“Caroline!” he exclaimed with obvious pleasure. “How wonderful to see you! It’s been a long time. I have missed you. Sit down.” He beckoned to a chair on the other side of the window.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Caroline said, deciding to favour honesty rather than a specious excuse for not having visited in over a year. “I did not want anything to stand in the way of Edwin’s career. It’s so important to him, and also, I think he is a voice of moderation in parliament, which is sorely needed at present.”
Prince Frederick laughed and clapped his hands.
“And that is why I have missed you. You are one of the few people I know who speaks the truth to me. I believe my father has recently knighted your husband. Is he then secure enough in his position that you can resume your visits to the black sheep of the family?”
“I hope so. Your parties are rarely boring. And I do miss seeing Great-Uncle Francis being publicly humiliated on a regular basis. But I am here today on a mission of mercy, completely independent of my husband, and I believe you are the only person who can, and maybe will, help me.”
“You have intrigued me. Please elaborate.”
“Do you remember Lady Elizabeth Peters, Your Highness? Small, very beautiful, silver –”
“How could I forget Lady Elizabeth?” the prince interrupted. “It is not every day that beautiful young ladies fight impromptu duels with pompous young men in my salon. It cost me a fortune to get Daniel’s blood out of the carpet. And worth every penny,” he added, his eyes sparkling. “But she disappeared, did she not, with Sir Anthony, when their treachery was discovered?”
“She did. But yesterday I discovered that it seems she has been arrested, and has been kept prisoner.”
“Has she? Is she then at the Tower, or with a messenger? You wish me to help you secure permission to visit her?”
His face expressed concern rather than disgust or pleasure at the news of Beth’s arrest. This was promising. Caroline sat forward in the chair.
“Your Highness, it is somewhat more complicated than that. I will tell you everything I know, and if you feel you cannot help me I will of course understand completely.”
She explained everything, from Sarah and Tom’s visit to her experience at the transports in Tilbury, and then he sat for a little while thinking, his fingers steepled under his chin.
“So,” he said finally, “the last place we know she was held for certain was Newgate Prison. In which case that seems the logical place to commence our search for her.”
“You are going to help, then?” Caroline said.
“Of course I am! Noblesse oblige and all that. I believe it is compulsory for handsome princes to rescue damsels in distress,” the prince said flippantly. Then his expression changed, and he looked at the young woman sitting opposite, whose face had lit up at his agreement to help. “You are aware that she might be dead, Caroline? You are prepared for that?”
“Yes, I am,” Caroline answered. “And I’m also prepared for the fact that we might not be successful in locating her.”
“Oh, we will be successful in locating her, I assure you, although it may take a little time. After all, my position does confer certain privileges. And I am about to exercise one of them.” He looked down at his drab woollen breeches. “I will send for refreshments for you whilst I dress appropriately. I shan’t be long.”
Caroline had just finished her second cup of tea and was considering another slice of lemon cake, when the prince returned.
“Are you ready, my lady?” he asked.
She stood and turned to him, and then smiling, accepted his arm and they left the room.
“Please take this as a compliment, Your Highness,” she said, once they were in the royal carriage and clattering down the street in the direction of Newgate, “but your outfit would have sent Sir Anthony into raptures.” It would indeed. He wore an expertly tailored outfit of dark green silk, beautifully embroidered in gold thread. In the centre of each golden coat button sparkled a diamond, matched by the gold and diamond encrusted buckles on his soft leather shoes.
“As long as you’re not referring to my choice of colour, I am flattered indeed. Sir Anthony had exquisite taste in tailoring and fashion. Just a little overstated. I miss his wit greatly, although not his treachery,” Frederick said, almost wistfully.
“I feel as though we are about to go on a state visit,” she said by way of changing the subject, aware that she had made a faux pas in mentioning Anthony’s name. Frederick was so informal in his manners and speech that it was sometimes easy to forget he was the Prince of Wales and heir to the throne.
“Not quite. I did think wearing the ermine and crown would be overdoing it a little,” he replied, eyes sparkling with humour. “But I take your point. I much prefer to dress in more practical and comfortable clothing, as you know. But not today. Ah, here we are.”
They descended from the coach assisted by two footmen, one of whom then proceeded to hammer on the keeper’s door. The hatch opened and a face scrutinised the visitors, and then it closed again, the door opened immediately, and Mr Jones appeared and knelt down in the street before his visitor.
“Your Royal Highness!” he cried.
Prince Frederick, all trace of informality vanished, observed the keeper of Newgate Prison with great hauteur and kept him kneeling for a good thirty seconds before bidding him rise. No one watching him now would forget he was the Prince of Wales and heir to the throne.
“Mr Jones, is it not?” he said.
“Indeed, Your Royal Highness, at your service. I cannot tell you how honoured I am that you have graced –”
“Quite,” the prince interrupted. “I am here to visit a lady who is currently lodged in your establishment.”
“Of course, Your Highness. But I cannot imagine –”
“You have no need to imagine, sir, merely to lead the way. Take me to Miss Elizabeth Cunningham, immediately.”
