CHAPTER IV - "LONDON TOWN’S A VERY FINE PLACE". Open Sesame — "I Will" In The Abbey — Windsor — In The Pink — Mrs. Langtry — Hyde Park Forty Years Ago — Honeymoon Letters

As I turn over the old files of the World, I am inclined to to wonder how it can interest any human being whether I ever "came out" or not, and to question in all seriousness what concern these chatty chronicles of the doings of the supposedly great of my girlhood can have for anyone to-day outside survivors of the fashionable circle that so busily and gaily whirled and wheeled in the dead "eighties." Indeed, the only worthy memoir writer would be the "Belle" whose World letters still carry an air of actuality, probably because the good lady was primarily intent on earning a livelihood by her facile and inconsequent pen.

Yet, if a straightforward story must be told, it comes duly in order to record that I "came out " in the season of 1880, and my engagement to Lord Brooke was announced in June of that year. I was that rare thing — as rare as any oiseau bleu — a great heiress, for America may scarcely be said as yet to have assaulted the fastnesses of English society. I was a "beauty," and only those who were alive then know the magic that word held for the period. I was physically fit, eighteen, unspoilt, and I adored dancing. My stepfather and mother rented 7 Carlton Gardens for the year; the house belonged to the then Earl of Warwick, father of the man I was destined to marry. I was married from that house. We lived there afterwards, and one of my children was born there. The house has since been turned into a restaurant of The Ladies’ Annexe of the Carlton Club, and not long ago when I was invited to a luncheon there, early scenes flooded my memory, and I felt as one returned from the dead might feel — a stranger in a familiar abode.

Many balls were given specially for me. In those days men gave balls; the balls of the Blues and the Life Guards were noted for their excellent dancing, and the Bachelors’ Ball of that season was one of the great successes. Without attempting to depreciate the colour and beauty of a modern ballroom, may a grandmother be permitted to say that I wish the girls of to-day could gaze with me into the fairypeopled palaces of the balls I remember? There, lovely beings, in diaphanous frou-frous of tulle or chiffon, floated and swayed in the grace of the rhythmic waltz. The plainest woman in the world looked lovely in the framework of those exquisite materials, deliciously arranged. And the waltz — I speak for myself — never failed to make me thrill and pulsate in an abandonment of young ecstasy. I was fêted, feasted, courted, and adored, in one continual round of gaiety, and I lived in and for the moment. Nor was I a mere fool. My reason and my mentors whispered to me sometimes that my money and estates were perhaps more important than my person to some of my thronging admirers. My engagement to Lord Brooke was announced in June of 1880, but owing to an ill-timed attack of measles our wedding did not come off until the following April. "Belle" informs us that "a propos the gift from the bridegroom to the bride and bridesmaids — brooches in the form of a bunch of daisies surmounted by a coronet — a guest at the wedding had said," Henceforth this beautiful Daisy will flourish by a brook-side.'"

And so the tale unfolds. Our marriage took place in the Henry VII Chapel in Westminster Abbey, and the newspapers of the day made much of the "most brilliant wedding of a dozen seasons." I remember my surprise as I drove from our house in Carlton Gardens to the Abbey to find the way lined with interested crowds.

Among the guests were the Prince and Princess of Wales, Prince and Princess Christian, the Duke and Duchess of Connaught, Princess Louise (Marchioness of Lorne), Princess Mary Adelaide (Duchess of Teck) and the Duke of Teck (parents of Queen Mary), with Prince Leopold, Duke of Albany, as my husband’s best man. The crush filled the Abbey from the choir to the door.

My twelve bridesmaids were all girl friends and relatives. They were: Blanche Maynard, my sister (now Lady Algernon Gordon-Lennox), Lady Eva Greville, my husband’s only sister, my stepsisters, Millicent, Sybil, and Angela St. Clair Erskine (later Duchess of Sutherland, Countess of Westmorland, and Lady A. Forbes), Countess Feodore Gleichen (later a renowned sculptor), Lady Florence Bridgman (the present Countess of Harewood and mother of Viscount Lascelles), Miss Wombwell (Countess of Dartrey), Miss Mills, the first Lord Hillingdon’s daughter, Miss Violet Lindsay (now Violet, Duchess of Rutland), and Miss Ethel Milner (later Countess of Durham).

