The Prince and the Quakeress

The secret Wedding

IN THE DRAWING-ROOM in which Mr Reynolds had painted her picture Hannah sat sewing. She no longer embroidered – a pastime she had learned from the sewing-woman, for in Mr Wheeler’s house she had never wasted her time in such a frivolous occupation. But how she had enjoyed it once she had learned! She would sit for long hours, her ears alert for the sound of carriage wheels which would announce her lover’s arrival, while her needle plied the cambric, and the reds and blues, the purples and whites grew under her hands. Now she was making clothes for her children. She had a family of two and another was on the way. She had become a fertile woman; she loved her children, but more than anyone on earth she loved the Prince.

Perhaps she had built up this love through her great need of it. She needed more than physical contact, more than constant declarations of loyalty and enduring affection; she needed to prove to herself that love such as she had could not be denied. It was her only excuse.

She spent long hours on her knees. ‘Oh God, show me how I can expiate my great sin. I will do anything, Thou knowest… save one thing. I will never abandon him until he abandons me. And if he does abandon me I shall go forth into the world uncomplaining. I have loved deeply; I have been loved and my love has been fruitful. If my children are cared for, if he, my love, is happy, I would willingly sacrifice my hopes of earthly joy.’

Was it true? Vehemently she assured herself that it was; but equally vehemently she trusted she would never be called upon to prove it. Yet, she could not rid herself of her early training. She did not believe she could go on living comfortably as she had for the last five years. Reckoning would come.

‘The sins ye do by two and two, ye pay for one by one.’ She could hear Uncle Wheeler’s voice droning on in the room behind the shop where they had eaten and prayed. She could feel the roughness of the rush mat on her knees; she could see the faces of the family, palms together, eyes closed, as the candle-light flickered across their faces.

‘Vengeance is mine,’ saith the Lord. Uncle Wheeler had always pronounced such utterances with particular relish.

Love, forgiveness, were words scarcely heard in the Wheeler household. She remembered that now.

Why was she morbid today? Because she was with child again? Because George’s visits were less frequent than they used to be? She must be reasonable. He was a Prince… a Prince of Wales and had now come of age. At any time he might be King. Naturally he was kept busy. There was so much to learn, he had told her.

She remembered that once he had mentioned these matters with regret; now he did so with excitement. George was changing. Was that what frightened her? George was no longer a shy boy; he was fast learning to become a ruler; and he had recognized it as his destiny. He no longer wished that he were not the heir to the throne. He was waiting… almost impatiently for the crown.

In one clear flash of understanding she saw the position clearly: George had changed and she had not.

A light scratching on the door. ‘Come in.’

‘A visitor, M’am. Your lady friend.’

It showed how few visitors she had when Jane could be so introduced. My lady friend, thought Hannah. She might have said your only lady friend.

Jane was growing plump. She was a mother now and undoubtedly the head of her household. Hannah wondered how often she reminded her husband that he owed his good fortune to her astuteness in helping to pass Hannah Lightfoot over to a very important young gentleman.

She enjoyed Jane’s visits – the one link with the old days. When Jane sat sprawled in a chair, her fingers reaching for the dish of sweetmeats which Hannah always ordered to be placed beside her, Hannah could almost believe they were back in the bedroom over the shop, talking together while they looked down on the Market.

‘I’ve brought you news… such news,’ announced Jane. ‘I wonder what it means. I’ve been wondering since I heard.’

‘I pray thee tell me.’ She slipped naturally into the old way of speech with Jane.

‘It’s Isaac Axford.’

Hannah sat up gripping the arms of her chair; she felt the child moving within her, as though uneasily.

‘What… of him?’

‘Don’t look so scared. It’s good news really. It means he’s given up the search.’

‘Jane, I pray thee tell me. Do not keep me in suspense. I believe you enjoy that.’

Jane smiled. ‘He’s married again.’

‘Isaac… married! But how can that be? He is married to me.’

