Jean Plaidy - Perdita’s Prince

The Prince was talking of the perfections of Mary Hamilton, but Frederick was aware that his brother was not insensible to the charms of some of the ladies who passed by. There were some beauties. Very different from the young women who made up the household at Kew – with one or two exceptions of course like Harriot Vernon and Mary Hamilton. Beautiful ladies in hoops and feathers, with tight bodices cut low to disclose exquisite necks and bosoms, brocade and silk gowns open in front or looped as a polonaise to show an ornamental petticoat. They were rouged and patched and made a brilliant picture in their big straw hats decorated with flowers and ribbons. And all eyes were on the elegant Prince who sat his horse so skilfully and those eyes were so languishing and, yes … inviting … that he found his attention straying from his pure love and an excitement possessed him.

‘Riding here like this, I feel free, Fred. By God, what the devil are we doing allowing ourselves to live like children in the nursery?’

And just at that moment a carriage came bowling towards them, a very ornate coach bearing the royal arms, and seated in it was their uncle the Duke of Cumberland who, perceiving them, immediately called to his coachman to stop.

He alighted and approached the Prince with tears in his eyes.

‘Your Highness, my dear, dear nephew. Forgive the intrusion but I cannot pass you by without the greeting due to your rank when I long to give you a warmer one. When all is said and done I am your uncle.’

Cumberland! thought the Prince. The rebel. The uncle who was concerned in the Grosvenor scandal and had such a fascinating wife!

Cumberland had taken the Prince’s hand and was kissing it with emotion.

‘And … Your Highness Prince Frederick. This is a happy day for me.’

‘We are pleased to have an opportunity of speaking with you, Uncle,’ said the Prince warmly.

‘I knew you would be. I trust this will be no isolated meeting. The Duchess and I have talked of you often … with tears in our eyes. We feel for you so much … my dear, dear nephew.’

Uncle Cumberland was determined to be friendly and the Prince had been right when he had said he was susceptible and ready to accept friendship when offered. Uncle Cumberland had quarrelled with the King and the Prince could well understand that, for his uncle represented the great exciting world outside the royal nurseries. He was implying by his words, his looks and his manner that he felt the Princes were badly treated by the King; they were shut away from the world, treated like children. What could be more humiliating to young men of seventeen and sixteen.

‘We hope you will do us the great honour of allowing us to entertain you sometime. There are men … and women …’ Just a little avuncular leer suggesting the delight this could be. ‘… charming men, beautiful women … witty, worldly … who long to make your acquaintance. They have caught glimpses of you now and then … in public places, and been enchanted. But it is not enough, nephews, it is not enough. Why at Drury Lane … where Sheridan’s School for Scandal has been playing to packed houses … there is the most delightful little play actress I ever set eyes on. Mrs Robinson is the most beautiful woman in London and London abounds with beautiful women. You should be meeting the world. It’s a shame to keep such charm … such elegance shut away at Kew. What a coat! What cut! What shoe buckles! I swear I never saw the like … Why Your Highness is the leader of the ton … and shut away at Kew. I have said too much. Why, nephews, I fear I am the most indiscreet man you ever met. But I let my concern for you run away with my tongue … and my pleasure too … my deep, deep pleasure in this encounter.’

The Duke of Cumberland touched his eye with the corner of his lace kerchief and the Prince of Wales was a little affected too.

‘Well, I must not delay you. We are being watched. This will mayhap be reported. I shall be in even greater disgrace. But it’s a sad world when a loving uncle cannot have a word with his two handsome nephews. Adieu, my dear, dear boys.’

‘Let us rather say au revoir,’ replied the Prince.

Cumberland kissed first George’s hand, then Frederick’s; and went back to his coach.

The Prince’s eyes were shining as they rode on.

‘Why,’ he demanded, ‘should we be kept shut away? Our uncle is right. We should be out in the world. We should not be living like children. I tell you this, Fred, I’ll not endure it much longer. The day is fast approaching when I shall demand my freedom. And when I have my rights I shall visit our uncle. It was most affecting, was it not? Why should he be kept from us merely because he fell in love with a woman.’

‘Lady Grosvenor was a married woman.’

