Perdita's Prince

‘So turtles pair’

WHILE SHERIDAN WAS thinking of Fox’s proposition he received another visitor.

Very different this one – a vision of beauty in muslin and ribbons and a dark silk coat.

‘Perdita!’ Like everyone else he called her by that name nowadays. The Prince had given it to her and it was an indication that everyone was aware of the relationship between them.

He kissed her hands with a fervour which she was too distraught to see was absentminded.

‘Oh, Sherry, I have something to say to you, and I fear you may be a little angry with me.’

‘Never,’ he declared gallantly.

‘I scarcely know how to begin.’ A faint smile curled Sheridan’s lips. Of course she would have been rehearsing the scene for hours before she came. He knew his Perdita.

‘My dearest, you look distrait. Is all well between you and the Prince?’

She threw back her head and a smile illuminated her face. By God, he thought, how beautiful she is when she smiles. She should smile constantly. What a fool she is to cultivate this melancholy aspect! He won’t like it. She won’t last if she is not careful.

‘The Prince is magnificent. The grace of his person … the sweetness of his smile …’

‘Yes,’ said Sheridan. He had heard that before.

‘He is quite … irresistible.’ That was the excuse clause, he thought. She was his mistress – but only because he was irresistible.

‘But you have not come to tell me of his perfections, I am sure, because, as you know, I am well aware of them. Come, Perdita, what is on your mind?’

‘The Prince can be very masterful.’

‘Naturally. He is a Prince and in spite of Papa’s restrictions I’ve no doubt he gets his way with everyone else.’

‘Believe me, Sherry, this distresses me. Not on my own account … oh, no, I am ready to make any sacrifices … but I do wonder how you will receive this news. Oh, my dear, what are you going to say?’

‘I will tell you when I hear what it is.’

She lowered her eyes and stood before him in a pose of abject distress.

‘The Prince insists that I leave the stage.’

Sheridan was silent. He pictured it; the falling off of business. There was Abington and Farran. Perhaps he could revive The School; but although it was a favourite the people were crying out for new plays – though while Mrs Robinson paraded the boards, particularly in breeches, they did not so much care what the play was.

He could not pretend that this was not a disaster.

‘Oh, Sherry, Sherry, what could I do? I remonstrated but he was most emphatic. “No,” he said, “I cannot have other men’s eyes feasting on the charms of my loved one.” You must confess, Sherry, that he has a point.’

‘So,’ said Sheridan, ‘you are leaving the stage.’

‘Oh, Sherry, Sherry, you know I don’t want to. You know that I fought against it. But the Prince was adamant … and in the circumstances you must admit that I could not … with decency … remain.’

Oh, God, he thought, what a woman! She decided on the angle from which she would view life and made everything fit into her cosy pictures. What was she dreaming of now? One would think from her attitude that the Prince was proposing to marry her. Was she thinking that he would behave as his uncles Gloucester and Cumberland had? Did she realize that their Duchesses were very different women from herself? He could imagine her drawing herself up to her full height and declaiming that she hoped she did not resemble the Duchess of Cumberland whose morals and bawdy wit were the talk of the town. In one thing only, misguided Perdita. She is beautiful … and so are you. You lack her mental agility, her wit, her brilliance, her knowledge of the world … everything that has put her where she is. And dear Perdita, have you ever heard of the Royal Marriage Bill? No descendant of George I is allowed to marry without the consent of the sovereign. And do you think His Most Holy Majesty will agree to his son’s marriage with a play actress? Silly little Perdita … moth dancing round the candle. How many months … weeks … before your pretty wings are singed and you fall to the ground? And then … what will you have? A career that is over. Do you think the theatre will allow you to throw her aside and then meekly take you back?

He should warn her, of course. He had been quite fond of her once. Not that it would be of any use. Her mind was made up. She, with all her reluctance, with all her mock propriety, wanted to be set up in that establishment, wanted the whole world to know that the most eligible bachelor in Europe had chosen her. Briefly, Perdita, briefly! But that thought of course must not be allowed to disturb her golden dream.

Sheridan sighed. ‘I could almost thank God that Mr Garrick is not here to see this day.’

‘Mr Garrick? What has he to do with this?’

