Georgian: The Prince and the Quakeress Part 15

There was another shock ahead of him. Miss Elizabeth Chudleigh was waiting to have a word with him. He was surprised. He wondered why she should wish to see him and for a moment he thought she had come to give him some news of George's Quakeress.

She was a very beautiful woman, Miss Chudleigh beautiful, bold and brazen. He was certain that she had pa.s.sed through many adventures, and wondered why she had not married. Not still mourning for Hamilton surely; it was years since he had married the famous beauty Elizabeth Gunning.

'It is good of you to call on me,' said Bute, and she smiled her very bold smile and he wondered whether it held an invitation. He would have to let her know that there was no place in his affection even for such an exciting woman. He could consider no other mistress but the Princess Augusta. 'I am glad that you did. I wanted to congratulate you on the very excellent entertainment you gave for the Prince's birthday. His Highness was delighted and felt it was so good of you to take such pains to please him.'

'It was a glittering occasion, was it not? And how gratified I am that the Prince and you, Lord Bute, enjoyed it. I trust the Princess did also.'

'We were all delighted. I can a.s.sure you that.'

'Such a costly entertainment! Ah, my lord, you doubtless would not think so. But I am not as rich as you are.'

'You are a very fortunate young lady to be able to afford such entertainments.'

'That is the trouble, my lord. I can't.'

'That hardly seems so on this magnificent occasion.'

She laughed light-heartedly but there was a steely quality in her flas.h.i.+ng eyes. 'Well, my lord, I knew I had good friends.'

'You mean you are in debt?'

She lifted her hands and raised her eyes to the ceiling in mock dismay.

'I am sure the Princess will be displeased. You know that she disapproves of the members of her household becoming involved in financial difficulties.'

'But for the sake of the Prince of Wales...'

'I do not understand you, Miss Chudleigh.'

'We are all concerned for his happiness, I know. I think he is at times a little anxious. He thinks a great deal of his little Quakeress tucked away in Tottenham.'

'I do not think you should talk of such matters, Miss Chudleigh.'

She was smiling at him slyly. She was a woman who could convey a great deal by a look, by a gesture, by the emphasis she put on a word.

'In view of your position in the household, my lord, I felt sure you would agree with me that we should help to make the Prince happy. If this affair of his were brought into the open... Oh, there are rumours now of a lady of Islington, but people are not sure and there are always rumours; I think for the sake of the Prince we should keep it... just a rumour.'

Oh G.o.d, thought Bute. The woman is blackmailing me. She is a menace. She is going to spread rumours of myself and the Princess. Not that there were not rumours already; but a woman who had lived in the Princess's intimate circle would be able to supply details... any details she liked to invent and she would be believed. If she whispered to the Prince, that prim young man would be horrified. It seemed incredible that he had no idea of the true relations.h.i.+p between his mother and Bute, but it was the case. And if he knew... And worse still if the woman started to talk of his affair with the Quaker; if she put her highly coloured version... oh, disaster!

She was watching him obliquely.

'I believe that your lords.h.i.+p will wish to help me in this little matter of the Prince's entertainment. I know how fond you are of the Prince... and the Princess. And His Majesty is so difficult. Oh, not with me... in fact, the old gentleman is rather fond of me... If His Majesty heard certain facts... on which he could rely... Oh, what an unhappy time for the Prince and, as you and the Princess are so devoted to him, for you also. In view of all that I felt a little entertainment to cheer him up would be welcome... and I was certain that you would agree with me.'

'How much do you owe?'

'Your lords.h.i.+p really wants to know? Oh, how generous of you.'

'I should warn you, Miss Chudleigh, that in future before you engage yourself in such expense you should first decide whether you can meet it.'

'Oh, Lord Bute. You are an angel! This is a lesson to me, I do a.s.sure you.'

Lord Bute was very uneasy. He could not get the memory of that beautiful sly face out of his head.

Visit from a Blindfolded Doctor THE PRINCE OF Wales was unrecognizable as he slipped out of Leicester House. To some young men adventure like this would have been the spice of life. George hated it. Intrigue, subterfuge, romance that lacked the blessing of the clergy were abhorrent. He believed pa.s.sionately in love and marriage. One of the things he hoped to do he had said it to Edward and Elizabeth and to Lord Bute when he was King was to restore morality to the Court. His grandfather and his great-grandfather had been a disgrace to the family. A King, he knew, set the morals of his Court. That was what he intended to do. And yet here he was, living in sin with his beautiful Quakeress. Of course we are married in the sight of G.o.d, he had told her. But those were empty words. G.o.d would demand the certificate, the signature, the written evidence that two people had decided to live together in holy matrimony.