‘It’s five… nearly six years since that marriage, Hannah. It’s clear he thinks it is a marriage no longer.’

‘Art thou sure of this?’

‘You don’t think I’d come here with a tale like this if I wasn’t. I’ve even talked to her… the wife I mean. I went into the shop when Isaac wasn’t there and had quite a talk with her… she’s pleased with herself. Bartlett her name was… before she changed it to Axford. Then I talked around… you know how easy it is. But you don’t, of course, but believe me it is for me. One goody to another. All master’s wives together. Oh yes, I heard Isaac Axford’s done well for himself. He’s married an heiress… Miss Bartlett she were, and she’s bringing him in all of one hundred and fifty pounds a year. Very well-to-do she is and not proud with it.’

‘But he is not truly married…’

‘Oh come, now, you can’t expect a man to go without a wife for five or six years just because the first one deserted him at the altar.’

‘But even so… we were married. Does this lady know?’

‘That I did not discover. And if she did… I’ll dareswear Isaac had a good story. Marriage with the disappearing lady? Well, was it a true marriage? It was in Dr Keith’s Marriage Mill which is illegal in any case; and then the bride never was his wife in a manner of speaking, was she? And then she deserted him. Oh, I reckon Mr Isaac’s got a case all right.’

‘It is not that I blame him. I am solely to blame. He was ill-used. I wish him every happiness.’

‘He’s been searching for you… or pretending to… for a long time.’

‘Pretending to… !’

‘Oh, don’t ask me! There’s a lot of queer business been going on in this affair. I reckon Mr Isaac Axford was a bit smug. Perhaps there was some as made it worth his while not to search too diligently. Isaac’s a man to look to the main chance. You see, now he’s found himself a very comfortable wife. One hundred and fifty pounds a year… very nice. I doubt not he’s been well paid for all his trouble.’

‘And… my mother…’

‘Oh, I never see her,’ said Jane uncomfortably. ‘I never get my nose in that door, you can be sure.’

‘I think of her often. I hope she is not too sad.’

‘She’ll have got over it all by now, Hannah. Besides she’s got the pleasure of knowing…’

‘Of knowing what?’

‘That her daughter is in royal hands.’

‘Oh, Jane, Jane, I sometimes wonder what will become of us all.’

‘You’ll be all right. Nothing for you to fret about. Whatever happened you’d be all right.’

‘Whatever happened…’

‘Well, he’s the Prince, isn’t he? They’re saying in the streets that he’s going to be King soon. When it’s his birthday there’s quite a to-do. Bells ringing and all. And when I hear them I think: “That’s Hannah’s friend… my friend Hannah’s friend.” And I’m proud, Hannah, I’m really proud.’

‘There is really nothing to be proud of.’

‘You’re getting soft in the head, Hannah.’

‘I am dishonoured.’

‘Nonsense. Not when it’s a Prince. That makes all the difference. Now if it was a grocer… or a linen-draper or a glass-cutter… well that would be different, but this is a Prince, Hannah – and not just an ordinary Prince. This one could be a King.’

‘There is no difference in the sight of God, Jane.’

‘Oh, I was never religious like you, but I reckon Kings are special… to everyone.’

Hannah smiled. ‘Oh, Jane, thou art blasphemous.’

‘Well, whatever that means it makes you laugh, so it can’t be such a bad thing. No, Hannah, you’re too serious. You weren’t put here to be miserable… but to laugh and enjoy yourself. Else why were things put here to make us enjoy them?’

‘For our temptation perhaps.’

‘Temptations my aunt Jane… only I ain’t got one. No, I reckon it’s better for my children to have warm clothes to keep out the winds and good food inside’em and a fire to sit by, and to laugh and play together… I reckon it’s better for them to be happy like that than cold and miserable and always on their knees asking God not to let them have too good a time because it’s sinful. If being well fed and happy is sin… then I’m for sin.’

‘Thou art wilfully misconstruing my words, Jane.’

