Текст книги "Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill "

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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course, who believed it was just another trick of his son's to plague him, which in a way perhaps it was.

At least his uncle had had the courage to marry the woman of his choice, thought the Prince, whereas his father, the King, by all accounts had meekly given up Lady Sarah Lennox for the sake of that plain German Princess, Charlotte, who was the mother of that large family of whom he, the Prince, was the eldest son.

Yes, he would go to Brighthelmstone or whatever they called it. Perhaps Essex should be one of those who accompanied him. They were good friends, he and Essex. The Earl had served him faithfully as go-between in the affair of Perdita Robinson—Lord Maiden he had been at that time, having recently inherited his earldom. Maiden it was who had carried those letters between them, arranged those assignations on Eel Pie Island and persuaded the lady to do what she had intended from the first—surrender.

The Prince smiled cynically. He would never again be caught in that way. But it was no fault of Essex that Perdita after promising to be the love of his life had turned out to be nothing but a sentimental bore—and a scheming one too. The Prince flushed with anger even now, remembering the humiliating scene with his father when he had had to confess that his ex-mistress was threatening to publish letters which she had in her possession and which had been written by the flowery but very indiscreet pen of the Prince of Wales.

This was yet another reason for his friendship with his uncle. Cumberland had written indiscreet letters to Lady Grosvenor and Lord Grosvenor had brought an action against him which had cost £13,000. The Prince's had cost £500 a year for as long as Perdita should live and after that £250 for her daughter's lifetime.

To the devil with Perdita! She was ancient history and she had had many successors. No ... not quite. There had never really been another like Perdita, for he genuinely had believed in the early days of their liaison that he would be faithful until death; and he had never seriously believed that of any of the others. But then he had been so young ... only seventeen when

he had gone with the Royal party to Drury Lane and seen Mrs. Robinson as Perdita in The Winter's Tale.

But what had Perdita to do with this fishing village with the ridiculous name?

'I shall drive myself down,' he said. 'It will be good exercise for the horses.'

So on a September morning when the countryside was touched with golden sunshine and the weather was as warm as midsummer, the Prince of Wales rode down to Brighthelm-stone. He drove his own phaeton with three horses after the manner of a wagon team; and riding with him were only an equerry and one postilion. The rest of his suite would follow.

The phaeton rattled along at a dangerous pace, for the Prince liked speed. He was a man of contrasts, for while he would spend hours with Lord Petersham discussing the shape of shoe buckles, the cut of a coat, the material most suited to a neckcloth, the excellent idea of having one's snuff boxes to match one's ensemble and the season, he could also take a turn in the boxing ring, for he practised fisticuffs regularly under the skilled tuition of a certain Angelo, who also taught him to fence. He could sing pleasantly, dance well, was at ease in the saddle and could write fluently and with grace. He could join in an intellectual discussion and shortly afterwards be indulging in an infantile practical joke. With his gifts he should have been an ideal son; but with his indiscretions and his waywardness he gave his father many a sleepless night.

He was not thinking of this as he rode to Brighton, his mind was on a subject which was never far from his thoughts: Women. The situation at the moment was satisfactory enough; there was always comfort in numbers, he had discovered. The most agreeable time had been when Grace Elliot and Lizzie Armistead shared his attentions. Grace had been something of a romp, never attempting to be faithful and making no pretence about it. He was by nature sentimental, but just having escaped from Perdita at that time Grace with her frank unabashed attitudes had been just what he needed. There had been a daughter which might have been his—or one or two

other men's—but Grace had christened the child Georgiana, which was a nice touch since she made no demands. Now she had gone to that Frenchman, the Due d'Orleans, who was resident in London for a while. Good luck to Grace; she wouldn't need it, for she would always know how to look after herself. He had heard that Orleans made her a handsome allowance. She would deserve it, for Orleans was an ugly fellow who suffered from a horrible skin disease which made his hair fall out and his skin a hideous colour.

And Lizzie Armistead? There was a fascinating woman. Lady's maid at one time to none other than Perdita, and it was at the house in Cork Street that he had met her; but others had seen her first. Charles James Fox for one. Trust Fox to pick out a winner among the women. If only he could do as well at the races he would be a rich man. As it was, he was in constant financial trouble. Not that it worried Charles as long as he kept his grip on politics. He'd be Prime Minister one day and he wouldn't have a more faithful friend and supporter than the Prince of Wales. That—and Lizzie. What more could he want?