‘What indeed! Did he not teach you what you most needed to know when you most needed it? Mr Garrick would never have understood your throwing away a great career.’

‘Mr Garrick understood the theatre so well, but did not understand love.’

‘I’ll warrant he did. Could he have been the greatest actor otherwise? So you will leave us.’ He looked at her. He must warn her. He would not forgive himself otherwise.

‘Perdita, this is a big step you are taking.’

She nodded dramatically.

‘Princes are perhaps more fickle than most men.’

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘What if this love should not last?’

‘He has sworn to be faithful till death.’

‘By the moon, the inconstant moon, Juliet?’

‘He swore by all he holds most sacred.’

‘What a man holds sacred one day he finds profane the next. I am an old friend, Perdita. Take care. Consider before you throw away a certain future for an uncertain one.’

‘I cannot grasp your meaning.’

‘Because you will not. Has it not occurred to you that the Prince might desire another woman?’

‘I see you make the common mistake of presuming this is an ordinary light affair.’

‘I hope I am making that mistake, Perdita.’

‘But I know you are. And I know you, Sherry. You are angry with me … that is why you say these things. I am not ungrateful. I know what you have done for me. Mistake that not. But this is my future. I must obey the Prince.’

‘For if you did not he would cast you aside?’

She flushed. ‘Never. But I must think of him … first. I owe it to him.’

‘You mean the Prince’s mistress should not appear on the boards.’

‘Sherry!’

He laughed inwardly. What a woman. She could not bear the use of that word which was commonly used to describe what she was. He felt an affection for poor Perdita. She was such a fool. And this was particularly noticeable after one had so recently been in the company of Mr Fox.

Mr Fox! His mind was alert. This very day Mr Fox had called to offer a dazzling prospect … this day when Perdita had come to offer her resignation.

Could there be any significance in this? Could Mr Fox have known she would come? But how could he? He was only just acquainted with Perdita. And she would never have confided in him. And yet … here was this new proposition side by side with the certainty that theatrical business must suffer a setback.

Suppose Mr Fox wished no obstacle to be put in the way of this love affair between the Prince and Perdita – suppose it was Mr Fox’s desire that the Prince should set up his mistress in a fine house and the whole world know of the relationship between them? Then he would not wish Mr Sheridan to persuade Perdita of the follies of leaving the stage, of the inconstancy of princes. He had not said so, but politics was a game of innuendoes. And surely it was a strange coincidence that Mr Fox had called on this very day when Perdita was handing in her resignation?

Had the subtle game of intrigue already begun? It excited him to think so. Rarely, he supposed, had he been so flattered in his life.

Mr Fox planned to use the Prince … and perhaps Perdita.

She was looking at him earnestly. ‘If, as you so unkindly suggest … But Sherry I know you do not do it from unkind motives for you have always been my friend … If the Prince should … If the Prince and I should no longer be together … why then, Sherry dear, I should most certainly come back to the stage.’

He did not explain to her once more that he doubted she would be able to do that. He was concerned with his own affairs which seemed to him of far greater importance than the amours of a Prince and an actress.

‘Thank you, Sherry, for taking it so … magnificently.’

She held out her hand for him to kiss, a pretty, wistful expression in her beautiful dark eyes.

Then she returned home to report to Mrs Armistead: ‘Mr Sheridan was certainly distressed, but he took it better than I thought he would. I have always known that he was my very good friend.’

The Duke of Gloucester drove out to Kew to see his brother. When he asked for an audience the King received him immediately. He had always been fond of Gloucester. Cumberland was the brother he detested. But there had certainly been a breach between them over his brother’s marriage. The King had been hurt to have been kept out of his brother’s confidence, yet he had to admit that had Gloucester asked his permission to marry Lady Waldegrave he would have refused it. He would have told Gloucester that a Prince of the Blood Royal could not marry a woman who was not only illegitimate but was said to be the daughter of a milliner.

So Gloucester had married without his sovereign’s consent and kept the matter a secret until the passing of the Royal Marriage Act had forced him to reveal it.

And then … George had refused to receive him officially and Charlotte had said she would never make a milliner’s daughter welcome at her Court. But the King was a sentimental man, a family man, and although the Duchess was not received, the King was always pleased to see his brother.

