The Prince and the Quakeress

The Elopement

THE MEETINGS WERE taking place regularly. The closed carriage, the journey with Jane, the ecstatic reunion in the Haymarket… they had become a pattern of life. George loved her. He had said so. He admitted he knew little of life, but one did not have to learn about love; it came to one and there it was the meaning of one’s existence.

They talked of love; of their adoration of each other; it was enough to be sure of their meetings, to touch hands and occasionally kiss. Each was aware of the barriers which separated the niece of a linen-draper and a Prince of Wales; but they did not discuss this matter.

All they asked was to be together.

Hannah had changed. She did not realize how much. When one of the children spoke to her she was absent-minded; she forgot to perform those household tasks which had been second nature to her; moreover, her beauty had become so dazzling that even the linen-draper noticed.

‘What is happening to Hannah?’ he asked his wife.

Lydia and Mary had been aware of the change before he had, and Lydia replied that she wondered whether Hannah was in love.

‘She goes often to Ludgate Hill,’ went on Lydia. ‘I suspect that she goes to see Isaac. Perhaps it is time to arrange a marriage.’

‘Isaac is younger than she is and scarcely in a position to marry.’

‘Perhaps if she had a fair dowry…’

‘We have our own daughters to think of. Hannah has beauty. Perhaps that should be considered dowry enough.’

‘Well, she is twenty-three years of age and that does seem old enough for marriage. It is our duty to see her settled even as our own daughters.’

Henry agreed that this was so and that although Isaac was young and it would be many years before he inherited his father’s business, the Axfords were a good Quaker family and Hannah must of course marry into the Society of Friends.

Henry decided to walk over to Ludgate Hill to have a word with Mr Axford about his son and Hannah. He talked to Mr Axford who said that Isaac was somewhat young for marriage but that he was no doubt taken with Hannah and as she was a good Quaker he would have no objection to the match. A dowry would be helpful. Grocery was not so profitable as linen-drapering, and Isaac would need to put a little money into the business.

Mr Wheeler explained that he was not in a position to put up a large dowry for a girl who was after all only his niece when he had daughters of his own to think of. But the young couple were clearly attracted. Hannah was constantly making excuses to call at the grocer’s.

‘She comes here rarely,’ said Mr Axford. ‘Only to order the grocery, and then she is in and out in no time.’

Mr Wheeler replied that he had been mistaken in that and doubtless Hannah spent the time at the glass-cutter’s with her friend Jane.

But he was disturbed.

A few days later he was more than disturbed; he was alarmed. He had followed Hannah and Jane and seen them get into the closed carriage; he had gone into a coffee house and sat watching the house in the Haymarket. He had seen Jane and Hannah emerge and get into the carriage; he had waited in the coffee house and seen a young man, little more than a boy, come out of the house. He knew that face. He had seen it many times.

It could not be. It was impossible. But such things had happened before. The closed carriage; the secrecy. Only someone in a high place would make such arrangements. In a high place indeed!

Here was… disaster. Here was scandal. His niece Hannah was clandestinely meeting the Prince of Wales. For what purpose did Princes make assignations with humble girls?

This was disgrace such as had never befallen the Wheeler family before. Death was preferable to dishonour, and Hannah was bringing dishonour to their household. A Quaker girl a Prince’s mistress. Something must be done at once.

But what? Mr Wheeler was a shrewd and cautious man. There was no sense in shouting their disgrace to the housetops. If he did, Hannah’s conduct would bring disrepute to the entire community of Quakers. It was never comfortable to be members of a minority religious group. Such groups were always open to persecution. The essence of the Society of Friends was simplicity, chastity, devotion to duty; and when their members strayed from virtue, when a Quaker girl became a harlot, that was a far greater crime than when a woman who was not a Quaker behaved in such a way.

But there was no sense in publicizing Hannah’s crime.

No one should know of what he had discovered but himself, Lydia and Mary.

Mr Wheeler sent for his wife and sister, and when they arrived he shut the door of his sitting-room and bade them be seated.

‘I have made a terrible discovery,’ he said. ‘We have a sinful woman under this roof.’

