The Prince and the Quakeress - Plaidy Jean (книги полностью бесплатно TXT) 📗

‘And you learned to paint?’

‘I learned to paint and I was happy. And when I had served my apprenticeship and thought myself a fully-fledged portrait painter I came back to Devon, settled at Plymouth Dock and started to paint portraits. But it was no use. I had to return to London. It is the only place for a man of ambition.’

‘Thou wert ambitious.’

She was interested in his progress and had not noticed that once more she had slipped into the Quaker form of address. He found it charming on her lips. How I wish I were painting her in Quaker gown and bonnet. She does not need white satin and blue bows, with beauty such as hers.

‘I was ambitious, so back to London I came, where Thomas Hudson introduced me to many artists. I joined their club...the Artists Club. It meets at Old Slaughter’s in St. Martin’s Lane. You know the place?’

‘I saw it often when I used to go...’

He waited. ‘So you lived near there?’

‘Yes, I lived near.’ She was shut up again. He wondered where the nobleman had found his little Quaker girl.

‘It was my painting of Captain Keppel which brought me many commissions. Then I went to Italy. All artists must go to Italy. Have you even been, Mrs. Axford?’

She had never left England, she told him.

‘Ah, you would love Italy. Perhaps Mr....Mr. Axford will take you one day?’

A faint shiver touched her, and he was aware of it. It was no use trying to make her talk; he must rouse the animation he wanted to see in her by talking of his own life. So he talked of Minorca, Rome, Florence, Venice...and she was enchanted by his description of these places. He described with the artist’s eye...in colours, and she seemed to understand. Then he told her of his friends, Dr. Johnson, Oliver Goldsmith, the actor Garrick.

‘There is not much support for the arts from the royal family. Let us hope young George will hive I little more artistic sense and responsibility than his grandfather when his time comes.’

‘I...I think he will.’

‘They say he is not very bright, and, of course, Bute and the Princess have him in leading strings.’

‘Is that what they say?’

‘And it happens to be true. I have friends at Court. Oh well, they tell me he needs these leading reins. He’s only a boy...simply brought up...in fact, a simpleton. I wish they would teach him a little about art. I suppose they think that an unnecessary part of life. They’re wrong, Mrs. Axford. A nation’s art and literature are a nation’s strength. We need a monarch who understands this. I wish I could have a talk with the young Prince. The King is too old now, but I had heard that he had a great contempt for poetry. Poor man. I pity him Let us hope the new King will be different. For his own sake I hope so. Being a King is something more than marrying and producing children. I dare swear they’ll be marrying young George off soon. He’s of age. Time he had a wife.’

She was sitting very still and it was as though all the life was drained from her.

She was a woman of moods, he decided. And he wondered whether he had succeeded in getting what he wanted.

When he finished the picture he called it ‘Mrs. Axford, the fair Quakeress.’

He received his fee through the ubiquitous Miss Chudleigh; and after a while he ceased to ponder on the strangeness of the mysterious Quakeress.

Rule Britannia

Hannah had presented George with a son. He shared her delight and her fears. ‘If we were only married,’ he said, ‘I would be the happiest man alive.’

And she the happiest of women, she told him. But perhaps she did not deserve happiness. She thought often of her mother and the sorrow she had caused her; her uncle, too, but particularly her mother. She wondered if they still searched for her, mourned for her, prayed for her.

Dr. Fothergill, blindfolded as before, had delivered the child; but she was not so well after this second confinement as the first; and when she was less well she was apt to brood more on her sins.

George had been delighted with the picture. He told her that Joshua Reynolds was the most fashionable painter in London and people of the Court were clamouring to have him paint their portraits.

‘I doubt he will ever paint a picture so charming as that of the fair Quakeress,’ said George gallantly.

She had two children, and visits from a lover whose affection never wavered; she could have been completely happy if their union had the blessing of the Church.

It would be all I asked, she told herself.

• • •

George had to curtail his visits, for there was business to keep him occupied. Lord Bute scarcely let him out of his sight.

The King cannot last much longer,’ he told George. ‘Oh, my Prince, I want you to be ready when the time comes.’

‘I shall be, if you are beside me. Without you I should fail. I often think of what a dreadful situation I should be in if I ever had to reign without your assistance.’

Bute was delighted with such reiterated trust. It was worth the tremendous effort he had put into engendering it.

Pitt was the man of the moment. Bute pointed this out to George. The man was a giant. They had to remember that, and although they would relegate him to a minor position—Bute was determined to lead the government, that being the ultimate goal—they would continue to use Pitt.

‘Oh yes, we will use him,’ agreed George.

He was beginning to look forward to power. It would be pleasant never to have to suffer the humiliation of visits such as that one to Hampton which so rankled in his mind. He would be the King, and when he was no one would dare behave towards him as his grandfather had.

Great events were afoot. Mr. Pitt was a brilliant war leader and under him England was going to be the leading country of the world. Mr. Pitt believed it; and he was a man who always achieved his end.

But he was a just man and he was thundering in Parliament now over the execution of Admiral Byng for which shortly before the people had been clamouring; but now the deed was done they were mourning for him, calling his execution murder.

‘You perceive the unreliability of the mob,’ said Bute.

‘Hosanna, Hosanna...and shortly after crucify him.’ said George.

Bute smiled with approval. George was beginning to think for himself.

‘It is always difficult to do what the people want, went on Bute, ‘for their wants are rarely constant. Mr. Pitt rails against the injustice.’

‘He is a good man, Mr. Pitt. I remember how he defended my uncle Cumberland for being unjustly accused over Hanover. He was no friend of my uncle—and I doubt he was of Mr. Byng’s.’

George was sad thinking of Mr. Byng. Death and suffering always depressed him. He told Bute so.

‘I do not like thinking of it,’ he said. ‘It makes me feel very uneasy and in fact...quite ill. I think of Mr. Byng facing his execution. They told me how it happened. He was unafraid and he said he would not allow them to bandage his eyes. He would look right into the face of those men who had been commanded to shoot him. And then he was told that those who had been commanded to the task—for which they had no stomach—would be reluctant to do their duty while he looked on at them, so he answered: "If it will frighten them, let it be done. They would not frighten me." So then his eyes were bound and they fired and killed him. I dreamed of him sinking to the ground...in his own blood.’

‘You should not allow yourself such morbid thoughts.’

‘He was my grandfather’s subject. He might have been mine had he lived longer or my grandfather died ere this. I do not think I should have agreed to his execution. I hate death.’

‘It does Your Highness credit. But admirals cannot be accused of cowardice.’

‘Was he a coward? Was he in truth obeying orders from home...as my uncle Cumberland was. Is he the scapegoat as my uncle was?’