She must keep that affection; so when he arrived that day she was all charm and sweetness and he was obviously deeply affected by her beauty.

During his visit he mentioned Cumberland House.

‘Why,’ he said, ‘do you dislike the place so?’

‘Because I think it is not a worthy setting for you.’

‘My uncle’s house!’

‘But an uncle who, in the King’s eyes, has brought disgrace on your royal family.’

‘So you would side with the King against me?’

‘I would never side with anyone against you. They could torture me … they could do anything they would with me … but I would always stand by you.’

It was the answer he wanted. In fact when he thought of his father’s approaching Perdita he saw how improbable that was. Dear Aunt Cumberland! It was her concern for him, of course … and her fear of losing him. She need not have feared. He would remain faithful to her and to Perdita. As for the King, he could go to the devil.

It reminded him that the King’s Birthday Ball would soon be taking place. He told Perdita of this and said: ‘You will come.’

She clasped her hands in ecstasy. Pink satin? White perhaps, as she had worn at the Oratorio. Lavender? Blue?

‘Why not?’ cried the Prince. ‘You cannot join the dancers, but you will be watching in a box of course … and you will be there.’

The Prince specially noticed Mrs Armistead that evening. A strange woman who, while she did not immediately catch the eye, remained in the mind. How gracefully she moved! And there was an air of assurance about her. He had often wondered why a woman who had such an air of breeding should be a lady’s maid. A disloyal thought occurred to him. One would have thought she was the lady of the house rather than Perdita, but for Perdita’s fine clothes.

And then a thought suddenly struck him.


* * *

He called at Cumberland House to see the Duchess who received him with arms outstretched.

‘Prince of Princes!’

‘Most enchanting and incongruous of Aunts.’

They embraced.

‘I have come to speak to you about our recent conversation.’

The black feathery fans shot up to disclose the glitter of the green eyes.

‘There may well be a spy in Cork Street.’

‘So you have discovered …’

‘The lady’s maid. Her name is Mrs Armistead.’

The Duchess threw back her head and laughed. ‘Now there is a woman.’

‘You know of her?’

‘She is becoming rather well known.’

‘For what reason?’

‘The usual reasons.’

‘Dear Aunt, pray explain.’

‘Dear Nephew, certainly. She is a very unusual and attractive lady’s maid, is she not? You think so. So do other gentlemen … Mr Fox, Dorset, Derby … so I’ve heard.’

‘By God, but why does she continue to serve Perdita?’

‘She is no ordinary woman. She wishes to preserve her independence.’

‘In being a lady’s maid!’

‘In rather special circumstances. I … who make it my pleasurable duty to keep a close watch on all that concerns my Prince …’

‘At least a very charming spy.’

She curtsied. ‘But I love you as a mother, as an aunt … as anything you care to name. And so I learn these things. No, you must look elsewhere for your spy. It’s not the lady’s maid. She is a Whig … a good Whig. A friend of Mr Fox. She would never spy for the King.’

The Prince was laughing. ‘I had always thought there was something unusual about her.’

‘So you must look elsewhere, dear one.’

She was thinking: Armistead. Not a bad idea. If Grace cannot do, why not Armistead?


* * *

It was a scene of splendour at the Haymarket theatre where the King’s birthday ball was being held, and although as many members of the royal family who were of an age to attend were present, it was the Prince of Wales who attracted all the attention. As usual he was dressed in the height of fashion, augmented by inventions of his own which would be copied immediately to become the very pinnacle of good taste and elegance.

Watching him from her box Perdita’s feelings were mixed. Pride, pleasure, gratification, apprehension and humiliation. She herself came in for a good share of the attention; in fact it was divided between her and the Prince and whenever he gazed up at her box, which he did frequently, many were aware of it.

It had been most galling to arrive to find that she was to share a box with Mrs Denton who was the mistress of Lord Lyttleton. It was, she felt, a humiliation – as though she were judged to be of the same calibre. Why, when she had been at the theatre Lord Lyttelton had pursued her and offered her a luxurious house and a good income if she would become his mistress, and she had refused him. Mrs Denton had accepted – and here they were in a public place – grouped together as it were.

