The Prince and the Quakeress: (Georgian Series) (9 page)

It was Jane who caught Hannah at the window. She was not in the least shocked; she came to join Hannah and pointed out the elaborate chair which was being carried through the market. Did Hannah know the gentleman who was being carried? Hannah did not know. Oh, but Hannah knew very little of the world because everyone should know the gentleman in the chair. It was Lord Bute himself. And they said that the Princess of Wales was very partial to him. Had Hannah ever heard that? Hannah had not and she thought that must make the gentleman very happy, which set Jane rocking with laughter.

‘It makes them both happy, so they say, Miss Hannah. But whether the Prince is so happy about it… that’s another matter. Not that he would complain, considering…’

Hannah was nonplussed and fascinated. It was interesting to learn from Jane that every household was not run like Henry Wheeler’s, and that there were scandals even in the royal family.

Jane was surprised by the ignorance of Hannah; and enjoyed enlightening her.

So Hannah began to learn something of the world outside a Quaker household and she could not help it if she were fascinated by it, and secretly she longed to be part of it. If Uncle Henry had had a house in the country where they never saw any life other than their own it would have been different; but it was not so. Here they were in the midst of a noisy, bustling, virile world and yet not of it. St James’s Market with its haggling
and bargaining was a strange place for a Quaker to live; yet Quakers could be good businessmen and Uncle Henry was undoubtedly that, and if it was unsuitable in some ways it was profitable in others; for as far as trade was concerned it was an ideal spot. In the middle of the Market was the large Market House inside which were the butchers’ shambles and outside were the butchers’ stalls. Market-days were Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays; and on these days the noise of the buyers and sellers filled the house. Then there was The Mitre tavern to which even on those days when there was no market the people flocked in from St Martin-in-the-Fields.

It was not easy to turn one’s eyes away from the busy world when it was on one’s doorstep.

‘It’s no life for a girl, Miss Hannah,’ said Jane mournfully.

Hannah might tell of how Uncle Henry had rescued her and her mother from the dire poverty of Wapping, but Jane still insisted that it was no life for a girl. Better to be a servant-girl than the master’s niece, Jane reckoned. She wouldn’t change places with Miss Hannah. There was a mysterious person to whom she referred as Mr H. who was very interested indeed in Jane. At first Hannah had not believed in his existence; he was a dream figure, something to talk about when they were alone together; but it seemed that he was no phantom. Once when they were out with the children Jane took Hannah down Cockspur Street past Betts the glass-cutters and as they passed a young man slipped out and talked nervously to them.

It turned out that he was Mr H. and he was really ‘far gone’ on Jane.

On the way home Jane said it was a shame that Hannah had not got a beau. Yes, with her looks it was a
crying
shame.

And when she returned to St James’s Market Hannah surreptitiously looked into the mirror and could not help being pleased with what she saw there. She was a beauty. She only had to look at Jane’s pert and pretty face to know that she had something which the serving-girl lacked; and she felt a little sad to think of passing all her days in her uncle’s house making beds, looking after the children, and growing as old as her mother without ever having been part of the gay and bustling life which went on under her window every day and in particular on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays.

There was great excitement when the King, the Prince and Princess of Wales and other members of the royal family were going to the theatre, the back door of which was in Market Lane; to reach this, the procession would have to cross the Market; and to see them a crowd would undoubtedly gather, for in view of the strained relations between the King and his elder son, it was rarely that they were all seen together.

Uncle Henry was disturbed. One never could be sure what the crowd would do. What if they became wild. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘we will take the linens out of the window. It will be better so.’

‘If the linens are taken out the children might perhaps sit in the window on our chairs to see the procession pass,’ suggested Lydia.

Uncle Henry considered this, but really he could see no harm in it.

As the children were growing excited at the prospect, Uncle Henry added a little homily about the worldliness of outward pomp and the difference between the shadow and the substance. But he believed they should be there because loyalty to the throne was something the children should be taught; and there were always intolerant people who could work up emotions about those whose opinions were different from their own.