Lizzie had gone back to Charles and he was living with her now in her house at Chertsey, the house she had managed to acquire through her own skilful management of her affairs. It was funny. There was Charles, the son of Lord Holland, and at one time the possessor of a fortune, several times bankrupt, now living on the bounty of the lady's maid who had saved enough from her generous lovers—the Prince included—to put into a little house in Chertsey where the most brilliant politician of his day should have a refuge.

Lizzie and Charles were two of his best friends. What interesting, amusing and exciting people! How different from the household at Kew, with his sanctimonious father, his dreary mother, his poor sisters who had never had—nor would ever have if his parents had any say in their upbringing—any chance to enjoy life. How could poor Charlotte, Augusta, Elizabeth and the rest know anything about the brilliantly gay, the witty and amusing outside world and people like Charles and Lizzie, Richard Sheridan the playwright, Edmund Burke the philosopher, Georgiana the brilliant leader of

fashion, beautiful and witty. Poor little Princesses wilting away at Kew when there was the world to be explored I

He thought of Lady Melbourne with whom he had liked to fancy himself desperately in love. He had always wanted to be seriously in love; and the light affair did not give him the same satisfaction as what he was pleased to believe, while it lasted, was the love of a lifetime. That was why Perdita had been so important. The long wooing, the sighing, the locks of hair, the tender messages engraved on miniatures and lockets, this was what he craved. He took great pleasure in writing of his sufferings and aspirations and even the fate of those letters which he had written to Perdita could not deter him. He recognized the difference between lust and love—and although he was as ready to indulge in the first as any of his companions, he never forgot the worth of the second. He often told himself, and others, that what he wanted was to settle down with the woman of his choice, marry her and live happily—and faithfully—ever after.

For a short time he had deluded himself with Lady Melbourne; she had even borne a child which was said to be his—a boy this time and named George of course.

Actresses had always interested him. There was the fascinating young German actress known as Mrs. Billington who had a house near the Thames at Fulham. She was a pretty and very lively young woman with the most original methods of making love. Most intriguing, and at one time he had been constantly at the theatre—not to see the play, of course, but Mrs. Billington. Ii had been so easy to visit her, she being so near the river; and every night when she was not playing she would have musical evenings, for Mrs. Billington was noted for her singing; it gave him great pleasure to sing duets with the ladies who attracted him. His voice could not of course compare with that of Mrs. Billington, which was of remarkable compass and one of the most melodious he had ever heard.

But although her eccentric methods had excited him in the beginning he had tired of them. Mrs. Billington might have been amusing but she was not romantic. He did not care for her coarse approach, and when he remarked to Fox: 'The only pleasure I have in that woman's company is when I shut my

Adventures of a Prince 63

eyes and open my ears,' Fox knew, and so did the Prince, that the liaison was nearing its end.

What would please him would be to fall deeply in love; he longed to experience all those emotions which he had known in the early stages of his affair with Perdita. He might be the leader of fashion; he might find pleasure in horse-racing and boxing, riding and hunting; he might enjoy dabbling in politics and the friendship of brilliant men—but the overriding need in his life would always be Romance. And whenever he visited any banquet or ball, any place whatsoever, the thought always in his mind was what women would he meet on that occasion.

So it was not surprising that on his first visit to Brighthelm-stone, he should be thinking of women.

The inhabitants of the little town were aware of the honour which was about to be done them and they had turned out in strength to welcome him.

How enchanting it was with the shingle beach and the ocean—today deep blue and placid as though on its best behaviour to welcome the Prince of Wales. There were gulls on the brown roofs, and on the three-cornered stretch of grass fishing nets and lobster pots; a salty tang was in the air; and as the phaeton dashed into the town a great cheer went up. His Highness the Prince of W 7 ales had come to Brighthelmstone.

People crowded about the house on the Steyne which had been taken over by the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland. The Prince embraced the Duke to the cheers of the crowd; with even greater fervour he embraced the Duchess.