‘Ah, love!’ sighed the Prince. ‘How can we be sure where it will appear. Is one supposed to wait for it to come suitably … as our father did with our mother. I hear our uncle’s wife is a most fascinating woman, Fred. I should like to meet her.’

‘It will never be permitted.’

The Prince pressed his horse into a canter.

‘All that, Fred,’ he prophesied, ‘will shortly be changed. You will see.’

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, twenty-eight years old, witty, brilliant and the most successful playwright in London and manager of the Drury Theatre, was on his way to Buckingham House for an audience with the King. He knew what this meant: a royal command performance, always good for business. He was well aware that it was no use offering The School for Scandal. He laughed inwardly, thinking of some of the epigrammatical gems of that piece, of the screen scene, of his adorable but rather naughty Lady Teazle, and imagining the reception this would get from humourless George and Charlotte.

He was going to offer them The Winter’s Tale. It would have to be Shakespeare although he knew full well that the King found the great playwright dull: Still, his subjects expected him to see Shakespeare. Shakespeare was respectable, which seemed a little odd to Sheridan as some of the lines came into his mind – but Shakespeare had his place in the literature of the land and his poetry made up for his bawdiness. Any of the Restoration plays with their cynical approach to marriage would be definitely unsuitable for the King.

Arrived at Buckingham House Sheridan was conducted to the King’s apartments and in a very short time was granted an audience.

‘Mr Sheridan, it is good of you to come.’ The King was always considerate to his subjects and behaved with an absence of arrogance. The epithet homely was apt.

‘At Your Majesty’s pleasure,’ replied Sheridan with a courtly bow.

‘You will have guessed why I asked you to come, Mr Sheridan, eh, what?’ Sheridan was about to speak for one did not realize when first in the King’s company that the queries were merely rhetorical. The King went on without a pause: ‘We are thinking of coming to the theatre … the Queen and myself in the company of the Prince of Wales.’

In the company of the Prince of Wales! Sheridan felt excited. This would indeed be an occasion.

‘Drury Lane will be honoured, Sir.’

The King looked pleased. He enjoyed doing good turns and he knew how these theatre people liked a command performance. They were rare. He preferred the opera and a good concert; but it was his duty to see a play now and then.

‘The point is,’ said the King, ‘what will be played for us? It should be something in … er … good taste, eh, what?’

‘The utmost good taste, Sir.’

The King looked quizzically at Mr Sheridan. He had heard that this young man was a little wild in his habits. There had been some elopement, he believed; though why he should have heard these bits of gossip about a theatre manager he could not imagine. Except of course that Mr Sheridan had taken the town by storm with that play of his. It was his wife of course. One of the finest singers in the country. Mrs Sheridan made Mr Sheridan more respectable in the royal eyes.

‘Well,’ said the King, ‘what would you suggest, Mr Sheridan?’

‘Has your Majesty decided on Shakespeare?’

The King looked scornful. ‘Sad stuff … most of it,’ he said. ‘Eh? What?’ Mr Sheridan was pleased not to answer. The King went on: ‘But the people of this country seem to have made a god of the fellow. Mustn’t say a word against him. He’s perfect, so they tell me. I don’t see it, Mr Sheridan. I don’t see it.’

‘Then, sir …’ Sheridan’s eyes were alight with hope. Why not? Mrs Abington would have to play Lady Teazle of course. And what a player! And Mary Robinson … dear, exquisite Mary Robinson would be Maria … as they were before. Mary would want to play Lady Teazle … but she wasn’t up to the part really … lovely as she was to look at; and for all her cruderies Abington was an actress to her fingertips whereas Mary owed her success to that incomparable beauty. Incomparable but not quite. His own Elizabeth, the wife with whom he had eloped … had perhaps a greater beauty than Mary Robinson’s, but more ethereal. Elizabeth? Mary? Elizabeth would always be first but Mary was so alluring; and a man whose career necessarily brought him into the company of so many desirable women could not be expected to remain faithful to his wife even though she were delightful, understanding, virtuous … in fact all that a wife should be. Elizabeth would understand his weaknesses. But his thoughts were straying. A royal command performance for The School. It would be the crowning triumph and what fun to watch the royal disapproval of the wit … though would they grasp it? What would prim George and dull Charlotte make of the wittiest play in London? How amusing to discover.