The Honourable Mary Bridget Mostyn (1715-1789) – Maid of Honour

I came across a mysterious payment into the bank account of a Mary B Mostyn in 1785, for a substantial amount of money – £14,659, which today would be worth a little under £2 million. On 16 December 1785, the day after his marriage, George Finch-Hatton, the husband of Lady Elizabeth née Murray ( Dido Elizabeth Belle’s cousin) received £15,859 into his bank and that very same day he paid the whole amount out to two beneficiaries, the £14,659 being paid to Mary. This payment appears to be in connection with the purchase of property. Mary B Mostyn seems to have been involved in several property deals during her life as it was a great way to invest money.

This led me to try to find out more about this seemingly mysterious woman, as I had no idea who she was, especially given that her name appeared in the National Archives numerous times, all pertaining to the buying and selling of property and land.

Baptism of Mary Bridget Mostyn. Whitford, Flintshire Baptisms, Marriages and Burials. Wales: Archives and Records Council Wales.

After much digging it transpired that Mary Bridget Mostyn was born in 1715 at Whitford, Flintshire, to parents, Sir Roger Mostyn, 3rd Baronet and his wife, Essex née Finch.

Lady Essex Mostyn nee Finch. by and published by John Smith, after Sir Godfrey Kneller, Bt. NPG

Essex Finch being the eldest daughter of  Daniel, 2nd Earl of Nottingham (1647-1730) and his second wife, Anne nee Hatton. Essex Finch was also one of Lady Elizabeth Mansfield’s siblings (Lord Mansfield’s wife).

Richardson the elder, Jonathan; Daniel Finch, 2nd Earl of Nottingham and 7th Earl of Winchilsea

Sir Roger and Essex married in 1703 and had somewhere between 10 and 12 children, nine of whom were born before he wrote his will in 1719. It would be just two years in May 1721 that his wife, Essex died from smallpox at the age of 34 leaving Roger with quite a brood to raise alone, as he never remarried. Mary Bridget was just six years old at the time and would be a mere sixteen  when her father also died, so it’s unclear as to who raised the younger children after his death, but it seems likely that there would have been a guardian put in place to care for them.

Just a month after the death of their father, the eldest daughter, Essex, married Robert Ker, who became 2nd Duke of Roxburgh. Whether Mary Bridget attended the wedding remains unknown.

Augusta, Princess of Saxe Gotha, later Princess of Wales (1719-72) c.1730-49. RCT

In 1746, Mary  Bridget was appointed to the position of Maid of Honour, to Augusta, Princess of Wales, wife of Prince Frederick (George II’s eldest son) and mother of the then future George III, which indicates that Mary Bridget would be very close to all the great and good of the day, added to which, of course, her maternal grandfather, 2nd Earl of Nottingham was one of the wealthiest men in the country and her maternal aunt was Lady Elizabeth Murray, wife of William, Lord Mansfield.

Royal Household Establishment List 1751

I would have thought Mary Bridget would have made an ideal Maid of Honour, as she and the princess were very close in age. Interestingly, her brother, John was also appointed as Groom of the Bedchamber to George II, in the same year, where he remained until his death in 1779. In his will he left his three surviving sisters, Anne, Elizabeth and Mary Bridget, £1,000 each.

This death was closely followed by another brother, Sir Thomas Mostyn the following year.

1751 saw the death of Princess Augusta’s husband and a period of mourning for the Princess and their eldest son, George became heir apparent.

The Family of Frederick, Prince of Wales. George Knapton. RCT

1757 saw the death of her brother, Rear Admiral of the Red, Savage Mostyn, (the same post that would be held by  Sir John Lindsay, some thirty years later).

Savage Mostyn. Courtesy of the Mostyn Estates. https://www.mostynestates.co.uk/savage-mostyn-and-the-navy-uniform-1713-1757/

In 1759, Elizabeth Mostyn joined her older sisters, Anne and Mary Bridget, as part of the Royal Establishment. Anne, it would appear was housekeeper at Hampton Court, with Elizabeth as her deputy, both living at Hampton Court Palace in Apartment 39, ‘The Lady Housekeeper’s Lodgings’ within the grace and favour apartments.

One of their brothers, Roger was also made Groom of the Bedchamber in 1758, so it appears that several of Mary Bridget’s several siblings were very much in the court circle. Not long after the ascension of George III in 1760, Elizabeth changed roles, becoming Keeper of his Majesty’s Privy Lodgings and Standing Wardrobe.

Princess Augusta had six Maids of Honour, at any one time, a position which was a junior attendant to that of Lady in Waiting. One such was Charlotte Dives, from 1736 to 1762, when in that year she married Samuel, 2nd Baron Masham and was replaced by a Miss Evelyn (unidentified but possibly one of the daughters of Sir John Evelyn). The others were:

Lucy Young from 1736 to 1742

Arabella Herbert from 1736 until her death in 1755

Albinia Selwyn from 1736 until her marriage to Sir William Irby in 1746. Albania’s daughter, Augusta Georgina would also become Maid of Honour.

Elizabeth Hamilton from 1738  to 1742, replaced by Elizabeth Granville from 1742  to 1772

Elizabeth Chudleigh 1743 until her bigamous marriage to the Duke of Kingston. Her mother was appointed as Housekeeper at Windsor Castle in 1751.

Alexander, John; Called ‘Elizabeth Chudleigh (1720-1788), Countess of Bristol, Later Bigamous Duchess of Kingston’; National Trust, Ickworth

Elizabeth Drax for just one year from 1743 to 1744

Elizabeth Drax, Countess of Berkeley (1720-1792)

Elizabeth Lawson from 1745 until her death in 1759. Her younger sister, Charlotte was Maid of Honour to princesses, Amelia and Caroline

The Life and Letters of James Wolfe by Beckles Wilson, published in London by William Heinemann, 1909, courtesy the Robarts Library, University of Toronto.

Henrietta Egerton, daughter of Sir William Egerton from 1756 to 1772

Susannah Vansittart, daughter of Arthur Vansittart of Shottesbrook Park, Berkshire, from 1760 to 1772

Katrina Neville from 1765 to 1772

Susan Tracey Keck from 1770 to 1772, who married Francis Charteris in 1771. She was replaced by Augusta Georgina Irby

Mary Bridget would have known, or known of, the majority of these women during her lengthy service to the princess, witnessed many events and met many people, her name appearing quite often in the press as one of the Maids of Honour in attendance at major events.

