Georgian: The Prince and the Quakeress Part 8

George's heart was beating wildly as he opened the door of the suite. A man was waiting to bow him into a room which was pleasantly though not luxuriously furnished. With him was a young woman, obviously Hannah's servant.

'My lord, the young lady will stay for half an hour and then she must be gone.'

'It... it shall be as she desires,' stammered George.

'If your lords.h.i.+p will excuse me... the lady will be here immediately.'

For a few seconds George was alone in the room; his throat constricted, his sight blurred. Nothing like this had. ever happened to him before; it was like something he had dreamed. And it was all due to clever Miss Chudleigh.

The door opened and she stood there the beautiful vision from the linen-draper's window. He gasped and she came towards him, serene she would always be serene and only the faint colour in her cheeks betraying the fact that she was excited.

'I... I trust you are not displeased,' he stammered.

She curtsied. 'Your Highness must forgive me. I have never been taught how to behave with royalty.'

What simply charming words! How graciously spoken.

Some impulse made him kneel before her.

'Oh no,' she said. 'Thou must not.'

Thou must not. What a delightful manner of expression. It suited her. He wanted to kiss her hand, but he felt that he should not touch her yet. She might object and he did not want her to go away before he had had a chance to speak to her.

He rose to his feet rather clumsily. 'You are more beautiful close than in the window.'

'Your Highness is very kind to me.'

'I want to be. I wish I knew how.'

'Shall we sit down and talk?'

Everything she said seemed to him so wonderful, so wise.

They sat side by side on a sofa; he was careful not to sit too close for fear she should object. 'I have never talked much to ladies,' he said.

She was moved by his sincerity and honesty. Nothing could have charmed her more. He was incapable of pretence; he was charmingly innocent. And he was the Prince of Wales!

She said: 'I know thou art the Prince of Wales.'

'I hope that does not displease you.'

'No, but it makes it difficult for us to be friends.'

He was alarmed. 'I feared so. But Miss... er... a friend of mine has told me that it is possible for us to meet.'

'As we have now.'

'I hope that this will be the first of many meetings.'

'Is that what thou wishest?'

'I wish for it more than anything on earth. I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you are. I would be happy if I could look at you for the rest of my life.'

She smiled gently. She was almost as inexperienced of life as he was; and it was pleasant to sit beside him and talk.

She talked more than he did for he was so fearful of offending her. She told him of how she had come to the linen-draper's shop and of her life there. He listened avidly as though it was a tale of great adventure. They could not believe that the half-hour was over when Mr Ems scratched discreetly on the door.

George seized her hands; he could not leave her without her a.s.surance that they would meet here again... within the next few days.

If it could be arranged, Hannah said, she would be there.

Jane looked at her curiously as they jolted back to Jermyn Street in their closed carriage. She seemed more excited than Hannah; but Hannah had changed; there was a quiet radiance about her. She knew she was loved, devotedly and unselfishly by no less a person than the Prince of Wales.

The Elopement THE MEETINGS WERE taking place regularly. The closed carriage, the journey with Jane, the ecstatic reunion in the Haymarket... they had become a pattern of life. George loved her. He had said so. He admitted he knew little of life, but one did not have to learn about love; it came to one and there it was the meaning of one's existence.

They talked of love; of their adoration of each other; it was enough to be sure of their meetings, to touch hands and occasionally kiss. Each was aware of the barriers which separated the niece of a linen-draper and a Prince of Wales; but they did not discuss this matter.

All they asked was to be together.

Hannah had changed. She did not realize how much. When one of the children spoke to her she was absent-minded; she forgot to perform those household tasks which had been second nature to her; moreover, her beauty had become so dazzling that even the linen-draper noticed.

'What is happening to Hannah?' he asked his wife.

Lydia and Mary had been aware of the change before he had, and Lydia replied that she wondered whether Hannah was in love.

'She goes often to Ludgate Hill,' went on Lydia. 'I suspect that she goes to see Isaac. Perhaps it is time to arrange a marriage.'

'Isaac is younger than she is and scarcely in a position to marry.'

'Perhaps if she had a fair dowry...'

'We have our own daughters to think of. Hannah has beauty. Perhaps that should be considered dowry enough.'

'Well, she is twenty-three years of age and that does seem old enough for marriage. It is our duty to see her settled even as our own daughters.'

Henry agreed that this was so and that although Isaac was young and it would be many years before he inherited his father's business, the Axfords were a good Quaker family and Hannah must of course marry into the Society of Friends.

Henry decided to walk over to Ludgate Hill to have a word with Mr Axford about his son and Hannah. He talked to Mr Axford who said that Isaac was somewhat young for marriage but that he was no doubt taken with Hannah and as she was a good Quaker he would have no objection to the match. A dowry would be helpful. Grocery was not so profitable as linen-drapering, and Isaac would need to put a little money into the business.

Mr Wheeler explained that he was not in a position to put up a large dowry for a girl who was after all only his niece when he had daughters of his own to think of. But the young couple were clearly attracted. Hannah was constantly making excuses to call at the grocer's.

'She comes here rarely,' said Mr Axford. 'Only to order the grocery, and then she is in and out in no time.'

Mr Wheeler replied that he had been mistaken in that and doubtless Hannah spent the time at the gla.s.s-cutter's with her friend Jane.

But he was disturbed.

A few days later he was more than disturbed; he was alarmed. He had followed Hannah and Jane and seen them get into the closed carriage; he had gone into a coffee house and sat watching the house in the Haymarket. He had seen Jane and Hannah emerge and get into the carriage; he had waited in the coffee house and seen a young man, little more than a boy, come out of the house. He knew that face. He had seen it many times.

