The Prince and the Quakeress: (Georgian Series) (29 page)

Then George said: ‘The children… ?’

‘I have discovered where they are. They are being well cared for.’

‘But who… who has done this?’

‘She had an uncle. Did she never speak to you of him?’

‘Was it someone named Pearne?’

‘Why yes… I believe it was.’

‘I had heard her mention an uncle. He left her a little money some years ago. Forty pounds a year it was…’

‘It must be a member of his family.’

‘You have seen him?’

‘No, but I have seen a man whom I can trust. A priest – a chaplain to the King at one time: Zachary Brooke.’

‘Zachary Brooke. I do not know him.’

‘He has a living at Islington. Apparently his help was called and he was present at Hannah’s death. He has buried her in his churchyard.’

‘But why…’

‘He cannot tell me details, he says. He has been sworn to secrecy. Presumably the lady’s relations made these arrangements.’

‘And the children? What of the children?’

‘They are safe in the household of a very worthy gentleman in Surrey. John and Sarah MacKelcan will take good care of them and bring them up as their own. Your Highness can visit them whenever you wish. You can watch over them in the future. The only thing, of course, is that they will be known as MacKelcan, and it will be wise, of course, if they remain so.’

‘Everything seems to have been so efficiently taken care of,’ stammered George.

‘I doubt not this is due to that relative of the lady’s. This uncle must have had her good at heart to leave her this money.’

‘It seems so strange… I cannot believe it. Hannah to die like that… and myself not to be there.’

Lord Bute laid his hand on the Prince’s arm. ‘This is a strange affair from beginning to end. You must try to forget it.’

‘I shall never forget her. I can’t take this in. I can’t believe it. I shall never believe it. It’s so strange. Why did she not send for me? A message would have brought me to her bedside.
I
should have arranged these matters… not this relation.’

‘She had her reasons.’

‘I can’t understand.’

‘I can,’ said Lord Bute softly.

‘I feel bewildered. There is so much I want to know.’

‘There is one thing of which Your Highness can have no doubt. That is my affection for you, my. desire to protect you from trouble.’

‘Oh yes… yes, I know.’

‘Then this is my advice. Plead, a little sickness. I will have the doctor prepare a sedative for you… something which will make
you sleep. You have had a terrible shock. When you awake tomorrow you will feel refreshed and you will be able to see these things in a new light.’

‘I shall never see Hannah’s loss in any other way than the bitterest misfortune of my life.’

‘My dear Highness, believe me, time helps. In a few months time the pain will be less acute. I can assure you of this. Pray do as I tell you. Rest now… and rely on me. I shall be with you. And when you are in any dilemma, any need of help… I beg of you trust me.’

George nodded blindly and allowed Lord Bute to send for the doctor. His lordship explained that a mild sedative was all the Prince needed and when it was administered he helped the Prince to bed and sat in his room until he slept.

*

‘How did he take it?’ asked the Princess Dowager.

‘As I expected. He can’t grasp it, of course.’

‘At times I think he is such a fool.’

‘Poor boy! He is too innocent for this world.’

‘When I think of what this could have led to, I shiver with fear and shudder with mortification.’

‘Let us be grateful that we learned of it in time.’

‘Do you think this will be an end of the matter?’

Lord Bute shrugged his shoulders and looked melancholy.

‘At least,’ he said, ‘now we are out of the dark. We can take care of him now.’

‘It’s clearly time he married.’

‘Clearly time. But this will mean that there must necessarily be some delay. He has to recover from his broken heart.’

The Princess made an impatient sound.

‘Poor George!’ sighed Bute. ‘But the sooner we have found a suitable wife for him the more comfortable we shall feel.’

The Princess grimaced. And what would be the effect of a wife on George? If a simple little Quakeress could lead him to such heights of folly what could a Princess, probably brought up to be a Queen, do?

Whatever happened they must keep a firm grip on their young Prince; and it was shattering to both to know that such a calamity could have occurred without their knowledge.

George should be carefully watched in future.