Mary’s heart began to leap about in the most uncomfortable manner. Hannah! she thought. What has she done? She is with child. That is why we have seen this change in her lately. This is the end. We shall be turned away.

Lydia was equally alarmed. ‘Pray tell us, Henry,’ she said.

‘It is Hannah. She has a lover.’

Mary moaned softly, and Lydia put her hand to her mouth and cried: ‘No. No.’

‘It is true,’ said Mr Wheeler. ‘She leaves this place in a closed carriage with that wanton Jane who has no doubt led her into this. She goes to a house in the Haymarket to meet her lover.’

‘This is terrible,’ cried Mary. ‘I could wish to die of shame.’

Lydia said: ‘They must be married. It is the only way to rectify the wrong.’

Mr Wheeler’s lips twisted into a grim smile. ‘Marriage is impossible.’

‘A married man…’ whispered Mary.

‘Unmarried.’

‘Then…’

‘His position prevents his marrying Hannah.’

‘Hannah can read and write,’ said Mary almost indignantly. ‘She is so very beautiful. What man considers himself too good for her?’

‘The Prince of Wales, Mary.’

There was a deep silence in the room; then Mary whispered: ‘The Prince of Wales!’ And there was a note of reverence in her voice.

‘The sin does not grow less because of the exalted position of one of the sinful,’ said Mr Wheeler sternly. ‘All men are equal in God’s eyes.’

‘Amen,’ said Lydia.

‘Amen,’ echoed Mary.

‘This has caused me the gravest concern,’ went on Mr Wheeler, ‘and I see only one way out of it. Hannah must be married without delay…to Isaac Axford.’

‘The dowry…’ began Lydia.

‘That is not my least concern, but I must find it. I must satisfy Mr Axford. For of one thing I am certain. There must be no delay.’

There was silence in the room; then Mary began to weep quietly.

‘That I should bring this disgrace to thee, brother, who hast put the bread in our mouths and the roof over our heads…’

Mr Wheeler said softly: ‘Everything is in God’s hands, Mary. Let us pray for His guidance.’

They knelt there in the sitting-room, while above them Hannah, unaware of what was being decided, sat at her window singing softly under her breath and looked out on the sights of the Market.

It was hardly likely that George could keep his secret. He had said nothing of the wonderful thing which had happened to him but his looks betrayed him, and it was very clear to such an observant man as Lord Bute that something had changed George and he guessed that it was a woman.

He was hurt that George had not confided in him; he was alarmed too, for his hold on the young Prince was obviously not as firm as he had believed it to be. It was imperative that Bute did not lose his influence with the Prince. His whole future depended on it. Augusta was his, and he would continue in her favour; he was sure of that. But Augusta was, after all, only the boy’s mother; and her power rested on her ability to keep her influence over him. There was one way of losing it; and that would undoubtedly be through a woman. If George transferred his affections to a mistress and if she were a woman of strong opinions, Bute and Augusta could be powerless. And George was just the kind to become completely enamoured of a clever woman.

Bute therefore set out to discover who it was who, had wrought this change in George.

It was not long before he heard of the closed carriage which arrived at the house in the Haymarket; he had even caught a glimpse of the occupants of the closed carriage. Two women – one obviously a servant, the other a woman of outstanding beauty; and a woman too, not a girl. That was the alarming part. There was a serenity about her which suggested intelligence. Such a woman could completely command George.

There was not a moment to lose. When he told Augusta what he had discovered she could not believe him. George, her little George to so deceive her!

‘He is a man, my dearest. We forget that.’

‘But my George… such a baby! He has never looked at women.’

‘He may have done so when you were not present, my love. In any case, he has looked at this one, and more than looked, I’ll swear. He would not need to hire rooms in the Haymarket just to look. I have found out that he commanded Elizabeth Chudleigh to engage those rooms for him.’

‘Elizabeth Chudleigh! That girl…she is too saucy.’

‘But a woman of the world, surely. It may be that she knows something of this affair.’

‘That’s more than likely. Shall I send for her, John, and question her?’

‘We will question her together.’

