‘I have friends…’
‘You would… Oh, Miss Chudleigh!’
She curtsied and raised her mischievous eyes to his face. ‘Did I not tell Your Highness that I wished to serve you. Now you tell me all you can and I will see what can be done. Only this must be a secret. If you told your mother… Heaven knows what would happen to the young lady.’
‘I fear my mother would not wish me to meet her.’
‘Ah, mothers! It is the same with my own. Do you know she regards me as an infant in arms even now. But we have to remember that we are grown up, although it does no harm to let our mothers go on believing we are babies if it pleases them. Why shouldn’t everyone be pleased?’
‘That is what I want… to please everyone.’
‘Let me discover what can be done. I think I can promise you that, very soon you will have been able to tell your beautiful Quakeress how much you admire her.’
‘And you will tell no one?’
‘Trust me. As soon as I have news I will give it to Your Highness.’
‘I do not know how to thank you, Miss Chudleigh.’
‘It is I who should thank you for giving me a chance to be of service.’
Elizabeth was enjoying her part in the Prince’s first love affair. Intrigue fascinated her; and it was quite right, she assured herself, that the poor boy should be cut free from his mother’s apron strings; and who more able to do that than a mistress.
He was young, but not too young. It was a man’s desires which decided for him when he should begin his love life; and George’s had evidently decided for him. Let him have a mistress or two and the Princess Dowager and her paramour Lord Bute would find they could not guide their little Prince as easily as they had hoped. It would be fun to watch the breakaway.
In the meantime the rendezvous with the fair lady had to be arranged. It was not so easy as she had at first imagined. The girl was a Quakeress and therefore it would be impossible to call at the linen-draper’s and explain the Prince’s interest in the fair inmate of that establishment. First of all she must sound the young lady’s inclinations. If she were agreeable it would be so much easier; not that Elizabeth would entirely dismiss the possibility of abduction. After all it was for the Prince of Wales; and reluctant ladies could becoming willing ones in certain circumstances.
This was a project after her own heart. She paid a visit to the linen-draper’s where she was treated with great respect. These Quakers were good business-folk and Mr Wheeler paid due homage to ladies of quality in his shop no matter how he might disapprove of them in his back parlour.
His wife was present and it was easy to indulge in a little conversation with her about her children. They all seemed so young. Then she made the discovery that the young lady in question was not a Miss Wheeler; she was Miss Hannah Lightfoot, niece of the linen-draper who had been sheltered under his roof from an early age. Fortunately before she left Hannah came into the shop. She was a beauty; there was no doubt about that. George had chosen well. He had better taste than his father or grandfather – as for his great-grandfather, every man in England had better taste than he had! But Hannah was indeed a beauty. What luminous dark eyes, what grace! Even the austere Quaker gown could not hide her charms. Worthy… indeed worthy to be the mistress of the Prince of Wales.
Elizabeth spoke to her. Her voice was low and soft; yet, thought Elizabeth, there was sparkle in her; she might well be ready for adventure. And why not? This sombre shop was no place for a beauty like that.
It’s my duty, Elizabeth told herself, to bring her out of it. If I needed to salve my conscience, which I don’t because I don’t possess one, but if I did, I should have a very good reason for proceeding with this most amusing affair.
She graciously took her leave.
What next? There was a man of whom she had heard who kept a house in Pall Mall; he had worked for several people at Court and she had heard that he could supply certain services as efficiently as any. He could arrange meetings in the most secret and unlikely places; he was discreet; ready to help any in need of help. He was expensive, but this after all was the Prince of Wales.
Masked and cloaked she called on Mr Jack Ems of Pall Mall – an assumed name doubtless, which added to the excitement. Not that she would give her name. He received her in a beautifully furnished apartment and she told him that she wished to arrange a meeting between two people.
Nothing could be simpler. Was the meeting to take place in London?
Most decidedly. The gentleman concerned was very young and of very high degree. Mr Ems would be surprised if he knew how high.
Very young and very highly placed. Her ladyship could rely on Mr Ems’ discretion.
‘I must,’ said Elizabeth. ‘If I could not this could cause consternation in very high circles, in roy…’ She pretended to stop herself in time and Mr Ems was duly impressed. A man of his alertness would know that she was referring to the Prince of Wales; and he would bring forth all his ingenuity to execute this commission with all his power and skill.
‘The difficulty is the lady. She must be sounded. Not even the exalted young gentleman has an idea of how she will receive this proposal.’
‘I am to… er… sound her?’
‘You are to find some means of sounding her.’
‘I will do it.’
‘Don’t be too optimistic. She is a Quakeress, very sternly brought up. You will have to go to work very carefully.’
‘Ah.’ He was shaken. He could deal with most difficulties, but this was a big one. ‘If your ladyship will give me all particulars I will do whatever is possible and I can tell you this: if Jack Ems can’t bring about the desired result, then, my lady, no one can.’
‘I am sure of it. She is Hannah Lightfoot, niece to the Quaker linen-draper of St James’s Market.’
He nodded grimly.
‘Do not attempt to approach me. I will call on you in three days time and I hope that by then you will have something to tell me.’
Jack Ems was in a quandary. He had visited the linen-draper’s and made some purchases, for his wife, he explained, who was unable to leave her home. The linen-draper himself served him. Jack Ems knew the type. Stern, upright, moral; if he made the sort of proposal he had come to make to such a man he would promptly be shown the door. No bribes would suffice. If the King himself commanded Mr Wheeler to hand over his niece Mr Wheeler would firmly refuse. A weighty problem, and Mr Ems was searching his mind to find some way out.
He had walked far, he said, having come from Hammersmith. The roads were so bad and the mud of Piccadilly was unbelievable. Might he sit down for a moment? He was given an opportunity to observe Quaker hospitality when Mrs Wheeler brought him a glass of ale.
He sat sipping it, listening to the conversation of Mr Wheeler and his customers – ladies from Knightsbridge and Bayswater who had been dealing with Mr Wheeler for years. They enquired after the family. And how was Miss Rebecca’s toothache? Little Hannah was growing fast…
Little Hannah! Jack Ems pricked up his ears and hoped for some comment on that other Hannah. None came.
If she would appear in the shop, if he had a chance of seeing her… He went on sipping his ale, desperately seeking to form a plan.
Good luck was with him. A young woman came into the shop, and he was immediately alert. She was pretty and young, and being a student of human nature – as his business demanded he should be – he detected a certain petulance about her.
‘Good afternoon, Jane. Hannah is sewing in her room. Thou mayest go up.’
Mrs Wheeler came over to him to ask if he would like more ale.