‘I have not come to see Mrs Robinson, Madam, but yourself.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Yes, Madam. His Highness the Prince of Wales asks that you take supper with him.’
Mrs Armistead flushed a faint pink. ‘Is this really so?’
‘Yes, Madam. His Highness is shortly leaving for Windsor; he wishes you to take supper in an inn near that town, and wishes to know whether you accept this invitation.’
‘His Highness does not issue invitations but commands.’
Mr Meynel inclined his head in acknowledgement of the truth of this statement.
‘Then, Madam, I am to understand you accept His Highness’s command?’
‘Being fully conscious of the honour, indeed I do.’
‘I will tell His Highness, who I am sure will be delighted.’
‘And when …?’
‘Madam, you may leave these arrangements to me. A carriage will pick you up and take you to the inn. All you must do is hold yourself in readiness. You will have notice.’
‘Thank you, sir. I shall await His Highness’s instructions.’
Mr Meynel departed and Mrs Armistead sat down, for once without her usual serenity. So it had come! Fox, Derby, Dorset and now the Prince of Wales.
Oh, indeed Perdita’s day was done.
In the days which followed, Mrs Armistead was busy. During one of Perdita’s absences she moved many of her belongings to the house of a friend. They should be taken to Chertsey at the first opportunity.
It would not be possible for her to stay with Perdita after taking supper with the Prince. At least she would not deceive her and remain under her roof. There should be a complete break. A friend of the Prince of Wales could not remain the lady’s maid of his ex-mistress.
It was a very extraordinary situation, but she would be able to handle it.
The message would come any day now for she knew that the Prince would most certainly be going to Windsor soon to celebrate his nineteenth birthday there.
She had no illusions. This would be no grande passion. She was not the sort of woman to inspire that; nor did she wish to be. Perdita was a sad warning to any woman who might have such dreams. No, she and the Prince would have a quiet discreet friendship which would go as far as he wished and be terminated at his desire – which was the best in the long run. Only a fool would expect fidelity from such a young man; she did not even expect it from Mr Fox and her feelings towards him were different from any she felt towards anyone else.
She was excited. She knew now that she was an extremely attractive woman. She guessed she would last as long as Dally the Tall; and she had no objections to running simultaneously with that notorious lady.
Perhaps she should warn Perdita. She imagined the effect that would have because the vain creature was beginning to learn how much she owed to her maid, and the more she considered the matter the more certain she was that once she had supped with the Prince she could not come back to Perdita. It would be undignified to do so; and her dignity had been her most characteristic trait; it had helped to bring her to the position in which she now found herself.
Meanwhile Perdita was growing more and more melancholy.
There were hints everywhere about the Prince’s friendship with Mrs Grace Elliott.
‘Friendship!’ cried Perdita. ‘That creature is so impertinent that she would presume on any friendship.’
‘She is certainly a very bold lady,’ agreed Mrs Armistead.
‘How do you know, Armistead?’
‘I have seen her, Madam. She is constantly showing herself in her carriage.’
‘And doubtless you have heard rumours?’
‘Yes, Madam, there are rumours.’
Perdita went into a mood of morbidity; and Mrs Armistead chose this moment to hint that she might be leaving.
‘Personal affairs are beginning to intrude a little, Madam. I may find it necessary in the near future to give up my post and attend to them.’
‘Personal affairs,’ murmured Perdita vaguely.
‘Yes … my own affairs, Madam.’
Perdita looked at Mrs Armistead. How strange! One had never expected her to have personal affairs. They sounded very vague. Perdita could not pay much attention to Mrs Armistead’s personal affairs; she had so many of her own. Then it suddenly struck her. Armistead wanted more money. This was her way of asking for it. Of course she should have it.
She offered it and it was gratefully accepted. Mrs Armistead had done her duty, she considered; she had warned Perdita.
Perdita was in her room; she was weeping undramatically. She was too unhappy for drama. It was true; he had a mistress. She was this woman who had been divorced by her husband for eloping with Lord Valentia. Mrs Grace Elliott – Dally the Tall – the golden haired beauty who had dared to give him rosebuds while she, Perdita, had looked on.
Of course she had opportunities of seeing him which were denied to Perdita. But they need not have been. He could have been constantly at Cork Street if he had wished. But he did not wish; he came less frequently and when he did come he stayed for such a short time. Why? So that he could hurry away and be with Grace Elliott at Cumberland House. For she had no doubt of this. Her enemies were the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland. The Duke hated her because he had wanted her for his mistress and the Duchess hated her for the same reason. They had been against her from the first. It was they who had brought this Grace Elliott to his notice. But he had been ready enough to be unfaithful to her.
And she had given up everything for him!
She had shut herself in her room; she could not bear to see anyone. She had not even sent for Armistead to dress her. She could only lie in bed and contemplate her misery.
What would this mean? Humiliation. The whole world would know. One could not hope that it would be a secret. The papers would be filled with cartoons and lampoons; when she rode out people would laugh at her. There would be no more of those rides along the Mall when people stopped to stare at her, and gallant gentlemen doffed their hats and almost swept the ground with them to do her the utmost homage.
And the Prince would flaunt another mistress. And … hideous thought and one which she tried to shut out altogether … the creditors would demand their money. They would not humbly request payment as they had in the past; they would make ugly demands. And what would she do? Where would she find the money to pay?
She thought of the cold stone walls of the debtors’ prison … the hopelessness, the despair of those within.
No I she thought. Never, never! Anything is better than that.
The Prince was going to Windsor for his birthday celebrations. There would be beautiful women there … women of the Court. But she was shut out. She was not received. At one time he would have deplored this. He would have said: ‘I will go to Windsor for the birthday ball because I needs must and then I will fly back to my Perdita.’
But now he was going to Windsor days before the ball; he was going to make the arrangements himself. He had no desire to be where Perdita was.
Oh it was so different; it was all that the moralists would have told her that she must expect.
So she lay in bed all day, too limp to get up, to care, and it was a measure of her misery that she did not care what she looked like.
There was a scratching at the door.
‘Is that you, Armistead?’
Mrs Armistead entered. ‘A letter, Madam.’
Eagerly she took it because she saw that it came from the Prince.
Her fingers were trembling as she opened it. She could not believe those words. They could not be true. He was telling her that their idyll was over and that they should not meet again.