Our dear friend, the Bishop of St. Albans (Claughton), helped by our neighbour the rector of Little Easton [Map], the Rev. G. Tufnell, along with two London clergy, officiated at our wedding. It pleased me very much to have the benediction pronounced by Dean Stanley, who had kept in the background during the ceremony. The register was signed by the Prince of Wales, Prince Leopold, and Lords Warwick and Rosslyn. Our honeymoon was spent at beautiful Ditton Park, which was lent us by the Duke and Duchess of Buccleuch, and there, in lovely May weather, we had a fortnight on the river, boating and canoeing. But, alas for romance, there was one worldly honour given us that demanded all our self-control. We were commanded to dine at Windsor Castle on the day after our wedding, and I was asked to wear my bridal dress, orange blossoms and all! I must confess that Her Majesty’s kindness on that occasion went far to soothe the shyness of a bride in her teens. The Queen took from my corsage a spray of orange blossom to keep as a souvenir and said many charming things about the beauty of my frock. Her Majesty so much admired what she was pleased to call the "lovely" dress, that I had a note next day from Lady Churchill, then in waiting, to say that the Queen wished so very much to possess a photograph of me if I would have myself taken in the gown, and hoping I was not too tired from the long standing.

My memory of Queen Victoria, and of her kindness to myself and my husband extending over many years, is one of sincere admiration of the quality we call "great," allied with a charming single-heartedness. A rash act of my own in the heyday of unconventional daring did something to try this Royal friendship, and as no effort is being made to give these chronicles a strict sequence, the story of my lapse from Court etiquette may as well be told now.

During what may be called my frivolous period, the Royal command came one year, as usual, for my husband and myself to dine and sleep at Windsor. My husband was fishing in Ireland, and could not be got at for the date fixed, so I wrote with all haste to make our excuses. But the answer came that I was to attend alone. I was filled with rebellion. The date fixed collided with the Essex Hunt Races, and I had a horse running. I wanted more than anything in the world to attend the races and have a day’s hunting. The trains were difficult, and it seemed impossible to leave Windsor in time to attend the Hunt.¹ I made my plans carefully. The dinner at Windsor was, as before, a quiet affair, six guests with the Queen and Princess Beatrice. The only guest I remember now was Lord Goschen, then Chancellor of the Exchequer. I was all feverish excitement for the morrow.

Note 1. Motor-can wen then unknown.

The custom at Windsor was that the guests should depart by a certain train with a Lord-in-Waiting to see them off, as Her Majesty did not appear on the second day. As the train fixed for the guests’ departure was too late for my day’s outing, I arrayed myself in hunting dress with a coat of "pink," a fashion innovation of my own, and requested a carriage to take me, breakfastless, to the earliest train. I still remember the annoyance of Lord C., who, yawning deep yawns, descended to see me off. Not only was this courtier annoyed, he was shocked at my daring. I got up to Paddington in time, caught my train at Liverpool Street, had a splendid day’s hunting, and, best of all, my horse won the Cup!

It may be as well to note here that in the latter part of the last century there were two sections of London society. There was a group around the retired and ultra-exclusive Court of Queen Victoria’s widowhood, and another group of the young and gay around the Prince and Princess of Wales. This was "the Marlborough House set." My husband’s family was in the older Court circle, he himself being, as I have mentioned before, equerry and friend of Prince Leopold, Duke of Albany, and this friendship brought him many favours from the Queen. My mother and stepfather, as close friends of Lord Beaconsfield, had an entree to the Court, but Lord Rosslyn, being a racing man, belonged also to the brilliant crowd of which Newmarket Heath was but the provincial centre. My own position in my early married days was the somewhat onerous, if privileged, one, of having a foot in both the Court and the Marlborough House groups. But, as might be expected, my interests were with youth and gaiety from the start.

