Belgravia, Westminster, London, England, British Isles

Adeline Horsey Recollections. After mamma's death I kept house for papa at 8 Upper Grosvenor Street. My brothers were rarely at home. William (age 17) was educated at Eton [Map], and when he was sixteen years old the Duke of Wellington (age 73) gave him a commission in the Grenadier Guards. Later he went through the Crimean War, and he retired from the Army in 1883, on account of ill-health, with the rank of Lieutenant-General.

Algernon (age 16) entered the Navy in 1840 as a midshipman, and the same year took part in the operations on the coast of Syria. After the battle of Acre he received the Turkish medal and clasps: his promotion was rapid, and as Admiral, his flagship, the Shah, engaged the Huascar, which he forced to surrender to the Peruvian authorities.

Now that I was so much alone I occasionally found time hang heavy on my hands, and I welcomed any excitement as a break in the monotony, for of course our period of mourning prevented us entertaining or accepting invitations. One day my maid told me about a fortune-teller who had a wonderful gift for predicting the future. I was very much interested, and made up my mind to consult the oracle. My maid attempted to dissuade me, saying that the woman lived in Bridge Street, Westminster, which was not at all a nice neighbourhood. I have always had my own way and, disguised in a borrowed cloak, bonnet and thick veil, and accompanied by my protesting servant, I started off to Bridge Street late one November afternoon.

It was dusk when we reached Westminster and found Bridge Street, badly lighted and evil-smelling. We knocked at the door, stated whom we wished to see, and we were ushered through a dark passage into a dirty room reeking of tobacco.

The fortune-teller was a wrinkled old woman who was smoking a short clay pipe with evident enjoyment. When I told her what I had come for, she produced a greasy pack of cards, and after I had "crossed her pahn" she commenced to tell my future.

"Ah!" said she at last, and she looked curiously, "my pretty young lady, fate holds a great deal in store for you. You will not marry for several years, but when you do it will be to a widower - a man in a high position. You will suffer much unkindness before you experience real happiness, you will obtain much and lose much, you will marry again after your husband's death, and you will live to a great age".

I was quite impressed by my "fortune", but I was a little disappointed, for like most girls I had my day-dreams of a young husband, and the prospect of a widower was thus rather depressing.

Strangely enough, the prediction came true, for Lord Cardigan (age 45) was a widower, and nearly all the men who proposed to me were widowers! I was asked in marriage by Lord Sherborne (age 38), a widower with ten children; by the Duke of Leeds (age 40), who was a widower with eleven children, and by Christopher Maunsell Talbot (age 39), once Father of the House of Commons, also a widower with four children. Prince Soltykoff, the Duke of St. Albans (age 41), Harry Howard, and Disraeli (age 38) were other widowers who proposed to me, so I suppose I must have had some unaccountable fascination for bereaved husbands.

Adeline Horsey Recollections. 13th July 1851Fate then threw Constance (age 21) across Lord Dupplin's (age 23) path, with the result that the tragedy began.

I knew Blanche Dupplin (age 23) very well, and often when I was lunching with her she would tell me sorrowfully about her husband's infatuation. "It is useless to expostulate", said Blanche; "Dupplin will not abandon the affair, and I don't know how it will end if William Ward (age 34) finds out his wife's infidelity".

Matters came to a crisis at a fancy dress ball given by Lady Londonderry (age 22) at Holderness House, the chief feature being a quadrille danced by ladies representing famous European queens. I met the Wards there; Constance looked delicate, and early in the evening she said she felt ill and must go home. She came over to where her husband and I were standing, and asked him whether he intended to accompany her.

"No, I shall stay", said Lord Ward, "I mean to have several dances with Miss de Horsey. Go home by all means if you are tired".

Constance was enceinte [pregnant], so her absence excited no comment as she was far from strong. Her husband remained until nearly 3 a.m., when he departed for his house in Park Lane - it was daylight, and, as he approached the house, he suddenly noticed a man leaving it. Their eyes met; it was Lord Dupplin, who turned and ran for his life down the street.

Lord Ward entered, and startled the sleepy footman by telling him to rouse the servants and bid them assemble in the hall. He then went upstairs to his wife's bedroom.

What passed between them was told by Constance to a friend; her husband came to her bedside and accused her of committing adultery with Lord Dupplin. "Get up, madame", he continued, "my house is yours no longer; arrangements shall be made for your future, but henceforth you are no wife of mine".

Tears and entreaties were useless, and Constance was obliged to dress; William Ward then led her past the scandalised servants who were waiting downstairs, and - turned her out of doors.

The poor frightened girl managed to reach her parents' house in Grosvenor Crescent, and implored them to give her shelter, but they were as heartless as her husband, and told her they could not take her in. More dead than alive, she turned her steps to Conduit Street, where her singing-master lived, and this gentleman, full of compassion for his unfortunate pupil, allowed her to remain there until the next day, when she went to Ostend.