Perdita's Prince: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  Perdita did not heed him; the ponies seemed to sense the danger and galloped as never before, and after some moments of intense anxiety with great relief she saw the lights of an inn. She decided that if she reached it safely she would spend the night there for in any case it would be too late to get a message to the Prince at Windsor now.

  The poor little postilion was white with fear and a little resentful, wondering why they had had to risk their lives by crossing the Heath only to pull up at the Magpie.

  The landlord received them with pleasure and when she recounted the adventure assured her that she was a very brave lady and lucky to escape not only being robbed but with her life.

  She was exhausted she said, and would have food sent up to her room. Her young postilion needed food too; he had acted with courage in an alarming situation and she wished him to know that she was pleased with him.

  When the food was brought to her room she found she was very hungry and remembered that it was long since she had last eaten. She ate and lay down on her bed and was soon fast asleep.

  She was awakened after a while by the sounds of commotion in the inn yard, where there was a great deal of running to and fro; visitors she supposed, and slept again to be awakened some hours later by more noises. This time it sounded like departures.

  The busy life of an inn, she supposed, and slept again.

  She was awake early and immediately became anxious to continue the journey to Windsor. She washed and dressed, put on her rouge and patches to the best of her ability, sighing for Mrs Armistead who would have done so much better than she could.

  Then she went down to take a little refreshment before leaving.

  This was brought to her and when she had eaten and had made her way out of the dining room, she saw a woman descending the staircase. At first she thought she was dreaming.

  Mrs Armistead!

  But what could her lady’s maid be doing here at the Magpie Inn at this hour of morning?

  It was a mistake. It could not be Mrs Armistead. It was her double.

  For a few seconds they stood perfectly still looking at each other. Surely that calm handsome face could belong to no one else.

  Then the woman turned and unhurriedly, and with the utmost dignity, made her way back the way she had come.

  Perdita cried suddenly and imperiously: ‘Armistead.’ But the woman did not look back as she disappeared round a turn in the staircase.

  Impossible, thought Perdita. I must be dreaming.

  The innkeeper was at the door rubbing his hands, trusting she had spent a good night and had had a good breakfast.

  She assured him she had and he told her that the phaeton was ready to leave when she was.

  And then she received her second surprise. A man sauntered across the yard. She knew that man. He was a servant of the Prince’s. His name was Meynel. He had on one or two occasions brought messages to her from the Prince.

  How strange. It was like a dream. First she imagined she had seen Armistead – but she had seen Armistead – and then the Prince’s servant.

  The innkeeper was beside her.

  ‘Is that man attached to the household of the Prince of Wales?’ she asked.

  The innkeeper looked sly. ‘Oh, Madam, we entertain the quality here. I could tell you …’

  She did not answer. She went out to the phaeton. Mrs Armistead! Meynel! How very strange.

  All the way to Windsor she was thinking of the strangeness of this encounter. A suspicion had come into her mind. The Prince had shown an interest in Armistead. She had caught him watching her now and then. There had been an occasion when she had seen his arrival and he had been a long time coming into her room. And Armistead had left her … after all these years … so oddly.

  Armistead! An assignation with the Prince!

  ‘Oh no, no,’ she murmured.

  But in her heart she believed it was true, and something told her that if it was, this was indeed the end.

  *

  The next day she arrived in Windsor. She gazed wistfully at the castle and thought of how happy she could have been had she been a princess who might have married him. Everything would have been so different then. There would have been none of the anxieties which had led to friction between them.

  She saw herself as a princess arriving from a foreign country, startling him with her beauty.

  But encroaching reality was so alarming that it robbed her dreams of any substance; at such a time even she was forced to recognize them for the fancies they were.

  She would be brisk and practical; so she pulled up at an inn where she wrote a letter and sent the postilion to the castle with it instructing him to find Lord Malden who, she was sure, was with the Prince, and when he had found him to tell him from whom the note came and beg him to deliver it into no hands but those of the Prince of Wales.

  The boy was away for a fretful hour and a half before he returned and said that he had at length been taken to Lord Malden and given the note to him.

  ‘You did well,’ she told the boy.

  The waiting was almost unbearable. At one moment she was assuring herself that the note would bring the Prince to the inn full of remorse; at another she pictured his becoming angry with her for following him to Windsor, but soon to be placated by her soft words and beauty. One thing she could not visualize and that was that he would not come at all.

  It was Lord Maiden who came, looking melancholy and anxious. Dear Lord Maiden, who had always been such a good friend!

  She greeted him eagerly. ‘The Prince …’

  Lord Maiden shook his head.

  ‘You gave him my note?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And you have a reply for me. Why did he not come himself when I begged him to?’

  ‘The Prince is determined not to see you.’

  ‘But why … why … what have I done to deserve this? Did he read my note?’

  ‘Yes and …’

  ‘What? Pray do not hide anything.’

  ‘He tore it into pieces and said he had no wish to see you again.’

  ‘But …’

  Lord Maiden took her hand and looked into her face. ‘You should return to Cork Street. You will find you have many friends … many friends …’

  He was regarding her with that hungry expression which she knew so well.

