Perdita's Prince: (Georgian Series) (39 page)

‘I have been so unhappy,’ she told him.

‘My dear Perdita!’

‘I thought you would never forgive me. I thought you hated me.’

‘Do you think I could ever hate Perdita?’

‘But you went away …’ Careful, she thought. No reproaches.

‘It was a state affair in fact,’ he said easily. ‘My birthday had to be celebrated in the heart of the family at Windsor.’

‘Of course.’

He began to chat of the festivities at Windsor, describing the public celebrations and the review in the Park; the banquet and the ball; but he made no mention of Lady Augusta.

She was longing to ask him questions about Mrs Armistead but she dared not. She had learned one lesson at least.

They talked of mutual friends and it was a most pleasant hour. Then the Prince said he must go; he had an engagement. She suppressed the desire to ask if it was at Cumberland House; and he said an affectionate goodbye to her in which she was certain that he meant to imply they would meet again soon.

Lord Malden conducted the Prince to his coach and came back to Perdita.

‘I can only tell you how grateful I am.’

‘His Highness was friendly.’

‘Extremely so.’

‘That I can see, for you are radiant.’

‘It was just a little misunderstanding. I shall see that it does not happen in the future.’

Poor Perdita! thought Maiden. She did not know how difficult it had been. The Prince had most certainly not wished to see her and Maiden was sure had no intention of renewing the acquaintance.

Still let Perdita be happy for a little longer.

*

She returned to Cork Street, played a little on the harpsichord and sang softly. She retired to bed and lay listening, wondering whether he might call.

The next morning she dressed with the greatest care. She wore one of her fantastic hats, all ribbons and feathers; and a lavender silk gown which was exquisite. And taking her carriage with the coronet-like wreath went into the Park.

She felt intoxicated by the sunshine. It was a beautiful morning; the grass had never seemed so green, the flowers so beautiful. People gazed at her, nudged each other and whispered together. Perdita was about again.

And suddenly she saw him. He was walking with a crowd of his friends about him laughing and chatting; and as usual he was the centre of attraction. Now the moment was at hand. He would come to her carriage, take her hand, kiss it, perhaps ride with her. They would be together again.

She stopped the carriage. The Prince and his group were approaching. She smiled. He looked at her blankly as though he did not know her; and then turning his head began to talk animatedly to one of his companions.

She was stunned. It was a deliberate cut, a deliberate insult.

He had seen her and pretended he did not know her. He had shown her publicly that he had finished with her.

But after their meeting yesterday …

She could see it all now. He had been persuaded to it; it had meant nothing. He did not wish to resume their relationship. More than that he did not wish to know her.

No one could have been told more clearly.

She was aware of curious eyes on her; she could hear the sounds of laughter floating back to her. His laughter! And she wanted to die.

Love letters of a prince

BACK TO CORK STREET.

This is the end, she said. He will never come back now.

She took the bills from the drawer and looked at them. It was better to do something than nothing.

How can I pay all these debts? she asked herself. They were all incurred for him. But for him I should be a famous actress, earning a good living from the theatre. I gave up everything for him. Everything.

She forced herself to add up the amounts she owed. No, it was impossible. Seven thousand pounds. They could not be so much. She had been extravagant … for him, she repeated bitterly. But surely not as extravagant as that.

‘Where can I find seven thousand pounds?’ she asked herself.

Where indeed?

And then she remembered. She took a key from the drawer and opened a box which she kept in her bedroom.

From this she took out a piece of parchment. It was the Prince’s bond for £20 000, and it was sealed with the royal seal.

She remembered his giving it to her, and how she had declared she would not have it and he had had to persuade her to accept it.

It was the answer, of course. It would be the only way in which she could pay her debts.

And yet she shuddered to think of asking him to honour it.

Yet … £7000! How could she produce that sum of money unless he did.

If it were possible I would work, I would do anything, she told herself. I would not take a penny of his … if I could help it.

Work. There was a possibility.

In a feverish haste she put on her cloak. She could not bear to sit down and think quietly. The only way in which she could endure to live through this terrible day was by taking action.

