She decided she could not refuse to see the lady and went along to her house where she was ushered into her study by her daughter.

Mrs Robinson held out a hand to Dorothy and begged to be excused for not rising.

‘I have to be lifted from my chair because I am paralysed with rheumatism.’ She glanced upwards in a most pathetic manner as she said this and Dorothy immediately recognized the tragic actress.

‘It is so good of you to come,’ went on Perdita. ‘But I knew you would. I have heard of your kindness. Ah, it does not seem so very many years ago that I was in a position similar to yours. So similar. The people used to flock to see me as they now do to see you.’

‘I know,’ said Dorothy. ‘Who has not heard of Mrs Robinson?’

Perdita fluttered her lashes. She was carefully painted and her gown was made of satin and lace – delicately coloured and very feminine. She must have been a very pretty woman in her youth, Dorothy decided.

‘I was known as Perdita because it was in The Winter’s Tale that I scored my big success. He was there in the box… the balcony box, you know. I shall never forget it. The Prince of Wales, and he had eyes for no one but me. How good it is to speak to someone of the theatre! I think so often of those days. And now you see me here, crippled. Thank God I have my daughter to care for me. You have daughters, Mrs Jordan. What a blessing! When we are alone… deserted… there is no one who can comfort one like a daughter.’

Dorothy said: ‘You seem to be so well looked after. But you wished to speak to me about your play.’

‘I am going to give it to you to read. My writing is very important to me now. We live on what I earn… with my pension of course. And you see we are not uncomfortable.’

‘That is a blessing,’ said Dorothy.

Perdita gave one of her theatrical shrugs. ‘You know how it is with us theatre folk. We learn to be extravagant and then we find ourselves alone, in debt,’ She shivered. ‘I feel I can confide in you, Mrs Jordan… because I was once on the stage.’

‘You think there is a part for me in your play?’

‘Undoubtedly. It was written with you in mind… and Sarah Siddons and Elizabeth Farren. There’s a part for Mrs Pope and Bannister too, so everyone should be satisfied.’

‘Good parts for all?’ asked Dorothy.

‘Excellent. This is a play with a purpose. I want to call attention to the terrible habit of gambling and do my small part in helping to abolish this vice.’

‘Do you think the audiences will like that?’

‘They will have to learn to like it. It is a lesson in itself. You look doubtful, Mrs Jordan.’

‘It is merely that audiences come to be entertained, not to learn lessons. And it is the players and the playwrights who have to please them rather than expect them to learn to like what they are given.’

‘Ah, my dear Mrs Jordan, I have advanced ideas. I have written a play on gambling and Mr Sheridan must put it on for me. I am sending a copy to him too, but I wanted to see you… in person. I felt a great desire to see you.’

‘That was kind of you.’

‘Perhaps it was curiosity. I have read so much about you.’

It was Dorothy’s turn to grimace. ‘I hope you have not believed all you heard about me?’

‘Ha! ha!’ Perdita’s laughter was stage laughter, high-pitched and artificial as everything about her. Dorothy felt as though she were playing a scene with this woman – perhaps it was because they were two actresses together. ‘You can tell me nothing about the scandal sheets. My dear Mrs Jordan, no one… but no one… has been libelled and slandered so much as I. You would be too young to remember…’

‘I was probably not in London. I did not come here until ten years ago.’

‘Ten years,’ she murmured. ‘Ten years. It seems but yesterday. I believed him, you know. When he wrote eternal faithfulness I was young and romantic to believe him. That is what we poor women do, is it not, Mrs Jordan?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Dorothy. ‘Do you want me to speak to Mr Sheridan when I have read the play?’

‘Only to tell him that you will enjoy playing the part. I thought it would go on for ever. I gave up the stage. The friend of the Prince of Wales could not go on playing, I was told. Sheridan said that if I left I would never come back. He said the public was fickle. They forget and will not welcome you when you return, he said. How right he was! And when it was over…’ She laughed. ‘Of course there were offers. So many offered. Mr Fox was my good friend and helped me to get my settlement. And then he went off with my maid, that Mrs Armistead. They say he has married her. Is it true, do you think? Do you think a man like Mr Fox would marry a lady’s maid? And how strange that she… who used to wait on me… should be Mrs Charles James Fox! Life is strange, Mrs Jordan.’