She remained as a Maid of Honour until the death of Princess Augusta in 1772, by which time Mary Bridget was in her mid-fifties.

It would appear that after her loyal service she began investing in property, a low risk and relatively safe way to invest funds, with her name appearing in many financial transactions which is slightly unusual for a woman at that time, but of course as a spinster she was freer than a married woman, but also, she needed to plan for her later life.

In the 1780’s she lived at 25 Queen Anne Street, London, rubbing shoulders with the likes of the Duke of Chandos, Earl Cornwallis and lived next door to Lady Mary Duncan (neé Sackville Tufton).

Visiting card 1786 – British Museum

At the beginning of 1785, her sister, Elizabeth was to die and was buried on 10 January at St Mary’s Hampton. Her burial entry confirms her role as Keeper of the Royal Lodgings, Hampton Court Palace. Reading Elizabeth’s will it sounds as if she had little to leave, as she simply bequeathed to Mary Bridget a ‘snuff box striped with blue and gold.’ The remainder of her estate was left to friends and consisted of equally small items.

Hilditch, George; View of the South Front of Hampton Court Palace from the Broad Walk; Hampton Court Palace

In July 1789, Mary Bridget died, and was buried at Hendon on 14 July 1789. She left a will in which she stated that she wished to be interred in the vault at North End which she had recently purchased. She left several bequests to various nieces and nephews, but made no mention of George Finch Hatton, which makes the payment made to him probably just a business transaction.

This was not a rabbit hole I had planned to disappear down, but nonetheless, having disappeared down there, one thing led to another, and it turned out to be very much a genealogical rabbit hole, discovering eventually that the connection between Mary Bridget Mostyn and George Finch-Hatton, was that of cousin, and once again, it shows the family’s close proximity to the royal family of the day.

Sources

Flintshire Baptisms, Marriages and Burials. Wales: Archives and Records Council Wales.

Household of Augusta, Princess of Wales

Will of The Honorable John Mostyn, General 

Copy of Court Roll Manor of L. Weldon; vfp &c. of George Hatton esquire & Hon. Mary Mostyn. 12 October 1782

Deed of Covenant on sale of copyhold lands 29 October 1784

Deed of absolute surrender 29 October 1784

Bargain and sale, in trust

Bond in £300  Mary Bridget Mostyn of Queen Ann Street East, St Mary le Bone, spinster. 13 December 1785

Admission of tenant: Mary Bridget Mostyn. 10 May 1785

Admission of tenant and surrender: MB Mostyn 10 May 1785

Copy of Reassignment of Mortgage in a trust to attend the inheritance of 19 October 1787

Admission of Tenant. 31 October 1789

Deed of Covenant for sale of estate.  5  November 1789

Will of Mary Bridget Mostyn.  Records of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury, Series PROB 11; Class: PROB 11; Piece: 1181

The artist, Diana Hill née Deitz 1760 – 1844

Diana was an artist, who, if I’m honest, I had not come across until recently, but when I saw this portrait by Diana, of an unknown girl and simply had to know more about Diana’s life. Many of her portraits are in private collections so are difficult to view, but I have managed to find a few to share.

Unknown Girl by Diana Hill. Courtesy of V&A

Who was Diana? It’s difficult to establish exactly when Diana was born, but it was around 1760, to parents George Dietz, a jeweller and his wife, Elizabeth.

The couple had 4 known children, Diana who I think was the eldest, then George, named for his father, who was born 1761, but as there are no further sightings of him, it’s fairly safe to say he died in infancy. The couple went on to have a further 2 daughters, Amelia (1763-1837) and Ann Sophia (1764-1819).

Diana and Amelia were trained as artists, with Diana winning five guineas and the Greater Silver Pallet for her painting of flowers in 1775, and another entry confirmed her as being a pupil of a Mr Pars, who I have not been able to trace.

Premiums offered by the Society, instituted at London, for the encouragement of arts, manufactures, and commerce 1776

I have read that she also studied under the famous artist, Jeremiah Meyer, but to date, I have found nothing to substantiate this.

In March 1780, according to London Lives, the family home at 236 Oxford Street was robbed and here we have a handwritten letter by Diana submitted to the court:

A little under a year later, on 1 February 1781, Diana made her first marriage, to Haydock Hill at St Marylebone.

London Church of England Parish Registers; Reference Number: P89/MRY1/169

Interestingly one of the witnesses was  a German merchant, Theophilus Christian Blanchenhagen (c1736-1814) whose name we will come across later.

Merchant Theophilus Blanckenhagen by Diana Hill 1785

The couple began their married life at 41 Broad Street, Golden Square, London, but their marriage was to be short lived. However, they did produce three children – Elizabeth (1781-1868), Haydock James (182-1834) and Catherine who was born December 1783, but who sadly died aged just one year, eleven weeks and was buried on 28 January 1785.

Tragedy would strike Diana again, just 4 months later, when her husband, Haydock died. Haydock was buried on 11 May 1785, at St Marylebone church.

Burial of Haydock Hill 11 May 1785 at St Marylebone. London Church of England Parish Registers; Reference Number: P89/MRY1/008

Finding herself a widow, in her mid-twenties, with two very young children to raise alone, she made the decision, presumably with help from family and friends to continue her artwork, but not in England where she would have had her father and siblings, plus in-laws around her for support – instead she set sail for India.

Charles Cornwallis, 1st Marquess Cornwallis by Diana Hill. Mount Vernon Museum

On 21 September 1785, Diana and her two surviving children made the long and arduous crossing to India, having been granted permission by the Court of Directors to travel there as a portrait painter. Her mother in law, Elizabeth Hill, of Newman Street, London and Theophilus Blanchenhagen, a very affluent merchant, of Broad Street, (which, coincidentally was where Diana and her children also lived), acted as her sponsors.

She arrived in Calcutta sometime in 1786 and began painting portraits of Europeans, much to the irritation of a jealous painter, Ozias Humphrey, who was already working in India.

Sir Charles Cockerell Bt. (1755-1837), wearing brown coat, white waistcoat, frilled chemise and cravat, his hair powdered. Courtesy of Bonhams.