She sent for her carriage and drove to Bruton Street.

*

The Sheridans had moved to Bruton Street when Richard had become a Member of Parliament and so frequently entertained the Prince of Wales.

Perdita asked if Mr Sheridan was at home, for she wished to see him urgently. She was taken into an elaborately furnished room and while she waited there the door opened and Elizabeth Sheridan came in.

Perdita had not seen her since she had become the Prince’s mistress and was shocked by the change in her appearance. Her beautiful eyes looked enormous, her face thinner, which did not detract from its beauty, but in fact accentuated the exquisite bone structure; and the flush on her cheeks.

Perdita rose and held out her hand uncertainly.

Elizabeth Sheridan took it and said gently: ‘Are you well?’

‘I am … distraught,’ replied Perdita.

‘I am so sorry.’ She said it as though she meant it and there was a world of understanding in the musical tones.

Poor Elizabeth Sheridan, who had suffered no less than Perdita herself, and there in that room Perdita – which was rare for her – ceased to think of her own tragic situation in contemplating that of this woman. Elizabeth, fragile and clearly not long for this world, for the change in her appearance could only mean that she was consumptive, had suffered even more at the hands of her husband than Perdita had at those of her lover.

I might have expected it; I broke the rules; I loved a feckless boy and expected fidelity; I was extravagant and vain. But this woman was a saint … and she had married a man of genius and
had looked forward to a life with him which could have been perfect.

But Sheridan was ambitious. Not only did he wish to write immortal plays, he must be a statesman, friend of the Prince of Wales, lover of many women … And because he believed these glittering prizes to be more valuable than the love of his wife he had thrust her aside to reach them.

Ambition, thought Perdita. By that sin fell the angels.

‘I must see Richard,’ said Perdita.

Elizabeth nodded. ‘He will shortly be with you. I am so glad that you have found him at home. He is rarely here now.’

‘You have a magnificent home,’ said Perdita.

Elizabeth looked about the room sadly.

Perdita understood. Debts, she thought. Living beyond their means. But then he always had. And Elizabeth was not the woman to thrust the bills into a drawer and forget them. She imagined her brooding over them. I am not the only one to suffer.

And then Richard Sheridan came into the room.

How he had changed from the handsome man whom she had known when she first went into the theatre! It was not such a long time ago. Four years … five years. He had coarsened, grown fat, and his face was an unhealthy red. Too much drink; too many late nights. Would the Prince grow like this in time?

She could see at once that he knew why she had come. He had been a good friend to her even after they had ceased to be lovers, and she felt an uneasy twinge of conscience. How much did Elizabeth know of that episode which she, Perdita, would rather forget?

‘I will leave you together,’ said Elizabeth. ‘You will have business to discuss.’

She took Perdita’s hand and pressed it. ‘May God go with you,’ she whispered.

Perdita faced Sheridan; was she right and did she detect a faint impatience in his expression.

‘Sherry,’ she said, ‘I had to come and see you. You know what has happened?’

‘The whole of London knows,’ he said. ‘The whole of the Court.’

‘Does the news travel so fast?’

‘It is some time since he left you. He has other mistresses now.’

She winced and he smiled a little sardonically. So, after all her adventures she still could not bear to hear the word spoken. It was ironical to him that an act should be less repulsive than the words which described it. He thought there was an idea there for a
bon mot
. He should make a note of it and use it some time … but like all his ideas they came to nothing and he lost them because he would never put himself out to record them.

But the theatre took second place now. The future stretched out brilliantly before him as the politician, friend of Fox and the Prince of Wales.

‘I have debts, Sherry.’

‘You are – as always – in the fashion, Perdita.’

‘But I cannot pay them.’

‘Still in the fashion.’

‘Because of all this … they will not wait. I must earn money quickly. My creditors must be made to understand that although I cannot pay them immediately I intend to do so … in due course.’

‘And how will you convince them of these noble intentions?’

‘By going back to work. I want to come back to the theatre.’