‘Well, well, William,’ said George. ‘Be seated, be seated.’

William sat and thought poor old George looked older than when he had last seen him. That affair of the Gordon Riots must have upset him. What a decision to make and fancy old George having the guts to make it. Firing on his own subjects, eh? Right, absolutely right in the circumstances and George had earned the approval of his grateful capital – which was something rare for the poor old fellow.

William – content with his life and his Duchess – felt sorry for George’s hard lot. Not much fun in being the King, particularly for a man like George who took himself seriously. It would be different when the Prince took over. Not for many years yet, he trusted. Couldn’t help being fond of good old George although he was a pompous, self-righteous old devil now and then.

‘I’ve come to talk with you, George, about the Prince.’

An expression of anxiety crossed the King’s face.

‘What? Eh? What’s he been at now, eh? You’ve heard something. Rumours … rumours … there are always rumours. Some of them true too … about that young puppy …’

‘He’s been up to nothing that I know of, George. Only pleasing the people. I hear nothing but praise for him wherever I go. He’s won the people’s approval without doubt.’

‘Because he’s got a handsome face … not yet marked with evil living. Because he’s been well looked after all these years … diet, exercise, discipline. All very necessary, eh, what?’

‘He certainly does his upbringing credit. The point is, he’ll be eighteen in August.’

‘A fact I’m not allowed to forget.’

‘With his own establishment …’

The King grunted.

‘I should like to have an opportunity of seeing him, George. It’s a long time since I have.’

‘People who act rashly take the consequences. Why, your marriage has given offence to all the royal families in Europe. Marrying a woman who …’

‘I am happy in my marriage, George, and regret nothing.’

The King’s eyes were momentarily clouded with emotion. ‘Wouldn’t have wanted to hear you say aught else,’ he said gruffly. ‘Still, you must understand. I can’t have the Duchess at Court. The Queen wouldn’t hear of it.’

‘Don’t expect me to believe that if the King gave the order, the Queen would not obey.’

‘There are some matters she must be the judge of, eh, what?’

Gloucester said: ‘I came to ask your permission for an interview with my nephew. Don’t you think that we should have a chance to know each other? Should members of families be kept apart?’

‘I never wanted to part families. But if people will make reckless marriages there’s no help for it.’

‘I hear that Cumberland has met the Prince.’

‘What, eh?’

‘In the Park. They met by chance and there was a touching scene. The people looked on and cheered the avuncular embrace.’

‘The fellow’s a rogue,’ muttered the King, ‘for all that he’s my own brother. And more so because of it. Ingratiating himself with the Prince. I’ll put a stop to that.’

‘It still remains that he has spoken with Cumberland and not with me. Don’t you think that I should have a chance of congratulating my nephew.’

‘There’s nothing to congratulate him about, I do assure you.’

‘On his approaching birthday. A milestone in the life of a young prince. Eighteen. The age when he ceases to be a boy and realizes he’s only three years off his manhood.’

‘He has not only just realized it, I can assure you. He’s been thinking of it for months.’

‘Perfectly natural, George.’

‘You seem determined to defend the puppy. Well, you shall see him. I don’t see why not. Cumberland waylaid him in the Park. If you come to Kew next Friday, you can call on him and stay for half an hour.’

Gloucester was well pleased.

The Queen sent for Colonel Hotham, one of the members of the Prince’s household. She was disturbed because the Duke of Gloucester was going to spend half an hour with her son. The Prince’s visits to her were growing less and less: he never came until commanded to do so. It was very sad. When he was in her presence she longed for him to show a little affection. He never did; all he showed was his longing to get away.

And his uncle was going to see him. She would not have allowed it; but the King was weak where his brother was concerned. She imagined how Gloucester would put his case to the Prince; his version of the reason why he had been banished from Court would sound very romantic to young ears. She could imagine the Prince’s sympathy; and he would not feel very kindly towards his mother, she knew, if Gloucester should tell him that she had said she would not receive a milliner’s daughter at her Court.

Oh, dear, her darling son’s growing up did create problems. And just now she was feeling the heat very much, for in a very short time now her child would be born.

‘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.