Yes, they should all sit in the window and watch the royal procession to the theatre.

Hannah was delighted with an opportunity to enjoy something without secrecy.

Lydia had placed chairs in the window in place of the bales of linen. Little George and Rebecca were dancing up and down with excitement and Hannah put a finger to her lips to warn them lest their father decide that too much pleasure must indeed be a sin. Young Henry was clutching his mother’s skirts and Hannah’s mother was holding in her arms the newest arrival – Hannah after her cousin. Mary Lightfoot placed the chair for the master of the house and discreetly took her place at the back of the window.

The Market was full of noise and bustle on that day, for people from Jermyn Street, Charles Street and Pall Mall were all hurrying in to see the royal family pass by.

And so they came: the King himself, small and testy, looking
neither this way nor that, his face deep red tinged with purple, taking no heed of loyal greetings nor abuse. He gave the impression that he was not interested in any of these people who had come to see him;
he
had come to see the play and if he had to pass among his people to do so, so much the worse.

And now the Prince of Wales. Frederick was like his father, but much more pleasant; he smiled and acknowledged the people’s greetings as he passed in his chair; he had the same colourful complexion, the same prominent eyes, the same heavy jaw; but this was less apparent when its owner smiled as Frederick did frequently. And in her chair the Princess, not beautiful but amiable, and a good wife and mother, everyone said, even though there were murmurs about her friendship with Lord Bute.

And then… Prince George, a pleasant, modest-looking boy; the same prominent blue eyes, clear complexion, not yet grown too ruddy and no tinge of purple apparent; the same heavy jaw, but he was young and his expression held not the slightest trace of arrogance. The people cheered Prince George who, when the old King died – which could not be long – would be the Prince of Wales.

Prince George’s chair passed very close to the linen-draper’s window and as it did so he looked out and his eyes met those of Hannah.

She thought: The Prince is looking straight at me!

That is the most beautiful woman in the world, thought George soberly.

He smiled with pleasure; she found that she was smiling too. Some understanding – neither of them were absolutely sure what – had passed between them.

*

Hannah thought a great deal about the Prince. The smile had been for her alone, she was sure of it, although no one else had noticed it. Had she been wrong? Was he bestowing such smiles all along the route? Was it part of the royal duties to smile indiscriminately?

Perhaps Jane was right and she was a simpleton. But she had glowed with pleasure and she was going to allow herself to go on thinking he had smiled especially for her.

A few days later she was confirmed in this belief, when the
Prince’s chair passed through the Market close to the linen-draper’s shop, and from her window Hannah looked out at precisely the same moment as the Prince looked from his chair. Once more their eyes met and once more the understanding flashed between them.

Hannah was distrait. Could it really be that she was beginning to be caught up in the world outside her uncle’s Quaker household?

*

The interest of a boy who could not have entered his teens could not be expected to change her life; and yet she was at the window whenever possible in the hope of seeing him pass. He did not come often. How could he without attracting attention? He was always surrounded by important-looking people, but whenever he did pass that way he never failed to look up at the window for her and when he saw her his face would lighten and he would smile with pleasure.

How strange! thought Hannah. What could it mean? She thought him charming, beautiful in his innocence. He was like a child – untouched by the world, perhaps as she was. She must be many years older than he was – six, seven, eight even – but there was a bond between them, a bond of unworldliness. They were like two children looking at life through a glass door, aware of it, yet ignorant of it. She had been warned of lascivious men; in fact their glances had often come her way. Her uncle could not protect her from that; she was so attractive and he could not shut her up in a lonely tower until he found a Quaker husband for her.

This was different. This was the pure adoration of an innocent boy, years her junior – and he was a Prince. More than that, one day he would be a King.

It was small wonder that she was bewildered.

