'No. I thought not. Oh well, here you are and the garden looks pretty and that's a new gown. It's lovely. And you're beautiful Hannah and I'm not surprised there's been all this stir about you. Now, how do you like my new silk.'

Hannah liked it very well and as she smiled and chatted with Jane she was thinking: Cast out. Disowned. And when Jane had left she sat down and thought about the room over the linen-draper's shop and all the kindness Uncle Wheeler had shown to her and her mother when they had had nowhere to go.

George found her a little melancholy.

'You look sad,' he said, 'but so beautiful. I'd like to have a portrait of you just as you look now.'

She tried to throw off her melancholy but she could not and at length she confessed that she had been cast out by the Society of Friends.

George embraced her, swore eternal devotion and tried to cheer her.

But he too was a little sad, wis.h.i.+ng as fervently as she did that they could marry and put an end to this feeling of sinfulness which was constantly between them and their happiness.

It was a comfort to be able to talk of his affairs with the brother and sister he loved dearly. Edward was only a year younger than he was, and although Elizabeth was three years his junior she had a wisdom which neither of her brothers possessed, for she had read a great deal more than they had, and although shut away from the world in common with her brothers and sisters, reading had given her some knowledge of it.

George loved Elizabeth tenderly; she aroused in him the deepest pity; she was very deformed, one shoulder being higher than the other and she limped painfully so that it was impossible for her to dance or run or even walk very much. She was good-natured and seemed to accept her disabilities philosophically, never complaining. Their mother and Lord Bute seemed scarcely aware of her existence. Poor girl, she would be at the Court for the rest of her life; there would be no marriage for her, so she would be useless as a bargaining counter; she would just be there, evidence of one of the Princess Augusta's less successful examples of child-bearing.

She aroused all the chivalry in George's nature. He told her: 'You and I will be together all our lives. Perhaps it is wrong of me to be glad about that, but I can't help it.'

Whereupon Elizabeth smiled her gentle smile and said: 'You mean, brother, that because I'm deformed and what people kindly call "homely" I shall never be commanded to marry and leave home. I, too, rejoice that I shall never leave you. So you see good cometh out of evil.'

Now it was pleasant to tell these two of his difficulties.

'I am a husband and yet no husband. How I wish I were truly married to Hannah!'

'I'll swear Hannah is very happy to have you at any price she has had to pay,' suggested Elizabeth.

'Shut away in that house! Never knowing when the Quakers will ride up and take her away. What an adventure,' cried Edward.

Elizabeth smiled. 'You speak as though Quakers were the French army, Edward. They are a mild people. They don't believe in taking life. I have been reading about them. In fact, since George and Hannah have been together I have been reading everything I can find about them. The Society of Friends! Don't you think that it is a pleasant way to describe themselves?'

George sat back in his chair, his eyes half closed. The next best thing to being with Hannah was to be with Elizabeth, to know that she followed every phase of his life; that she was always beside him, his very dear friend and sister who would be there until the end of his life.

'I have been reading about George Fox who founded the Society. Oh, he was a great man the son of a weaver in Leicesters.h.i.+re. "None are true believers but those who have pa.s.sed from death to life by being born of G.o.d," he said. "G.o.d does not dwell in temples made by hands, but in human hearts." I think that is a wonderful sentiment. And it's true.'

'Oh yes, it's true,' cried George. 'I should like to be a Quaker.'

'That,' retorted Edward, 'would be quite impossible, for when you are crowned King of England you will have to swear allegiance to the Church of England the Reformed Faith.'

'It is not so different,' protested George.

'Oh, George, you must not think of it,' said Elizabeth. 'If you told Lord Bute or Mamma that you wished to be a Quaker they would be truly alarmed. You don't know what they would do.'

'What could they do?' demanded Edward.

Elizabeth was silent. She looked at George dearest of brothers, kindest of friends and she was afraid. He was so good, and being simple in his goodness George was inclined to believe that everyone was as good as he was. What were they thinking now of his connection with Hannah? They deplored it, of course. If he had a mistress... two or three mistresses... about the Court, if he had behaved like a l.u.s.ty young man in an immoral society where he, on account of his position could enjoy special privileges, they would have shrugged their shoulders and smiled. But George was not an immoral young man; he was a good young man who had fallen in love and believed it was for ever; he wanted his union sanctified by marriage and that was something these worldly people about him could not understand.

George needed protecting and who was she... the poor deformed 'homely' member of the family, of no account at all... who was she to protect the most important one of them all George who would one day be their King.

