.

  He had correctly calculated the effect this would have on the King, who heartily disliked the Queen to interfere in any matter, and would think it was presumptuous of her to take it upon herself to give this order to Colonel Hotham. Charlotte had still not learned her lesson; then she must be taught it. No interference. Get on with the task of bearing the royal children at which she was extremely efficient. But certainly she was not when she meddled in matters of state and diplomacy.

  The King wrote back to the Prince who for once had remembered his manners and written in the respectful way a son should write to his father. Certainly Colonel Hotham should not be present.

  Gleefully the Prince acquainted the Colonel with this fact and the Colonel congratulated himself that he had had the good sense to inform the Prince of the matter and so not incur his displeasure.

  There was no doubt that the Prince was becoming more important every day. It seemed to the Colonel that today he was only second to the King. And tomorrow? Who could say? But it was as well to be prepared.

  *

  The Duke of Gloucester embraced his nephew warmly. There were tears in his eyes which the Prince was quick to notice, and he himself took a perfumed lace-edged kerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes.

  ‘So long …’ sighed Gloucester. ‘And you have become a man.’

  ‘I am glad you recognize it, Uncle. It is more than some do.’

  ‘You’ll shortly be eighteen. You’ll notice the difference then.’

  ‘But still three years from twenty-one. I never knew time could pass so slowly.’

  ‘Ha, there’ll come a time when you’ll remember those words.’

  ‘So I am constantly told, but I find the passage of time so slow that it infuriates me. You can guess how I long to be of age … with my own establishment … my independence.’

  ‘I can understand it well.’

  ‘I wish my father did.’

  ‘Oh, there is always this difficulty with fathers and sons.’

  ‘You think uncles understand nephews better?’

  ‘I am certain of it.’

  They were laughing together. Why isn’t the King more like his brothers? the Prince asked himself in exasperation. When have I ever been able to speak lightly about anything, to have a little joke with him. Never! He has no humour. What a bore the old man is!

  ‘Well, perhaps now you are permitted to come to Court you will be able to drive a little understanding into my father’s head.’

  ‘It’ll come. He’ll realize you are grown up all of a sudden.’

  ‘I intend him to,’ said the Prince. ‘For one thing, I think it quite absurd that I have not been able to meet my uncles before this simply because my father did not like their Duchesses.’

  ‘We married without his consent.’

  ‘And why should you not? Why should one grown man have to ask the consent of another?’

  ‘Well, his Marriage Bill was fortunately too late to affect us.’

  The Prince laughed. ‘I’d like you and my uncle Cumberland to know that I admire you for what you did.’

  ‘I must thank Your Highness for those kind words. But you won’t attempt to follow our example will you?’

  The Prince was on the verge of confiding his devotion to Mrs Robinson but decided against it. In any case his uncle probably knew about it. Most people did; the only ears it had not reached were those of the King and the Queen.

  ‘If I did,’ joked the Prince, ‘I would first come to you to ask your advice as to how to set about it.’

  Both uncles were so easy to get on with. He enjoyed chatting with them. He asked after the Duchess, for he was not going to follow his father’s stupid example. And his uncle was very pleased to speak of her, for there was no doubt that his marriage had been a success.

  When the half hour was over, and the Prince took leave of his uncle, he said: ‘I cannot see you now without the King’s leave, but in three years I shall be of age, and then I may act for myself. I declare I will visit you.’

  *

  The King sent for his son. As the rumours and gossip concerning Perdita Robinson and the Prince had so far been kept from him and the Queen, he believed that young George had been behaving during the last months with unusual propriety and had told the Queen that he believed that he was settling down at last. Charlotte was only too happy to agree.

  Therefore when the Prince arrived the King greeted him without the usual irritation. The Prince’s manner seemed subdued. He was in fact wondering whether the King had sent for him because he had discovered about Perdita; and when he found that this was not the case he was distinctly relieved.

  ‘Your eighteenth birthday will soon be with us,’ said the King. ‘A milestone, eh, what?’

  ‘A milestone,’ repeated the Prince, his hopes soaring. Now he was going to hear of the allowance he would get, the house which would be his. The gates of freedom were slowly opening.

  ‘No longer a boy! Responsibilities, eh? Well, it is fitting that you should have an apartment of your own.’