Humphrey described Diana as a

‘pretty widow with to children’. Her popularity alarmed him and said that he would ‘rather have all the male painters in England landed in Bengal than this single woman’.

Thomas Harriott. V&A

Not only did Diana continue with her painting in India, but also found herself a new husband and on 15 November 1788 she married Lieutenant Thomas Harriott (1753-1817) of the First Native Infantry, whose portrait we see above.

Parish register transcripts from the Presidency of Bengal, : 1713-1948. N-1-4. folio 56

On the 13 October 1789, the couple were to baptise their first child, a daughter, named Diana Maria, as to whether this child survived infancy is not known, but the following year saw the birth of their first son together, Thomas George (1790-1857).

In February of 1792, her sister, Ann Sophia, known to all as Sophia, arrived to join her sister in India, again, Mrs Hill was to be her sponsor, as she had done for Diana. Sophia arrived around the time that Diana gave birth to their next child, William Henry (1792-1839). William was followed two years later by their final child,  another daughter, Clara Amelia (1794-1843). Of this brood of children, 4 survived into adulthood. In February 1806, Thomas resigned his commission and the family returned to England, taking up residence at West Hall, Mortlake. By this time Diana had given up painting, but her sister, Amelia was still working as an artist and presumably living with her father.

1816 her father, George died. In his will written in 1810, his occupation as that of jeweller was confirmed.

Bank Of England Wills Extracts 1717-1845

He left legacies for his 3 daughters – Diana, Amelia and Ann Sophia and his grandchildren. At probate his estate was valued at about £1500 (approx. £120k today). His address was give at Great Pultney Street, formerly of Vauxhall Terrace, Lambeth, but he was buried on 26 July 1816, at St Mary’s Lambeth, named George Erchart Dietz.

London Church of England Parish Registers; Reference Number: P85/MRY1/487

In April of the following year, Diana’s beloved husband, Thomas died and was buried at St Mary the Virgin, Mortlake. In his will he bequeathed his estate to Diana and their children. On 2 September 1819, Diana’s sister, Ann Sophia died, leaving just the two siblings.

The 1841 census shows Diana living at Sussex Place, London, she is noted to be of independent means. Her companion at that time was Sibella Harriott née Hunter, her daughter in law, the wife of Thomas George Harriott.

Class: HO107; Piece: 677; Book: 16; Civil Parish: St Marylebone; County: Middlesex; Enumeration District: 14; Folio: 20; Page: 33; Line: 18; GSU roll: 438793

Diana, it is to be assumed, lived a quiet later life, with her sister, Amelia close by, until her death in 1837. Diana, however, would outlive them all, dying on 10 February 1844.

London Church of England Parish Registers; Reference Number: Dw/T/7006/36

She was buried beside her husband at St Mary’s Mortlake, at the ripe old age of 84, but at least we still have her art to remember her by. Diana also left a will, the bulk of which was left to her son, Thomas George, with bequests made to all her grandchildren.

Sources

George Dietz Probate – Bank of England Wills Extracts 1717-1845

Burial of George Dietz – London Church of England Parish Registers; Reference Number: P85/MRY1/487

Archer, Mildred. Patna Painting

Williamson, George Charles. Life and Works of Ozias Humphrey

Foskett, Daphne. Collecting Miniatures

Will of Diana Harriott

Will of George Dietz

Will of Thomas Harriott

Will of Amelia Mary Dietz

Portrait Miniature on Ivorine of the Prominent Merchant Theophilus Blanckenhagen by Diana Hill (nee Dietz) 1760-1844. Courtesy of Antiques.co.uk

Dido Elizabeth Belle’s half-sister, Elizabeth Lindsay

Research continues into the life of Dido Elizabeth Belle, daughter of Sir John Lindsay, yet to date only a limited amount of information is widely known today about the life of his other surviving illegitimate daughter, and half-sister to Dido, named Elizabeth (known as Eliza) Lindsay aka Palmer, as to a large extent she seems to have been written out of history. However, it would be Elizabeth and her half-brother John, whose existence Sir John acknowledged in his will as his ‘reputed’ children.

With that, let me introduce you to Peter Hill and Mr Elizabeth Hill née Lindsay or Palmer. Sadly, we don’t know the artist of these paintings.

Much research has been quietly carried out by Eliza’s descendants, especially Christopher Normand, and it’s thanks to his generosity in sharing the information he gleaned,  along with the photograph of Eliza and her husband, which has allowed me to delve deeper into her life and her family.

Eliza was born 8 December 1766 in Jamaica, just a few days after Dido was being baptised on the other side of the world, in London. As we see here from her baptism at Port Royal, Jamaica, it took place when she was a month old, on 10 January 1767.

Jamaica Parish Registers 1664-1800, Port Royal. Click to enlarge

Her baptismal record shows quite clearly, Sir John Lindsay as being her father, which he appears to have acknowledged throughout her life. Her mother was simply named as Martha G and there is nothing on the baptismal entry to tell us more about Eliza’s mother, but the majority of baptisms at that time record ethnicity if non white, and as can be seen above, there is nothing against either Eliza or her mother’s name, which in all likelihood means that unlike Dido, Eliza was white.

It remains unclear as to when Eliza and her half-brother, John, who was born in November 1767 arrived in Britain.

John Lindsay born 28 November 1767, Kingston, Jamaica. Parish Registers. Click to enlarge

Presumably Sir John felt the pair would have better life chances here rather than remaining in Jamaica and in Britain under Sir John’s care, they would receive a good education.

Martin, David; Alexander Murray (1736-1795), Lord Henderland; National Galleries of Scotland

It seems highly likely that Eliza and possibly John, were raised in Edinburgh, meaning they would be close to Sir John’s mother, Lady Amelia Lindsay (1691-1774) and his sister, Lady Katherine Henderland (1737-1828), the wife of Judge Alexander Murray, Lord Henderland (1736-1795).

It was in September 1768 that Eliza’s father married Mary Milner, a name we will return to later in Eliza’s life.

Little is known of Eliza’s early life, but it has been suggested by her descendants that she attended a boarding school in Edinburgh, which I  do agree with, especially in light of a reference that appeared in the accounts of John Lindsay junior, who noted that a woman by the name of Mrs Murray was to be paid for the education and board of a Miss Eliza Lindsay.

Whilst I am not sure whether this related to this his sister, Eliza or whether it pertained to his own daughter, whose name has not yet come into view, it is certainly of interest.