When Elizabeth was summoned to the Princess’s presence and heard what she wished to talk about, she believed her dismissal was near. She tried to feel philosophical, but she was alarmed. It would be dreary if she were banished from Court; and perhaps old George would have nothing to offer her. She would go to him, though, with a tale of Bute and the Princess which would amuse him, although, of course, the old hypocrite would pretend to be shocked. But the King disliked Bute heartily, and she would trust to her luck and she would come through.

‘You engaged rooms for the Prince of Wales in the Haymarket,’ said the Princess. ‘I wonder why?’

‘Because, Your Highness, the Prince commanded me to do so.’

‘And you knew of his… er… friendship with a young Quaker woman.’

‘I did, Your Highness.’

‘And you thought it incumbent on you to find the Prince rooms for this purpose.’

‘I thought it incumbent, Madam, to obey the orders of the Prince of Wales.’

‘H’m,’ said the Princess. ‘And here is a pretty state of affairs!’

‘Your Highness is a fond mother and attaches too much importance to a perfectly natural affair, perhaps.’

‘I shall be the best judge of that, Miss Chudleigh. The Prince is very young to indulge in such adventures. I am displeased that you should have aided him in this matter. Tell me what you know of this young woman.’

‘That she is very virtuous, Madam. She is a Quaker.’ She was smiling appealingly from Bute to the Princess. ‘I am sure Your Highness and you, my lord, will understand…’

‘Miss Chudleigh,’ said Lord Bute, ‘can you see any way of extracting the Prince from this delicate situation? If you can, I should advise you to tell the Princess of it.’

Oh, thought Elizabeth. Conditions! Help us or… dismissal. Could she rely on old George?

‘Miss Lightfoot is of a very respectable family. Quakers, Your Highness. And Quakers marry with their own kind. There is a young man who has been chosen for Miss Lightfoot. A grocer… More suitable than the Prince of Wales… but…’

‘Miss Chudleigh,’ said the Princess severely.

But Lord Bute put in: ‘You mean the young woman’s family are arranging a marriage for her with this grocer?’

‘I think he would need a considerable dowry… considerable to a grocer, my lord, but a bagatelle to Her Highness and your lordship… if he were to be hurried into marriage.’

‘Hurried into marriage!’ cried the Princess.

‘The young lady’s new husband would scarcely allow her to visit a young gentleman… even the Prince of Wales, Madam.’

‘Miss Chudleigh,’ said Lord Bute quickly, ‘it might well be that you could be of service in this matter. If you were, I am sure Her Highness would overlook your fault in helping the Prince to find this lodging in the Haymarket.’

‘I should be honoured to be of the smallest service to Her Highness,’ murmured Elizabeth.

Mr Wheeler was not altogether surprised when he received a visit from an unknown gentleman who told him that he had a matter of considerable importance to discuss with him.

As soon as Mr Wheeler ushered him into his private sitting-room he whispered that he came from my Lord Bute, of whose position at Court Mr Wheeler was doubtless aware. Perhaps Mr Wheeler could guess on what mission he came.

Mr Wheeler solemnly declared that he was aware of certain trouble which connected his household with the Court.

‘Your niece, Mr Wheeler, is a very beautiful young woman, and these things will happen. Our desire is to repair any damage as quickly and with as little noise as possible. I am assured that you will wish the same.’

‘It is my heartfelt wish.’

‘You are in a position to arrange the immediate marriage of your niece with a young and respectable grocer, I believe.’

‘Perhaps not immediate,’ replied Wheeler. ‘This matter has been broached between our families and Mr Axford is naturally asking a dowry for his son’s bride. Hannah is my niece and has been brought up in my house, but I have daughters of my own for whom I must provide in due course.’

‘My dear sir, it is precisely on this account that I am here now. It is the desire of everyone who wishes that your niece be happily placed in life to see her married to this worthy young man. I am here to offer him a dowry on your daughter’s behalf of five hundred pounds. Do you think that he would be persuaded to agree to an immediate marriage? That, I must insist, is part of the bargain.’

‘Five hundred pounds!’ cried Mr Wheeler. ‘I am sure there will be no difficulty.’

