The Prince and the Quakeress

The Face in the Crowd

BY SEPTEMBER OF that year – two months after George had made up his mind to accept the Princess Charlotte, he was married to her.

George was reconciled; he was quite convinced that his duty to his crown must come before any personal desires. His heart had sunk when he had first seen his bride for she was no beauty and he could not stop thinking of the gay vitality of Lady Sarah, the haunting beauty of Hannah Lightfoot. The Princess was very different; she was small and thin, although he was pleased to see, not deformed; she was pale and what could be kindly called homely, with a flat nose and a very big mouth.

He gave no sign of his disappointment and welcomed her with warm affection. He had made up his mind that he would be a good husband to her and never, whatever the temptation he might be called upon to face, be unfaithful to her.

He must forget Sarah; he must stop Hannah from continually intruding on his thoughts.

Lady Sarah had given up thinking about the King. I had not really wanted him, she assured herself. I would have said No right away if the family had not persuaded me. I’d rather have had Newbattle… but I don’t want him either.

Her pet squirrel was not well and that was a matter of much graver concern to her, she told her sister, than the silly King’s wedding.

Lady Caroline, tired of telling her what a little fool she was, left her alone with her squirrel.

She did, however, write to Lady Susan:

‘I shall take care to show that I am not in the least mortified. Luckily, I did not love him, nor did I care very much for the title. But I am angry to have been made to look a fool. Please don’t tell anyone what I have written to you. I expect George will hate me and the family for ever, for one generally hates people that one is in the wrong with, and who know one has acted wrongly…’

Then she shrugged her shoulders. She was really worried about her squirrel.

It was a different matter when the bridesmaids to appear at the King’s wedding were selected. These were to be eleven young ladies from the highest families in the land and because of her age and position it was inevitable that Sarah should be one of them.

When the invitation came Lady Caroline was furious.

‘This is an added insult,’ she declared.

‘It’s not a command,’ pointed out her husband, ‘and it can be refused.’

‘I shall go,’ replied Sarah.

‘You don’t know what you are saying!’

‘I know full well. If I don’t go it will be said that I was moping at home. Everyone will know I have been invited. No. I shall go and… discountenance him. He shall be sorry I am there… not I.’

The day before the wedding she was discovered weeping and her sister sought to comfort her.

She must not brood. Her own folly was partly to blame, but she had learned a valuable lesson. Not that she could hope for such an opportunity again. Still her rank and beauty would enable her to make a very good match.

‘Match!’ cried Sarah. ‘What are you talking about? My little squirrel is dead!’

‘You’re nothing but a child!’ cried Lady Caroline in disgust.

And so it seemed, for the very next day Sarah found an injured hedgehog in the grounds of Holland House. She brought it in and believed she could make it well.

The prospect made her radiant with joy.

At nine o’clock the marriage took place in the Chapel Royal at St James’s. The bride looked very small in her white and silver gown and her mantle of purple velvet fastened by a cluster of enormous pearls. The diamonds in her tiara were said to be worth a fortune.

George was very much aware of Lady Sarah; he kept thinking how different it would have been had she been standing beside him instead of this strange woman. How happy he would have been! And how ironical it was that she, Sarah, beautiful and desired, should be standing so close to him at this moment.

‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together…’ began the Archbishop; but George was thinking. If only I had insisted. Why did I not? I am the King. But he had made an oath to serve his country, to care for nothing but his duty. And this was his duty. He must never allow this plain little woman at his side to doubt his affection for her. He must learn to love her. He must never let his thoughts turn to any other woman. He had sinned enough. Even now he could not stop thinking of that other ceremony. Was there no escape from Hannah?

‘Look, O Lord, mercifully upon them from Heaven and bless them as Thou did send Thy blessing upon Abraham and Sarah…’

Sarah. He felt the hot blood rush into his face. Everyone was watching. He could not resist looking in Sarah’s direction. She met his gaze coolly, contemptuously.

Hastily he looked away. Oh God, he prayed, help me to do my duty.

And now the words were spoken which united him with Charlotte.

This strange, plain little woman was his wife.

On the way back to the Palace he saw a face in the crowd. It was there for a second and it was gone. But it brought back memories… of the house in Tottenham, the private carriage drive, of looking up and seeing that face at the window. Then, the entry into the house, the hasty embrace.