‘Oh well, let’s talk of something interesting. You aren’t so again?’ Hannah nodded. ‘Well, I knew it. Still, you like them, don’t you? Mind you, you want to take care of yourself. You’re looking a bit peaky. Still it’s often that way. To my way of thinking everything’s turned out wonderful. Hannah, let’s have a look at the picture.’

Jane stood before it and gazed at it in awe.

‘It’s beautiful, Hannah. Oh, it’s really beautiful! And this Mr Reynolds… he really is an important man. A lady mentioned him in the shop. She said no one could paint quite like Mr Reynolds, and that she was trying to persuade her husband to have her portrait painted.’ Jane assumed a haughty expression and went on: ‘“Anyone… just anyone who is anyone… must be painted by Mr Reynolds.” And I laughed to myself and I thought: Well, I know someone who has been painted by him. It was an order… a royal command. “Go and paint that lady… ” And, of course, he had to go.’

‘Jane, you talk too much.’

‘I always did, didn’t I? I was the talker, you the listener. Well, don’t you fret about Mr Isaac Axford. I’d say this is good news. He’s not going to go sniffing about for his first wife, is he, when he’s got a second?’

After Jane had left, Hannah sat looking at the picture. Mrs Axford, the lovely Quakeress, by Joshua Reynolds.

Mrs Axford no longer.

Change was in the air. Isaac no longer considered her his wife. The Prince’s visits were less frequent. At any time now she might hear that he had become the King of England.

Was this a premonition she felt – or was this sense of doom due to the fact that she was with child and feeling less well than she usually did at such times?

When George next called at the house he was alarmed by the sight of her.

‘Are you ill, Hannah?’ he asked fearfully.

‘It is nothing… nothing,’ she hastened to assure him, for she could not bear to see him anxious. ‘Perhaps this time it is a little more difficult than usual.’

‘I must send for Fothergill.’

‘It is not necessary. All is well. Thou must not worry.’

‘But I shall if you are ill. And I know all is not well. Do not think you can deceive me, Hannah.’

‘Jane has been here. She has news of Isaac Axford. He has recently married a Miss Bartlett.’

‘Married!’

‘Yes, Jane is certain. She has seen the lady. She has brought him a little fortune so… perhaps that is why… But he is no longer searching and what strikes me is that he has either committed bigamy or… he does not consider himself married to me.’

George was silent. He was beginning to be apprehensive. For the first years of his liaison everything had gone well and smoothly. But since his eighteenth birthday, when he had begun to realize what would be expected of him as King, he was realizing too what a difficult position he had put himself – and Hannah – into.

It was all very well for a young Prince to have a mistress living in secret in a house in Tottenham – well, not all very well but it was accepted as a not too unusual affair – but for the King it was another matter. Kings had their mistresses. Indeed they did – and none more blatantly than his own ancestors, but they were recognized as mistresses, they lived at Court; it was considered as natural as marriage. But could a King make periodic and secret journeys from St James’s, Kensington or Kew to a house in Tottenham and not expect to be discovered? Certainly he could not.

Like Hannah, he could sense change in the air.

Yet he could not imagine Hannah at Court, living as the Countess of Yarmouth did, or Miss Chudleigh…

Then, of course, he would be expected to marry. One of the first duties of a King was to provide the country with heirs. He had evaded the ladies of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel and Saxe-Gotha… but how could he go on avoiding marriage? It would come… inevitably, and then he would have to accept it, and he would have to make plans about Hannah.

What could he do? Consult Bute or his mother? He knew in advance what their answer would be. He must bring Hannah to Court, a place could be found for her in his mother’s household doubtless, the children would be cared for by people who could be trusted; and he must marry a woman of their choice and do his duty by his queen and country. There was one other alternative; part from Hannah. That he declared vehemently to himself, he would never do.

But something had to happen soon. Each day that was becoming clearer to him.