The keeper’s face drained of all colour instantly. For a second it seemed he would actually faint at the prince’s feet. Then he swallowed, and with an effort pulled himself together.
“I…we…there is no one of that name in –”
“You may know her as Lady Elizabeth Peters, or Beth Cunningham, or any permutation of those names. You will take me to her. Now.”
“Your Royal Highness, I regret to say that I’m not familiar with anybody of that name,” the keeper replied uncomfortably.
“I think you may be aware that my father the king has been on the throne for over twenty years, and we all hope that he may reign for many more,” Prince Frederick said conversationally, eyeing the keeper with disdain. “But one day, sir, I will take his place, and on that sad day I intend to clear the kingdom of people who have dared to lie to me and waste my time. But let us not look into the distant future, sir. Let us look instead at the next five minutes. I ask you, do you wish to still be the keeper of Newgate Prison at the end of that time?”
Mr Jones looked so distressed that Caroline almost felt sorry for the man. His orders had definitely come from someone with great authority. Had they not, he would certainly not have hesitated at this point, as he was doing. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, although it was a cold day.
“Come sir, I grow impatient,” the prince said.
Mr Jones wiped his forehead, swallowed and came to a decision.
“If you would care to step inside my humble lodgings, Your Highness, I will fetch Miss Cunningham to you,” he said.
Caroline forced her expression to remain neutral, but she wanted to drop to the ground and kiss the prince’s feet. Beth was alive, and here! It had been that easy!
“No,” Frederick replied. “I do not wish to wait. You will conduct us to her cell.”
Mr Jones’ complexion turned a sickly green.
“Immediately.”
Without further comment, the utterly defeated keeper took out his bunch of keys and opening the prison door, led his exalted visitors
into the prison.
“Dear God,” Frederick said when they were a few feet inside. “What is that dreadful smell?”
“You don’t notice it after a time, Your Highness,” Mr Jones said.
“You mean the place always smells like this?”
Mr Jones stopped.
“I…er…I can arrange for someone to fetch a nosegay for you, Your Highness. That helps to get rid of the smell. Or if you would care to go outside, I can fetch Miss –”
“No. Just take me to her,” the prince replied, breathing through his mouth.
They made their way down a series of stone corridors, poorly lit by rushlights set into wall sconces, coming finally to a locked wooden door, outside which the keeper stopped.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather –”
“Open the door,” Frederick ordered.
The door was opened, there was a skittering noise in the room as the vermin ran for shelter, and then Mr Jones walked in, holding the candle he was carrying high so it cast a gloomy yellow light around the small room, illuminating the damp glistening on the rough stone walls and a pile of rags in one corner. The room was bitterly cold, and the smell of stale air, excrement and sickness was intense. The prince retched once, and then with an effort, recovered himself.
“I thought you said that Miss –” he began, then stopped as the pile of rags moved slightly.
“Beth!” Caroline cried, and forgetting all the proprieties, pushed past the prince and the keeper and fell to her knees at the side of the occupant.
“Dear God in heaven, what have they done to you?” she said, although it was so dim that Caroline could only see that the young woman’s face was whiter than her hair, which was matted, and that the rags were the remnants of clothes which appeared to have rotted on her body. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be unconscious of their presence.
The prince took the candle from the unresisting keeper’s hand, and moving forward, came to stand next to Caroline. He bent slightly so that the light fell on the prisoner’s face. Then he inhaled sharply, straightened, and turned to the keeper.
“Who has done this?” he said icily.
“I…I…I was ordered not to –”
“Never mind. I will deal with you later. Take this please.” He handed the candle to Caroline, then in one fluid movement he bent, lifted the unconscious woman up and turned to the door.
Mr Jones stood inadvertently blocking the exit, horror-stricken.
“What are you doing?” he gasped.
“I am taking this young woman out of here,” Frederick said.
“But she’s a prisoner! My orders have come from the highest –”
“Higher than myself, sir?” Frederick asked. “Are you telling me that the king my father has personally ordered you to torture and then starve this young woman to death?”
“I…no…but…”
“Then get out of my way.”
Mr Jones wisely got out of the way, and the prince strode down the corridor, out of the prison gate and straight into the waiting carriage, where he carefully laid his burden down on the bench seat before looking back to see Caroline following him. She climbed into the carriage and sat down next to the prince, her eyes brimming with tears of horror and rage. He leaned over and held his hand above Beth’s nose and mouth. An unbearable smell filled the carriage, a smell of dirt, of urine, and of something rotten which Caroline dared not think about right now or she would fall apart.
“She’s breathing,” he said. “We must get her home, now. And then call for the surgeon.” He lifted his hand to bang on the roof of the coach to tell the driver to leave.
“Wait,” Caroline said, thinking hard. She had expected at the best to find Beth, talk to her, make arrangements with the keeper for her to have the best accommodation and food available. She had not expected to be sitting in the Prince of Wales’ coach opposite a woman on the brink of death. She looked at the prince, sitting there in his now badly soiled outfit; the expression on his face told her that he had acted impulsively in removing her from the prison in flagrant disregard for the law, but that now it was done he would not go back. “You cannot take her to Leicester House, Your Highness,” she said.