‘So thou hast come and I am happy to see thee.’

It could not have been. Imagination played strange tricks, and he had been thinking of her almost continuously… of her and Sarah.

He had imagined the whole thing. How could it have been; she was dead and buried under a gravestone marked Rebecca Powell.

Lord Bute was beside him.

‘Your Majesty looks shaken. It was an ordeal, but you came through it magnificently. You always will…’

‘I must speak to you… in private… soon.’

‘Yes, yes. Of course.’

In the Palace the bride sang for the company and gave them an opportunity to admire her skill on the harpsichord. Supper was announced and the company led by the King and the new Queen went into the banqueting hall.

When they had eaten the King and the Queen would retire to the nuptial chamber, but the King had said that he would have none of the usual ceremony in the bedchamber which he considered both vulgar and obscene. He and his bride would go to bed in private.

He ate little. Bute, watching him, thought he was regretting the loss of Sarah. But it is too late now, thought Bute triumphantly. He was surprised a little later when he had the opportunity of being alone with the King to discover it was not the thought of Sarah which tortured him but of Hannah.

‘I wanted to speak to you,’ said the King quietly. ‘I thought I saw Hannah in the crowd.’

‘Impossible. She is dead.’

‘Are you sure?’

Bute was taken off his guard; he had come to talk of Sarah and now he was confronted with Hannah.

‘But Your Majesty saw the grave…’

‘I saw a grave.’

‘But we were told…’

‘The name above the grave was not even hers. I have a feeling that she is not dead.’

‘But I was told…’

‘I know. But you might not have been told the truth.’

‘Why should I not have been?’

‘Because Hannah wanted to disappear. She wanted to make everything easy for me and that was the only way she could do it.’

‘She left her children, then, you think?’

‘No. She would not do that. The children are with good parents. Why should she not visit them… even be near them. She might be in the household where they are. How can we know? I believe it was Hannah I saw in the crowd.’

‘You have been thinking a great deal of her lately, have you not?’

‘Yes, that’s true.’

‘Then it would be so easy to imagine you saw her. A Quaker habit… In similar dress people look alike.’

‘I knew her well… very well.’

‘That is so. But Your Highness imagined you saw her. Please, Sire, it is better that way.’

‘I married her. If she still lives was I married today?’

‘She does not live and she was already married to Isaac Axford. It was a mock marriage you went through with her.’

‘I… am not sure.’

‘Your Majesty torments yourself unnecessarily.’

‘That lady… the Queen will bear my children. They will be the heirs of this country… but perhaps it is Hannah’s children…’

‘Your Majesty is, if you will forgive my saying so, tormenting himself with impossible nightmares.’

‘I want to see who lies under that stone.’

‘Impossible. It is too long. Oh no… no… It would be dreadful.’

‘I shall never be sure. I shall be haunted by doubts… for the rest of my life.’

‘Your Majesty, there are some occasions when Kings who have the good of the people to consider should think of nothing but their duty.’

‘And the truth?’

‘Duty, where Kings are concerned, takes precedence over truth.’

‘Then you think…’

‘I think she is dead. I think that unhappy affair is at an end. I think we have a young and good King who will lead his country to greatness. Today he has united himself with a good Queen who will bear him sons to the glorification of this land.’

The King stared at his dear friend.

‘You have always been right,’ he said. ‘I cannot believe that you could be wrong.’

‘I was never more right than I am at this time. I rejoice in Your Majesty’s goodness; in Your Majesty’s marriage; in Your Majesty’s heritage. Sire, there are experiences in all our lives over which we would wish to draw a veil. The thicker that veil, very often the better. We make our biggest mistakes when we look back and draw it aside. The past is done with. No good can come by going back… even in thought. Go forward. Long live the King! I say. I trust that this time next year I shall be saying “Long live the Prince of Wales!”’

‘You convince me, my dear friend, as you always have done.’

Bute embraced the King and for a moment George clung to him as he had when he was a child and this man had come to the schoolroom to help extricate him from some small misdemeanour.

‘You are right,’ he said firmly. ‘My dear friend, you are right. There is no going back. The past must be forgotten. I have my duty to my country and my Queen.’

‘She will be missing you,’ said Bute, smiling.

And George left him and returned to his Queen.