'How handsome he is!' was the universal comment; and so he was in his exquisitely cut coat of the finest green cloth with the diamond star flashing on his breast. He stood on the balcony between his aunt and uncle and acknowledged the cheers, his beaver hat in his hand. This enabled the crowd to see his abundant hair, which was frizzed and powdered most elegantly; his eyes looked very blue, his smile so friendly.

'God bless the Prince of Wales!' cried the people of Brighthelmstone.

And when they had retired into the drawing room the Duchess lifted her green eyes, so miraculously black-fringed, to his face and echoed: 'God bless you, my dearest Prince of Wales. How kind of you to take pity on us and visit us here in our little sea village.'

'Dearest Aunt, I could not resist the temptation to see how you amused yourself here.'

'This is what you shall discover, gracious nephew. Wait until you have taken a dip in the sea water. I can assure you it is most refreshing. But there is one drawback which I know will cause Your Highness some concern. The ladies and gentlemen do not bathe together. The ladies take possession of the shore west of the Steyne and the gentlemen to the east. In any case the ladies all wear long and hideous flannel gowns and the gentlemen bathe much more charmingly naked.'

'I am sure your flannel gown is most becoming.'

'But of what use, since there are no gentlemen to see it ... only the fat old fishwife who dips me.'

'What a fantastic pastime. Does the sea really benefit you enough to make the performance worth while?'

'I believe it does; and I am certain that once you have tried it you will wish to repeat it.'

'And when shall I take my sea bathe, pray?'

'Tomorrow, of course.'

'I trust the whole town will not turn out to see me.'

'My beloved nephew, since so many people turn out to see Your Highness in his clothes, how many more would arrive to see you without them. But have no fear. It is all very discreet and the old fellow who dips you knows his job perfectly.'

The Prince was amused; and since the Duke and Duchess had naturally brought with them many of their most entertaining friends, his first evening in Brighthelmstone was most pleasantly spent.

The Prince stayed for eleven exciting and interesting days. He took to the sea bathing and found it most invigorating, and every day went into his bathing machine and undressed. It was then taken down to the edge of the sea by the bathing machine attendant and his horse, when the Prince would emerge and enjoy immersing himself. He hunted on the downs b?yond

Rottingdean, danced in the Assembly Rooms, strolled about the town meeting the people and accepting their loyal greetings with affable smiles and comments—changing the place in those eleven days from a little fishing village to a fashionable seaside resort, for naturally after the Prince's visit it was fashionable to visit Brighthelmstone; sea bathing became a craze; bathing machines lined the shingle; the strong men and women dippers made a fortune it was said; owners of the little houses in Black Lion, Ship, East, West, Middle and North Streets let lodgings, and there was a steady stream of carriages and other conveyances on the road from London.

'Nothing will ever be the same,' said the sages of Brighthelmstone.

They were right. Even the name was changed—to Brighton.

In Carlton House the Prince was entertaining. He was proud of Carlton House; and he had every reason to be when he considered the ruin it had been when it had come into his hands. It had not been lived in since the death of his grandmother, Augusta, the Dowager Princess of Wales, and he imagined that it was because his father had believed it to be uninhabitable that he had given it to him. Oh yes, the old man would have liked him to continue in his rooms at Buckingham House. But Carlton House had offered a challenge; it had given him a chance to show what he could make of a house, dilapidated though it might be.

And he had succeeded. It was by no means finished; he doubted it would be for years for he would always be thinking of some new improvement, but it was certainly very different from the Carlton House he had inherited. The architect, Henry Holland, had made an excellent job of the rebuilding, and that clever Frenchman, Gaubert, had decorated the interior with exquisite taste, superintended, of course, by the Prince himself. It was now beginning to look like a royal residence. His drawing room was hung with yellow Chinese silk; the dining room had been considerably extended; the ceilings heightened, the walls panelled and gilded, and columns of yellow and red granite added to give dignity. The ballroom in c

which he was now entertaining his guests was the most grand of all the rooms. Twelve lustres hung from the ceiling and the same number of branched chandeliers projected from the walls at intervals. There was an orchestra at either end of the room set up on platforms hung with crimson silk.

Members of the highest families of the nobility were present, including the Prince's special friends—Charles James Fox, Richard Sheridan, Edmund Burke, Mrs. Crewe and the Duchess of Devonshire. The Prince led his aunt, the Duchess of Cumberland, in the minuet and talked with her about his recent visit to Brighton.