It was clearly very necessary with such a simple honest young man.

*

George could not believe that Hannah was dead. The more he thought of the extraordinary story Lord Bute had discovered, the more incredible it seemed.

‘Why,’ he cried again and again, ‘I am sure she would have sent for me. She would have wanted to say goodbye. She would have wanted to hand the children to me; she would have wanted assurances that I would care for them.’

‘She knew you would care for them,’ Bute pointed out.

And George at least agreed that that was so.

‘I must see this man… what is his name? This priest…’

‘This… er… Zachary Brooke.’

‘Yes. You have seen him. I must do the same. I must hear the story from his lips.’

‘Your Highness cannot doubt my word?’

‘Oh… no… no! But I must see him. I want to hear how it happened. I want to see her tomb. I want to pray there. Don’t you understand?’

‘Certainly I understand.’

‘Well, then, I will go and see him.’

‘Would Your Highness like me to accompany you?’

‘Oh yes, please. And today…’

‘I’m afraid that would not be possible. It will be necessary to find out when the Reverend Brooke can see us.’

‘When he can see
us
!’

‘You will not go as the Prince of Wales, remember. I do not think he is aware… At least I am not sure of that. Your Highness, now that this dear lady is dead, there can be no point in raising scandal. You see that, I am sure. No good can be served by making this matter public. You have your duty to the crown…’

‘Yes, I see that. I must do my duty. That at least is left to me.’

‘A high and noble destiny. You will find it will be your consolation, your solace. Allow me to investigate this matter and in a day or so we will go to Islington to see the Reverend Zachary Brooke.’

*

The Reverend Zachary Brooke received his distinguished guests
with many expressions of respect, and it was clear that, in spite of Lord Bute’s comments, he was aware who his visitors were.

‘It is no use attempting to hide our identity,’ said Lord Bute, smiling at the Prince. ‘Your face has become too well known.’

The Reverend Zachary Brooke declared that it was his pleasure and duty to serve his future King in any capacity in which he was called upon to do so.

‘The lady you buried here…’

‘Ah yes. So young and beautiful.’

‘You were with her at the end?’

‘I was called to her.’

‘Who called you?’

‘I believe she had asked for me. The gentleman who was dealing with her affairs sent for me.’

‘Who was this gentleman? What was his name?’

The Reverend Zachary Brooke wrinkled his brows. ‘It slips my memory…’

‘Was it Pearne?’

‘It could well have been. Now Your Highness mentions it, I believe it was.’

‘I see,’ said the Prince. ‘Take me to her grave.’

He and Lord Bute were led into the churchyard to a grave above which a stone had been erected. It was clearly a very new stone and as the Prince examined it he gave a cry of dismay because the name on it was not that of Hannah but Rebecca Powell.

‘This is not the grave.’

The priest nodded. ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

‘But that name…’

‘Will your lordship explain?’

Lord Bute assured him that he would.

‘This is the grave,’ he said. ‘There are reasons why the name on the stone is not that of the lady who is buried here. I will talk to you on the way back. But at the moment rest assured that you are standing at the grave you have come to see.’

It was too bewildering, thought the Prince; it was like a nightmare that was made up of one fantastic scene after another. No sooner had he entered that empty silent house than the phantasmagoria had begun and it went on and on growing wilder and more macabre with every fresh image.

Oh, Hannah, Hannah, he thought, are you indeed under that stone? Is it true that I shall never see you again?

Lord Bute touched the priest’s arm and they left him there.

*

On the way back to Kew, Lord Bute talked of the future. A King’s life belonged to his people. He knew that the Prince was a man who would take his duties seriously. He must put the past behind him. He must forget this episode. It was sad in the extreme; it was regrettable. But had the Prince thought of what would happen if Hannah had lived?

He was the Prince of Wales, shortly to become the King of England. His marriage was a solemn affair. Did he not realize this?

Could he have presented a lady of the people – however accomplished, however good and charming – to this people and said: ‘Here is my Queen. We have several children already, born before wedlock and although we have lived together for five… six… or was it seven years? . . . we have only just sought the benefit of clergy on our union.’