He said slowly: ‘It is well that Axford has married this woman. Now he will no longer search for you.’

She nodded and they went to the nursery and played with the children, but he was deeply aware of her melancholy, and he was concerned for her health.

‘You must hide nothing from me,’ he told her gently. ‘You are troubled. Tell me why.’

‘It is nothing. Thou hast enough with which to concern thyself. Tell me of thy dear Lord Bute’s care for thee. I love to hear that thou hast such a good friend. And of thy dear mother who loves thee so tenderly.’

He talked of Mr Pitt and his ambitions and how everything was going well abroad, but that Mr Pitt was an arrogant man who would have to be watched. Lord Bute had said that when he came to the throne he would be King of a great expanding Empire.

‘I mean to be a great King, Hannah. I mean to be a good King.’

‘Thou wilt, George, because thou art a good man.’

‘But now I am uneasy about you. There is something on your mind. Pray tell me. Are you having dreams?’

‘Oh, I dream, George. I wake in the night trembling with fear. Last night I dreamed I was at the Judgment seat with my load of sins on me. They were heavy. They weighed me down and I knew that there was no place for me in Heaven.’

‘There is no happiness for me unless you share it,’ he told her soberly.

She seized his hands and kissed them; and after that she made a great effort to be gay. Temporarily they forgot the gloom which thoughts of the future must arouse in them both; but when he had gone back to Kew he remembered, and so did she, alone in the house in Tottenham.

His solace was to be found with his sister Elizabeth and his brother Edward. Elizabeth looked very wan; her health did not improve as time passed and she was particularly sympathetic when she heard that Hannah was not well either.

‘What can I do?’ demanded George. ‘I am afraid for Hannah. Soon she will be delivered of our child and there is a melancholy about her… a sadness. Do you think people can die of melancholy?’

Elizabeth thought they could. She believed that if people desperately wanted to live they could often overcome illness and even face death and triumph; but if a person wanted to die, if he… or she… held out welcoming arms to death… then death came quickly.

‘I know how her mind works. She believes that this affair can bring no good to me. She thinks only of me.’

‘Nor can it,’ Edward said practically. ‘It is clear, brother, that soon you will have to take some action.’

George looked helplessly from his brother and sister. Then he said almost defiantly: ‘After I left Hannah, I came to a decision.’

‘Yes?’ they asked simultaneously.

‘I… I am going to marry Hannah.’

‘Marry her,’ breathed Elizabeth. ‘But that is not possible.’

‘It is possible. I do assure you. All we have to do is get a priest to marry us.’

‘Secretly?’ cried Edward.

‘How else?’

‘But, George, think… !’ begged Elizabeth. ‘How can you possibly marry Hannah?’

‘Merely by taking our oaths before a priest.’

‘I know. But… it would never be permitted.’

‘You cannot imagine that I intend to publish my intentions to the world.’

‘Oh… George… have a care.’

‘I have thought and thought about this and I see only one way out. Hannah is broken-hearted. I have a terrible fear that she will not live long. She believes she has sinned… and that she is condemned to eternal damnation. There is only one thing which can save her in the eyes of God. Marriage. There is only one way to salvation.’

‘Remember that soon you will be the King, George.’

‘I know it. But that is no reason why I should deny her salvation. I love Hannah… as I shall never love another woman, and I fear she is close to death. She feels it too. Do not ask me how this can be so. I only know it is. And she is afraid. Her soul is in torment… because she cannot face her Maker with this load of sin upon her.’

‘And you think that only marriage to you can save her?’

‘I know it.’

‘But, George, what will this mean to you?’

‘It is not time to think of myself. I must think of her.’

‘You say she is near death?’

‘She feels it. If I lost her I should never be happy again, but I think I should find some comfort if I could clear her conscience. If I could think of her through the years ahead as happy in paradise I shall have some modicum of comfort. Then I shall devote myself to doing my duty.’

‘George,’ said Elizabeth earnestly, ‘why has this feeling suddenly come to you?’

