Thank God for Mr Fox!
He listened gravely to all that Hotham had said and had told her that she must act with the utmost caution and not allow herself to be bullied. He would tell her exactly what she must do.
She was very ready to lean on him. He was so clever. She had never known such a clever person. Of course his appearance was a little repulsive – particularly if one were as fastidious as Perdita undoubtedly was – but even that was a little piquant. On each visit he became a little more familiar; and she could see, of course, to what he was leading. No, she told herself. Never. Yet what would she do without him? He only had to appear and she could forget those hideous bills. Moreover, it was known that Mr Fox was visiting her and this meant that the tradespeople were not so insolent. They were holding off a little. Mr Fox was making some arrangements for her, therefore they would be patient for a little longer.
Mr Fox persuaded the Prince of Wales to allow her to remain in the house in Cork Street until some other arrangement could be made. That was a great comfort.
And now there was this terrifying man, Hotham, who wanted to know the extent of her debts and how many of the letters there were and to see some of them (but not to let them out of the house, said Mr Fox) and with whom she could never have bargained, if Mr Fox had not been in the background telling her exactly what to do.
There came a day when Hotham arrived, stern and disapproving and not even glancing at her as though she were some ordinary woman and not one of the most beautiful in London.
‘I have an ultimatum from His Majesty, Mrs Robinson,’ he told her. ‘You will be paid five thousand pounds and on accepting this you will hand to me the bond given to you by His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales in addition to the letters he wrote to you and this will be an end to the matter.’
‘My debts alone amount to seven thousand pounds,’ she told him.
‘This, Madam, is no concern of His Majesty nor the Prince of Wales.’
‘But indeed it is. The debts were incurred for the Prince’s pleasure; and for this also I gave up a lucrative career.’
‘The King’s last words are five thousand pounds or, Madam, I fear you may publish the letters and take the consequences.’
‘I will take the consequences.’
‘They will hardly bring credit to you, Madam, I assure you. If you are wise you will take this money, sign these papers and hand me the bond and the letters.’
‘I will consider this,’ said Perdita. ‘Call back tomorrow.’
Mr Fox came to Cork Street. He embraced her with passion. The consummation could not be long delayed. Mr Fox very clearly showed that he had worked indefatigably on her behalf and that her gratitude was the natural course of events.
She told him of Hotham’s ultimatum.
‘Five thousand pounds,’ he said. ‘Not a bad figure.’
‘But he promised twenty thousand pounds.’
‘I told you to put the thought of the bond out of your beautiful head. It’s practically worthless. The five thousand pounds is for the letters. I think we shall have to consider this very closely.’
He gave the impression that if he stayed the night they could discuss it at greater length. He would have more time for working out a satisfactory conclusion, for although they must not say no to the £5000, they should make it a bargaining point towards a solution.
‘What solution?’ Perdita wanted to know.
Mr Fox said he had no doubt he could work that out.
They had a pleasant supper. Perdita was excited, for she reminded herself that he was an unusual man, and there was nothing to be lost by being his friend. Perhaps if they became more and more friendly she would give him a hint about changing his linen more frequently and bathing now and then.
‘You’re thoughtful,’ he said.
‘I was thinking of the future … when this terrible anxiety is no more.’
‘Our future?’ asked Mr Fox.
And then he began to talk of what he envisaged as his future. England was going to lose America and this would bring down the Government. Then those who had deplored the way affairs had been conducted would come into their own. Mr Fox would doubtless lead a new ministry.
Perdita saw herself queening it in a salon in which she would receive all the most important people in the country. It was a wonderful dream. She saw herself in velvet and feathers. Society’s leading hostess. The Prime Minister’s dearest friend and adviser. Had she really stepped down when she lost the favour of the Prince?
She toasted the future with Fox. For the first time since the Prince had deserted her she was really happy.
And everything depended on this man who was clearly going to be her lover.
In the morning a gratified Mr Fox had the solution. She would surrender the bond and letters on these terms: her debts were to be added to those of the Prince (which were so enormous that hers would not make much difference in any case) and paid by the Treasury; instead of the £5000 she would accept a pension of £500 a year for the rest of her life and on her death her daughter was to receive £250 per annum until the end of her life. To these terms and these only would she agree.
Mr Fox was a wonderful man.
She was not surprised that he was so universally admired.
The King wrote to Lord North:
I am sorry to be obliged to open a subject to Lord North that has long given me much pain, but I can rather do it on paper than in conversation; it is a subject to which I know he is not quite ignorant. My eldest son got last year into a very improper connection with an actress and woman of indifferent character through the assistance of Lord Malden and a multitude of letters passed which she has threatened to publish unless he, in short, bought them off her. He has made very foolish promises which undoubtedly by her conduct to him she entirely cancelled. I have thought it right to authorize the getting them from her and have employed Lieutenant-Colonel Hotham on whose discretion I could depend to manage this business. He has now brought it to a conclusion and has her consent to get these letters on her receiving £5000, undoubtedly an enormous sum. But I wish to get my son out of this shameful scrape.
The King sat back and put his hand over his eyes. Memories came to him. Hannah would never have attempted to blackmail him. Hannah had been a good woman. Why should he be reminded by this ‘scrape’ of his son’s of that episode in his life?
But he was and the last few days Hannah had begun to haunt him as she had years ago.
He was weary. This continual conflict among the ministers; Fox standing threateningly with the opposition; the family – Frederick in Germany, William at sea. Were they going to confront him with similar episodes like this?
There was no peace …
‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown …’
Didn’t that fellow Shakespeare say something like that? Not that he admired the poet. Too much fuss made of him and he had always said so; but now and then he would say something which was true – and by God, he had when he said that.
What sort of a king would young George make when his time came? It was years away. He himself was not old. It was the Prince who made him feel old. He was in his early forties. That was not old.
And yet somewhere at the back of his mind there was an uneasy feeling, a foreboding of disaster.
There had been a time when a mysterious illness had overcome him, changing him while he was in its grip. It had terrified the Queen so much that she never spoke of it. But he had seen her looking at him oddly sometimes when he became too excited.