Other Women

by Fiona McDonald

  It did not take long for Louise to become a great favourite of Charles II both in and out of bed. Nell Gwyn did not like her and nor did the English people. It was not just that Louise was so obviously French, but that she was greedy for money and made sure she was kept well supplied with it. Louise’s son with the king, another Charles, was made Duke of Richmond when he was 3 years old.

  Louise de Kérouaille

  Louise was given various titles: Baroness Petersfield, Countess of Fareham and Duchess of Portsmouth. She also received the whacking great sum of £27,300. No wonder poor Nell was not pleased (though to be fair Charles did spend close to £60,000 on her over a three-year period).

  Although Louise was Catholic she did not suffer the same fate as befell Barbara Palmer when the 1676 act was brought in preventing Catholics from holding any form of office within the royal household. This was because the queen intervened and had Louise made a member of her staff, who were exempt. Catherine, who had so hated Barbara Palmer, was more inclined to like Louise, who treated her with respect and was companionable. The queen may not have liked how her husband lived but she learned to put up with it as best she could.

  Louise was with Charles when he died. She had been his constant companion throughout his illness and brought him solace at the end of his life, also insisting that he receive confession and absolution from a Catholic priest before he died.

  After Charles’s death Louise returned to France. England had not wanted her, did not like her, and James was not going to keep up her pension if he could help it. She did not live within her much diminished means and soon got into debt. Louis XIV and then the regent Philippe d’Orléans came to her rescue, bailed her out of her financial woes and settled a comfortable pension on her. She lived to be a venerable 85 years.

  THE MISTRESSES OF GEORGE

  AUGUSTUS, PRINCE OF WALES

  George IV

  MARY ‘PERDITA’ ROBINSON (NÉE DARBY)

  Mary Darby (1758–1800) was born into a comfortable and loving home. In her memoirs she describes it in great and affectionate detail. This cosy, safe world was suddenly whipped away from her when the family discovered why their father had been away so long in America: he had met someone else and wanted to set up home with her. The father whom Mary had known and adored was actually a selfish, heartless man, demanding the sale of the house that his legitimate family were living in.

  Mary was not 10 years old at the time that her errant father called the family to London to meet with him so he could settle matters. She says in her memoirs that she was tall for her age and resembled a girl two or three years older. She was also very modest about her looks as a child, compared to those of her brothers.

  The reunion with father and husband was painful on both sides. He hugged his children fervently and even gave his estranged wife a brief embrace. In her memoirs Mary tries hard not to lay the blame on him for the abandonment of his family, but rather to pin it on his new, young and scheming mistress.

  His plans were to sell the house and everything in it and pay for bed and board for his wife in someone else’s house. Mary and her brother (a younger boy, William, had died at the age of 6) were to attend school in London. Despite the trauma of being ripped from her home, Mary found school enlightening. She attributes all her learning to the inspiration provided by the schoolmistress, Meribah Lorrington, whom she describes as one of the most extraordinary women she had ever met.

  The arrangement at the school was that Mary slept in the teacher’s room at night, and this gave them the opportunity to continue lessons and conversations begun during the day. Out of the five or six students attending the school, Mary was by far the favourite, with her quick abilities and natural intelligence. Unfortunately Meribah Lorrington succumbed to only one vice, but it could paralyse her for days on end: she was an alcoholic. In one of their confidential after-school chats Mrs Lorrington confessed to Mary why she drank so heavily. She had lost her husband and had never got over it; she would try to numb the pain with drink. Many years later Mary encountered her old teacher in a very disturbing manner: an old crone came to the door asking for money and when Mary stared at her the woman asked if she didn’t recognise her – it was Meribah Lorrington.

  Mary ‘Perdita’ Robinson

  While Mary boarded at school her mother lived with a clergyman and his family nearby. Mary would visit them every Sunday and drink tea with her mother. On one of these visits Mary tells us that she was made an offer of marriage by a sea captain who was also a friend of her father’s. He was absolutely astonished to hear that she was only 13, and had been sure she was at least three years older. He took his leave expressing hope that when he returned to London in two years’ time, Mary might still be single. He was lost at sea a few months later. Mary suggests that England lost a gallant man; maybe she was thinking, wistfully, of what might have been.

  Mrs Lorrington’s school went broke about twelve months after Mary started there. She was sent to a boarding school in Battersea where she met another very talented teacher, Mrs Leigh. Although not as brilliant as Mrs Lorrington, she made up for the shortfall by not excessively indulging in alcohol. Mary says that she thinks she would have been happy at this establishment if her mother’s own financial circumstances hadn’t forced her to leave, as Mary’s father had not been regular with his maintenance payments.