Hannah was in despair. The Axford family were dining with the Wheelers for it was an occasion for celebration. Hannah was betrothed to Isaac Axford and the marriage was to take place in two days’ time. In view of the haste it would not be advisable for the young couple to marry at the Friends’ Meeting House. There would be too much talk of the haste and the reason for Isaac Axford’s sudden affluence. The family would have to resort to Keith’s Chapel in Curzon Street where it was possible to marry speedily, no questions being asked.

It was a sorry business, Mr Wheeler reckoned. Dr Keith was a marriage-monger who would marry anyone for the sake of his fee; his method was similar to that of the notorious Fleet Marriages when people were married in the prison without licence or banns. This was a pernicious trade because it enabled scoundrels to go through a mock ceremony with innocent young girls, who had believed themselves to be truly married, and these men could, when they desired, abandon their ‘wives’ with the utmost ease and legality. Dr Keith had begun in this way, but being a shrewd businessman he had prospered so much that he had been able to buy land in Curzon Street, Mayfair, and there erect a chapel.

He had become famous; he still married people in the Fleet Prison while he officiated at his chapel, and he even advertised in the papers that people who desired matrimony could achieve it at his chapel in Mayfair with a licence on a common stamp and a guinea.

Dr Keith, it was true had been excommunicated by the Church for these practices; this was an added virtue. Those who did not wish to take marriage seriously declared that since the Doctor was excommunicated the marriage was not legal; and those who wished the marriage to be binding declared that it was so since it had been performed by a priest. Earlier he had been in prison, and in June of this very year the Marriage Act had been passed which declared that banns must be published on three Sundays preceding the ceremony in the church or chapel where the prospective bride and groom lived; that the true names of the parties concerned should be delivered in writing together with their addresses to the ministers one week before the first reading of the banns; that though either party be under twenty-one a minister would not be considered guilty of an offence if parents and guardians of the parties had given no notice of dissent to the proposed marriage. But where they did dissent, the publication of the banns should be void.

When Mr Axford reminded Mr Wheeler of this new law which would mean the delay of the marriage for at least three weeks, Mr Wheeler – who had this special information from his ministerial visitor – was able to assure Mr Axford that although the Bill had been passed and had received the Royal Assent it had not yet been embodied in the Statute Book and it would not actually be law until the following year. There was nothing therefore to delay the marriage; it should take place in Keith’s Chapel two days from now; there should be little fuss; there would be a quiet celebration at the bride’s home, and after that Isaac could take her to her new home in Ludgate Hill.

Jane came to see Hannah and slipped up to her room unseen by the Wheelers, for she had become unpopular in that household. Hannah was sitting by the window, a figure of melancholy.

‘Jane!’ she cried.

‘Yes,’ said Jane. ‘Here I am. They didn’t see me slip up.’

‘They will be angry if they know you are here.’

‘Oh yes, I am blamed, I know.’

‘What am I going to do Jane? I am going to be married… married to Isaac Axford!’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Jane. ‘But don’t despair. Mr Ems has been to see me.’

‘What!’

‘Now listen. The Prince refuses to lose you.’

‘He is but a boy… the dearest best boy in the world but only a boy.’

‘Nonsense! He’s a man. He must be… because he is determined to keep you.’

‘But how can he. He is romantic. They will never let me out except to go to Dr Keith’s Chapel. Oh, Jane, it is all over.’

‘It is just beginning,’ said Jane.

‘Do you realize that I am going to be married to Isaac Axford in two days from now?’

‘Yes, you are.’

Hannah shivered.

‘There’s nothing to fear. It’s better for you to be a married woman, because the Prince can’t marry you, can he?’

Hannah laughed ruefully. ‘He will be King of England.’

‘That’s so. It is why he can’t marry you, though he would if he could. So you are going to marry Isaac… but you are not going to Ludgate Hill.’

‘What dost thou mean?’

‘You are going to a place he has prepared for you.’

‘Jane, what art thou saying?’