Click to enlarge

This question left me wondering whether there was any record of boarding schools around Edinburgh at the time Eliza would have been educated when I came across a document which included a Mrs Katherine Murray, who ran a boarding school from 1756, at Niddry’s Wynd. Niddry’s Wynd being fairly close to where Eliza was married, so it seems feasible, although I have no proof especially given this Mrs Murray ran the school in the latter part of the 1750’s that she was still there when Eliza attended, but it’s an interesting theory for now.

Creech’s Land, St Giles and the Market Cross, Edinburgh by Henry G. Duguid Nat Gallery Scotland

Around 1772, Eliza’s future husband, Peter Hill became apprenticed to Mr William Creech, a publisher and bookseller at that time. Edinburgh was renowned for its booksellers and Creech was arguably one of the most famous, so much so that the area around his shop became known as Creech’s Land.

Creech published for many authors such as the poet, Robert Burns, and also Dr James Beattie, who met Dido Elizabeth Belle at Kenwood House in 1771, which begs the question as to whether Beattie ever knew that the then young Peter Hill went on to marry Sir John Lindsay’s other daughter, Eliza. It was a small world at that time where anyone who was anyone knew each other, although Eliza would only have been a young child at the time, as there was an eleven year age gap between Eliza and Peter Hill.

Eliza and Peter married in Edinburgh on 3 May 1783, Eliza was 16 at the time and the marriage entry recorded her name as Elizabeth Palmer, alias Lindsay, daughter of Sir John Lindsay. Despite many attempts it has not been possible to ascertain why she used the name Palmer, unless it was in honour of someone who raised her.

Edinburgh Parish Marriage Register

On 29 September that year, Sir John wrote his will, in which he made provision of £1,000 each for John and Eliza, which was to be left in a trust, to be administered by his wife, Lady Mary Lindsay.

Click to enlarge

Now, it’s worth noting that Sir John named his daughter, Elizabeth Lindsay i.e. he used her maiden name, which arguably implies that he was unaware that Eliza had been married for 4 months by then, which could possibly tie in with the theory that the couple eloped, especially given Eliza’s age.

When they first married they are believed to have rented a flat at the head of The Mound, Edinburgh.

View of Princes Street, The Mound, and Edinburgh Castle National Galleries Scotland Copy after Thomas H. Shepherd

It would be just over a year into their marriage that their first child, Amelia was born, presumably named for her paternal grandmother, which seems to imply that she either knew or knew of her grandmother.

It is interesting to note that Eliza gave her maiden name on her daughter’s baptism, Palmer and not Lindsay, as she would go on to do for all her children, for some unexplained reason. Within the following year, they moved from The Mound to a property at 160 Nicolson Street on the corner of Hill Place. It has been suggested that Hill Place was named after Peter, however it was named after James Hill, a mason who was involved in building many houses in that area.

It seems highly likely that it was around this time, that William Creech and Peter had gone their separate ways, with Peter establishing his own bookshop. The Female Servant Tax Rolls of 1785, shows that Peter and Eliza had moved to Nicolson Street and were employing a servant, Mary Sherry.

In March 1786, Eliza and Peter’s second child entered the world, another girl, Margaret. Then shortly after this they moved again, this time to Parliament Close, as Peter’s name appeared in the shop rates 1788/89.

Kay, John; The Parliament Close and Public Characters of Edinburgh, Fifty Years Since; City of Edinburgh Council

It was in 1787 that Peter and Eliza first became acquainted with the poet, Robert Burns who would become a regular visitor and correspondent. Eliza was said to have been Peter’s superior, socially and is believed to have disapproved of her husband’s acquaintance with the poet. However, Burns described Eliza as ‘my fair friend’  and clearly enjoyed her company.

February 1788, Peter took on an apprentice, Archibald Constable, who lived in with the family. Constable would later write:

Mr Hill had been for many years principal clerk to Mr Creech, was highly respected as possessing gentlemanly manners beyond most others of the trade and proved in this year and important stage of my career a kind and indulgent master.

Constable went on to say:

I lived in the house with him … I passed six years very happily as an apprentice, and another as a clerk, receiving in the last year £30 of salary. Mr Hill’s shop was frequented by the most respectable persons in Edinburgh. Burns the poet when in town was a frequent visitor, the distinguished professors and clergy, and the most remarkable strangers. I remember Captain Gross making frequent visits …

Mr Hill did not remain long in the Parliament Close, but removed about the year of 1790 to the shop at the cross where he now is, his apprentices, clerks and shopmen increasing with his trade, which was very considerable.

NB Captain Gross (sic) was Francis Grose, the well-known author of A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue.

Another of Peter’s employees was the mathematician an astronomer, William Wallace, who joined Peter towards the latter part of Archibald’s apprenticeship.

In June 1788, Eliza’s father, Sir John Lindsay died, as to when Eliza found out of her father’s death remains unanswered, but it would have been from this point onwards that she would have begun to receive the £1,000 left to her in his will. £1,000 was not an insignificant sum of money at that time and would equate to around £120,000 in today’s money (Bank of England). The same amount was also left to her brother, John.

Captain Sir John Lindsay (1737-1788 by Allan Ramsay); Glasgow Museums

Business appeared to be going well for Peter, and he and his family continued to move, presumably to bigger and better premises, this move took them to James’s Court, but  in their domestic life tragedy struck again, in March 1789 when their four year old daughter, Amelia died from a fever.

Around this time, Eliza had two further children, John and James, both presumably named for Eliza’s and Peter’s fathers, although to date I have found no record of their births or deaths, but in 1790 the Servant Tax return confirms that they had two servants and 3 children, these children would have been, Margaret, James and John.

On 2 March 1790, Peter received a letter from Robert Burns, which included the following about Eliza:

And now, to quit the dry walk of business, how do you do my dear friend? and how is Mrs. Hill? I trust, if now and then not so elegantly handsome, at least as amiable, and sings as divinely as ever.

11 May 1791 saw the baptism of Elizabeth’s first son who would survive infancy and named Peter, for his father.

Peter Hill, bookseller by Samuel Edmonston Nat Galleries Scotland

Here we see Peter (senior) paying tax in 1791-2 for owning a horse and carriage:

As if any further proof were needed that Eliza was Sir John’s daughter, around 1793 Eliza had another daughter, whom she very clearly named after her step-mother – Mary Milner, it would appear crystal clear from this naming that she knew and respected her stepmother. I would argue that there was a much closer relationship, despite the distance, between Eliza and her father’s side of the family. At this time, the family moved again, this time to a house on Ramsay Gardens, Edinburgh.