Hannah was the wife of Isaac Axford; there was a certificate to proclaim this to the world. If only I had been a linen-draper! sighed the Prince. Or a grocer like Isaac Axford, how happy we might have been!

And yet his future was beginning to excite him. As the carriage jolted on its way to Tottenham he was thinking of conversations with Lord Bute and his mother. They were making him see what an important destiny lay before him. There was great work for him to do, work which no linen-draper or grocer could hope to achieve.

Oh no, how much better if Hannah were a Princess a German Princess preferably because that would please his mother and he loved her so dearly that he wanted to please her then he and Hannah could be married and live happily ever after.

The carriage turned in at the private drive. Hannah would be waiting for him as she always was, peeping out from behind the curtains watching as the carriage drove up. Poor Hannah, she never knew when a carriage would turn in this drive or the main one or perhaps not a carriage... but some sinister figure would come creeping in... Isaac Axford, her husband, who had discovered her at last.

It was a life of subterfuge for poor Hannah, shut away from the world, never sure from one moment to another what the day would bring.

He strode into the house. She was standing on the stairs waiting for him. He always felt in those first moments of reunion that everything all the fears and alarms, all the subterfuge, even the sin of all this was worth while.

She threw herself into his arms.

'Hannah, my little Quakeress...'

She smiled. Quakeress had become a word of endearment between them. She did not look like a Quakeress now. Gone were the sombre grey garments. Her seamstress was constantly engaged on devising new gowns for her. Today she wore one of rich claret-coloured velvet and looked regal, for she had a natural grace.

She is fit to be a Queen, thought George angrily. Why could they not accept her? Why should everyone make life so complicated when it could be simple. If they could marry now they could be completely happy, completely at peace. They could repent their sin in forestalling their marriage vows and live in respectable bliss for the rest of their lives.

What of Mr Axford? George had temporarily forgotten him. But perhaps he would die. People did die. They caught the smallpox. Almost everyone caught the smallpox. One of Hannah's greatest charms was her clear unblemished skin so very rare when almost every other woman was pockmarked. If G.o.d saw fit to remove Mr Axford from the scene... if Hannah were a Princess... how happy they could be.

'It seems long since we were together,' said George.

'I have waited long for thee.'

George was always moved by the Quaker form of address. It was part of her charm for him; it set her apart from Court beauties like Elizabeth Chudleigh.

'And I have waited too. I have thought of you constantly. My grandfather sent for me because of my birthday.'

'Yes, your birthday...' She smiled secretly. She had a gift for him. It would be something wrought with her own hands, something he would treasure for always. An embroidered waistcoat perhaps; she was so clever with her needle, but always careful not to p.r.i.c.k her fingers. 'Thou wouldst not wish me to be as a sewing-woman in thy mother's palace.' He had laughed and told her that he would not care how she p.r.i.c.ked her fingers. When she talked of his mother's palace he was always tenderly amused, for she had no notion of what a Court household was like, and George was not fluent enough to describe it so vividly as to make the picture clear. She doubtless had visions of a Sultan's Palace of the utmost magnificence and the King walking about in a golden crown.

Sometimes he wished he could show her his grandfather in one of his rages, his wig awry, his face scarlet, spitting as he roared and shouted at this ninny or that puppy. A very different picture from Hannah's King, he was sure.

He linked his arm in hers and they went to her rooms on the ground floor. The heavy curtains obscured the windows... it was a luxurious prison, thought George.

When he kissed her, when they made love, he thought there was something changed about her. He was not sure, for he was neither very sensitive nor observant. But she seemed remote, more ethereal than usual.

It was later that she told him.

'George, we are to have a child.'

His emotions were great but mixed. He would be a father. It was a matter over which any man must rejoice. A child... his child. How strange! How wonderful! He wanted to tell everyone his mother, Lord Bute, his brothers and sisters... even his grandfather. Oh yes, he even wanted to tell his old grandfather. 'You call me a ninny, a baby tied to his mother's ap.r.o.n strings, a puppy but I'm man enough to be a father.' But how could he tell anyone. This was another secret. No one must know. The birth of the child would have to be kept secret for ever... Now he was aghast. What had they done? It was all very well to sin oneself and be prepared to take the consequences. But this was involving others... This was involving a child.