Mrs Denton was leaning forward in the box pointing out this person and that, excited and honoured to be present. How difficult life was! sighed Perdita. She wished she had not come.

‘There is the Duchess of Devonshire,’ whispered Mrs Denton. As if I did not know the creature, thought Perdita. ‘Is she not beautiful? And her gown! No wonder she is the leader of fashion.’ Is she! thought Perdita. Indeed she is not. I can outshine her any day. And I will. The arrogant woman snubbed me in Pall Mall. I shall not forget it.

And the Prince was talking to the Duchess and showing so clearly that he admired her and was delighted with her company.

‘Of course she is very clever and her house is the meeting place for the Whig opposition. His Majesty won’t be too pleased to have her here, but it’s clear the Prince is delighted. And look … Oh, is she not beautiful! The tall one with the golden hair. I know who she is. Mrs Grace Elliott. There was a big scandal about her. I wonder the Queen allows her to come to Court.’

‘She is too tall,’ said Perdita.

‘Do you think so? They call her Dally the Tall. It’s because her name was Dalrymple before she married Mr Elliott … who divorced her, I might say.’

Perdita pursed her lips. Such a woman could mingle with guests while virtuous people must be seated in boxes!

‘Oh … look.’

Mrs Denton had no need to direct Perdita’s attention for she had already seen. The tall Mrs Elliott had selected two rosebuds from her corsage and had approached the Prince, curtsied and offered them to him.

‘What … blatant impudence!’

‘They say she is very free in her manners, but … at a public ball …!’

‘It is quite shocking.’

‘He’s taking them.’

‘He’s too chivalrous to do anything else.’

The Prince was standing smelling the rosebuds while Grace Elliott remained before him, smiling complacently. Then the Prince looked up at the box and caught Perdita’s eye.

He called to one of the members of his suite and handed the rosebuds to him.

‘What does it mean?’ twittered Mrs Denton.

Perdita was silent. It was a direct insult to her. This tall woman with the golden hair was telling her, and the Court, that she was ready to be – or already was – the friend of the Prince of Wales; and the fact that he had taken the flowers was almost an acknowledgement of this.

There was scratching on the door of the box.

Perdita did not look round; she felt too mortified.

Then a voice said: ‘Er … Mrs Robinson …’ And she saw the gentleman of the Prince’s suite to whom he had handed the flowers standing there in the box and holding in his hands the rosebuds.

‘With the compliments of His Royal Highness, Madam.’

Perdita felt almost hysterical with joy. She took the roses. She was well aware of the watching eyes. Dramatically, as though acting for an audience, she put the rosebuds into her corsage making sure that they were very prominent.

She sparkled. It was a successful ball. No matter that she must sit in a box while others danced with her lover. He had shown his regard for her publicly.

She was happier than she had been for some time.


* * *

The King and Queen were at Windsor – not so homely and comfortable as ‘dear little Kew’ but preferable to St James’s.

The Queen was pleasantly excited and the King was pleased to humour her.

She explained to him: ‘It is always pleasant to see people from one’s native land even though it has ceased to be one’s home.’

The King could see this point.

‘Herr von Hardenburg and his wife are charming people. I trust you will honour them with an audience.’

‘Pleased to, pleased to,’ said the King.

‘They have with them a young woman … about eighteen years of age. She is very pretty and of good family. I wish them to be comfortable during their stay here.’

Any such problem pleased the King. There was nothing he enjoyed more than planning domestic details. So he threw himself wholeheartedly into the matter and questioned and cross-questioned the Queen about the arrangements which had been made for the Hardenburgs.

She had asked that a house be found for them in Windsor; and she believed that they were very happy there. They had several small children and Fräulein von Busch, the young lady whom they had brought with them was such a pleasant creature … very handsome but modest; the Queen was sure that His Majesty would find her a pleasant change from some of these garish women who seemed to be considered so fashionable nowadays … women like the Duchesses of Cumberland and Devonshire …

‘Dabbling in politics,’ grumbled the King. ‘Never should be allowed. Women … in politics, eh I what?’