Jean Plaidy - Perdita’s Prince

The Queen did not answer, but her resentment on that score was appeased a little. There were ways in which women could play their part in state affairs – for the amours of a Prince of Wales could be state affairs, witness the way he had fallen into the hands of Mr Fox – subtle ways; and because she was not pregnant she now had the time and energy to exert herself in her own particular brand of statescraft. And the King knew nothing about it. Comforting thought.

She suggested that they go for a drive and ordered the coachman which way to go. This took them past the house occupied by the Hardenburgs and as Frau von Hardenburg was in the garden with her children and swept a most demure and becoming curtsey, the Queen ordered the coachman to stop.

‘Would Your Majesty allow me to present these pleasant people to you?’

The King was happy that this should be so. Beaming with goodwill he even condescended to dismount and go into the house.

It was pleasant to talk in German again. Even the King spoke in it as though it were his native language. The Hardenburgs were delighted and honoured. The wife, the King noticed, was a very pretty woman indeed, and as for the children they were quite enchanting. The King sat down and took several of them on his knee, questioning them and smiling at their bright answers.

‘Charming, charming,’ he muttered.

And there was Fräulein von Busch. What a pleasant creature! Plump, pink and white, golden haired and so modest.

When the visit was over and they rode off the Queen was smiling complacently. As for the King he declared himself to have been enchanted.

‘Must make friends from Germany welcome. Very nice people. Homely … pleasant … eh, what?’

The Queen agreed that the Hardenburgs – and Fräulein von Busch – were indeed homely and pleasant and she could wish that there were more like them.

* * *

The Prince came down to Windsor. This was what the Queen had been waiting for. The King had gone to London on government matters, and she had taken advantage of his absence to summon the Prince.

Windsor, thought the Prince. What was there to do in Windsor? There was only one place to be and that was London.

He was bored; he could not think why his mother had sent for him.

Did she want to chatter to him of what a bonny baby he had been while she did her tatting or sewed for the poor (Pious Person in the Palace of Purity). If so he would return to London at the earliest possible moment. He would do that in any case.

‘You should drive with me,’ said the Queen.

‘For what purpose?’

‘Because the people would like to see us together.’

So he rode with her and the carriage stopped at the Hardenburgs’ house and there was Frau von Hardenburg in the garden making a pretty domestic scene with her children which would have delighted the King, but the Queen feared it would not make the same impression on the Prince of Wales.

‘I should like to present you to these visitors from Germany.’ She spoke quickly knowing that the Prince did not care to be reminded of his German ancestry.

The Prince was however extremely affable – and how charming he could be when he wished to!

He stepped down from the carriage and went into the house; and there was the enchanting Fräulein von Busch, flushing with her realization of the honour and looking so pretty and modest.

The Prince was clearly impressed. On the drive back he asked a great many questions about the Hardenburg ménage.

* * *

The Prince stayed at Windsor to make arrangements, was his excuse, for his birthday ball in August. He would be nineteen – only two years off his majority. In the last year he had changed considerably; in the next two years there would be more changes.

In the meantime he was happy – yes, really happy to stay at Windsor, and the Queen was so pleased with the success of her little bit of diplomacy that she was looking forward to telling the King about it when the Prince had given up that play-acting woman and his Whig friends and settled quietly down with that young German girl who would do as she was told and help to guide the Prince to a better life. How amazed His Majesty would be! Perhaps he would realize then that women were not such fools. After all it was the Duchess of Cumberland who was the leading light in Cumberland House. But one did not have to be a bad woman to be clever.

She knew that the Prince was calling frequently on the Hardenburgs, and about two weeks after she had introduced the Prince to them, Schwellenburg came bustling into her room in a state of some excitement.

‘Haf news. Said vill tell Her Majesty selfs. Herr and Frau von Hardenburg left … is gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘To Germany. The childs are there. He come back for them.’

‘You mean that Herr von Hardenburg and his wife have gone away and left their children behind?’