He looked at her blankly. ‘You couldn’t do it, Perdita.’

‘Why not?’ she demanded shrilly.

‘They would never let you.’

‘Who … Who? Do you mean
you
would not?’

‘I have to consider my audiences. They would jeer you off the stage.’

‘Why, why?’

‘Because of the past. They would crowd the theatre for the first night and like as not there would be a riot. I could not risk it.’

‘How can you be sure if you will not give me a chance?’

‘I tell you I
know
it. It is not the way. I warned you. Remember? Do you remember?’

She nodded sombrely.

‘Did I not tell you that you should never have become his mistress?’

She was too shaken to wince now. Poor Perdita, denuded of
her mask. She was herself now, and that was a desperate and frightened woman.

She nodded. ‘Yes, you warned me.’

‘And I told you then that afterwards you could never return to the theatre.’

‘You mean you won’t have me?’

‘Willingly would I, if it were possible. But it is not possible. You must find some other way.’

‘How? How can I pay my debts?’

‘I wish I could answer that one. Most willingly would I use the information.’

‘I owe seven thousand pounds.’

‘I wish I owed as little.’

‘But
I
have no means of paying it.’

‘I too am living beyond my means.’

Did she imagine it or was he bored? Oh, God, she thought, this is how people will be towards me in future. I am no longer of any consequence.

Then she said: ‘There is no help for it. I have his bond.’

‘What bond is this?’

‘The Prince’s bond for twenty thousand pounds. He gave it to me and I have kept it. I shall need this money … badly. I had hoped not to touch it.’

Sheridan was silent. A bond for £20 000! The Prince would never honour it. He happened to know that His Highness had a mound of debts of his own which would make his, Sheridan’s, let alone Perdita’s, seem paltry.

‘It has his signature and seal,’ she said. ‘He would have to honour it.’

‘You mean … you would insist?’

‘Please tell me how else I can pay my debts.’

Sheridan was silent.

Then she said wearily: ‘I will go. I see that you cannot help me.’

‘If I could …’

‘Yes, if you could you would. But you cannot give me this chance in the theatre.’

‘Perdita, if it were possible …’

‘Is it not possible to give it a test?’

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘No.’

She hesitated. ‘You are the Prince’s friend. Perhaps you could make him aware of my plight. I did not wish to ask him for money, but in the circumstances, what else can I do?’

Sheridan was alarmed. He did not wish to be the man who conveyed to the Prince the information that his discarded mistress was demanding the money he had promised her. That was not the sort of entertainment the Prince looked for from Sheridan. He wanted to be amused, not disturbed.

She laid her hand on his arm. ‘You will do this for me?’

What could he say but: ‘You may rely on me to do what I consider best for your welfare.’

Yet … &7000! How could she produce that sum of money

And Sheridan nodded and conducted her to her carriage.

*

He called on Fox in St James’s, and without preamble came straight to the point.

‘Perdita Robinson has been to see me.’

Fox nodded. He knew how the affair had ended. His good friend Mrs Armistead visited him now and then and let him know the Prince’s attitude to various matters not excluding that towards his old mistress. He was well aware of the meeting between the two women in the Magpie and how the Prince’s own relationship with Mrs Armistead progressed.

‘She is in a desperate situation. Her debts amount to some seven thousand pounds and the creditors are making a nuisance of themselves.’

‘They’ve heard of course that she is now discarded.’

‘She is a desperate woman.’

‘And came to ask you to allow her to resume her career as an actress, I’ll swear.’

‘Which I have most definitely refused.’

‘Naturally, naturally. The poor improvident creature!’

‘Well, Charles, we are two fine ones to talk of improvidence.’

‘We are not the Prince’s mistresses, my good fellow. Perdita should have made herself very comfortable on the gifts she received.’

He thought of his friend Mrs Armistead who was fast becoming a woman of some substance, with a house of her own most tastefully furnished, and she was now building up a pleasant little fortune. But Perdita was of course no Mrs Armistead. Such excellent creatures were rarely met with. All Perdita had accumulated were debts.