by Jean Plaidy
It was a good evening. The usual practical jokes which he so enjoyed and at which Sheridan was beginning to shine. Sheridan was a great fellow – he loved the man. He had yet to find a friend who compared with Fox or Sheridan. When he was with them he could talk and talk and as they talked they drank and he was beginning to be able to drink as much as they could, which was a good deal. They never bored him; they never wearied him; they were never melancholy, whatever the subject they made it amusing. Cynics both of them – and yet both capable of affection and devotion and they made it clear that they had this for the Prince of Wales. They were sycophants and he was not such a fool as not to recognize them; but these two were his genuine friends. He had never understood the American situation until it was explained to him by Fox, Burke and Sheridan. Fox railed against North’s conduct of the affair – and that included the King’s because the King and North were together in everything that was done. The more he learned of affairs, the more the Prince deplored his father’s attitude. He himself was firmly against the Government and that meant North and his father; the Prince was determined to take his stand with Mr Fox and the Whigs.
This was the life! He regretted that Fred was not with him to enjoy it. Poor Fred learning army tactics! The use of arms! By God, one thing Mr Fox had taught him was that words were the finest weapons in the world.
Gambling, prizefighting, horse-racing and loving a beautiful mistress – these were some of the greatest pleasures life had to offer; but he was not sure that he did not enjoy most being in the company of Fox and Sheridan, listening to their erudite conversation, joining with it, growing more and more mellow as the evening wore on. Sometimes of course he was a little hazy after these sessions; sometimes they had to take him back to Cork Street and help him in. This they never failed to do with the utmost care and tact and they would recall similar incidents in their own youth in case he should feel he had not yet learned to take his liquor like a man. He was not a fool. He knew they were wise men of vast experience in all the ways of life which were most exciting to him. He was willing to be tutored. And Perdita would be waiting for him … reproachful. Oh yes, she was reproachful, even though she might not put her reproaches into words. There he was back at Perdita’s melancholy. He’d be ready to swear that that was one thing his lively aunt at Cumberland House never felt – melancholy. Nor would she ever be reproachful. Why she would have to be continually so when one considered the exploits of that wicked old reprobate his Uncle Cumberland.
There was some music and he became proud of Perdita as she sat at the harpsichord in her becoming pink draperies; and a pretty voice she had too. Not as good as Sheridan’s wife. Poor creature! There was another. No gaiety, no spirit. Poor Sherry. But he managed to enjoy life in spite of her. She never appeared at these parties. He would never have thought of her being at them – except at moments like this when she might have sung for them. But he liked a gay song – the sort Sherry put in his plays. Elizabeth Sheridan was all for serious music. The King admired her. That spoke for itself.
The Prince must sing, the company declared.
Nothing loth he obliged. He sang by himself and he sang with Perdita. In perfect harmony, he thought, as we shall be all our lives, forgetting that he had only such a short time ago deplored her melancholy and compared her unfavourably with other women.
And afterwards a game of faro, with Perdita’s lips slightly pursed, not approving. The stakes were very high. Mr Fox always played for high stakes and the Prince had lost a thousand guineas in a very short time.
A thousand guineas. What was that added to all he owed? And a Prince of Wales should not concern himself with money. It was so easy to scribble an IOU. Mr Fox did it constantly and with the same abandon as the Prince.
And after that … talk, political talk, because after all this, with Cumberland House and Devonshire House, was the centre of Whiggery, and any hostess who could get Mr Fox to talk was sure of a successful party.
So Mr Fox talked and of course he talked of America which was the great controversy of the moment. The King, he said, would accept no man who disagreed with him. This was no way to govern. Were the King the most brilliant administrator in the world – which Mr Fox very respectfully wished to point out that he was not – still this would be wrong. It was through discussion and debate that conclusions should be reached.
‘We are going to lose America,’ declared Mr Fox, ‘and I say this: Serve us right. There should never have been this conflict with our brothers. Fools … fools … fools … have governed us, have decided on our policies and they are destroying the greatness of this land. This government must go before it is too late. There is a country to be saved.’
The Prince listened entranced. He knew that they were looking to him to be the saviour. When he was in control he would summon men like Fox, Burke and Sheridan to form his government and he would not presume to think that because he had inherited a crown he was some supreme being. And to think that the King was that bumbling old gentleman the farmer, the button maker, the home lover, the man who was only capable of begetting children and making their childhoods unbearable with his discipline which was absurd and old fashioned … and should never have been in fashion in any case.
But never mind. The day would come. In three years time he would take his place in the House of Lords – and during that time he would learn his politics and Mr Fox would be his most excellent tutor.
Across the room he caught sight of Perdita and Maiden. What a handsome fellow Maiden was and that coat of his was of the latest cut and fashion. He admired the new style of button. He had not seen them before. In a second he had crossed to them, but so absorbed were they in their conversation that they had not heard him approach.
Perdita was saying: ‘I shall never be able to show you how grateful I am to you …’
The feeling in her voice was astonishing.
