The Prince and the Quakeress

Visit from a Blindfolded Doctor

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.

‘And I have waited too. I have thought of you constantly. My grandfather sent for me because of my birthday.’

‘Yes, your birthday…’ She smiled secretly. She had a gift for him. It would be something wrought with her own hands, something he would treasure for always. An embroidered waistcoat perhaps; she was so clever with her needle, but always careful not to prick her fingers. ‘Thou wouldst not wish me to be as a sewing-woman in thy mother’s palace.’ He had laughed and told her that he would not care how she pricked her fingers. When she talked of his mother’s palace he was always tenderly amused, for she had no notion of what a Court household was like, and George was not fluent enough to describe it so vividly as to make the picture clear. She doubtless had visions of a Sultan’s Palace of the utmost magnificence and the King walking about in a golden crown.

Sometimes he wished he could show her his grandfather in one of his rages, his wig awry, his face scarlet, spitting as he roared and shouted at this ninny or that puppy. A very different picture from Hannah’s King, he was sure.

He linked his arm in hers and they went to her rooms on the ground floor. The heavy curtains obscured the windows… it was a luxurious prison, thought George.

When he kissed her, when they made love, he thought there was something changed about her. He was not sure, for he was neither very sensitive nor observant. But she seemed remote, more ethereal than usual.

It was later that she told him.

‘George, we are to have a child.’

His emotions were great but mixed. He would be a father. It was a matter over which any man must rejoice. A child… his child. How strange! How wonderful! He wanted to tell everyone – his mother, Lord Bute, his brothers and sisters… even his grandfather. Oh yes, he even wanted to tell his old grandfather. ‘You call me a ninny, a baby tied to his mother’s apron strings, a puppy – but I’m man enough to be a father.’ But how could he tell anyone. This was another secret. No one must know. The birth of the child would have to be kept secret for ever… Now he was aghast. What had they done? It was all very well to sin oneself and be prepared to take the consequences. But this was involving others… This was involving a child.

‘I see thou art disturbed,’ said Hannah.

‘It… it is wonderful… We are to have a child! But… I think…’

‘I know. I think, too. This child will be without a name. It will be a bastard.’

‘Oh, don’t call our child that, Hannah.’

‘But it is what the child will be. We must face the truth, George. We cannot hide from truth.’

‘We will love this child, we will cherish it… we will plan for its happiness. It shall be happy as no child ever was before.’

‘But in time it will know the truth, George, that we brought it into this world when we had no right to do so. I am a sinful woman and I fear for this child.’ She turned to him and her face was radiant. ‘Yet I rejoice. I cry “My spirit doth rejoice in God my saviour.” I do not know what has happened to me, George. I am steeped in sin and yet I am so happy.’

‘We will find a way,’ he said. ‘Hannah we will find a way of pleasing… God.’

She looked at him tenderly and shook her head. ‘Perhaps I should go away. Perhaps I should return to my people… repentant and contrite.’

‘Return to Isaac Axford?’

‘Oh… no… never, never…’

‘That is what they would call repenting. To live with him, to bear his children…’

‘To stand up in the Steeple House, to confess my sin. That I could do… but return to him… never.’

George said: ‘I shall be King of this country. When I am, I shall know what to do. You must think of nothing but the child. It would be bad for it if you fretted. Remember that. And leave it to me. I will think of what we must do.’

On his way back to Leicester House he could not suppress his excitement.

I am about to be a father. I, George, Prince of Wales!

This would be the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me if only…

Recently he had gained confidence. Everyone paid homage to him. His mother listened to him with more attention than she ever had before. Lord Bute was respectful. And even the King could not command him to do what he did not want.

He must not forget that he was the Prince of Wales and that one day he would be King. Kings were meant to govern, so said Lord Bute and he was a very wise and clever man.

Surely it was within the means of a King to discover a way round a situation like the one in which he found himself.

He wanted to talk to someone about it and whom could he trust but his favourite brother and sister.

He called Edward and together they went to Elizabeth’s apartment. Poor Elizabeth, it was one of her bad days and she was unable to leave her bed. She looked very wan propped up with pillows, but at least one did not see her deformity in this position.

‘I have some news for you,’ said George. ‘I don’t know what you will think of it.’

‘Well, let’s hear and we’ll tell you,’ retorted Edward.

‘I am going to be a father.’

He looked from one to the other. Edward’s mouth had opened in surprise; a faint colour touched Elizabeth’s cheeks, making her look almost healthy.

Elizabeth spoke first: ‘So Hannah is with child.’

George nodded.

‘What are you going to do about it?’ asked Edward.

‘Do? What can I do?’

‘Is Hannah happy?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘She is both happy and sad. She is happy because she longs for the child and unhappy because of the circumstances.’

‘Poor Hannah! And you, George?’

‘I wish to God I could marry Hannah.’

‘They would never allow it.’

‘No. And there is Mr Axford.’

‘It was a marriage mill,’ said Elizabeth. ‘So perhaps if it were possible it could be proved that the marriage was not legal and that Hannah was free.’

‘Oh, do you think that could be.’

