Jean Plaidy - The Prince and the Quakeress

There was greatness in this man, the King believed. I could work with him as I used to with Robert Walpole. I wish the Queen were here. She would agree with me – or I would soon persuade her to.

She had always believed that England should be great; she and Walpole together and himself, of course. What a triumvirate. And now it should be Pitt and the King.

The King begged Mr Pitt to be seated, and for a few moments he exchanged pleasantries with the minister. Pitt had only two or three years before married – rather late in life, for he was now close on fifty. He had married well, of course, everything Mr Pitt did would become his dignity – Hester Grenville whose mother had been connected with the Earls of Temple. Pitt seemed happy in his marriage and had a daughter, Hester, at this time.

The King came to the point and they discussed the affairs of the Kingdom. Now Pitt glowed with purpose.

He believed in expansion – in Empire. England was a small country. His Majesty would be aware that the population of Great Britain in this year 1757 was somewhere in the region of seven million persons; now they must compare this population with their great enemy France which had one of twenty-seven millions. The difference appalled Mr Pitt. But Great Britain was two small islands, and the whole world was open to us, and we must go out and make it ours.

These sentiments uttered in that deeply sonorous voice, with those magnificent gestures echoing round the audience chamber thrilled the King. He believed Mr Pitt; he was inspired by Mr Pitt; and he wanted Mr Pitt to bring such glory to this country, of which for so many years he had been a reluctant ruler, that on his leaving it, it would be the richest, the most powerful, the most formidable in the world.

‘There have been defeats both on land and sea,’ said Mr Pitt. ‘Defeats to make an Englishman shudder. We have been at fault. We have lacked leadership.’

The hawk’s eyes were studying the King’s face. This could be touching on a dangerous point. Cumberland, the King’s son, and the one of his offspring he came as near to loving as he could anyone, had been appointed commander of the Army not because of his military genius but because he was the King’s son. Culloden, where he had scored an undoubted victory, was a blot on English military history; and the Duke’s record in the field had not been conspicuously successful since. If he was to achieve his purpose he wanted the right man doing the right job irrespective of his position; a soldier from the ranks who was a true leader should have as much chance as a King’s son who fancied playing at soldiers.

Mr Pitt had no intention of stating this to the King at this moment but it was one of the rules he would adhere to – and he would have his way. He was not dedicating his talents to the service of a royal family but to the greatness of England.

‘It is a state of affairs which will have to be carefully overhauled… without delay,’ said Mr Pitt.

‘You know why I have summoned you here, Mr Pitt,’ said the King. ‘It is to offer you the post of Secretary of State.’

‘Your Majesty is gracious to me and I accept the post.’

‘Newcastle continues as First Lord of the Treasury. This is agreeable to you, Mr Pitt?’

It was agreeable. Pitt had not a great deal of respect for Newcastle but provided he obeyed orders – and he would get orders from Pitt – he would be, the new Secretary decided, a good man to deal with administration. No, he had no objection to serving ostensibly under Newcastle, for in point of fact, he himself would be the leader.

‘Your Majesty,’ he went on, ‘rarely has this country been in such a dire state. Our sole ally, the King of Prussia, is laid low. We must give aid to Prussia. It is against my principles to support other countries but the position is vital. The French will be in command of America if we do not take care. Sire, we should turn our eyes to America. Our expansion lies outside these islands.’

The King said: ‘I am in agreement with what you say, Mr Pitt.’

‘Canada must be ours… we have subjects in North America. We cannot allow the French to oust us. This is one of the important periods of our history. It is in our hands now to make or lose an Empire. It is up to us to decide.’

‘Then we will decide to make an Empire, Mr Pitt.’

‘So say I, Your Majesty. But it has to be won, Sire. It has to be won. Have I Your Majesty’s permission to seek out and promote those men who can do the best work for their country?’

‘You have, Mr Pitt.’

‘I have already consulted Sir John Ligonier, who has given me some names of men whom he believes should be promoted. I believe these men should be entrusted with commands of the utmost importance. Colonel Jeffry Amherst, Major-General Henry Seymour Conway and Colonel James Wolfe.’