He looked at her strangely. ‘I do not know. I have a feeling that Hannah will not be long with me. She is to have a child again and I sense that all is not well. It is like a great burden on my shoulders. I think that if Hannah died… in sin… I should never know peace as long as I lived.’

‘Has Dr Fothergill seen her?’ asked Edward.

‘No. She does not wish to see him. He will deliver the child as usual when the time comes.’

‘And that time will be soon?’ asked Elizabeth.

George nodded. ‘I have made up my mind about this. Edward, I need your help.’

‘You know that I will do all in my power.’

‘You must be a witness of our marriage.’

‘But,’ cried Elizabeth, ‘have you thought deeply enough of this? Have you considered all it will mean?’

‘I have considered everything.’

‘If you married Hannah she would be… Queen.’

‘And none more fitted.’

‘Oh, I am sure of that, but… will your ministers think so? What of the people? George, dearest brother, you have your duty to the crown.’

‘I have my duty first to Hannah.’

Elizabeth looked at Edward and then at George, who cried out: ‘Would you have me send Hannah to the Judgment seat with this sin upon her?’

Elizabeth interrupted: ‘I cannot believe that a sin is expiated so simply in God’s eyes.’

‘Oh, Elizabeth, you do not see. We have sinned, both of us. I should never have taken her away from her people; she should never have come. We must pay for our sins. Her payment could be to go to her Maker in sin; mine is to marry, no matter what are the consequences. It is the only way we can right that wrong we did when I took her away from her people and she came. Edward, will you come with me? Will you witness our wedding?’

‘Certainly I will, George, when you decide to make this marriage.’

‘I have decided.’

Edward looked at Elizabeth and lifted his shoulders helplessly.

‘Wait,’ cried Elizabeth. ‘Let us send the best doctors to Hannah, let them cure her… then there will be no immediate need for marriage. Everything could go on as it is then for a while, until we have planned what would be the best thing to do.’

‘And if you married Hannah on her death-bed… then… that would not matter for you would be unmarried on her death and could make another marriage… the one which was chosen for you.’

‘Please do not talk of Hannah as though she is dead. Hannah is not going to die. She is going to live and I am going to marry her.’

‘Can he mean it?’ whispered Elizabeth.

‘I am sure he does,’ answered Edward.

‘Oh, Edward, what will happen?’

‘Trouble, great trouble. Unless, of course, she is married on her death-bed. Then he is left free. That is what we must hope for.’

‘Hope for Hannah’s death?’

‘My dear sister, how else can our brother marry this woman except on her death-bed. It would be disaster to do so.’

‘You must persuade him against it, Edward. And I must do the same.’

‘Dear sister, George is slow to come to a decision, but when he has reached it he is as stubborn as a mule. I have seen something in his face tonight.’

‘And that was?’

‘A determination to marry Hannah Lightfoot.’

The closed carriage rumbled out of the private drive. In it sat a lady well muffled up in a concealing cloak and hood; she was heavily pregnant. Beside her sat her maid, anxiously glancing at her from time to time, for it was clear that the lady was ill.

The carriage stopped in Curzon Street and the occupants alighted and hurried into the chapel there.

There they were greeted by the Prince of Wales and his brother, Edward, Duke of York.

The young Duke bowed and looked with wonder into the beautiful face of the woman who had so deeply affected his brother.

‘Are you well?’ asked the Prince anxiously.

‘I am at peace,’ answered Hannah, ‘but I fear for you.’

‘All will be well. Fear not.’

He had never looked so handsome as he stood there before Dr Wilmot whom he had commanded to perform the ceremony. Resolute, determined, he believed he was acting in the only manner possible to an honourable man. Whatever the consequences he would no longer be tormented by his conscience. He had sinned and this was the only way in which he could expect forgiveness in God’s eyes.

So, with his brother as witness, on that day in the year 1759, the Prince of Wales was married to Hannah Lightfoot.