Why? He wondered what Maiden had done that she should be so grateful; and Maiden was looking at her with such a look of devotion that the Prince felt a wave of indignation.
They were aware of him. Perdita’s face was transformed by the most loving smile.
‘I trust Your Highness is enjoying the company tonight.’ He was immediately delighted with her. She was so pretty; and what love for him shone in her eyes. She was merely being gracious to Maiden. Hadn’t he been an excellent emissary during their courtship?
He replied that it was an excellent gathering and that there must be more like them. He had particularly enjoyed her singing and would like to hear her again.
And she sang once more and they sang together, in harmony.
*
Mrs Armistead called at St James’s Street to tell Mr Fox that Mr Robinson had called and was making a nuisance of himself.
‘I brought Lord Maiden to come and take him away. The drunken fellow had no notion that it was a plot to get rid of him. He went with the utmost alacrity to drink with a noble lord.’
‘Excellent, my dear Lizzie. You’ll make a fine politician.’
She was pleased to please him. His approval was the only reward she asked. She would have liked to serve him – to see that his linen was washed and a clean shirt laid out for him each day; she would have liked to have sponged the grease spots from his coat.
‘And how it is between our lovers? I thought Mrs Robinson looked less blooming than usual.’
‘I think we are moving into the last phase.’
‘Is that so?’
‘You are displeased?’
‘No, no. I had thought in the beginning that she might have carried some influence, but I see she carries none.’
‘So it is of no interest to you whether the affair continues or not?’
He shook his head and was thoughtful. Perdita was a most desirable woman, but doubtless he himself would be interested in her for no more than a very short time – but for that short time he would be definitely intrigued. He was rather amused by the manner in which she acted her way throu
gh life and would have liked to discover a little of the real woman beneath; but it would probably not be worth the trouble. No, it was not very important that the affair should continue, except of course that if the Prince gave Perdita her congé, there would be another – and perhaps someone who might influence him.
He answered: ‘Perhaps on the whole it is better that it should continue a little longer.’
Mrs Armistead nodded. She would do her best to keep it going. Mr Fox would understand that but for her prompt action this afternoon there could have been disaster.
He did understand. He could trust her. It was interesting how they could work together.
She told him about the house in Chertsey. He knew, of course, how she had earned the money which had bought it. He advised her about her affairs which he was well able to do in spite of the fact that his own were in disorder.
‘Why, Lizzie, you are a woman of property.’ And he did not speak slightingly but with admiration.
He talked of the American situation with her for it was very much in his thoughts. He believed that if the Colonies were lost it could bring down the Government.
She listened, made intelligent comment, and later spent an affectionate hour in his company.
The Queen plots
NEWS OF THE life the Prince was leading came in time to the George … young George … little more than a boy and keeping King’s ears. He could not sleep at night for thinking of it. a play actress! The King’s mind went back to the days when he himself was eighteen. He thought of that establishment in which he had set up Hannah, where their children were born. But it was discreet. No one knew. It was wrong, it was foolish, and he deeply repented it; but it was discreet. That was the first quality a prince who would be king must acquire. It was not generally known about his affair with Hannah, although it had been rumoured and whispered of here and there. This was different. This was blatant. Going out together … her in her carriage … painted like a harlot – although the women in the Prince’s set all did the same. Rouge and white lead, bah! Didn’t they know it stopped up the pores and caused consumption?
And the company he kept. That was the real source of trouble! He was a frequent visitor at Cumberland House. Nothing he could have done could have been more designed to flout his father. To go … as soon as a little freedom was granted him … to that hotbed of Whiggery which was in complete opposition to everything his father stood for. To choose them as his friends. If it had been the Gloucesters it would have been different. But it was not. It was Cumberland, that lecher who had made a scandal with Grosvenor’s wife – Cumberland and that woman with her eyelashes. George must have set out deliberately to defy his father.
He summoned Gloucester to Kew and told him of his anxieties.
‘You’ve heard, of course,’ he said.
‘The whole town is talking of it,’ replied Gloucester. ‘He’s there every other night. Sometimes with his play actress, sometimes without her. He’s constantly in the company of Fox and Sheridan.’
‘Rogues, both of them. Fox would do anything to plague me. As for Sheridan, he’s a drunkard and a lecher and I think it the greatest shame that he should have married that charming Miss Linley.’ The King’s eyes clouded momentarily with sentiment. ‘I shall never forget hearing her sing in an oratorio. Never heard singing like it. Sang like an angel, looked like an angel. I’m sorry to see her married to a fellow like that.’
‘They say he’s talented. I heard it said that on the first night of his School for Scandal a journalist passing the theatre ran for his life because he thought the thunder of the applause would bring the roof down.’
‘Bah! Pandering to the senses! Low taste. The man’s a drunkard and a gambler and he and Fox are teaching George to be the same.’
‘What are you going to do about it?’