‘I have never heard these men’s names before,’ complained the King.

‘No, Sire. You have heard the names of men who have so far led this country to disaster.’

Mr Pitt was rather an uncomfortable gentleman; but the King still believed in him. He said he would consider his minister’s proposals; and when Mr Pitt had left he began to think of Caroline; he was sure she would have approved of Mr Pitt.

IN THE HOUSE in Tottenham the years passed pleasantly. George’s visits were perhaps less frequent but that was explained by the fact that as Prince of Wales he had many duties; he was watched and could not easily slip away, and both he and Hannah lived in daily terror that their hiding-place would be discovered.

Jane visited Hannah from time to time and told her that she was still remembered in St James’s Market and that Isaac still professed to be looking for her. There were continual alarms. Someone had called on the Wheelers and told them that they had met Hannah somewhere in the country; someone else professed to have seen her at Wapping. Every Quaker girl who had any pretensions to good looks was suspected of being Hannah Lightfoot, the girl who disappeared on her wedding day.

She longed for George’s visits and while waiting for them occupied herself with working in the house, for she had been brought up to believe it was sinful to be idle. She had her stillroom and her garden, enclosed by a tall wall, and she had her needlework. But it was not really enough.

She longed for a simple country house with a husband who was always with her. Yet she would never love anyone but George. She would tell herself that although her life was not entirely satisfactory she was happier living in this way shut away from the world than she could ever have been with anyone else.

George was a little sad, too. He was very conscious of their position. He was essentially respectable and conventional and wished above all things that they could have been married. They were living in sin, he once said; and it was like a shadow between them. If he had been born someone other than the Prince of Wales, if they could have been respectably married, he would have asked nothing more of life.

He talked of his life at Court to her so that she felt she had lived there herself. Poor George! He was not meant to be a King – and a King he must soon surely be. Being a simple young man, he did not want power or glory; he only wanted to be happy in a respectable conventional way.

But life was not all one hoped for.

She looked forward to Jane’s visits. Jane was growing more and more prosperous, for the glass-cutting business was doing well. Mr Jack Ems had sent customers to her and she had connections with the Court through Miss Elizabeth Chudleigh. It brought good customers and their business was going to prosper as Mr Betts’ never could have done.

Jane, seated on a chair, her silk skirt spread around her exuding prosperity and enjoying freedom.

When Hannah went out it must be in a closed carriage; her exercise was taken mainly in the garden; and the great days of her life were when her lover came to see her.

Still, she would not change.

She was in the garden tending the first spring flowers when a servant came to tell her that Jane had arrived. Jane followed the maid into the garden and embraced her friend.

‘Thou hast news?’ said Hannah, who had never quite learned to drop the Quaker form of address and used it now and then.

Jane nodded.

‘Good? Bad? You don’t say.’

‘I don’t know how you’ll take it, Hannah. If it were me I’d not care a jot. You’re expelled from the Society of Friends. What they call a Testimony of Denial.’

‘I know,’ said Hannah.

‘Now you’re not going to mope about that!’

‘Oh no, I shall not mope.’

‘You’ve been away from them for a long time now. You’re not going to tell me you want to go back to them.’

‘Never.’

‘There’s a great notice about it. It says you’ve disappeared and they no longer consider you one of them.’

‘This means that they will stop searching for me, Jane.’

‘I don’t think that. They’ll go on looking and people will go on talking. But they say you’re out… not one of them any longer. But you won’t worry much about that.’

‘Oh no.’

‘It says something about their being afraid some of your sin will come off on them. That’s why you’re disowned… until such a time as from a penitent mind and a true contrition of heart you will confess sorrow for your sins.’

‘That I shall never do.’

‘No. I thought not. Oh well, here you are and the garden looks pretty and that’s a new gown. It’s lovely. And you’re beautiful Hannah and I’m not surprised there’s been all this stir about you. Now, how do you like my new silk.’