‘It’s all arranged. Mr Ems, Miss Chudleigh… the Prince himself… they’re going to see that you don’t go to Ludgate Hill… instead you are going somewhere else… with the Prince. Oh, it’s wonderful! You are the luckiest woman alive. Loved by a Prince! Now listen. This is what I’ve got to tell you. You’ll go to Keith’s Chapel. You’ll be married to Isaac and then you will all come back here for the wedding celebrations.’

‘Yes,’ said Hannah.

‘A man will come into the Market… you must listen for him. He will be playing a pipe and a tabor.’

‘Yes… yes…’

‘The children will run to the window to watch him. Doubtless there will be a juggler with him. The children will want to see it. The elders too. While they are looking, you slip out the back way to Jermyn Street. You will find a carriage there… waiting for you.’

‘Jane. Is it true?’

‘You didn’t think the Prince would leave you to Isaac, did you?’

‘No, I did not.’

Hannah threw herself into Jane’s arms. ‘I thought I would have rather died,’ she said.

‘Don’t talk of dying. You’re just beginning to live.’

‘Jane, how can I thank thee for all thou hast done?’

‘Don’t worry about me. I’m safe enough. We’re setting up in the glass-cutting business… on our own, think of that. That’s my reward. Half already paid, and the rest when you’re safely with the Prince.’

‘Jane… I’m so happy for thee.’

‘And I for yourself too, I should think. What a happy day when you decided to sit in the window and watch the Prince go by.’

The ceremony was brief. Hannah was Mrs Isaac Axford. The Wheelers were a little ashamed that it had had to be such a hole and corner affair, but the Axfords were delighted. Five hundred pounds dowry! Isaac was a lucky man – all that, and a beautiful bride into the bargain!

The bride was clearly nervous, but that was to be expected.

The brief ceremony over, the guinea paid, the certificate declaring Isaac Axford of St Martin’s, Ludgate, to be married to Hannah Lightfoot of St James’s, Westminster, signed by Dr Keith’s representatives; and the entry was made in the registers of the Mayfair Chapel. The little party came back to the linen-draper’s shop in St James’s Market and there Mary and Lydia busied themselves in the kitchen.

Hannah went to her room to take off her cloak. She looked about it; it might well be the last time she would see it, if it happened as Jane said it would. If the player and juggler came into the Market.

What if they did not? That was more than she could bear to contemplate. He must come. The Prince must be waiting to carry her away.

He will come, she told herself. She thought of those conversations in the Haymarket, that adoration he had shown her, that wonderful respect. How could she endure Isaac Axford when she thought of her Prince!

But he was only a boy and he was governed by great men. They would never allow him to take her away… she had been a fool to imagine it was possible… a fool to hope!

Yet how could she endure a life with Isaac in the grocer’s shop on Ludgate Hill? I shall never never know happiness again, thought Hannah, unless the miracle happens.

‘Hannah, where art thou?’ It was her mother’s voice strained and nervous, yet somehow proud, proud because she had brought Isaac such a dowry and had been admired by the Prince of Wales.

She would have to leave her mother, but she could not help it. She would leave not only her mother but her cousins and the good home which had been hers for so many years, for the sake of the Prince.

In the big sitting-room which overlooked the Market they were all assembled. Hannah joined them, her eyes straying to the window, as she listened for the sound of a pipe or a tabor.

He will not come, she thought. It is all a dream. It is hoping for a miracle. He is only a boy without power. I shall have nothing for the rest of my life but the memory that he loved me.

‘Listen.’ It was little four-year-old Hannah. ‘Oh, Papa, listen. The pipe.’

She was at the window. Henry was beside her and Rebecca was calling out with pleasure.

There was the man with the pipe and the tabor; there was the juggler.

‘Papa, Papa, look!’

The dream was coming true. They were at the window… all of them.

She was out of the door, down the back stairs; she did not feel the cold December air, although she was without her cloak. She ran as fast as she could and there in Jermyn Street, as Jane had said, was the carriage waiting.

The door was open and she stepped in.

He was there. The Prince in person. For the first time he took her into his arms.

The door was shut; the carriage started up; and the sweetest music in the world to Hannah was the sound of horse’s hooves on the cobbled streets.