  Mary’s mother came up with a solution that she thought might benefit both of them: they would set up their own little boarding school in Chelsea and Mary would help teach classes; her special subject would be English. Within a short time, the school had about a dozen pupils. Just when it looked as though it would be a success Mary’s father returned to London, furious at finding his wife and daughter earning money like common people. Mary defends him, talking of his pride, but the modern reader – and probably contemporary ones – would have decided he was an unreasonable hypocrite. To add insult to injury he took a house not far from where Mary’s mother took lodging after he made her give up her school. He still kept them short of money and never visited them, although he would go walking with his daughter. He once confessed to Mary his regret at having taken up with the woman he now lived with, Eleanor, saying that life would have been so much easier if he hadn’t have done. He was talking for himself, of course. Though he couldn’t leave her, he told Mary, because he hadn’t the funds to provide for her as well.

  Mary completed her schooling at Oxford House just as she turned 15. The dancing master suggested she might think about making her living as an actress. By this time her father had again gone overseas (telling his wife that if anything bad happened to his daughter he would kill her). Even though Mary’s mother nearly revoked her consent to her daughter becoming an actress, she finally agreed and the important introductions were made, the main one being to David Garrick. Mary would later recall how being in Garrick’s company proved some of the best times of her life.

  Even before she first made an appearance on stage, Mary was well in the public eye. She was to frequent the theatre as much as possible, according to the instructions of Mr Garrick. By doing this Mary found she was becoming the object of desire by various men, young and old, rich and poor, married and single. Mary’s mother was almost beside herself keeping them away from her precious daughter.

  Mary didn’t have any inclinations towards any of these suitors until she was introduced to Mr Robinson. He was polite, attentive and kind. When her brother came down with smallpox he helped nurse him, assuring the family that he was there for them. Then Mary caught the disease and was very ill. Again Mr Robinson was there to support her mother. He was becoming indispensable to them. When Mary got better, her mother told her that she was to accept his hand in marriage.

  Mary had little problem with this idea; Mr Robinson was good-looking and very amiable. The banns of marriage were published and the date for the wedding set, in April of her seventeenth year. And then, her beau asked her if they could keep the wedding a secret. He put forward a couple of
reasons why they should do this, the first of which was understandable: Mr Robinson had not completed his articles with the firm of Messrs. Vernon and Elderton. The second reason, while understandable, was not wholly to Mary’s liking and alarm bells went off. Apparently there was another young lady who was hoping he would ask her to marry him when the articles had expired.

  Mary wanted to postpone the wedding but her fiancé was adamant they should marry sooner rather than later. Her mother also added pressure, thinking all the time of what her husband would do if he found out that she had let Mary go on the stage. The theatre manager wanted Mary to commit to an opening night and it was all too much pressure; Mary gave in to her mother and lover and got married without ever making her stage debut.

  Once married Mary was to continue living with her mother until the couple could make their marriage public. This suited Mary, who tells us that she still enjoyed playing with her dolls at that time. Then the truth began to trickle out about the wonderful Mr Robinson. He still had ages to serve as a clerk; he was an illegitimate son of the man he claimed was his wealthy uncle and to whom he was heir. Yet the last was an outright lie: he was not expecting to inherit anything. Mary’s mother was in despair. A trip to Wales followed in which Mr Robinson intended to prove he was the heir to his uncle’s estate (a fact he kept insisting upon).

  This story, given by Mary herself, differs from some of the others that have come to light. One of them states that Mary’s mother found out the truth about Mr Robinson before the marriage and would have called it off but discovered that her daughter had already been seduced by the man and was in the family way. Another story says he had forged his papers to work as an articled clerk. Whether Mary didn’t want the shocking truth revealed about having been seduced, or whether her own account is the real one, is a matter for debate.

  In the end Mary was introduced to her husband’s relative, Mr Harris, and made to feel almost but not quite welcome. She also met the formidable Miss Robinson, her husband’s sister, who was not welcoming in the least. When the couple returned to London, openly as man and wife, things looked as though they might be all right. Until, that is, the odious Lord Lyttelton began to visit and cause trouble. He referred to Mary as ‘the child’ and would whisk her husband off to dens of iniquity. Lyttelton told Mary about Robinson’s mistress, Harriet Wilmot, whom Mary confronted in the woman’s own house. And by now Mary was pregnant.

  The state of things declined from then on, and with creditors beginning to move in on them Robinson told Mary to get ready to go to Tregunter (his uncle’s house in Wales). There was hope that Mr Harris might be able to tide things over for them. By this time Mary had also discovered that Robinson had other mistresses and that some of her precious belongings were being pilfered by him to be given as presents.

  Mr Harris was extremely rude and told the pair that they had no business marrying without money, and that they should go and rot in jail. However, he did let Mary have her baby at his neighbouring house, Trevecca. It was comfortable and peaceful there and after the birth of her baby daughter, also called Mary, she was ecstatic. Mr Harris gave her barely time to recover from the birth before he packed her off. The little family went to spend time at Monmouth with Mary’s grandmother.

  The inevitable return to London had to be made, where Robinson was soon arrested and put into debtors’ prison along with his faithful wife and their baby daughter. Mary consoled herself by writing poetry and, on contacting the Duchess of Devonshire, a young writer herself, managed to get a small volume of her poems published.