'I vow/ he said, 'that as soon as the weather permits me I shall be there again.'

'Then I am delighted that I introduced Your Highness to sea bathing. Has it proved beneficial?'

'Undoubtedly. I find it invigorating. The place is small however. There is scarcely one building in it that is not a hovel. But I like the sea. Now if we could have the sea here in London...'

'Alas, even princes cannot divert the sea/

'No, but they might divert the town. Why not?'

'A possibility/

'I like that place. I like it even more now that it has changed its name.'

'Brighton. Charming. Well, if Your Highness decides to take advantage of the sea next summer, all the ton will do the same.'

The Prince danced with other ladies—including Lady Melbourne who was such a favourite at this time. He paid the usual compliments, but he was thinking of next year's sea bathing, and how amusing it would be to have a house in Brighton where he could entertain his friends. He talked to her of Brighton and she was as enthusiastic as he was.

He danced with Georgiana. How beautiful she was on that night, always so different from all the other women, the true leader of fashion.

'My dearest Georgiana,' sighed the Prince, 'how can you persist in being cruel to me?'

'My dearest Highness, I am in truth being kind to us both.'

Adventures of a Prince G7

How could that be when you know that my most urgent wish is to have you love me as I love you.'

'I intend to be Your Highness's friend through life. It is so much easier to be a constant friend than a constant mistress.'

'I would be constant for ever.'

'Your Highness, I think Lady Melbourne is regarding you a little anxiously.'

'You have but to say the word and there should be no one but you.'

Georgiana laughed and did not take him seriously. Her husband the Duke was not interested in her, nor she in him; but Georgiana had no intention of becoming the mistress of the Prince of Wales. It was a position which she did not think any woman could hold for any length of time; and it was surely better not to set oneself on such a slippery perch. Their relationship was far more satisfactory as it was.

'I see Charles is there with Sherry and Amoret. What a beautiful creature she is. I'm not surprised that Sherry adores her.'

'All beauties pale before your own,' said the Prince.

And Georgiana laughed. 'Exactly what I would have expected my gallant Prince to say. Sherry would not agree with you.'

'He adores you, too.'

'Dear Sherry, he is my very good friend. And Charles ... I do declare his frock-coat is threadbare. How dare he come to Carlton House dressed in such a slovenly manner.'

'Charles knows that he may dare what he will as far as I am concerned. It is not his coat I welcome here but the man inside it.'

'Right royally spoken. Fortunate Charles! I should have thought Lizzie Armistead would have taken better care of him.'

'You must admit that he looks a little cleaner since being in her care.'

'Let us come and talk to them. It is always such fun to talk to Charles. His great merit is his amazing quickness in seizing any subject. He seems to have a talent for knowing more of what he is talking about than anyone else. His conversation is like a

briliiant player at billiards—the strokes follow one another– piff-paftV

'And you suggest I should frown on his coat!'

'No, no, I do not. I merely wonder that he should wrap so much that is charming in such a disreputable package.'

The Prince and Georgiana had paused at the little group who bowed ceremoniously in recognition of royalty; and then immediately relaxed.

Sheridan, Georgiana noticed, had been drinking heavily. It saddened her; he was not as capable of carrying his drink as Charles.

'Sherry,' she admonished, 'if you drink so much you will destroy the coat of your stomach.'

'Then my stomach must just digest in its waistcoat,' retorted Sheridan.

Oh, yes, it was pleasant to be with these people who so amused him and flattered him with their attention. They talked politics, for they were all Whigs together, until it was time for supper. Five rooms were used for this purpose and the Prince with his special guests was accommodated in the grand escaglio room. He had Georgiana on his right and had arranged that Fox and Sheridan were not far away so that they could enjoy some enlivening conversation.

'Your Highness must be living beyond your means,' whispered Fox.

'I hadn't given the matter a thought,' admitted the Prince.

'Ah, what will be the end of this riotous living? Methinks we should see that the means fit the end.'