‘What can I do? The young dog’s eighteen. They say that’s the time for a little independence. Fox, Sheridan, Cumberland … Cumberland most of all.’
‘I wonder you allow them to meet.’
‘I don’t care to part relations.’
Gloucester looked surprised considering the manner in which he – as well as Cumberland – had been kept from their nephews and nieces for so many years. But old George was behaving oddly nowadays; one could never be sure of him.
The King began to pace up and down, his face growing scarlet.
‘What would you have me do in my present distress?’ he demanded. ‘Eh, what? If I attempt to put a stop to this I shall drive my son further and further into the arms of the opposition. And that would increase my distress.’
Gloucester agreed that taking into account the Prince’s age and the freedom he had already had it would be difficult to intervene now. Perhaps if he had not been so rigorously controlled beforehand he would not have rushed so madly into freedom. But he did not distress his brother still further by telling him this.
‘He comes to see you, I suppose?’ said the King.
‘Not often.’
‘But he is fond of you?’
‘Yes, I think so. But when I have tried to remonstrate with him he has hinted that he does not care to be preached at.’
‘You see. You see. What can you do with such a young dog? Tell me that, eh, what?’
‘It may be that after a while he will grow less wild.’
‘Less wild! Less wild! I hear that he is beginning to talk like that woman … that coarse creature with the eyelashes. I hear that he drinks to excess … that he has actually been carried home to that place where he lives with the actress. A pleasant story to be set about the Prince of Wales.’
‘Many princes have behaved in similar fashion,’ soothed Gloucester.
‘I won’t have my sons doing it. I won’t, I say. But how can I stop it? Tell me that, eh, what?’
The Duke of Gloucester could give no answer. ‘I fear Cumberland may be attempting to blackmail me into receiving that woman of his,’ went on the King.
‘Well,’ retorted the Duke of Gloucester, speaking for his own Duchess, ‘she is after all a member of the family.’
‘Eyelashes, bah!’ said the King.
*
When Gloucester left he went to see the Queen. She was a little worried about the health of the baby, for young Alfred had not picked up as her older children had and as little Octavius had never really been strong there were new anxieties in the nurseries.
She was sitting in her drawing room at her embroidery, her snuff box beside her, some of her women with her, contented apart from her anxiety about her family, to be staying at ‘dear little Kew’.
She gave the order for dismissal because she saw at once from the King’s expression that he was upset and she knew that if he talked too quickly or incoherently some of these women would gossip about it, so she took every opportunity of keeping them out of the King’s way.
She did not have to ask what was wrong. She guessed the American Colonies might have something to do with it, but he would not of course come here to discuss those with her. She was supposed to be unaware that any conflict was taking place. If she had offered an opinion it would have been received with cold surprise. She had grown accustomed to this, and only resented it now and then.
But the family was a different matter. So it was family affairs of which he had come to speak.
‘The baby?’ he asked.
‘As well as we can expect. He grows a little stronger each day, I think.’
‘I’m glad of that. And Octavius? Eh! What?’
‘He has had a little cold but it is better,’ soothed the Queen.
Now to the subject which had brought him here; George, Prince of Wales.
‘It’s young George,’ he said.
The Queen put her hand involuntarily to her heart.
‘Up to his tricks,’ went on the King. ‘Gambling, drinking and keeping a play actress.’
‘No!’ cried the Queen.
‘But I say it is so and something will have to be done about it. H
e’ll have to be taught his duties to the state, to his family … eh? what?’
‘There are always people to gossip … to lie … about us.’
‘These are not lies. I’ve heard from too many sources. He’s wild. He’s set this woman up in a house … He lives there with her. His friends are my enemies. Fox is always with him. He goes to Cumberland and that woman of his. He’s with the Whigs … he’s with the Opposition. His bosom friends are the people I most dislike. He does it to spite me, eh, what?’
‘A play actress,’ murmured the Queen. ‘George with a play actress.’
‘I’m afraid our son is too fond of women.’
The Queen was silent.
‘If that were all … I’d understand.’ The King seemed as though he were talking to himself. ‘Young man … hot blood. It happens now and then. They grow out of it … become sober …’ He looked at Charlotte with her big mouth and her lack of eyelashes. They do their duty, are faithful to the wives that are chosen for them … But he has deliberately gone to Cumberland. My brother is teaching him to despise everything that I wish him to respect. That’s what is happening to the Prince of Wales and what am I going to do about it, eh, what?’
The Queen did not know. She wanted to soothe him, to stop him talking too rapidly. She knew her son well enough to realize that if his father tried to direct his actions he would be more rebellious than ever.
And as the King walked up and down murmuring half sentences to himself she was more concerned for him than for her son. Loving young George she believed that there was nothing really wrong with him. He was a little wild, it was true. But he would grow out of that. The fact was that he was so attractive that he could not help being the centre of attraction, but he would settle down.
She was a little worried about the play actress, though. That was the woman who had made a scene at the Oratorio when George had attracted so much attention by staring at her.