Between 1793 and 1798 trials for sedition were held in Edinburgh, with Eliza’s uncle, Alexander Murray, Lord Henderson being one of the leading judges in the trials. When you look at the case of one of these men, Joseph Gerrald, another name comes into view, that of Peter Hill. It transpires that Peter was the Clerk, and therefore, Eliza would be well aware of these court cases.

In March 1794, Sir John Lindsay’s wife, Lady Mary wrote her will, in which she ensured Sir John two ‘reputed’ children continued to receive their inheritance from their father, although by this time Eliza had received £500 of the £1,000 trust. Lady Mary put in provision that upon her death the money should be paid to his children via Sir John’s sister, Katherine Murray, Lady Henderland. In addition to this, she personally left them £100 each (about £10.5k in today’s money). The same year, Peter’s name appeared in the Edinburgh Burgesses and Guild Brethren.

Around 1796, Eliza was pregnant again, this child was again believed to have been named John, but again, it seems likely he died shortly after birth; therefore no baptism or burial record has survived. The following year, 1797 their second surviving son, Alexander was born, with another daughter, Eliza being born just a year later. At this time, Peter was a member of the Edinburgh Council.

23 November 1799 Lady Mary Lindsay died, so at this time Eliza and her brother would have received their £100 legacy from their stepmother, money which would no doubt have been very welcome with a growing family, especially as Eliza had another daughter, Helen in 1800, closely followed in April 1802 by William Simpson.

In 1801 Peter had a catalogue published listing all the books he sold, in which he gave two addresses from where they may be purchase – his shop at The Cross, Edinburgh and this entry also tells us that he had a warehouse too, at Royal Bank Close, Edinburgh.

Sadly though 1803 would be a difficult year, with two of their children dying within days of each other. Alexander, by that time aged 5, died from water on the brain on 1 April 1803. Then on 14 April, William Simpson also died, no cause of death given for him though. This would have been especially difficult as Eliza who would have been heavily pregnant with their next daughter, named Lindsay, in honour of her father and also her maiden name. Lindsay was born on 10 Jul 1803.

21 October 1806, saw the birth of yet another child, their 14^th child, a son, Francis Bridges, who lived until the age of 20, when he died from ‘decline’ in 1826.  They were reputed to have had a 15th child, Robert in 1810, but there is no evidence of this child, if he existed, having survived infancy.

The North Elevation of Heriot’s Hospital, Edinburgh by Phillipe Mercier. National Galleries of Scotland

By 1805 Peter was no longer a bookseller and had become the city treasurer and in 1809 he was also the treasurer of George Heriot’s Hospital, a post he held until 1813 when he became the Chief Collector of Burgal Taxes.

At the end of January 1821 Eliza’s brother, John died in India. Like their stepmother, John didn’t forget his sister in his will. He left a legacy for Eliza and also wrote off  debt of £300 which her husband owed him, although John didn’t elaborate as to what the loan was for.

John also provided for his mother, Frances Edwards (A ‘free mulatto woman’) who remained in her home town of Kingston, Jamaica, although by the time John’s will was proven his mother had died.

Shortly after this, Eliza and Peter moved to the newly built, affluent area of Edinburgh, 7 Randolph Crescent, together with Peter’s widowed sister, Janet Commel, née Hill, the widow of James Commel, a merchant, who died in 1836. Their neighbours included the likes of  The Honourable Misses Stewart MacKenzie at No. 9 and Erskine Douglas Sandford, advocate and author, who lived at number 11.

The family remained there until Peter’s death in 1837, at which time money was short and Eliza went to live with her married daughter, Lindsay (Hill) Wilson, and her son-in-law, George Wilson, at their home at Dalmarnock, Glasgow, together with her unmarried daughters, Mary Milner, Eliza and Helen, where they were recorded at the 1841 Census.

Eliza died 28 January 1842, and was buried beside her husband Peter Hill in Canongate Kirkyard, Edinburgh. The inventory of her estate for probate in 1848 was just £188 17 shillings, which is about £16k in today’s money.

On a final note to the story, it has been suggested that Peter and Eliza had a son named McCulloch Hill, born in 1796, however, following his life as a shoemaker, I noted no connection between the families, especially as his father’s name according to McCulloch’s marriage certificate, was William.

Sources

Inventories & Accounts of Deceased Estates – Madras 1822-1936. Folio 1227 & 1228

Sir John Lindsay’s will – Records of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury, Series PROB 11; Class: PROB 11; Piece: 1167

Rogers, C. The Book of Robert Burns: Genealogical and Historical Memoirs of the poet, Volume 1. 

Constable, T. Archibald Constable and His Literary Correspondents: A Memorial, Volume 1

John Lindsay junior’s will 

Elizabeth’s Inventory. 1846 Hill Peter (Wills and testaments Reference SC36/48/32. Glasgow Sheriff Court Inventories).

 

 

 

Sarah Whitehead – The Bank Nun Ghost

So much as been written about Sarah and ghostly sightings of her around London, close to and including the Bank of England, wearing all black, hence the moniker of Bank Nun, so I thought it would be interesting to revisit the known information about her to check some of the facts, and to hopefully provide a little new information.

To cut a very long story short, Sarah’s brother, Paul (also incorrectly named Philip) worked for the Bank of England until in 1811 when he was charged with forgery. He stood trial at the Old Bailey on 30 October 1811 at the age of thirty six years and was sentenced to death.

West View of Newgate by George Shepherd 1784-1862

The British Mercury, 29 January 1812 reported the execution of Paul Whitehead and other prisoners at Newgate at nine o’clock with their bodies being cut down and delivered to their respective friends. Whilst it’s not possible to confirm with any certainty, there was a burial on 3 February 1812, at St Giles, Cripplegate, for a Paul Whitehead, giving his age as 32.

Execution by hanging, outside Newgate, early 1800s

Paul was supported throughout his trial by Alderman Samuel Birch, who would later become Lord Mayor of London, and supported him to the drop, at the end of Paul’s life. Remember this name, as it will appear later in this story.