  She withdrew her hands impatiently.

  ‘I must see the Prince.’

  Malden shook his head. ‘He is determined.’

  ‘And so am I.’

  ‘But …’

  She seized his hand suddenly. ‘Promise me this, that you will do your best to persuade him …’

  Lord Maiden replied tenderly: ‘You know that if there is anything on earth I can do to add to your happiness it shall be done. You have lost the Prince of Wales but you have friends left.’

  She felt so sickened with anxiety that she turned peevishly away. She had never known Maiden not to plead his own cause! She knew what he was hinting. Don’t mourn because you are no longer the mistress of the Prince of Wales. There are many other men who are ready to take you on.

  The shame of it! she thought. That was what they would be saying and thinking now.

  ‘I will go back to Cork Street now,’ she said. ‘There is nothing more to be done here.’

  Malden bowed his head.

  And Perdita, sick at heart and defeated, climbed into her phaeton. How much better if she had never come.

  She rode back to London, bruised and wounded – yet thinking not so much of the Prince of Wales as the bills which would be coming in as soon as the news leaked out that the Prince had finished with her.

  How would she meet them? It seemed to her that as she rode across the Heath – in daylight this time – a shadow loomed over her. Not a highwayman, but the debtors’ prison.

  Birthday celebrations at Windsor

  IN THE GREAT drawing room the Prince stood beside his father receiving congratulations on attaining his nineteenth birth
day. He looked magnificent in his elegant coat, on which flashed the diamond star as brilliant as the buckles on his shoes.

  Handsome enough, thought the King. But getting fat. Have to speak to him about it. If he shows signs at nineteen what will he be at my age?

  The King felt that he was an old man although only in his early forties. The weight of state affairs, the trials of a family …

  The Queen looked on almost complacently for having produced such a handsome son; she was pleased, too, because although her little scheme to provide him with a nice comfortable German mistress had failed, there were rumours that he was not nearly so friendly with that dreadful play actress.

  He’ll settle down, thought the Queen.

  The Prince was thinking of women. He was free. Dally was amusing and how experienced! He was enjoying his encounters with Dally; and as for the rather sedate Mrs Armistead, she was a treasure. It was amusing to ride out to the Magpie when he felt in the mood and there she would be, never reproaching him, always pleased to see him, so different from Perdita that she reminded him of her – most pleasantly. Reminded him of what he had escaped, of course. That virago-saint! How had he endured her for so long?

  There were going to be changes when he returned to London. He was not going to Cumberland House so frequently. He did not like his uncle and he was not going to pretend he did. The fellow was an ignoramus. The more friendly he became with Fox and Sheridan the more he realized this. Insolent too! Taffy! He would have his friends remember that although he liked to be on terms of intimacy with them he was still the Prince of Wales. No one was going to call him by familiar epithets without his permission. Taffy indeed!

  Yes, there would be changes.

  *

  The celebrations were to last several days, and it was enjoyable to be at the centre of them. He was behaving with such propriety that even the King had nothing of which to complain.

  When they met they talked of politics, which at the moment meant the affair of the American Colonies which occupied the King’s mind almost exclusively. The Prince did not set forward his views which, having been acquired through Charles James Fox, were in exact opposition to those of the King.

  The King was a little optimistic.

  ‘The French,’ he told the Prince, ‘are not so ready now to help our rebels. And I’ll tell you why. They have troubles of their own, big troubles. I would not care to see the finances of this country in the same condition as those of France.’

  The Prince nodded.

  ‘You should take an interest in these affairs. They concern the country. More important than gambling or running after maids of honour, eh?’

  Oh dear, the old fool hadn’t advanced since Harriot Vernon – and he himself had almost forgotten her name and certainly could not recall what she looked like.

  ‘I do take an interest,’ said the Prince coolly. What if the old man knew about those long discussions he enjoyed with Fox and Sheridan over innumerable glasses of wine! That would startle His Majesty. But of course Mr Fox could bring a lucid and brilliant mind to the subject; not like poor old muddled Papa.

  ‘Glad to hear it, glad to hear it. Don’t forget you’ll be taking your place in the House of Lords in two years’ time.’

  ‘Two years,’ said the Prince ironically.

  ‘Seems far ahead. Not so. Not so. I know what it’s like at your age. I was young once myself, you know.’

  Indeed, thought the Prince sarcastically. Your Majesty surprises me. But he merely smiled sycophantishly. There was no point in antagonizing the old man further at this stage. That would come when he did take his part in politics and ranged himself beside Fox against his father.

  ‘Well, well, this has all the appearance of a long contest that will end as it ought by the colonies returning to the mother country and I tell you this: I will never put my hand to any other conclusion of this business.’

  No point in telling him that Mr Fox thought differently, that Mr Fox believed that there would never have been any conflict between the mother country and her colonies if it had not been for the stupidity of the King and certain of his ministers.