  The family stayed in the debtors’ prison for fifteen months. Mary would take leave to visit her new friend the duchess, but she found going back to her husband a trial, especially when she realised that he invited prostitutes in to entertain him while she was out. Finally they secured their freedom and moved into a modest dwelling. It was then that Mary bumped into an old acquaintance at the theatre and was inspired to try to earn her living there – as she had been planning to do before her marriage. Robinson was agreeable and Mary underwent an audition for Mr Sheridan. She was immediately engaged and her acting career took off.

  Here again Mary’s memoirs differ from most histories of Mrs Robinson. The common story is that her husband had abandoned her and helped himself to her earnings because, as her husband, he owned everything she had. Her own story is that they were still living as a couple and that, yes, he did spend too much of her money but it was with her own consent.

  A trip to Wales followed in which Mr Robinson would prove he was the heir to his uncle’s estate (and he kept insisting on it being that relationship):

  Mr. Robinson, on his arrival at Tregunter, despatched a letter informing me that his ‘uncle’ seemed disposed to act handsomely, but that he had only ventured to avow an intention to marry, fearful of abruptly declaring that he had been already some months a husband. Mr. Harris, for that was the name of my father-in-law, replied that ‘he hoped the object of his choice was not too young!’ At this question Mr. Robinson was somewhat disconcerted.

  They again visited Mr Harris in Wales, hoping that he might decide to be generous and bail his son out of debt. While not a penny was forthcoming, Mary’s own welcome was a lot better than her previous one. Harris appreciated her efforts to earn money and congratulated her on it.

  On their return to London Robinson was arrested yet again for debt, this time to a supposed friend of his, Mr Brereton. Brereton tried to blackmail Mary into becoming his mistress, saying he would let her husband off the charge if she did so. He told her he would await the pair of them in Bath so that she could pay her part of the bargain. Mary didn’t tell her husband what had transpired, but when they got to Bath Mr Brereton was seen by them parading with his wife and her sister. Realising he was putting himself in a compromising position, Brereton let the matter drop and dismissed the debt.

  Mary’s acting career was blooming; she was becoming increasingly popular. Robinson began to despise her for it although he was always happy to spend her money. Soon Mary would take on the role of Perdita from Shakespeare’s A Winter’s Tale, the role in which the young Prince of Wales, later to be George IV, would first see her and fall in love with her.

  Robinson begins to bow out of the story at this point. According to Mary’s memoirs he is still living with her but is openly having affairs with women or visiting prostitutes.

  The Prince of Wales saw Mary as Perdita and began to pursue her. They began an intense correspondence that lasted for four months before they actually spoke to one another. Mary writes about how she implored the prince to think hard about his passion for her, what the consequences for both of them would be, what his parents would think and how she could leave her husband.

  These words of Mary’s tend to make the reader think that she was trying hard to rectify a social mistake. She is too ardent in protecting the prince’s interests and claiming that his attachment to her and his endearments were all given through real affection for her. She says it would be impossible for him to have been trying to ‘trick her’. Mary ends her memoirs at the point when the prince is trying to get her to meet him at his apartments with her in disguise as a youth. Mary is adamant that she will not.

  Perhaps Mrs Robinson was naive about the prince and his sincerity. Would she have given in to his demands if she had known that he and his gambling friends were having a wager on him getting her into bed?

  Mary may have broken off telling her story at this point because of the deal she made with the royal family about her affair with the prince, which will emerge later in this story. To hear the end of the tale we must resort to the accounts of others. Some say that Mary got so sick of her husband’s philandering ways that when she caught him with the maid, doing what he shouldn’t, she finally threw him out; at least when she came to the decision to dine with the Prince of Wales she was no longer living with her husband. To attend her assignation Mary went in carnival costume, cloaked and masked. She dined not just with the pri
nce but his younger brother, and told them her whole woeful history.

  The prince decided the time was right for him to make her an offer that she would find hard to refuse. If she consented to live with him as his mistress then he would pay her the extraordinary sum of £100,000 (around £6 million today!). How Mary didn’t get suspicious of such a large offer seems a bit odd but in the end she agreed to it. Further incentives may have clinched the deal. Mary was worried about her young daughter and her future. The prince would accommodate them, have her daughter educated and provide a good dowry for her on her marriage.

  To her credit Mary insisted on the prince having a legal document drawn up with the payments and conditions as stated. He was to sign in front of witnesses. He tried to wriggle out of doing it and tried to threaten to kill himself if she didn’t move in with him. She had wised up since she married and told him the deal was off unless she got the documents.

  Thus, signed and sealed, Mrs Mary ‘Perdita’ Darby Robinson moved into luxury accommodation with her dashing young beaux, the Prince of Wales. Living as the prince’s mistress did not seem to damage her reputation at all. It drew more crowds to see her at the theatre and she was always in demand for parties and other social events to which she might take the prince.

  Underneath the surface of their beautiful relationship, and unbeknown to Mary, things were not all they seemed. She didn’t realise that the prince was one of the worst gamblers in England; he played for high stakes and frequently lost. He would lose his temper and behave badly and he also had other women he was seeing besides Mary.