Oh no. That was not the way for a King to treat his people.

He must think first always of the good of his people. He must never for one moment act without considering them. This was one of the penalties of kingship. There were blessings; but a King’s duty to his people came before anything else.

Lord Bute believed that when the Prince had grown away from this tragedy, when he saw it in its right perspective he would begin to see God’s hand in this; and he would cease to mourn as bitterly as now he could not help doing.

‘Hannah would have made a great Queen,’ said George.

‘There is no doubt of it,’ soothed Lord Bute. ‘But it was not the will of God.’

And that was something George had to accept.

A Sad Farewell

ALL THROUGH THE
summer months George mourned his loss. Sometimes he would awake from a dream in which he had heard Hannah, calling for him. Sometimes he dreamed of a grave in Islington churchyard… of a new stone on which the words Rebecca Powell had changed to Hannah’s name. There was one nightmare which recurred now, in which he was digging up the grave; in his dream he exposed the coffin; he tore off the lid and there smiling at him was a woman who was not Hannah.

That dream was the most disturbing of all.

He never mentioned his dreams to Lord Bute. It was not that his dearest friend was not sympathetic; it was not that he murmured one reproach; but George himself felt a certain guilt because he had never confided in his friend, who had been everything a father could to him.

The one person to whom he could most easily talk was his sister Elizabeth and he went to her room as much as possible. She was spending almost the whole time in bed, for she was more easily fatigued than ever. When he expressed anxiety over this she would smile and say: ‘It’s a miserable old body, George. But never mind. Such as I have to live for the spirit.’

And what a spirit she had. She never complained; her face would light up with joy when he visited her, as though he were conferring an honour; he felt humble in her presence and at the same time completely at ease.

He could tell her of the dreams. She listened with rapt attention. ‘As time passes they will cease to haunt you,’ she assured him.

Once she told him – this was some time after that visit to Islington when he had ceased to think of Hannah every moment of the day: ‘George, perhaps it was for the best.’

‘For the best!’ He was aghast.

‘Oh, my dearest brother,’ she begged, ‘imagine it. You, the Prince of Wales… to have married in this way. The people would never have accepted her.’

‘If you had known Hannah… She was so good… so gentle…’

‘I know, George, but they expect a Prince… a King… to marry a Princess, and do you think Hannah would have been happy… as a Queen! Imagine all the scandal, the intrigue. It was no life for her. No, George, I think she would have been unhappy, and you would have been unhappy to see her so. I know it seems hard to accept now, but I do believe that everything has happened for the best. The children are well cared for. You have seen them?’

‘Yes,’ said George. ‘They seem to have accepted their new parents without question.’

‘Children do. Thank God that they are so young. And perhaps in time you will come to thank Him for the way everything has turned out.’

‘Never,’ cried George.

But Elizabeth was sure; and she knew something which he did not; he was already growing away from the tragedy. If, she thought, he could have said goodbye to her, if he could have given her that last embrace at her death-bed, if the affair could have been neatly labelled ‘Finished,’ it would have been easier to forget.

Mysteries have long lives, thought Elizabeth.

*

Elizabeth Chudleigh was in a quandary. She had very successfully skated over the thin ice of her relations with the Princess
Dowager. The Princess avoided her as much as possible, but when they did encounter each other was coolly affable. I am safe there, thought Elizabeth grimly.

But her luck was out – or was it? She could not make sure. Clever people never waited for luck to come their way; they find a means of making it do so. That was the way she had always worked.

She had her certificate of marriage; the entry was safe in the register; but that irritating old man the Earl of Bristol refused to die. In fact he had recovered and looked as though he would continue to survive for several more years.

‘And I do not grow younger!’ sighed Elizabeth. She had to admit she was well past her first youth. While one remained in the lower thirties one could, if one were clever enough, continue to be young, but when one hurried towards forty… ugh! And she still had not the title she longed for.