Jean Plaidy - The Prince and the Quakeress

‘I will see that the key is delivered, Your Majesty.’

* * *

On his way from the Prince’s apartments where he had been to congratulate him on the success of their firm stand against the King, Lord Bute met the Duke of Grafton. Grafton was looking rather uneasy as he paused, exchanged a few words and muttered that he had just come from the King.

‘And he was in his usual humour by the look of you.’

Grafton lifted his shoulder and slipped something into Bute’s pocket.

‘Don’t be put out,’ he said. ‘It was ungraciously given but at least it is yours and he could not withhold it.’

‘What…’ cried Bute putting his hand into his pocket and drawing out the gold key.

‘It is yours since you are to be the Prince’s Groom of the Stole.’

‘But the King…’

‘Would not present it to you himself. He asked me to slip it to you.’

‘But… it is an insult.’

‘My dear fellow, George is insulting someone every minute of his life. He always has. It’s a habit. And you know his habits. Don’t take it to heart.’

‘Do you mean to say he wouldn’t even see me to hand me the key?’

‘That’s it. However, you have the key and that’s all that matters.’

‘Yes,’ said Bute slowly. ‘I have the key.’

But it was an insult none the less.

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 passed 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 assure 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 flashing 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 God, 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 relationship 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 lordship 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 lordship 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 assure you.’

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

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 passionately 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 God, he had told her. But those were empty words. God 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 God 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.