There are numerous reports with differing information about Sarah following the death of her brother. Most reports seem to confirm that although not witness to her brother’s death, when she did find out it caused Sarah to suffer some sort of mental health issues, to the extent that she continued going to the bank on an almost daily basis searching for her brother, who she could not accept was dead. The bank were sympathetic to her supposed plight, despite knowing that Paul had been hanged and as such they often gave her money, which she took and went away, until the next day.

The first account of Sarah’s demise appeared in Bell’s Weekly Messenger, 12 November 1837 and was repeated in most London newspapers at the time. It went as follows:

It will be in the recollection of many of our readers, and particularly of the gentlemen at the Bank, and of the merchants and banks connected with the Royal Exchange, that for the last 40 years the above named lady was in the habit of paying a daily visit in that vicinity. The circumstances that gave rise to the extraordinary perseverance of this unfortunate lady are well known to have reverted from the ill-fated end of her brother, who held a responsible situation in the Bank of England, and who, having committed an act of forgery, suffered the extreme penalty of the law.

The effect of his untimely end produced an alienation of her mental faculties; while, in addition, she was reduced from a state of comparative opulence (being at the time partly dependent upon her brother’s income) to one of indigence. Being they young, while her enthusiastic and romantic attachment to her brother, leading her to attend daily at the Bank, some opulent and Christian individuals in the City compassioned her in her misfortunes, and became eventually contributors to her support during the remainder of her life.

She as known to strangers by the singularity of her dress which was in the old fashioned style of the period about the early part of the reign of George III. She was always attire in black, while her cheeks had constantly the appearance of being rouged. As there were very peculiar and interesting circumstances connected with her sudden exit from this world, and as no information could be obtained by the parochial authorities, Mr Payne, the City coroner was informed of the occurrence, ad a highly respectable jury was yesterday empanelled before him, at the King’s Arms Tavern, Old Kent Road, on view of the body of the deceased, when the following evidence was received:-

Allingham, the summoning officer said that he had applied at the Bank of England, to find out the deceased’s relations, but he had not succeeded. He had seen there a porter, who had been there for the last 40 years, and who did not know her Christian name.

Mrs Butler, landlady of the Eagle Coffee House, stated she had known the deceased for the last fourteen years. She took her meals daily and read the newspapers. She paid regularly. On Thursday she was in the coffee room some hours.

She complained of not being well and appeared so. She left about four o’clock to return home. Witness assisted her along the passage, when, as she was sinking, the witness called for assistance, and two men then supported the deceased.

She was taken home, where Mr Saunders the surgeon saw her, and pronounced life extinct. After the hearing some further evidence, the jury returned a verdict of ‘Died by the visitation of God’.

The day she died she had said that she was going to the civic feast at the Mansion House, and that one of the Queen’s servants, had sent 100 shillings to her, to buy herself a suitable dress. As to whether there was any truth in that we will never know, but it seems unlikely.

Hereford Journal 15 November 1837

Mrs Wallis at number 7, Mason Street, Old Kent Road, stated that the deceased had lodged with her for nine months. Latterly she was very much declined in health. She paid 3s 6d a week for her lodgings. She owed one week’s rent.

The Coroner observed that he had known the deceased from his youth, and it was well known that she had several benefactors, and that she was greatly indebted to Alderman Birch.

Pearson, Mary Martha; Samuel Birch (1757-1841), Lord Mayor of London (1814); City of London Corporation

 

Allingham said that her relatives had left 5 shillings a week for her at the parish of Camberwell, and which was payable to her by the authorities. He believed a man named Nicholls knew a little of her history.

George Nicholls, in the employ of Mr Wheatley the extensive coach proprietor, said, that the deceased’s age was 61, as she informed him. After her brother’s death, who was buried in Greenwich churchyard, she walked own every Sunday to pray over his tomb. Latterly, from her infirmities, she rode to Greenwich in his coach every Sunday.

Curiously, there is no sign of Sarah’s burial or in fact anyone named Whitehead who was buried towards the end of 1837. I have read that she was buried at St Christopher-le-Stocks, but this could not be correct as the church was long gone before Sarah’s death in 1837. I can’t understand why she would have been buried anywhere near the Bank of England when she was living just off the Old Kent Road, which is about two miles away.

Trying to track down the names of people in the newspaper account proved difficult, but I did managed to trace the Mrs Wallis who Sarah had lodged with. She appeared on the 1841 census, so only a few years after Sarah’s death and lived at 7 Mason Street, Old Kent Road, with her husband John, a wine brewer and their young son, Thomas.

George Nicholls appears on the 1841 census, living just off Old Kent Road, as a young man aged 25, so it’s feasible he was the one who gave evidence at the inquest. His employers, were Mr John and Thomas Wheatley.

To date, I haven’t managed to track down the Mrs Butler, but that’s not really surprising as she may well have moved on by then, but she seems to have known Sarah well over a 14 year period. She was able to confirm that Sarah not only dined there, but also read the newspapers, which confirms that Sarah was, like her brother, educated and literate, something which has elsewhere been disputed, with suggestions that she may have ended up in the workhouse.

Mrs Butler also confirmed that Sarah always paid her dues, so it begs the question as to where her money was coming from, clearly not her brother, but it has also been suggested in The Book of Wonderful Characters, that her father was a respected employee of the Post Office holding a situation of importance and that his income enabled him to educate his family liberally, and also to layby something for a rainy day. The author provides no explanation as to how he knew this, but if correct, then did her father leave her some funds or was it all spent by her brother or was, as I suspect financially supported by the family friend, Alderman Birch.

Moving on to the ghostly sightings of Sarah, it has been said that she has often been seen around the area of the Bank of England, including at the underground, dressed in widow’s weeds and asking passers-by-by if they have seen her brother.