The Prince laughed. He could trust Fox. It was Fox who had tried to get £100,000 a year for him and no fault of his that he had had to be content with a miserable £62,000; it was Fox who had extricated him from that affair with Perdita when she had demanded he honour the bond he had given her and wanted £5,000 for those revealing letters.

Oh, yes, he could trust Fox.

Over supper the conversation turned to the eccentric conduct of Major Hanger at one of the balls at St. James's Palace a few evenings earlier. The Prince was telling Charles Fox about it.

'Stab mc, but he came in the uniform of an officer of the Hessian service—and mighty strange he looked among all the satins and brocades. His short blue coat was ornamented with gold frogs and there was a band across his shoulders from which his sword hung. What a spectacle! Even the King could not suppress a smile ... and it is no mean achievement, I do assure you, to make my father smile. But the Major did it when he put on his Kevenhiiller hat with two huge feathers—black and white—and invited Miss Gunning to join him in a minuet. Poor lady! Such a graceful, beautiful creature, but what could she do? She simply gave up. We laughed. I was convulsed ... and as I said the King smiled and my mother came as near to it as she's able. But that wasn't the end. You should have seen the gallant Major in a country dance.'

The Prince continued to laugh at the memory of it and stopped suddenly. 'Why should we not write a letter of congratulations to the Major. Say it was written in the name of the whole company who saw him perform. I will compile it and it shall be written in a handwriting the Major will not know.'

The Prince gazed round the table. 'You, Sherry. He does not know you. You shall be the writer of our letter.'

'It has always been my aim to write for Your Majesty's pleasure.'

'This will be as good as a play, I promise you.'

'Other men's plays, perhaps Highness. Not mine.'

'But other men's plays can be highly diverting sometimes, Sherry. And as you will have a hand in this affair you may lend us a touch of your genius.'

'How can I repay your graciousness, sir, but by complying with Your Highness's desires.'

'It shall be done after supper and delivered to the Major first thing tomorrow morning.' The Prince laughed, thinking of the Major's reactions when he received the note.

He talked of the Major through supper and as soon as it was over left his guests and taking Fox, Sheridan and a few favourite companions with him retired to an ante-room to wTite the letter.

Writing had always given him great pleasure and he could

never see a pen without wanting to pick it up and compose flowery sentences. It was this habit which had proved so disastrous in the Perdita affair.

Now he sat down and with his friends looking over his shoulder wrote:

'St. James's, Sunday morning 'The company who attended the ball on Friday last at St. James's present their compliments to Major Hanger and return him their unfeigned thanks for the variety with which he enlivened the insipidity of the evening's entertainment. The gentlemen want words to describe their admiration of the truly grotesque and humorous figure which he exhibited; and the ladies beg leave to express their acknowledgments for the lively and animated emotions that his stately, erect and perpendicular form could not fail to excite in their delicate and susceptible bosoms. His gesticulations and martial deportment were truly admirable and have raised an impression which will not soon be effaced at St. James's.'

The Prince ended with a flourish.

'Now, Sherry, Hanger does not know your handwriting, and I flatter myself there is a touch of style about that letter which could be attributed to you. So, I pray you, copy it out and tomorrow it shall be despatched to our entertaining Major and I am sure from such a character we can expect some fun.'

Sheridan sat down and copied the letter.

'First thing in the morning,' chuckled the Prince, 'it shall be delivered; and soon afterwards I shall send him an invitation to dine with me. You, my dear Sherry, will not I trust take it amiss if for once you are not included in the invitation.'

Sheridan bowed: 'Always ready to forego my greatest pleasures in the service of Your Highness.'

The Prince could scarcely wait until morning for the delivery of the letter and its results.

Fox, watching the affair with a cynical amusement, thought: He must have his diversions, but he is young yet.

Dinner was a less glittering occasion than it had been on the previous evening and took place in the silver-walled dining room among the red and yellow granite pillars. The Prince had invited Major Hanger to sit near him and lost little time in bringing the conversation to the ball at St. James's.

'What an effect your appearance had on the ladies, Major. There we were all dressed like popinjays and you ... in your uniform. You were indeed a man/

The Major swallowed the bait; his eyes bulged and his face grew scarlet.

'Your Highness, I have had a most insulting letter. I have been held up to ridicule, it is more than mortal man can endure. Your Highness must forgive my anger.but, Sir, I have been insulted.'