“Why not?” he asked, still overcome by rage and indignation.
“There are already rumours that you are a Jacobite sympathiser,” Caroline replied.
“What? Is there nothing I am not accused of? Why on earth would I sympathise with the man who is trying to usurp me?”
“It is said that you intervened to save the life of Lord Cromartie, and that you stopped Oxford University being censured.”
“The king granted the reprieve to Lord Cromartie, not I, because his pregnant wife fainted at his feet, and many others supported the motion for his reprieve. And as for Oxford, I merely intervened to stop the loyal majority of the student body being tainted by the actions of the Jacobite few. That hardly makes me a Jacobite sympathiser! No more than rescuing a misguided young woman from the utmost barbarity does,” he added, glancing across at the skeletal form of the unconscious figure lying opposite him.
“I know, and I am not saying you are, I am merely saying that your action today, when it is known how she’s suffered, will certainly enhance your reputation as a just and kind prince. But if you take her into your home for however long it takes for her to recover, your enemies will have time to invent a malicious story about your loyalties. It could damage your reputation far more than mine. I have little to lose anyway. I don’t care a fig for society, and I’m not the heir to the throne.”
“No, but your husband is a highly favoured Whig politician.”
“My husband knows nothing of what we have done today. This is all my doing, and I would have that reported widely. He will be incensed when he finds out, and I would have that reported widely too,” Caroline said, hoping that Edwin would not in reality be too angry at what she was about to do. She turned to the prince, and the tears spilled over her lashes. “I believe that one day you will make a wonderful king, and I would not have my regard for this woman, and your kindness in helping me to find her, jeopardise that. And neither would Edwin. Please, take her to my house. I will take care of her. But I will accept the offer of your surgeon, Your Highness.”
The prince took Caroline’s hands in his.
“You are a most extraordinary woman, Caroline,” he said. “I will not forget this day, or your loyalty to your friends, of whom I hope I can count myself as one.”
“Indeed you can, Your Highness,” she replied. “And I am honoured to say so.”
The prince leaned out of the coach window, instructed one of the footmen to make all haste to the surgeon, and then ordered the coachman to drive to Caroline’s, but slowly, so as not to risk the extremely fragile cargo they carried.
* * *
Whitehall
“Mr Jones here to see you, my lord,” Benjamin announced, adding when it was obvious that his master had no idea who Mr Jones was, “The keeper of Newgate Prison.”
“Ah. Did he say it was important?” the Duke of Newcastle asked.
“No. But I think it is. He looks somewhat discomposed, my lord.”
“Very well. Show him in.”
Once Mr Jones had been admitted, the duke could see that ‘somewhat discomposed’ was something of an understatement. The man was sweating and trembling as though he had the ague.
“Are you ill, man?” the duke asked, alarmed. If the man had gaol fever, he should not be coming here, infecting his staff and himself.
“No, I am quite well, my lord,” he said, sketching a bow. “You told me that you wished to be notified immediately if any man came to the prison enquiring about Miss Cunningham.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow.
“Excellent! Give me all the details. What manner of man was he?”
The keeper mumbled something at the floor, of which only one word reached Newcastle’s ears.
“What? The man said his name was Prince?�
�� he said. “Speak up, man!”
“No, my lord. It was the prince,” Mr Jones said despairingly.
“The prince? You mean Prince William Augustus? What did you tell him? Did he see her? What is her condition?” the duke barked, thinking rapidly. He had thought the prince to be too preoccupied with his new lover to think about Miss Cunningham.
“Not Prince William, my lord, Prince Frederick.”
“Prince Frederick?! You mean the Prince Frederick?” Newcastle asked, astounded.
Mr Jones was clearly confused, having had no idea that there might be more than one prince called Frederick.
“Yes, my lord,” he replied uncertainly.
“And did you tell him that you had no one of that name in the prison, as we agreed?”
“I did, my lord.”
“Ah, good.”
“But he didn’t believe me, my lord. And he demanded to see her. I had no choice,” Mr Jones said.
Oh, no.
“What condition is the prisoner in? Is she in good health?”
“Well, no, she’s in a bad way.”
“What? You mean she was not being kept in a manner befitting her station as the cousin of a lord?”
The keeper’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open in shock.
“No, my lord. You expressly said that she was to be kept in solitary confinement and given minimum rations and no privileges or medical treatment whatsoever. I followed your orders to the letter.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, man,” the duke scoffed. “I would hardly order such treatment for a member of the aristocracy, even a traitor. You must have misunderstood me. Transfer her to the Tower immediately. Ensure she gets the very best of everything. I will speak with Prince Frederick and clear this misunderstanding up.”
The keeper muttered something at the floor again. Sweat dripped off his chin and landed on his shoe. The duke eyed him with distaste.
“What did you say?”
Pursuit of Princes (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 5) Page 40