The Prince and the Quakeress: (Georgian Series) by Jean Plaidy Page A

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.
    ‘You are most kind, but no thank you. That will suffice. I have been listening to the enquiries after your children. Youare fortunate to have a family. My wife and I… alas, we have no children.’
    Mrs Wheeler was all compassion. That was sad, very sad. Yes, they had a full household, and she counted that a blessing from God. Two boys and three girls.
    Surely not the young lady who had just gone in.