The ebb and flow of life brings to memory many names, many thoughts of friends who formed our little circle at Easton in the eighties, most of whom have crossed the ferry from which there is no return. Among others, dear Prince Leopold came as a bachelor in February 1883, and afterwards as Duke of Albany with his Duchess in December.

[Around 1881]. Of another group were Henry and Violet Manners, the late Duke of Rutland and the present Dowager Duchess, Lord Rowton, the witty Henry Calcraft, Mr. and Mrs. Henry White (later Ambassadors of the United States in Paris, both now dead), beautiful Gladys deGrey (the late Marchioness of Ripon), Sir Robert Collier (the painter, father of the Hon. John Collier), Lady Randolph Churchill (who was first at Easton in 1885, and figured in all our gatherings afterwards), Admiral Sir Hedworth Lambton, and Henry Chaplin ("the Squire," the late Lord Chaplin), and Lord and Lady Carmarthen (afterwards the late Duke and Duchess of Leeds). Sir William Gordon Cumming, the smartest of men about town and more sinned against than sinning, was a constant friend, but he cut us all off in his retirement, and I often had sad thoughts of him, and always kept a warm comer in my heart for him. Mr. and Mrs. Hwfa Williams, who founded Sandown Park racing, were welcome everywhere. Maurice and Beatrice Ephrussi were dear Paris racing friends. Prince Charles Kinsky rode his own winner of the Grand National, "Zoedone," and was a sharer of my horsey adventures!

[Around 1811]. Those incomparable officers of the Blues, Colonel the Honourable Oliver Montague and Colonel Seymour Wynne Finch, were in the centre of the Marlborough House set ; we shall never see their like again. I must mention also Viscount Curzon (now Earl Howe) and his wife, the late Lady Georgina Curzon — my fast friend from the days of our Phoenix Park gallops, when her parents, the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, reigned at the Viceregal Lodge, Dublin. She drove tandem; so did I. I went "one better" and got a team, and she followed suit with a four-in-hand. At that time she and I were the only two women in England to pursue so "fast" an equine venture! I once drove my coach from Easton to the Land's End in Cornwall, three hundred odd miles, with fresh teams of horses sent down from Ward’s in London.

In August 1886, my sister Blanche (age 2) married the Duke of Richmond’s (age 48) son, Lord Algernon Gordon-Lennox (age 18), in Little Easton church [Map], the Bishop of St. Albans [Map] performing the service, and a family party assembling. The only child of this marriage is my niece, Ivy, Marchioness of Titchfield, who married the eldest son [William Arthur Henry Cavendish-Bentinck 7th Duke Portland] of the present Duke (age 8) and Duchess (age 2) of Portland.

Among sporting friends who came constantly were the late Sir George Chetwynd, then training his horses at Newmarket, and Lord Willoughby de Broke, the famous Master of the Warwickshire Hounds, grandfather of the present peer. He brought his hounds to the Essex country for a day’s sport, and always declared that the flat treeless Rodings were far better to hunt hounds in than leafy Warwickshire.

The late Earl of Dunraven, of yachting fame, came in 1888, and often afterwards, and then came also that year our later constant visitor, Luiz Marques de Soveral, so long Portuguese Minister in London.

Queen Mary’s brothers, Prince Adolphus and Prince Francis of Teck, were often at Easton. The latter, a constant visitor until his death, was godfather to my youngest daughter, Mercy.

I was sorting out recently some of my late husband’s papers and letters, and among the latter found one from Princess Mary Adelaide, Duchess of Teck. The Duke and Duchess of Teck, parents of our present Queen, were friends of my husband’s father and mother, old Lord and Lady Warwick, and their names and those of their family are written on many pages of the Warwick and Easton guest-books.

I recall with sadness that of the splendidly handsome sons only Prince Alexander, Earl of Athlone, is alive to-day.