'They could not take me from Hannah,' cried George. 'I would never allow that. If they attempted to I... I would marry her and... join the Quakers.'

'She is married already to Mr Axford,' Elizabeth reminded him.

'I heard,' put in Edward, 'that marriages conducted at those marriage mills are not considered legal.'

'That is true now,' agreed Elizabeth, 'but when Hannah married Mr Axford such marriages were legal.'

'It seems rather ridiculous,' said George, and there was a hint of excitement in his eyes which made Elizabeth apprehensive, 'that what is illegal now was once legal. It is the same thing, yet now it is wrong and then it was right. It seems to me that if it is wrong now it was wrong then.'

'Hannah married Mr Axford,' said Elizabeth, plucking at the rug which covered her knees. 'And, George, please don't mention to my Lord Bute that you would like to be a Quaker.'

George smiled at her blandly. 'He would listen sympathetically. He is a wonderful friend to me... the best I have. Oh, I don't mean better than you two... but you are my family. Well, so is he in a way. I think of him that way. But he is a statesman and a politician. I should be terrified of becoming King but for Lord Bute. But if he is there I know everything will be all right.'

'You will soon learn to govern without relying too much on one minister,' Elizabeth a.s.sured him.

'All kings must have ministers,' put in Edward. 'Our grandfather had Sir Robert Walpole... though they say our grandmother was the real ruler... she and Walpole between them. Grandfather didn't know that, though.'

'Grandfather is an... objectionable old man,' said George, remembering the blow he had received at Hampton Court. 'I'm not surprised that Mamma and Lord Bute dislike him so much.'

'Quarrels... quarrels,' sighed Elizabeth. 'I wonder why there always have to be quarrels in this family!'

'Perhaps we are quarrelsome by nature?' suggested Edward.

'George, you must not quarrel with your son when you have a Prince of Wales. But of course you will not. You will be a kind King; you will put an end to this silly chain of quarrels.'

'Well,' George reminded them, 'I didn't quarrel with our Papa.'

'There,' Elizabeth pointed out. 'Didn't I say that you were far too good-natured to quarrel with anyone?'

'Of course I was very young... too young to quarrel perhaps.'

They all laughed and were sober suddenly, thinking of poor Papa who had died so suddenly and the cruel verses that were sung about him in the streets, as though he were of no consequence.

Elizabeth was thinking that perhaps he had been of no consequence. There was still the same King on the throne; George was nearly eighteen, and at eighteen he would come of age. Eighteen was old enough to ascend the throne. And even Mamma had not been rendered exactly desolate by Papa's death at least after the first shock had subsided and she had begun to grasp her new power. And then, of course, there was Lord Bute to comfort her.

Our mother's lover, thought Elizabeth, whom George so reveres because he treats him as a son. George is too trusting, he is unaware of the schemes of ambitious men.

'Well, what are you thinking now?' asked George.

'How glad I am that I shall always be with you... no one is going to want to marry me. I'm glad. I shall stay at home living close to the King. I shall be your most devoted subject...'

George's eyes filled with tears.

'I wish,' he said, 'that you two could meet Hannah. You would love her and she would love you.'

'Why do you not have her portrait painted?'

George's eyes lightened with pleasure. 'It's a wonderful idea. I will do it. I will engage the best artist in England. Of course it must be done. How is it, Elizabeth, that you always know what I want before I do myself.'

'I should set about discovering how best it can be done,' suggested Edward.

'And, George,' murmured Elizabeth, 'do remember not to mention to anyone that you would like to be a Quaker. It would never be possible... and you can never be sure what would come of it.'

'Not even to my Lord Bute? He has asked me to tell him everything...'

She leaned forward and laying her hand on his arm looked at him earnestly.

'Don't mention it to anyone... but Edward and myself, George. It could be dangerous. To please me.'

George kissed her forehead tenderly. 'You know I would do anything to please you, little sister.'

'So it's a promise.'

'A promise.'

Elizabeth was relieved. George could always be trusted.

Elizabeth Chudleigh daringly offered to give a ball in honour of the birthday of the Prince of Wales. 'It was a great occasion,' she said, and one which should call for celebration. So she, who had a very particular fondness for His Highness, would beg the honour of his attendance at her ball.

'Impertinence,' said the princess Augusta to Lord Bute. 'I have never known a woman so... so blatant.'

'It would be well for George to attend,' pointed out Bute. 'She knows a great deal about the Lightfoot affair. In fact, she may know more than we do. We must be careful with Miss Chudleigh.'