  It was irksome indeed to be still under the jurisdiction of such a bumbling old fool. Two more years before he could hope for complete freedom! In the meantime he had to be content with a little more than he was allowed as a boy. His cage was opened now and then; he was allowed to fly out provided he made sure of returning.

  The King, thought the Prince – and he believed this because Fox had told him it was so – was a monarch who believed he should have supreme power in the country. He treated his Prime Minister, Lord North, as the man who should carry out the royal orders. This, according to Fox, was the reason why the best men in the country – Fox implied men like himself – would not serve the King. That was why they must put up with the mistakes of a second-rate politician like North. The troubles of the country were largely due to this attitude of the King’s and it was one which no government worthy of its name would allow. A government headed by Fox would never allow itself to be dictated to. Pitt’s had been such a government and it was under Pitt that England had gained an Empire; it was during North’s ministry that England was losing one.

  Oh wait, thought the Prince. Wait until I am of age. Wait till I take my place in the House of Lords. Wait till I show my hand. Then it will be Fox and the Prince. Men of intelligence at the head of affairs, not two old idiots like North and the King.

  The King had now started on a lecture about the evils of gambling, drink and women. The Prince must remember his position. Never gamble. It meant heavy debts. (The Prince mildly wondered what he owed.) Drink ruined any man – physically and mentally. As for the company of light women that meant scandal; and that was something of which the royal family had to beware more than anything.

  ‘That play actress …’ said the King gruffly. ‘It’s over now, is it?’

  The Prince could say truthfully that it was.

  ‘Good thing. Hope you realize now … those women can be dangerous. Grosvenor’s wife and your uncle Cumberland. Shouldn’t go there, you know. They’re not received and it looks bad.’

  ‘I don’t intend to go there so much in future.’

  ‘That’s good … that’s good.’

  ‘And that fellow Fox. He’s sharp. I don’t trust him. Hear you see something of him. And Sheridan. They say he’s a clever fellow. Can’t see it. Writes a few plays … just words … words … and married that good woman and treats her badly. These people are no good to you. Understand, eh, what?’

  The Prince changed the subject. ‘Several people have invited me to their houses. I thought I would do a tour of the country. It might be interesting and the people like to see us in other parts of the country besides the south.’

  He was thinking: It would be an excellent idea. He would get right away from Perdita in case she became importunate. She had dared come to Windsor to see him. Impertinence. But Perdita could be persistent and she was not going to be easily cast off. He remembered the protestations he had made of fidelity. Well, it was the usual lover’s talk. And how was he to have known that she would be so melancholy and write those dreadful poems about how she had suffered and all she had given up. It had become unendurable. No one could have endured it – few would as long as he had.

  ‘Oh,’ said the King, ‘where have these invitations come from, eh what?’

  The Prince told him, enumerating some of the most well-known families in the country.

  The King grunted. They would entertain him lavishly. There would be drinking and gambling and women. He did not think that this was the time for his son to go gallivanting all over the country. Not until he was a little more mature … and the King was a little more sure of what was going on in his mind. He seemed to have improved a little but he could not be sure.

  ‘When did they wish you to go, eh, what?’

  ‘Almost immediately. Before the summer is over. Travelling up to the north would present dif
ficulties later.’

  ‘H’m. Have to think about this. After all, Prince of Wales has his duties. Have to be careful. Go to one, and another wouldn’t like it. Understand, eh, what?’

  ‘No,’ said the Prince. ‘I hope to visit frequently and if I don’t take in some this visit I’ll do another later. I think it is wrong for us to stay in the south all the time as though we hadn’t a country outside this area.’

  ‘Oh, you do, do you? Well, we’ll see. I’ll look into this and let you know my decision.’

  The Prince’s face was pink. He could not keep on friendly terms with the old man for long. He was impossible. How much longer must he be treated like a child. He knew the answer to that. Two years. Not until he was twenty-one could he escape.

  *

  But the visit to Windsor had its compensations.

  At the dinner which preceded the birthday ball he found himself seated next to the lovely Lady Augusta Campbell.

  The banquet was held in St George’s Hall and to accommodate the eighty members of the nobility who were the guests of the royal family three long tables had been set up. At the head of one of these sat the King and Queen and at another the Prince of Wales.

  Lady Augusta was young and charming and she talked gaily of the review in the Park which had taken place that afternoon as part of the birthday celebrations. The Prince talked to no one else and this was noticed – and not without some dismay by Lady Augusta’s mother, the Duchess of Argyll.

  As soon as the banquet was over and the ball began the Prince danced with Lady Augusta and it was clear that he was reluctant to partner anyone else.

  There were whispers and sly glances. He has finished with Perdita Robinson. Will Lady Augusta be the next? And what of Dally the Tall? Was she going to stand aside and see the prize snatched from her by this young inexperienced girl.

  Lady Augusta was certainly a lovely creature. She lacked the art of beautifying herself which a woman like Perdita Robinson possessed; but beside the actress she would seem young and pure.

  During the evening the Prince persuaded her to leave the ballroom and walk in the moonlit park, but when he attempted to kiss her she was a little reluctant.