And now at last she was capitulating; and it was a triumph of chastity.
The meeting at Kew
THE PRINCE WAS delighted, impatient and angry. The meeting must take place, but where? Never before had he raged so fiercely against the way he was treated. Here he was almost eighteen and a Prince of Wales and he could not freely arrange a meeting with the lady of his choice! Their meeting must be a secret in case it reached the ears of his parents.
He paced up and down his apartments, raging to Frederick and Lord Malden.
‘You remember where you used to meet Harriot Vernon,’ suggested Frederick.
‘I could never meet Perdita there.’
‘My house in Dean Street is at Your Highness’s service,’ said Malden.
The Prince looked hopeful. ‘That’s a better idea.’
‘But,’ said Frederick, ‘you could never go to Dean Street and it not be known. People recognize you passing through the streets. Moreover, it is too far. You would be away too long. There would be inquiries. What if the King decided to send for you as he did for that game of chess?’
The Prince looked in dismay at his brother. Frederick was right.
‘There is only one answer,’ he said. ‘She must come to Kew.’
‘To Kew, sir!’ cried Malden, aghast.
Frederick’s eyes were alight with excitement. ‘We shall smuggle her into the Dower House. She should come in breeches – her Sir Harry Revel costume … and no one would know who she was.’
‘It’s the answer,’ said the Prince. ‘Fred, you have talent.’
‘In breeches!’ cried Perdita, aghast. ‘That would be quite out of the question. I should feel so … indelicate.’
‘It would mean,’ Lord Maiden explained, ‘that you would not be easily recognized.’
‘And if I were? Imagine! The scandal! Oh no, no. I could not do it.’
‘It was the best plan we could think of.’
‘I could never do it,’ said Perdita firmly.
Finally it was decided that there was something in Frederick’s first idea. The meeting must be highly secret and the only safe spot would be out of doors. The Prince would at least have an opportunity of talking to his love, of clasping her in his arms and making plans for the future; and all he had to remember was that in three months’ time he would be eighteen, have his own establishment and then be free to come and go as he wished.
‘Your Highness has waited six months,’ pointed out Lord Malden. ‘In another three all will be settled to your satisfaction.’
The Prince retorted that he had no intention of waiting three more months for Perdita, but they would have a meeting in any case. Lord Malden was to go ahead and make plans without delay.
He came to see Perdita and looking at her with yearning eyes told her of the arrangements.
‘I will take you to Brentford and from there row you out to Eel Pie Island. There we will dine and after that I will row you to Kew Gardens where the Prince will be waiting for you.’
‘I am glad,’ she told him, ‘that you will be accompanying me. You will make me feel … secure.’
At this Lord Malden dropped to his knees and taking her hand covered it with kisses.
‘Madam, all these months when I have been pleading another’s cause I have been filled with a mad desire to plead my own.’
‘I know, my lord.’
‘It has been a well-nigh irresistible temptation to me. If it had been any man but the Prince …’
‘I know. I know. You have been both loyal and faithful. It is something I shall never forget.’
Her eyes filled with tears; she dashed them away dramatically. She could almost hear the applause of the audience, the murmurs of ‘None can play a scene like this to compare with Mrs Robinson’. In fact she had an audience. Mrs Armistead had her eye to the keyhole and knew that her lady was to dine with Lord Maiden on Eel Pie Island and then be rowed by that self-sacrificing lover to the Prince.
‘I have decided that there shall be a meeting between me and the Prince.’
Mrs Armistead feigned surprise.
‘Oh, yes, Armistead. He has pleaded with me so earnestly that I can no longer refuse him.’
‘I understand, Madam.’
‘And we are going to Brentford tomorrow.’
‘We, Madam?’
‘The coach will call for me and take me to Lord Malden’s house in Dean Street where he will join me and together we shall ride to Brentford.’
‘You will go alone, Madam, to Brentford with my lord Malden?’
‘Why, Armistead …’
Mrs Armistead’s features had formed themselves into an expression of horror. Then almost immediately they returned to their familiar respectful state. ‘Forgive me, Madam. I forget my place.’
‘No … no, pray go on.’
‘Well, Madam, begging your pardon, I should have thought it unwise for you to go … alone with Lord Maiden on such a journey. If you were seen and recognized … Madam must forgive me. I think of your reputation.’
‘But, I have …’
‘Madam, when ladies travel their maids accompany them … not only for reasons of propriety but in case their toilettes should need some attention.’
Perdita was smiling, and yet again asking herself what she would do without Armistead.
In the coach that rattled along to Dean Street Mrs Armistead sat very upright, her hands folded in her lap. She was not thinking of the excited young woman opposite her, who was deep in her own thoughts.
Could it possibly be, Mrs Armistead was asking herself. Mr Fox himself! Many people of humble circumstances had probably been his mistresses … briefly. She had no doubt that in the first instance he had decided that she herself was worthy of a brief dalliance. But surely this was something deeper? She could not contemplate it with her usual good sense. She had always been clever, and when the late Mr Armistead had left her unprovided for she had chosen this profession – for a purpose. As a lady’s maid to an actress she would have opportunities. She had briefly, before coming to Mrs Robinson, served Mrs Abington. The possibilities were there; but she had not visualized anything like the present situation. Nor could it have come about if she had not had the great good luck to serve a mistress who had attracted the Prince of Wales. This could bring her into the most exalted circles. She could work so well for Mr Fox because the outcome of the affair was of equal importance to them both.
Mr Fox. Oddly enough for all his greatness she saw him as a man in need of care. It was his weakness which appealed to her as much as his strength. She had learned a great deal about him, that some years earlier, his father Lord Holland had paid £140 000 to settle his debts. Lord Holland was dead now and had left Charles James Kingsgate Castle which had had to be sold. There was a jingle sung in the streets about the great man.
‘If he touches a card, if he rattles a box,
Away fly the guineas of this Mr Fox.’
She did not glorify him as Perdita glorified her Prince. She did not wish to clothe him with virtues he did not possess. She would not deny that he was short and fat and rather gross, but there was a look of his ancestor, Charles II, in his face, and his slovenly cravat, his none-too-clean coat, were forgotten when he talked. One could not be in the company of Mr Fox without recognizing his greatness and his charm – but it was his weakness that touched the cool serene heart of Mrs Armistead deeply.