Miss Whitehead, an eccentric, known as the ‘Bank Nun’. Coloured lithograph by G.L. Lee. Wellcome Trust Images

Sources

The Gentleman’s Magazine, Volume 8; Volume 162

1841 census – Mrs Wallis – HO107; Piece: 1085; Book: 8; Civil Parish: St George The Martyr; County: Surrey; Enumeration District: 18; Folio: 30; Page: 11; Line: 13; GSU roll: 474668

1841 census – George Nicholls – Class: HO107; Piece: 1085; Book: 7; Civil Parish: St George The Martyr; County: Surrey; Enumeration District: 15; Folio: 30; Page: 11; Line: 22; GSU roll: 474668

Burial of a Paul Whitehead –  London Church of England Parish Registers; Reference Number: P69/Gis/A/003/Ms06420/004

London City Directory 1840

Brown, Harcourt.   Streetology of London; or The metropolitan papers of the Itinerant club

Reider, William.  The New Tablet of Memory

The Criminal Recorder: Or, Biographical Sketches of Notorious  Public Characters, Volume 2

Wilson, Henry. The Book of Wonderful Characters

 

‘Clothes optional’ marriages of the 18th century

As the old saying goes, you learn something new everyday, and this is certainly a new subject to me, at least. One of my lovely readers said that they had read about such marriages in ‘Eavesdropping on Jane Austen’s England’ and hadn’t seen anything on All Things Georgian about such a type of marriage, so it seemed only right to correct this omission!

So, what was  this type of marriage? It was often referred to as a ‘shift‘ or ‘smock‘ marriage and occasionally a puris naturalibus or a naked marriage.

British Museum

One of the earliest references I came across which explains this bizarre notion was from the British Spy or New Universal London Weekly Journal of December 1757 which tells us that:

At Cranborne, Dorsetshire on 10 December 1757 a young woman who was married at our church, had only a shift on for a wedding garment; and the reason she gave for her coming to perfectly undressed, was, that she might be entirely quit of all debts she owed before marriage.

So, there we have it. If a woman appeared at the church with either little or nothing on, then she was free of debt when she married. It surprised me that the newspapers contained several references to such marriages in connection with debt, but here we have a slightly different take on this, from the Bath Chronicle and Weekly Gazette, 30 June 1763, which reported that:

Worcester, June 23. The following circumstances, we are told, attended a marriage a few days ago, at a church near Stourbridge in this county. As soon as the woman came into the church, she stripped off all her cloaths, except her cap, shift, shoes and stockings; in which delicate and decent appearance she passed through the ceremony. This extraordinary piece  of whom, we are told, was thus occasioned. The bridegroom owed an acquaintance of his a sum of money, the creditor agreed to cancel the debt, on condition the woman could be prevailed upon to be married in the manner above mentioned.

Whilst many of these accounts carry no names (perhaps to save the blushes of the bride in question), we do know that according to the Salisbury and Winchester Journal 2 October 1775, we have the names of the happy couple, who married by licence in the town of Bishop’s Waltham, Hampshire, on 21 September.

Bishop’s Waltham. © Sarah Murden

This couple were Richard Elcock, a bricklayer, and his new bride, Judith Redding. Judith wished to exempt her future husband from the payment of any debts she might have incurred. Judith went into one of the pews in the church, and stripped herself of all her cloaths except her shift, in which she went to the altar and was married, much to the astonishment of the parson, clerk etc.

According to the Northampton Mercury, 22 November 1794, at Lewes, Sussex, Mr Hollingdale, of Barcomb, near this town, was married to a widow of the same place, named Ford.

In order to get rid of some pecuniary obligations, ’twas judged expedient by the above couple, that the bride should cross the high road, attired en chemise only, in the presence of three male witnesses. Three neighbours were accordingly sent for, without being informed of the occasion, before whom the widow performed the curious ceremony, but as one of the witnesses was so confounded at what he saw, as to render him incapable of swearing to particulars, ‘tis doubted’ whether the stratagem of the newly married pair will prove successful.

The parish records confirm that Edward Hollingdale and Annie Ford were married by bans on 4 November 1794.

The Runcorn Examiner, 3 February 1912 had picked up on these unusual marriages and carried out its own research. It reported of one such marriage which took place on that date in 1774, at Saddleworth.

This marriage related to an Abraham Brooks, a widower, aged about 30 and his bride to be, a widow, Mary Bradley aged almost 70. Mary was believed to have been a little in debt and as such, Abraham obliged her to be married in her shift.

The weather was very severe on that day and caused her to suffer a violent fit of shaking, so much so, that the minister being compassionate, covered her with his coat whilst the marriage was solemnised.

The Wedding Breakfast; National Trust, Waddesdon Manor

The Caledonian Mercury 27 October 1794 reported that:

There is a prevalent (though we believe a very erroneous) opinion that if a widow is married without clothing, except a chemise, her second husband will be free from her debts.

The parish register book of Orchesten St Mary, a village in Wiltshire, contains an entry of the marriage of a woman ‘in her smock, without any head gear on,’ This marriage pertained to John Bridmore and Anne Selwood who were married on 17 October 1714.

At Ulcomb, in Kent in 1725, a woman married in her chemise. Having looked at the parish register and newspapers covering Ulcomb in Kent for 1725 there appears to be no mention of such an unusual wedding.

Similar marriages took place in America too, and from an article in the Hamilton Daily Times of 30 October 1919 and according to this article, in America at least:

The bride stood in a closet and put her hand through a hole in the door, sometimes she stood behind a cloth screen and put her hand out at one side, again, she wound about her a white sheet, furnished by the bridegroom and sometimes she stood in a her chemise or smock.

Whether this happened in Britain, there doesn’t seem to be anything to confirm such a thing.

In Lincolnshire, between 1838 and 1844, a woman was married wrapped only in a sheet. At Kirton in Lindsey, in North Lincolnshire, they took things one step further.

There was a popular belief  in that town, that the woman must be actually nude then she left her residence for that of her intended husband, in order to relieve him of her debts. The woman left her house from the bedroom window, stark naked and put on her clothes as she stood on the top of the ladder by which she accomplished her descent.

I have to say that I can’t see this custom being re-established any time soon.

Sources

Wood, Edward J, The Wedding Day in all Ages and Countries

Maryport Advertiser 4 June 1869

Featured Image

The Village Wedding, Thomas Falcon Marshall; Fylde Borough Council

Guest post by Elaine Thornton – ‘The Mysterious Mrs Rudd’

As always, it’s an absolute pleasure to welcome back guests to All Things Georgian, and today, we have the lovely Elaine Thornton who is going to tell us the fascinating story of ‘The Mysterious Mrs Rudd‘.

One of the most spectacular scandals of the 1770s was a forgery trial involving identical twin brothers of French Huguenot descent and a femme fatale with a murky past and a flair for publicity. The story unfolded in a series of twists and turns that gripped the public for nearly a year.