‘It is very strange,’ agreed Dorothy. She rose. She had a great desire to get out of this room. She felt uneasy. This woman was trying to say something to her. ‘You are looking at yourself in fifteen years’ time. The woman who gave up everything for love. The woman who did not consider the cost.’ But that was not true. Mrs Robinson had considered the cost. She had her settlement. She had bartered his letters for it. Everyone knew the story of Mrs Robinson and the Prince of Wales.

‘Pray do not go yet. I have asked my dear daughter to bring us in a dish of tea. It is not often that we have the pleasure of entertaining the famous Mrs Jordan.’ She called, ‘Maria! Maria, my dear. Pray bring in the tea.’

The daughter came at once.

‘Oh, Mrs Jordan, I am so pleased you are staying,’ she said. ‘Mamma gets so few visitors and she does love to talk. Are you comfortable, Mamma?’

Perdita smiled at her daughter. ‘You see how I am looked after, Mrs Jordan? Sit with us awhile, my dear. Mrs Jordan has promised to stay and talk to me.’

But it was Perdita who talked; she talked of that high-light in her life when for a brief time she had been the mistress of the Prince of Wales. She made Dorothy see the romantic meetings on Eel Pie Island, the entreaties of the Prince before she would give way. ‘And I gave all for love.’ She spoke in dramatic clichés. ‘And you will understand that, Mrs Jordan. I should have been wise, should I not? But who ever was wise in love? I loved not wisely but too well! And I did not count the cost. But I have my dear daughter and we manage to get along, do we not, my pet?’

‘We manage very well, Mamma. Have you talked to Mrs Jordan about the play?’

‘Mrs Jordan is going to speak to Mr Sheridan about it and she wants to play the main part. This play must run for years. There will always be those who need to be warned against the sin of gambling. It was gambling which ruined him, you know. Oh, he was handsome in those days! He has grown a little gross now… but still elegant… and of course, magnificent. But he could never be faithful. We heard so much of Mrs Fitzherbert.’ Her lip curled in contempt, but the envy showed in her eyes; she was not actress enough to hide that. ‘But she did not last, either. And this poor woman he has married. But it never lasts! It never lasts with princes.’

She is telling me to beware, thought Dorothy. What does she expect me to do, to keep his letters to use them as she used George’s?

‘ “Princes, princes,” ’ went on Perdita, ‘ “put not your trust in princes.” ’

Dorothy said the tea was delicious. She must discover their tea merchant. And now she must go. She would give Mrs Robinson an early report on the play.

‘It was good of you to come,’ said Perdita. ‘I had to see you. An actress like myself… It reminded me so much…’

Driving to her house in Somerset Street Dorothy could not shake off the mood of depression.

For the first time she felt insecure. She could not get out of her mind the memory of that poor woman with her painted face and her exaggerated gestures; she could imagine so clearly how beautiful she must once have been; she could picture so vividly her romance with the young Prince of Wales.

And then… the disillusionment and the end.

‘Put not your trust in princes.’

It was like a chilly wind blowing up on a lovely warm summer’s day.

Somewhat against his better judgement Sheridan decided to put on Mrs Robinson’s play which was under the uninspiring title of Nobody. The sentiments expressed, he knew, would anger many, for the theatre was patronized by gamblers and were they going to sit meekly in their places and listen to a diatribe against their favourite pastime? There would be a hostile reception, he feared. Besides, Mrs Robinson was no genius. On the other hand, she had been the central character in a famous scandal, and the fact that the principal actress was the mistress of a prince and Mrs Robinson had been the mistress of his elder brother did have a certain value. Moreover, he was desperate for new plays. The old favourites had been repeated so many times and although an audience would call for Little Pickle when he offered them something else – he did need to replenish his repertoire. Who knew, the controversial subject might catch on.

Nobody went into rehearsal and Sheridan promised himself that with such a cast it would have every chance of success.

It was impossible to keep its subject secret and the news went round theatrical circles that Sheridan was going to give them some tract against gambling. It would be drink next. Before they knew where they were they would be living in the sort of puritan society which had occurred after the Civil War and which, having once tasted, the people had decided they would never have again. They preferred their extravagant kings and their mistresses to that.