The next day the Prince called at Cork Street, his mind full of the accusations he had heard on the previous night.
Perdita had had a sleepless night; when he had left her she had gone over everything that had been said and she remembered those early days when he had contrived to be with her every possible moment and had never left her side until he was forced to. Nowadays he merely announced that he was going to Cumberland House or Devonshire House, to neither of which households was she invited.
She had thought the Duchess of Devonshire might be her friend since, when Perdita had been in the debtors’ prison, the Duchess had helped her. But while the Duchess was ready to help a poor woman of talent, she was not prepared to receive a play actress in to her house. Perdita had been very angry and instead of making it tactfully known to the Prince that she longed to go to Devonshire House – for had he asked that she should go his request would have been immediately granted – she had tried to outshine the Duchess in public at such places as the Rotunda, the Pantheon and Ranelagh. She had dressed herself in magnificent gowns, colourful and dazzling, certain to attract the eye and wherever the Duchess was there was Perdita – always calling attention to herself, determined to oust the Duchess from her position as the leader of fashion.
And when she had, coming face to face with the Duchess, bowed, the Duchess had looked through her as though she did not exist and the crowds had seen the snub.
That had sent her home in tears, railing against her position and all she had given up for the Prince; and she continued with the theme when the Prince called to see her.
So, after that near quarrel Perdita was uneasy. She lay in bed thinking not so much of her child as of the changing attitude of the Prince. There was one other subject of which she refused to think. Every time it came into her mind she pushed it away. This was Debts. She did not know how much she owed but she knew the amount must be considerable. The cost of entertaining at Cork Street was enormous; her dresses cost a fortune; her wine bill she dared not think of – the Prince and his friends were heavy drinkers. No, she dared not think of money. And while she had the Prince’s affection it was unimportant.
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.