Jean Plaidy - Perdita’s Prince

Oh, God, she thought. What shall I do?

There was Maiden, dear faithful Malden; he would be the Earl of Essex one day but he had no money now. He could not help her.

Cumberland?

‘Oh, no, never, never,’ she cried dramatically. ‘I would rather die.’

And then suddenly she was aware of the desperate position she was in and broke down and wept.

* * *

Lord Maiden called. He looked very anxious.

‘Have you any news?’ she implored.

He could only shake his head.

‘You have seen him?’

‘I have.’

‘And has he spoken of me?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘But that does not mean he does not think of me.’

Lady Augusta Campbell the elusive one; Dally the Tall the gay one; Mrs Armistead the cosy one … How could he tell Perdita that the Prince no longer needed her? And that all he asked of her now was that she should cease to bother him and forget him as quickly as he was forgetting her.

‘If I could but see him,’ sighed Perdita.

‘He will not see you. He was annoyed that you came to Windsor.’

‘I risked my life in doing it.’ Dramatically and with some embellishments she told the story of how she had crossed Hounslow Heath and had by a miracle escaped.

‘Surely if he knew I did that for him …’

Lord Maiden sighed. How could he tell her that all the Prince wanted was that she should go out of his life and stay out.

‘My dear lord,’ she said, ‘if I could only see him. You are close to him. You could do so much … if you would.’

‘You know there is nothing in my power I would not do for you.’

‘I know it. And you will arrange a meeting. If I could but see him once …’

She might be right, thought Maiden. She was very beautiful. Dally and the Armistead women were nothing compared with her. Nor was Lady Augusta. Surely he must be moved if he could see her looking as appealing as she did now?

And if he could bring them together again … if they could be happy together. And surely Perdita would have learned her lesson. Then they would both be very grateful to him.

‘Rest assured that I will do everything … everything.’

‘But you will speak with him?’

‘I will take the first opportunity, and if it is at all possible I will bring about that meeting.’

When he had gone Perdita felt greatly relieved. She thrust all the bills into a drawer out of sight and gave herself up to the contemplation of what she would wear for the meeting and rehearsed what she would say. She would not reproach him; she would be humble, pleading, assuring him of her complete submission and devotion.

She was sure then that he would find her irresistible.

* * *

A few days later Lord Maiden called again.

‘I have good news for you. The Prince will see you.’

‘My dear friend, how can I thank you!’

What should she wear? Lilac satin … pale green silk … one of the many dresses which had not yet been paid for? No need to worry herself on that score. All would soon be well. No one would worry her for money when they knew she was back with the Prince of Wales.

‘When is he coming?’ she cried. ‘I must have time.’

‘He will not come here.’

‘But why not?’

‘Er … I think it better if you were to come to my house in Clarges Street. The Prince could see you there.’

She took his hand and kissed it. ‘Oh, how can I thank you.’

His ardent gaze was enough to tell her how. But he could say nothing as yet, of course.

* * *

Surely she was as beautiful as ever. Hope had restored the beauty she feared she had lost. Her carriage rattled through the streets and she was happy for the first time since she had quarrelled with the Prince and been aware that she was losing him.

That should never happen again. She would be so careful. She would never reproach him again; she would be sweet and loving and ever grateful for being given a second chance.

Lord Maiden received her with the admiring looks which he had never failed to bestow upon her. What a good faithful creature he was I Especially as by being her friend he incurred the displeasure of the King – and perhaps would risk losing the Prince’s favour if all did not go well between him and her. Dear, good faithful Maiden, who would even now have paid her debts for her had he been able!

‘His Highness is here,’ he whispered.

And he took her into his drawing room where, his back to the door, stood the Prince.

She stood waiting and he, being aware of her, slowly turned.

‘My … Prince …!’ she cried and went towards him, her hands outstretched.

As he took them and kissed them, great floods of relief swept over her.

‘I … I feel as though I am alive again,’ she said.

‘I am happy to see you,’ he told her. And taking her hand drew her to a couch where they sat side by side.

‘I have been so unhappy,’ she told him.

‘My dear Perdita!’

‘I thought you would never forgive me. I thought you hated me.’

‘Do you think I could ever hate Perdita?’

‘But you went away …’ Careful, she thought. No reproaches.

‘It was a state affair in fact,’ he said easily. ‘My birthday had to be celebrated in the heart of the family at Windsor.’

‘Of course.’

He began to chat of the festivities at Windsor, describing the public celebrations and the review in the Park; the banquet and the ball; but he made no mention of Lady Augusta.

She was longing to ask him questions about Mrs Armistead but she dared not. She had learned one lesson at least.

They talked of mutual friends and it was a most pleasant hour. Then the Prince said he must go; he had an engagement. She suppressed the desire to ask if it was at Cumberland House; and he said an affectionate goodbye to her in which she was certain that he meant to imply they would meet again soon.

Lord Malden conducted the Prince to his coach and came back to Perdita.

‘I can only tell you how grateful I am.’

‘His Highness was friendly.’

‘Extremely so.’

‘That I can see, for you are radiant.’

‘It was just a little misunderstanding. I shall see that it does not happen in the future.’

Poor Perdita! thought Maiden. She did not know how difficult it had been. The Prince had most certainly not wished to see her and Maiden was sure had no intention of renewing the acquaintance.

Still let Perdita be happy for a little longer.

* * *

She returned to Cork Street, played a little on the harpsichord and sang softly. She retired to bed and lay listening, wondering whether he might call.

The next morning she dressed with the greatest care. She wore one of her fantastic hats, all ribbons and feathers; and a lavender silk gown which was exquisite. And taking her carriage with the coronet-like wreath went into the Park.

She felt intoxicated by the sunshine. It was a beautiful morning; the grass had never seemed so green, the flowers so beautiful. People gazed at her, nudged each other and whispered together. Perdita was about again.

And suddenly she saw him. He was walking with a crowd of his friends about him laughing and chatting; and as usual he was the centre of attraction. Now the moment was at hand. He would come to her carriage, take her hand, kiss it, perhaps ride with her. They would be together again.

She stopped the carriage. The Prince and his group were approaching. She smiled. He looked at her blankly as though he did not know her; and then turning his head began to talk animatedly to one of his companions.

She was stunned. It was a deliberate cut, a deliberate insult.

He had seen her and pretended he did not know her. He had shown her publicly that he had finished with her.

But after their meeting yesterday …

She could see it all now. He had been persuaded to it; it had meant nothing. He did not wish to resume their relationship. More than that he did not wish to know her.

No one could have been told more clearly.

She was aware of curious eyes on her; she could hear the sounds of laughter floating back to her. His laughter! And she wanted to die.

BACK TO CORK STREET.

This is the end, she said. He will never come back now.

She took the bills from the drawer and looked at them. It was better to do something than nothing.

How can I pay all these debts? she asked herself. They were all incurred for him. But for him I should be a famous actress, earning a good living from the theatre. I gave up everything for him. Everything.

She forced herself to add up the amounts she owed. No, it was impossible. Seven thousand pounds. They could not be so much. She had been extravagant … for him, she repeated bitterly. But surely not as extravagant as that.

‘Where can I find seven thousand pounds?’ she asked herself.

Where indeed?

And then she remembered. She took a key from the drawer and opened a box which she kept in her bedroom.

From this she took out a piece of parchment. It was the Prince’s bond for £20 000, and it was sealed with the royal seal.

She remembered his giving it to her, and how she had declared she would not have it and he had had to persuade her to accept it.

It was the answer, of course. It would be the only way in which she could pay her debts.