The Prince expressed concern. But how was this?

The Major brought the letter from his pocket. 'If Your Highness would cast your eye over this you would see what I mean.'

The Prince read the letter with exclamations of sympathy. 'No doubt whatever,' he agreed, 'the writer of this letter means to insult you.'

At this corroboration the Major's anger increased. 'Blitz und Holle/ he shouted. 'I swear that if I could discover the writer of this letter I would demand satisfaction.'

The Prince agreed that in the Major's position he would feel exactly the same. 'How do you feel, Charles?'

Fox, playing up as was expected, replied that he considered it an insult to turn the Major's stately, erect and perpendicular figure to ridicule.

'I am determined to discover the writer,' cried the Major.

'I think we should try to help to bring this fellow to his deserts,' said the Prince. He picked up the letter. 'By God, this handwriting! I swear it is familiar to me. What say you, Charles? Does it not remind you of that mischievous fellow Sheridan. Come, Charles, you know his writing well/

Fox took the letter and nodded. 'No doubt of it,' he said.

The Major's eyes bulged with indignation. 'Playwrights I' he said. 'They fancy themselves with a pen in the hand! By God, he shall regret this day.' He turned to Captain Morris who was

sitting nearby. 'Sir, I wish you to take a challenge from me to Mr. Sheridan.'

'Major,' said the Prince, 'I know it is my duty to attempt to persuade you against the action and this I do, but I am bound to say were I in your position nothing would deter me. But do consider, Sheridan has written this in one of his mad mischievous moods and he is a mad and mischievous fellow.'

'Sir, I beg of Your Highness not to command me to forgo this duty. I have every wish to obey every command of Your Highness...'

The Prince bowed his head. 'My sympathies are with you, Major. I will keep silent and may luck go with you.'

'Now, Your Highness, having despatched this challenge to the fellow I will, with your permission, go to my lodgings and await the blackguard's answer.'

'I understand your concern. You should lose no time. If he accepts your challenge you will have preparations to make.'

As soon as the Major left a messenger was despatched to Sheridan asking him to report at Carlton House without delay so that the conspirators could plan the next move in what was to the Prince one of the most highly diverting practical jokes he had ever played.

It was daybreak in Battersea Fields. Captain Morris was with the Major, and Sheridan had chosen Fox as his second. In a carriage muffled up, hat well over his eyes, his face made up to resemble an older man, sat the Prince of Wales in the role of the surgeon who, Fox and Morris had agreed, must be in attendance.

The opponents faced each other; their seconds loaded the pistols; the signal to fire was given. The Major, a crack shot, aimed at the playwright but failed to hit him. The pistols were loaded a second time with the same result.

'God damn the fellow!' cried the Major. 'What's wrong? Should have got him first time.'

'The third time generally is effective,' said Captain Morris and glanced towards the carriage in which the 'surgeon' was seated trying to muffle his laughter.

Hie order was given to fire and Sheridan fell.

'By God, you have killed him, Major,' cried Captain Morris. 'Quick. We must get away while there is time.'

Before the Major could protest he was hustled into a carriage and ordered the coachman to lose no time. Away rattled the carriage and the Prince alighted and reeling with laughter went over to the fallen playwright.

'Well played, Sherry,' he said. 'Get up. By God, I'll swear you never had a better scene in any of your plays.'

# * *

The Prince drove back to Carlton House laughing hilariously with Fox and Sheridan; but suddenly he was serious.

'What can it feel like to have killed a man?'

'The first emotion would be gratification for having avenged an insult,' said Fox.

'Then remorse for having taken life, perhaps,' added Sheridan. 'But perhaps fear of the law would come first.'

'Remorse,' mused the Prince. 'I like the fellow in a way. He's grotesque but he amuses me. I shall let him know at once that you are not dead, Sherry.'

'Won't that spoil Your Highness's little joke?' asked Fox.

'My dear Charles, I have had my joke. I have rarely laughed so much. I have rarely been so diverted. But I am sure that when the Major recovers a little from his gratification remorse will set in. Also he might decide to flee the country. I shall send for him immediately and tell him that Sherry is not fatally wounded.'

'Your Highness has not only a sense of the ridiculous but a sensitive heart,' said Fox.