  Apartment, thought the Prince; and visualized the fine house which would be his. If he did not like it he would have it altered to his design. He had a distinct flair for architecture and had told Perdita that when his father gave him some noble house it should be a love nest for them both.

  ‘You are not yet fully of age. Another three years before that.

  But eighteen … yes, an apartment certainly. I have
decided that part of Buckingham House shall be assigned to you and your staff.’

  Part of Buckingham House! How could he and Perdita make their love nest in his father’s palace! The Prince was aghast.

  The King went on: ‘You’ll have an allowance that’ll be adequate and you shall have your own horses. You’ll not be under the same restraint …’

  The Prince was not listening. A red haze seemed to swim before his eyes. Was this what he had been waiting for?

  Rooms … rooms in Buckingham House!

  He could not speak what was in his mind. He dared not. He was a minor still. Three long weary years stretched out before him. He had expected to gain so much and had gained so little.

  One prison door had been opened, but he was not to be allowed his full freedom.

  *

  ‘Rooms in Buckingham House!’ he told Frederick. ‘Think of it! Under Papa’s constant eye. I thought I was going to have my own establishment. I thought I was going to invite my friends.’

  ‘You’ll choose your friends now,’ Frederick pointed out. ‘For instance, you won’t have to scale walls when you go and meet them. You won’t have to hire rooms in inns surely. You have gained something.’

  ‘By God,’ cried the Prince. ‘I mean to show them. His and Her Sainted Majesties! I will make them wish they had never tried to put their fetters on me. I shall live as I like … do as I like … even though it is only in a part of Buckingham House.’

  *

  He determined to show the Court that he would not tolerate restraint. Even the apartments in Buckingham House were not to be occupied until January. But at least he had more freedom and he intended to exploit it to the full. No longer was it necessary to disguise himself as a night watchman and go clandestinely to Eel Pie Island. The Countess of Derby wanted to sell her house in Cork Street and it seemed to him ideal for Perdita. The money to buy it? Who would deny credit to the Prince of Wales?

  So the house in Cork Street was his and he met Perdita there and together they went over it planning how it should be decorated. Perdita was all for discreet pastel shades; but the Prince wanted scarlet and gold. It was to be a royal residence; he himself intended to spend much of his time here. He would furnish it as a surprise for her.

  And so he did … sparing no expense. On the command of the Prince of Wales, was enough to make any tradesman rush to execute the order. Most expensive materials must be used, everything of the finest – and no questions asked about the price.

  The Prince, inhaling the air of freedom, was happier than ever before, he told Frederick; and his ecstasy was reflected in the lovers knots which appeared on the furnishing, the entwined initials G and P, the gilded mirrors, the velvet curtains of the bed.

  The Prince’s orders were that the work must be completed at express speed. He could not wait to have his Perdita installed in Cork Street.

  There came the day when he was waiting there to greet her. There he stood in the hall to embrace her and like an excited child to conduct her from room to room to show her how an ordinary house could be made into a royal residence.

  Perdita was delighted with the entwined initials. A kingly custom. She did not recall, if she ever knew, that so had Henry VIII entwined his initials with those of Anne Boleyn in Hampton Court, but that poor Anne had lost her head before the work was completed.

  Why should such thoughts occur to her? The Prince was as devoted as ever. He had bought this charming house for her and it was their home; and if it was the grandest she had ever lived in, well then, by his devotion he had lifted her to an eminence which some years before she would not have dreamed of attaining. She had come a long way from the rooms in Hatton Garden which she had shared with Mr Robinson when they were first married. But she would not think of Mr Robinson who was an uneasy subject at the best of times.

  To the bedroom – with its velvet bed curtains caught up in a coronet under which they could make love.

  ‘Different from that inn room, eh?’ laughed the Prince.

  ‘So different. How can I ever thank you, my Prince.’

  ‘If you go on loving me, it is enough,’ he answered.

  She must be painted, he said. Of course he must have a portrait of her. He would arrange for one of the great painters of the day to come to Cork Street. His very own picture of his very own Perdita.

  And so he sent the artist Stroehling to her; and she was painted reclining on a velvet-covered couch – a flimsy gown cut low to give a glimpse of a charming bosom, sloping shoulders and rounded arms. About her lower limbs was wrapped a cloak lined with ermine; and the artist had painted a fountain in the background.

  The Prince came to watch the work in progress and was delighted with it.