*

When Jane married and went to live in Cockspur Street with her husband, Hannah was desolate. As Mr H. was still an apprentice the only way in which Jane could join him in his master’s house was by going into service there. Thus she left her employment in the Wheeler house to join that of Mr Betts, the glass-cutter of Cockspur Street.

They did not need another servant, decided Mr Wheeler.
Rebecca was old enough to perform small duties about the house and it was good for her to be useful; George could do minor errands for the shop; there were three able-bodied women in the house, Lydia his wife, Mary his sister and Hannah his niece. Therefore what did he want with serving-maids?

So there was no one now for Hannah to chat to in that frivolous but enjoyable way. She heard, of course, that the Prince of Wales had died; and that brought home to her the astounding fact that the young boy with whom she believed she had a secret understanding was now the Prince of Wales. That made the affair so fantastic that she began to believe she had imagined the whole thing. The Prince seemed to have ceased his visits to the Market and life had become very drab indeed. Her days were lightened only by her shopping expeditions to Ludgate where she sometimes lingered in the grocery shop talking to the grocer’s son, Isaac Axford. The Axfords were Quakers like themselves; so naturally they did business together. Isaac was half in love with her, she believed; he was three years younger than she was and not in a position to marry, but she had no wish to marry him. There had been a time when she supposed a marriage would be arranged for her by her uncle, and Isaac had seemed a likely partner; after all, being only the niece of the prosperous linen draper, she could not expect a dowry as enticing as that he would give to his own daughters.

Hannah thought of married life in the grocer’s shop at Ludgate Hill and it did not attract her. She liked Isaac but only mildly. Yet, but for the penetrating glances of a young boy she might have been contented enough to accept him.

Jane came visiting from Cockspur Street and the two young women sat in Hannah’s room and looked over the Marketplace, together.

Married life was a disappointment, Jane admitted. She was no better off than she had been on her own. Mrs Betts was a good-natured mistress, easy-going and not unfriendly, but there was little money.

And living in the heart of London, seeing the fine ladies and gentlemen in their carriages and chairs, going to balls and banquets and the theatre did make a young woman discontented with her lot, particularly when she was prettier than some of
those painted, bedecked creatures in their silks and brocades and glittering gems.

Jane tossed her pert pretty head and said she was a fool to have rushed into marriage. She fancied she could have had other opportunities and she feared Mr H. would never be anything but an apprentice, for he had no money to set himself up in business.

And what of Hannah – Hannah who was beautiful? Was she going to spend her days dressed in a Quaker bonnet and gown, never having a chance to display her charms?

Hannah smiled at Jane’s petulance. It was good to be able to chat with her friend again.

Journey in a Closed Carriage

THE DOWAGER PRINCESS
of Wales was where she liked to be best in the world; in the company of her dear Lord Bute.

So handsome! So clever! What should she do without him? Now even more than ever, for she was by no means old, and since poor Fred was dead there was nothing to keep them apart.

Her lover and her children – they were her life.

‘Dearest John,’ she was saying, ‘I was just asking myself what I should do without you.’

‘What a monstrous thought. Why should you?’

‘Because we are always fearful of losing what we most value.’

‘If you lose me it will be of your own choosing, for it will never be mine.’

‘Ah, dearest John. What happiness you give me! Is there much scandal about us, do you think?’

‘Whatever we did there would be scandal, so…’

‘We may as well earn it?’

They laughed and embraced.

‘The old man could scarcely complain of us,’ she said.

‘His Majesty complains of everyone, so what would it matter if he did?’

‘At his age! You would think he were past such adventures.’

‘Perhaps he is, and won’t admit it.’

‘I remember when my mother-in-law was alive, how he used to write to her about Walmoden from Hanover. How should he proceed with the seduction? And his father with those two grotesque women of his – one tall and thin, the other short and fat. They were a laughing-stock. John… I am afraid for George. I am afraid he will take after them and if he gets a fondness for women…’