It could not be. It was impossible. But such things had happened before. The closed carriage; the secrecy. Only someone in a high place would make such arrangements. In a high place indeed!

Here was... disaster. Here was scandal. His niece Hannah was clandestinely meeting the Prince of Wales. For what purpose did Princes make a.s.signations with humble girls?

This was disgrace such as had never befallen the Wheeler family before. Death was preferable to dishonour, and Hannah was bringing dishonour to their household. A Quaker girl a Prince's mistress. Something must be done at once.

But what? Mr Wheeler was a shrewd and cautious man. There was no sense in shouting their disgrace to the housetops. If he did, Hannah's conduct would bring disrepute to the entire community of Quakers. It was never comfortable to be members of a minority religious group. Such groups were always open to persecution. The essence of the Society of Friends was simplicity, chast.i.ty, devotion to duty; and when their members strayed from virtue, when a Quaker girl became a harlot, that was a far greater crime than when a woman who was not a Quaker behaved in such a way.

But there was no sense in publicizing Hannah's crime.

No one should know of what he had discovered but himself, Lydia and Mary.

Mr Wheeler sent for his wife and sister, and when they arrived he shut the door of his sitting-room and bade them be seated.

'I have made a terrible discovery,' he said. 'We have a sinful woman under this roof.'

Mary's heart began to leap about in the most uncomfortable manner. Hannah! she thought. What has she done? She is with child. That is why we have seen this change in her lately. This is the end. We shall be turned away.

Lydia was equally alarmed. 'Pray tell us, Henry,' she said.

'It is Hannah. She has a lover.'

Mary moaned softly, and Lydia put her hand to her mouth and cried: 'No. No.'

'It is true,' said Mr Wheeler. 'She leaves this place in a closed carriage with that wanton Jane who has no doubt led her into this. She goes to a house in the Haymarket to meet her lover.'

'This is terrible,' cried Mary. 'I could wish to die of shame.'

Lydia said: 'They must be married. It is the only way to rectify the wrong.'

Mr Wheeler's lips twisted into a grim smile. 'Marriage is impossible.'

'A married man...' whispered Mary.

'Unmarried.'

'Then...'

'His position prevents his marrying Hannah.'

'Hannah can read and write,' said Mary almost indignantly. 'She is so very beautiful. What man considers himself too good for her?'

'The Prince of Wales, Mary.'

There was a deep silence in the room; then Mary whispered: 'The Prince of Wales!' And there was a note of reverence in her voice.

'The sin does not grow less because of the exalted position of one of the sinful,' said Mr Wheeler sternly. 'All men are equal in G.o.d's eyes.'

'Amen,' said Lydia.

'Amen,' echoed Mary.

'This has caused me the gravest concern,' went on Mr Wheeler, 'and I see only one way out of it. Hannah must be married without delay...to Isaac Axford.'

'The dowry...' began Lydia.

'That is not my least concern, but I must find it. I must satisfy Mr Axford. For of one thing I am certain. There must be no delay.'

There was silence in the room; then Mary began to weep quietly.

'That I should bring this disgrace to thee, brother, who hast put the bread in our mouths and the roof over our heads...'

Mr Wheeler said softly: 'Everything is in G.o.d's hands, Mary. Let us pray for His guidance.'

They knelt there in the sitting-room, while above them Hannah, unaware of what was being decided, sat at her window singing softly under her breath and looked out on the sights of the Market.

It was hardly likely that George could keep his secret. He had said nothing of the wonderful thing which had happened to him but his looks betrayed him, and it was very clear to such an observant man as Lord Bute that something had changed George and he guessed that it was a woman.

He was hurt that George had not confided in him; he was alarmed too, for his hold on the young Prince was obviously not as firm as he had believed it to be. It was imperative that Bute did not lose his influence with the Prince. His whole future depended on it. Augusta was his, and he would continue in her favour; he was sure of that. But Augusta was, after all, only the boy's mother; and her power rested on her ability to keep her influence over him. There was one way of losing it; and that would undoubtedly be through a woman. If George transferred his affections to a mistress and if she were a woman of strong opinions, Bute and Augusta could be powerless. And George was just the kind to become completely enamoured of a clever woman.

Bute therefore set out to discover who it was who, had wrought this change in George.

It was not long before he heard of the closed carriage which arrived at the house in the Haymarket; he had even caught a glimpse of the occupants of the closed carriage. Two women one obviously a servant, the other a woman of outstanding beauty; and a woman too, not a girl. That was the alarming part. There was a serenity about her which suggested intelligence. Such a woman could completely command George.

There was not a moment to lose. When he told Augusta what he had discovered she could not believe him. George, her little George to so deceive her!

'He is a man, my dearest. We forget that.'

'But my George... such a baby! He has never looked at women.'

'He may have done so when you were not present, my love. In any case, he has looked at this one, and more than looked, I'll swear. He would not need to hire rooms in the Haymarket just to look. I have found out that he commanded Elizabeth Chudleigh to engage those rooms for him.'

'Elizabeth Chudleigh! That girl...she is too saucy.'

'But a woman of the world, surely. It may be that she knows something of this affair.'

'That's more than likely. Shall I send for her, John, and question her?'

'We will question her together.'

When Elizabeth was summoned to the Princess's presence and heard what she wished to talk about, she believed her dismissal was near. She tried to feel philosophical, but she was alarmed. It would be dreary if she were banished from Court; and perhaps old George would have nothing to offer her. She would go to him, though, with a tale of Bute and the Princess which would amuse him, although, of course, the old hypocrite would pretend to be shocked. But the King disliked Bute heartily, and she would trust to her luck and she would come through.