'I see thou art disturbed,' said Hannah.

'It... it is wonderful... We are to have a child! But... I think...'

'I know. I think, too. This child will be without a name. It will be a b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

'Oh, don't call our child that, Hannah.'

'But it is what the child will be. We must face the truth, George. We cannot hide from truth.'

'We will love this child, we will cherish it... we will plan for its happiness. It shall be happy as no child ever was before.'

'But in time it will know the truth, George, that we brought it into this world when we had no right to do so. I am a sinful woman and I fear for this child.' She turned to him and her face was radiant. 'Yet I rejoice. I cry "My spirit doth rejoice in G.o.d my saviour." I do not know what has happened to me, George. I am steeped in sin and yet I am so happy.'

'We will find a way,' he said. 'Hannah we will find a way of pleasing... G.o.d.'

She looked at him tenderly and shook her head. 'Perhaps I should go away. Perhaps I should return to my people... repentant and contrite.'

'Return to Isaac Axford?'

'Oh... no... never, never...'

'That is what they would call repenting. To live with him, to bear his children...'

'To stand up in the Steeple House, to confess my sin. That I could do... but return to him... never.'

George said: 'I shall be King of this country. When I am, I shall know what to do. You must think of nothing but the child. It would be bad for it if you fretted. Remember that. And leave it to me. I will think of what we must do.'

On his way back to Leicester House he could not suppress his excitement.

I am about to be a father. I, George, Prince of Wales!

This would be the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me if only...

Recently he had gained confidence. Everyone paid homage to him. His mother listened to him with more attention than she ever had before. Lord Bute was respectful. And even the King could not command him to do what he did not want.

He must not forget that he was the Prince of Wales and that one day he would be King. Kings were meant to govern, so said Lord Bute and he was a very wise and clever man.

Surely it was within the means of a King to discover a way round a situation like the one in which he found himself.

He wanted to talk to someone about it and whom could he trust but his favourite brother and sister.

He called Edward and together they went to Elizabeth's apartment. Poor Elizabeth, it was one of her bad days and she was unable to leave her bed. She looked very wan propped up with pillows, but at least one did not see her deformity in this position.

'I have some news for you,' said George. 'I don't know what you will think of it.'

'Well, let's hear and we'll tell you,' retorted Edward.

'I am going to be a father.'

He looked from one to the other. Edward's mouth had opened in surprise; a faint colour touched Elizabeth's cheeks, making her look almost healthy.

Elizabeth spoke first: 'So Hannah is with child.'

George nodded.

'What are you going to do about it?' asked Edward.

'Do? What can I do?'

'Is Hannah happy?' asked Elizabeth.

'She is both happy and sad. She is happy because she longs for the child and unhappy because of the circ.u.mstances.'

'Poor Hannah! And you, George?'

'I wish to G.o.d I could marry Hannah.'

'They would never allow it.'

'No. And there is Mr Axford.'

'It was a marriage mill,' said Elizabeth. 'So perhaps if it were possible it could be proved that the marriage was not legal and that Hannah was free.'

'Oh, do you think that could be.'

'Marriages like that are illegal,' said Edward. 'If you married Hannah, and if this child is a boy it could be a King of England, think of that.'

'Children can be made legitimate, I believe, even if the parents were not married at their birth,' said Elizabeth.

George's blue eyes were s.h.i.+ning with purpose. 'I shall not rest,' he said, 'until I have righted this.'

'George,' cried Elizabeth, suddenly fearful, 'will you promise never to do anything... that might be considered rash... without first telling me about it.'

George was at his sister's bedside; he took her thin hand and kissed it.

'I swear that I will consult you first.'

She seemed relieved.

'It is most exciting,' said Edward. 'George, I never thought you'd have it in you. When we used to sit in the schoolroom while we cogitated over those ridiculous problems and I copied the answers I used to think Old George will always be the good and respectable member of the family.'

'I always wanted to be good and respectable,' George admitted. 'It is strange how fate seemed to decide against one's own decision and make one what one is not.'

'We always have the chance to go our own way,' Elizabeth reminded him.

'It's true,' put in Edward. 'If you had taken one look into that linen-draper's window and then looked away and forgotten all about the girl you saw there this would not have happened. You would have been cosily married either to one of the Wolfenbttels of Grandfather's choice or the Saxe-Gothas of our mother's. Perhaps you would have been about to be a father. You see it is in our own hands.'