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.
Danger on Hounslow Heath
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.
Perdita was not at home. Gorgeously painted and patched she had gone out for one of her morning drives. She had not felt in the mood for such an outing, she told Mrs Armistead; the Prince’s attitude lately had worried her. But she did not want people to notice that she was less happy than she had been. The Prince was young and gay and he had fallen into bad company; and as she naturally had tried to make him understand this, it had caused a little lovers’ quarrel.
Mrs Armistead, who had overheard the lovers quarrel, thought it far from little. She had already decided that Perdita had not very many weeks left to her in which to bask in the glory of the Prince’s favour. Let her dress in her silks and muslins, her fantastic hats. Poor creature, she would very soon be dislodged from her position.
So she had driven out in the ostentatious coach with the wreath of flowers which looked like a coronet and she would be gone for at least another hour.
Mrs Armistead, reviewing her mistress’s position, was in fact thinking of her own. Things will change mightily when we have lost His Highness, she thought. Would that be the time to retire to Chertsey? She had not only her house but enough money to live on in modest dignity. Mr Fox was her friend. He would visit her there and they would talk politics together; he had paid her the compliment of actually letting her share in a discussion with him and although perhaps she could not go so far as to say he had taken her advice, he had listened to it.
The footman came to her room to announce that a Mr Meynel had called from the Prince of Wales.
‘Mrs Robinson is not at home, but perhaps I should see him. Bring him in,’ she ordered.
Mr Meynel appeared and bowing asked if he had the pleasure of meeting Mrs Armistead.
‘I am Mrs Armistead. But I’m afraid I have to tell you that Mrs Robinson is not at home. Any message you care to leave …’