‘Come back for them, Fräulein von Busch stay and look after them.’

‘So Fräulein von Busch is here. But how strange. Why have they gone?’

Schwellenburg looked sly.

‘Herr Prince,’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He likes too much vimen.’

‘But … Fräulein von Busch …’

‘It is Frau von Hardenburg he likes … so her husbint say. There is von I can do … I take her vay from Herr Prince. So he go in night … and come back for the childs.’

The Queen could not believe it. She called for her carriage; she went to the house. There she found, as Schwellenburg had said, Fräulein von Busch looking after the children.

She explained in German that Herr von Hardenburg had thought it wiser to leave at once for he feared that their Majesties would be as displeased as he was by the Prince’s too fervent attentions to his wife.

The Queen was dumbfounded. Frau von Hardenburg! When there was this fresh young girl brought over for one special reason.

She could not understand it. Her little effort at diplomacy had failed. And that day the Prince, bored with a Windsor that did not contain Frau von Hardenburg, returned to London.

ONE THING HE was sure of, he was tired of Perdita. Her continual hints of sacrifice, her frequent tears, the theatrical tones in which she talked of her position and her wrongs, the turgid sentimental poems she was fond of writing – and they were all addressed to him – these were more frequent than the gay times. He was beginning to make excuses for not calling at Cork Street. And when he did call his visits were enlivened by the brief chats he indulged in with Mrs Armistead.

He was discovering how handsome she was, and she always seemed so sensible when compared with Perdita. When he kissed her hand in an excess of gallantry she did not protest or show any surprise but accepted his attentions as natural. Even when he went so far as to kiss her lips she returned the kiss in a sensible way.

He was greatly intrigued; and one thing the Hardenburg affair had taught him was that he no longer had any intention of remaining faithful to Perdita.

He had already accepted Grace Elliott’s invitation to be her lover. She was amusing – just what he needed as an antidote to Perdita. A little cynical, extremely worldly; and a woman to whom one did not have to swear eternal fidelity every few minutes. He knew what his affair with Grace meant. It was good while it lasted and when it was over there would be no recriminations on either side. He knew that Grace had several lovers. He believed Cholmondeley was still one. There was St Leger, Selwyn, Wind-ham … Safety in numbers. He could be gay with Grace.

But he was tremendously intrigued with Mrs Armistead. In fact it was an unusual situation. He visited the mistress and desired the maid. Opportunities would have to be made for they could not very well make love under Perdita’s nose.

She would be different from everyone else, he was sure.

His Aunt Cumberland knew that Grace had become his mistress and was delighted.

He talked of Mrs Armistead.

‘Intriguing creature,’ agreed the Duchess; and thought how amusing it was that under her very roof Perdita was housing a rival. If she but knew! And she would, in due course. Silly little Perdita had some shocks coming to her. ‘A meeting with Mrs Armistead could easily be arranged.’

‘It’s a devilishly ticklish situation.’

‘You will not have to consider it so much longer, I gather.’

The Prince looked startled. Of course he would not! How much longer was he going on with this farce of being Perdita’s devoted lover? Why should he not meet the interesting Mrs Armistead if he wished?

‘Why not invite her to Windsor. You could meet at an inn there. That would be discreet. I am sure the good woman would wish for discretion.’

‘An inn at Windsor. Why not?’

‘You will have to go there for your birthday celebrations.’

He was thoughtful. He could not help remembering the inn on Eel Pie Island to which he had gone in such a state of ecstasy.

His uncle appeared.

‘Ha, so we have the pleasure of His Highness’s company. Looking well and debonair. Better to be the lover of women in the plural than in the singular.’

‘He speaks from experience,’ said the Duchess coolly.

‘Am I right or wrong, eh, Taffy?’

Taffy? thought the Prince. Oh, Wales, of course. It struck a discordant note. Taffy.

It occurred to him for the first time that his uncle was a very crude man and that he did not really like him very much.