‘Marriages like that are illegal,’ said Edward. ‘If you married Hannah, and if this child is a boy it could be a King of England, think of that.’

‘Children can be made legitimate, I believe, even if the parents were not married at their birth,’ said Elizabeth.

George’s blue eyes were shining with purpose. ‘I shall not rest,’ he said, ‘until I have righted this.’

‘George,’ cried Elizabeth, suddenly fearful, ‘will you promise never to do anything… that might be considered rash… without first telling me about it.’

George was at his sister’s bedside; he took her thin hand and kissed it.

‘I swear that I will consult you first.’

She seemed relieved.

‘It is most exciting,’ said Edward. ‘George, I never thought you’d have it in you. When we used to sit in the schoolroom while we cogitated over those ridiculous problems and I copied the answers I used to think Old George will always be the good and respectable member of the family.’

‘I always wanted to be good and respectable,’ George admitted. ‘It is strange how fate seemed to decide against one’s own decision and make one what one is not.’

‘We always have the chance to go our own way,’ Elizabeth reminded him.

‘It’s true,’ put in Edward. ‘If you had taken one look into that linen-draper’s window and then looked away and forgotten all about the girl you saw there this would not have happened. You would have been cosily married either to one of the Wolfenbüttels of Grandfather’s choice or the Saxe-Gothas of our mother’s. Perhaps you would have been about to be a father. You see it is in our own hands.’

Elizabeth was watching her elder brother anxiously. But he had promised to let her know before he did anything rash.

The Prince was not subtle enough to hide his feelings and Elizabeth Chudleigh recognized the change in him and guessed its cause.

‘A natural and not unexpected result,’ she chuckled. ‘What now?’

Whatever it was she decided to have a place in the centre of affairs.

As soon as she had an opportunity of speaking to him alone she told him that she was sure there was something about which she should congratulate him.

He looked startled. ‘How… how did you know?’

‘Oh…’ she smiled wisely and with the utmost affection. ‘Perhaps it is knowing Your Highness so well, having Your Highness’s welfare at heart. I sensed that something of importance has happened.’

The Prince had unconsciously pressed his lips together.

‘Your Highness should not imagine that I wish to pry. I only want to tell Your Highness that if at any time you should need my help…’

‘You are very good, Miss Chudleigh. I shall never forget how good.’

‘Then if there is anything I can do at any time…’

‘Oh yes, yes, indeed. I know I can ask you because I know I can trust you.’

As she had guessed, it was not long before he was confiding in her.

Hannah was going to have a child and he naturally wanted the best attention for her. He believed that a lady might help him best in this matter.

He was right about that, Elizabeth assured him. In fact she had some knowledge of these matters. Some of the maids of honour… Oh, the Prince must not be too harsh in his judgment of these giddy young girls. They were careless, thoughtless and they found themselves in this kind of trouble. She had helped more than one.

‘But how?’

‘Taking them away from Court… perhaps some servant’s house… and there taking a doctor to them.’

‘I should want this to be very secret.’

‘It could be arranged so that even the doctor did not know whom he was attending.’

‘But this would have to be a very qualified doctor.’

‘Naturally. Has Your Highness anyone in mind?’

‘Y… yes. Dr Fothergill.’

‘The Quaker!’

George nodded.

‘Well, it is natural that she should wish for one of her own sect.’

‘Being a Quaker he may not consent to…’

‘Not a bit of it, Your Highness. I know Dr Fothergill well. He is not a very stern Quaker. He will wish to serve Your Highness.’

‘But he is not to know.’

‘Of course not. I will tell him it is a person in a very high place. I will accompany him in the carriage and when we reach a certain point he must consent to be blindfolded.’

‘Blindfolded!’

‘It is an old method, Your Highness. Doctors have attended ladies in extraordinary circumstances before. You may safely leave this to me. I will approach Dr Fothergill. I will tell him his services are needed; and then when the time comes I will take him to Tottenham, but before we reach the house I shall blindfold him, and the bandage will not be taken from his eyes until he is actually in the room with the patient. Then he will do what is necessary, we shall blindfold him again and then… when we are back in London the bandage will be removed from his eyes. He will be well paid… paid a little extra, of course, Your Highness…’

‘Of course.’

‘And that is an end to the matter. You have had the doctor you wished for; he has delivered the child safely; and he cannot be sure where he has been or whom he has delivered.’

‘It sounds very cléver.’

‘But I do assure Your Highness that it has been done many times before.’

‘I shall pass on this information. I am sure it will give great relief. And when the time comes…’

‘When the time comes, you can count on me, Your Highness.’

So, when Hannah’s time came, Elizabeth was there with Dr Fothergill, the not-too-stern Quaker, who was delighted to act as instructed. Such commissions were always very profitable and he had undertaken them before and he was becoming known throughout the Court for his discretion… not the least important quality in such a doctor’s reputation.

He rode out to Tottenham in the company of that fascinating, mysterious and rather wicked young woman, Miss Chudleigh, allowed himself to be blindfolded at the appropriate moment, and entering a house, the destination of which he could not be sure but could vaguely guess, he delivered a very personable young woman, whom he quickly discovered to be of his faith, of a healthy girl.