'What harm can she do?. The Prince keeps a mistress in Tottenham. That is going to please rather than shock the people.'

'George is not like other young men. Let us remember that. He is too serious... too sentimental. We must watch this Lightfoot affair. I had not thought it would go on so long. We must be very careful and I do not think it wise to offend Miss Chudleigh.'

'It seems ridiculous that we must consider this... maid of honour.'

'She is no ordinary maid of honour, my love. There is much we do not know of Elizabeth Chudleigh, I am sure. And while this is so I believe we should go very carefully with that young woman. What harm can there be in George's going to her ball? In fact, he will have the chance of meeting there some beautiful young women. I should be happy to see him lured from his fair Quakeress.'

'Well, we will raise no objection then, and George shall accept her invitation.'

Life was very amusing, Elizabeth Chudleigh told her mother, and had been more so since the Lightfoot affair.

'Do you know,' she declared, when she visited her at Windsor, 'I do believe Madam Augusta is afraid of offending me.'

'You be careful,' warned her mother. 'The old King could go at any minute. Then where would you be?'

'This isn't the old King's doing, my dear Mamma. It is my own. I helped George to enjoy his little Quaker girl and Mamma Princess knows it. The fascinating point is that she doesn't know how much I know and that is causing herself and her dearest Bute some anxiety.'

'I repeat, be careful.'

'Oh, I shall be careful, never fear... careful to keep this happy state of affairs just as it is.'

And now the ball. Every lady of fas.h.i.+on should come; it would be a ball worthy of the occasion. A Prince's coming of age and a Prince of Wales at that.

She asked for an audience with the Prince to thank him for honouring her by accepting the invitation.

He received her in his simple way which she found charming. He was quite unspoilt, this Prince. It remained to be seen how long he would stay like that once he was King and my Lord Bute began teaching him how to govern, for Elizabeth was sure that was Bute's intention. Bute was going to make George what he would call 'a real King'. They would be hearing about the Divine Right of Kings before long if my lord Bute had his way and Madam Augusta, of course.

Oh well, life was very amusing for Miss Chudleigh and the deeper she was in her intrigues, the more she enjoyed life.

'Your Highness, I am overwhelmed by the honour you do me,' she told him.

He flushed and stammered. 'I... feel I should be overwhelmed. Such a beautiful lady, to go to such trouble to celebrate my birthday.'

'Your Highness's birthday is a day we should all celebrate and there will be many to come and wish you well. You will find some of the loveliest ladies in England at the ball, Your Highness.'

His expression was a little prim. Oh dear, thought Elizabeth, he's still enamoured of the little Quaker.

'How I wish,' she went on quickly, 'that I could invite the most beautiful of them all. I often think of Your Highness's happiness and rejoice in it. I would wish you to know if at any time you need my help...' She paused and added 'again', for there was no harm in reminding him how useful she had once been to him... 'you should not hesitate to ask me.'

His expression had changed. How easy he was to read! 'I shall never forget your kindness to me at a time... at a time when I most needed it.'

'I count myself fortunate to have been of service to Your Highness.'

'And to possess such good friends.'

It was very agreeable. She could be sure that if any fresh contretemps arose she could count on his keeping her informed.

'May I ask a special favour?'

'I beg you to.'

'Will you give her my respects when you next see her. Tell her I think of her often and rejoice in her happiness.'

'I will. I will.' Face flushed with emotion; eyes alight with sentimentality.

So matters have not changed at Tottenham for our little Prince, thought Elizabeth.

That was clear at the ball. There were many young ladies who had come in the highest hope. The Prince was eighteen years old time he began to amuse himself and any week now might see him King. Could the old man go on much longer? King's mistress. What an enviable position! And with such a King as George a simple boy, weak, malleable great power would be in the hands of his mistress.

All eyes were on him. He was really a very handsome young man. Hanoverian, of course. German to the fingertips, but not as unpleasantly German as his forebears. He was very tall for one thing. How different from dapper little George II! And charming, modest. Different in that way too. His eyes were blue and clear; there was nothing debauched about this one; he seemed gentle, eager to be on good terms with everyone.

He danced, not exactly with grace but not unskilfully. His mother and Lord Bute were watchful; and it was not difficult to guess what they were thinking. His indifference to any particular young lady seemed to affect them deeply. Did they want him to take a mistress? Or was there something in that rumour about a woman he kept at Tottenham.

However, one fact was made apparent at Miss Chudleigh's ball: the Prince of Wales was not very interested in young women, and it seemed hardly likely that he would take a mistress at Court.