The letter I refer to was written by the Duchess to my husband so far back as 1881, and it brought back vividly to my memory the kindliness and practicality of the writer.

Lord Brooke, as he was then, and I had taken up housekeeping at 7 Carlton Gardens. We were forming our establishment, and the Duchess, in her warm-hearted fashion, was eager to recommend a grocer in whom she was interested. She not only speaks well of the man’s groceries, but mentions that he was the brother of a former dresser of her own who died abroad of fever after having been in her service for twenty years.

The Duchess then goes on to comment upon the Press accounts of the home-coming of my husband and myself, and upon the big morning reception given for us by Lord and Lady Warwick. She adds some very flattering things about myself, and sends me loving greetings. The letter breathes throughout that kindliness of heart for which the Duchess will always be remembered.

[Around Sep 1891]. In the autumn of 1891 the Duke and Duchess of Teck, with Princess May, were our guests at Easton. I remember that among the party were Lord Sandwich, Lord Richard Nevill, Count Albert Mensdorff, the Hon. Sidney Greville (age 24) (my husband’s brother, who was then equerry to the Prince of Wales (age 49)), my sister-in-law, Lady Eva Greville (age 31), the lifelong friend and companion of Queen Mary, Lord Chesterfield, Lord and Lady Alington, Lord Chelsea, Lord and Lady Bradford, Colonel Brabazon, Lady Dorothy Nevill, Colonel Stanley Clarke, and Lady Sophia Macnamara, who was in waiting on the Duchess of Teck.

At that house party the Prince of Wales (age 49) gave his consent to the engagement of his son, Prince Eddy (age 27), Duke of Clarence and Avondale, to Princess May. The prophecy of the Duchess of Teck that such an alliance would be popular was more than justified, but, to the great sorrow of all, the young prince died shortly after.

In her bereavement Princess May showed those gifts of character which have always distinguished her attitude to life and its responsibilities, and when some two years later sorrow was merged in the happiness of union with Prince George (age 26), now our King, all the world rejoiced with her.

Of our Essex neighbours the most frequent visitors were Mark Lockwood, M.P., well known in the House of Commons before he became Lord Lamboume, an ever dear friend and the successor to my husband as Lord-Lieutenant ; and Colonel Beale Colvin, at one time M.F.H., of the East Sussex, who became my trustee and valued friend. He married Lord Stradbroke’s sister, Lady Gwendolen, whose sister, another intimate friend, is Lady Augusta Fane.¹

Note 1. Beale Colvin, now Brigadier-General Colvin, is Lord-Lieutenant of Essex.

At one time we saw much of Sir Donald Mackenzie Wallace, of The Times. He was credited with being the greatest linguist in Europe and was the author of a great book on Russia. He spoke Russian like a native. I remember Sir Donald sitting at tea in a tent I had at Easton that Charlie Beresford had brought me from the Sudan. There was writing on the tent that looked like a design. Sir Donald said, "You would not sit long in this tent if you knew what is written on these embroideries. I cannot possibly tell it. I might tell it later on to your husband and a few men; I cannot translate it here and now." I never did hear what the translation was — the writings were too obscene.

Lady Dorothy Nevill wrote her name often in our visitors' book from 1889 onwards, and I was a privileged guest at her wonderful little parties in Charles Street, Mayfair, where all the celebrities in London used to gather. In 1889 also. Count and Countess Deym, Austro-Hungarian Ambassador, visited us often at Easton, and later at Warwick. Prince Ernest Hohenlohe, the Marquess de Santurce, a beautiful Spaniard, Lord Randolph Churchill (already in bad health), and Mr. Arnold Morley joined the party.

My memory recalls about then as our guests Lord Grey de Wilton and Mr. George Smalley, the American correspondent, General John Du Cane, Lord Westmorland, engaged to my sister Sybil, dear wonderful George Curzon, an ever acceptable guest, Lord Houghton (later, Lord Crewe, our Ambassador in Paris), the late Lord Cairns, Lord Wolverton, and Elinor Glyn and her husband.