  ‘I shall keep it for ever,’ he declared. ‘It will remind me of the day I first saw you, when you came on to the stage and changed my whole life. I remember how jealous I was when Florizel came on and you took his hand. How I longed to play Florizel!

  “So turtles pair,

  Who never mean to part …”’

  he quoted.

  Then he had an inspiration. The artist should paint two turtle doves into the picture.

  This was done and when it was completed he was delighted.

  As soon as he had his own apartments he would have it hung in his cabinet – a constant symbol of two lovers who were never meant to part.

  Cumberland House

  ELIZABETH SHERIDAN WAS apprehensive. She rarely saw her husband now. The East Burnham days seemed so far off that they might never have existed. She feared the future.

  The School for Scandal alone could have made Richard a rich man; the theatre brought in a good income; but what happened? The gaming tables claimed a large share of it; and women? She often wondered about women.

  How different it was from those days when they had run away together. Richard was not the same man. She had known he had great talent, and had rejoiced in it; but to what had it brought him?

  If only he would have allowed her to earn money by her singing, her name could have brought audiences to rival those of Perdita Robinson. But he was too proud, he said. Vanity perhaps would be a more apt term.

  But she never showed her fears. She knew that that would have alienated him more quickly than ever. In his way he had an affection for her which went deep and none of his light amours could shake. She must accept him as he was. She must never attempt to change him, for to do so would be to lose him altogether.

  Sometimes she thought longingly of the old days in Bath – the happy home, the musical family … the carefree days. She had visualized life going on in the same serene way when she had married Richard. She wanted to help him succeed as a playwright and she had thought that would have been the most important thing in the world to them both.

  But it was not. He would start a play and tire of it. He did not want to work; he wanted to live in gay society; he was famous for his wit which came to him spontaneously; she had heard him scatter conversational gems to the right and left – to the delight of his listeners – they came and carelessly were lost when they should have been stored for posterity’s delight.

  He was indifferent to such suggestions; he only lived for pleasure. He caroused half the night and rose late in the mornings; sometimes he did not come home at all and she would lie in her bed wondering where and with whom he was sleeping that night.

  And now he had become friendly with Mr Fox, and she was afraid of where this friendship would lead. Fox was brilliant; Fox was influential; she had no doubt of that. He was also a gambler and a lecher. And … she had to admit it … so was Richard.

  The friendship had begun suddenly and since then had ripened; and it was going to change Richard’s career, she knew.

  If he had a seat in Parliament he would become the close ally of Fox. She had tried to reason with him when he had come home so excited on that day to tell her that Fox had been to see him. ‘You would be drawn into a circle, Richard, where living is high. We could not
afford it. We are in debt now.’

  ‘You look at life through your Bath eyes, my darling. You see life provincially. This will be the making of our fortunes if I am clever. And do you doubt that I am?’

  ‘No, no, Richard, but there are your plays … the theatre …’

  And he had laughed at her and said: ‘St Cecilia, go back to your angels.’

  And if he were successful … if he won this seat. She could see it so clearly. He would be reaching for power, he would move among men who had no need to consider money – or if they had, did not – men like Fox who had been bankrupt several times. But Fox was the son of a noble house. His father had been rich Lord Holland; he was connected with the Duke of Richmond. Sheridan could not afford to move in such circles. But he would do so all the same. The mound of bills would become a mountain. The nights away from home would be more numerous; and her anxieties would increase a hundred-fold. But there was nothing she could do.

  Sheridan himself came in to interrupt her brooding.

  ‘Elizabeth, where are you?’

  She ran to him; he swung her up in his arms.

  ‘Now, my girl,’ he said, ‘show proper respect to the Member of Parliament for Stafford.’

  *

  Prince Frederick was dismayed, and he went at once to his brother to tell him the reason for his concern.

  ‘They are sending me away, George.’

  The Prince stared at him in horror. Sending Fred away! Why, they had been together all their lives, shared a thousand adventures; George constantly confided in Fred; they were inseparable.

  ‘What are you talking about, Fred?’

  ‘I have just had an audience with the King. He says that before the year’s out I am to go to Germany.’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘To start learning how to be a soldier. Colonel Greville is going with me.’

  ‘You could learn that here in England.’

  ‘I know. But they’re sending me to Germany.’

  ‘By God,’ cried the Prince. ‘Can’t he forget his ancestors were Germans!’

  ‘I suppose not. There’s too much German in the family for that.’