The three people involved in the fraud were the twins Robert and Daniel Perreau, respectively an apothecary and a stock jobber, and Daniel’s mistress, Margaret Caroline Rudd, known as Caroline, who lived with him and passed as his wife. Robert Perreau was the quieter of the brothers, happily married and hard-working. Daniel was more flamboyant: a gambler, with a taste for the high life. Despite their different characters, the twins were devoted to each other.

Margaret Caroline Rudd nee Youngson and Daniel Perreau. NPG

Caroline Rudd was an enigmatic figure: Irish by birth, she claimed to be descended from nobility. She had an enormous amount of charm, and always appeared elegantly and fashionably dressed. In fact, her father was an apothecary, and she was a former prostitute who had left her husband, a half-pay lieutenant, and lived on her wits on the fringes of society.

The Perreaus and Mrs Rudd were accused of forging bonds. It was common for money to be lent to borrowers on the strength of a bond, which was basically a guarantee, signed by a third party, who the lender knew to be wealthy enough repay the loan if the borrower defaulted. Forging bonds was a capital offence, as it undermined the basis of trust that the credit system was built on.

The scam carried out by the trio appeared to be a dazzlingly simple way to make money out of a series of forged bonds. The scheme involved borrowing an initial amount of money on a bond with a faked guarantor signature, and then borrowing enough money on a second forged bond both to pay off the first debt, and to make a profit. The chain of bonds could be extended indefinitely. Of course, the scheme relied on no one checking personally with the guarantor.

Around April 1774, the Perreau brothers began taking out loans on bonds supposedly guaranteed by William Adair, a wealthy army agent, for sums of up to £6,000. Adair’s name was probably chosen because Caroline Rudd knew his cousin, James Adair. The scheme ran successfully for nearly a year, until Robert Perreau took a bond for £7,500 to Drummonds bank on 7 March 1775. The Drummond brothers, who knew Adair, suspected the bond was a fake. Adair confirmed that the signature was not his, and denied knowing any of the three people involved.

The fraud unravelled quickly. By 12 March, Robert, Daniel and Caroline had all been arrested. They promptly turned on one another. Robert and Daniel both blamed Caroline, claiming that she had tricked them into believing that both William and James Adair were old family friends of hers. The brothers insisted that they had thought the bonds were genuine.

Caroline claimed that the twins were the instigators: she admitted faking the signature on the final bond, but said she had only done so out of fear of Daniel, who had forced her to sign at knife-point. She painted a pathetic scenario of virtuous female helplessness in the face of male violence and threats.

The initial hearing at Bow Street on 15 March had to be moved to the Guildhall because of the crowds: the papers reported that ‘every coach in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden was taken, and the street lined on both sides’. The case fascinated the public, with its heady mix of social ambition, sex and crime lurking beneath apparent respectability.

Portrait of Margaret Caroline Rudd; half-length, standing at the Bar of the Old Bailey in profile to right, her hands clasped and resting on desk; wearing ornate headdress over highly-dressed hair, shawl and gloves; in an oval; portrait copied from a larger image of the same scene by Bartolozzi. 1776. British Museum

At the hearing, Caroline gave a superb performance of bewildered innocence. She was so convincing that she was permitted to turn King’s evidence against the Perreaus, giving her immunity from prosecution. She was set free, while the twins were committed to prison.

The newspapers quickly took sides. The Morning Chronicle vilified Caroline as the ringleader, and depicted the Perreau brothers as her dupes. The Morning Post championed Caroline, and serialised her ‘case’ before any trial had taken place. Caroline had an instinctive understanding of PR, and seized the opportunity to present her version of the story to a wide public.

Readers were divided in their opinions. Some accepted her depiction of herself as a woman of high birth and good breeding, who found herself in unfortunate circumstances through no fault of her own. Others disbelieved her account; one correspondent, who appeared to know a good deal about her past, accused her of a history of prostitution and extortion, provoking a series of angry exchanges in print between her supporters and detractors.

The trial of the Perreau brothers opened on 1 June in a blaze of publicity. Caroline attended, expecting to be called as a Crown witness. On the first day, the presiding judge made a dramatic announcement: in his view, the magistrates at the initial hearing had no legal right to offer Mrs Rudd immunity in exchange for evidence. This was a stunning blow for Caroline. She was taken straight from the court to Newgate prison and committed for trial.

Robert Perreau and Daniel Perreau. NPG

Despite their insistence that they were Caroline’s victims, and the confusion caused among witnesses by their strong resemblance to one another, the Perreau twins were found not guilty of forging the bonds, but guilty of attempting to cash the bonds knowing they were false. Knowingly passing forged bonds was a capital crime, and four days later, the brothers were sentenced to death. However, their sentences would not be carried out until after Caroline’s trial.

Another woman in Caroline’s place might have despaired at this point, but she was a survivor. She threw herself into another sustained PR campaign through the pages of the Morning Post, proclaiming her own innocence, and the treachery of the Perreaus.

Caroline’s trial was delayed several times, but finally took place in December 1775. By that time, the Perreaus had been in prison under sentence of death for six months. Despite a strong case against her as the forger of the bonds, the jury sensationally acquitted her – although, as Horace Walpole commented drily, ‘nobody questions her guilt’.

The Perreau twins were hanged on 17 January 1776, protesting their innocence to the last. Touchingly, they held hands as they stood on the scaffold. Caroline lay low for a while, but her ambiguous reputation for glamour and danger remained. James Boswell visited her several times shortly after the trial, and was intrigued by her, but drew back, wary of the woman he compared to ‘that snake which fascinates with its eyes’ – although he did have a brief affair with her years later.

Caroline Rudd spent time in prison for debt in the 1780s, and died in obscurity, probably around 1800.

Northampton Mercury 11 February 1797

To this day, the truth behind her involvement in one of the most sensational criminal trials of the Georgian era has never been established.

Sources

http://www.oldbaileyonline.org

Morning Chronicle

Morning Post

The Trials of Robert and Daniel Perreau, London 1775

James Boswell, The Ominous Years 1774-1776

Further Reading

Donna T. Andrew and Randall McGowen, The Perreaus & Mrs Rudd, University of California Press, 2001

Sarah Bakewell, The Smart, Vintage, 2001

Featured Image

Bow Street Court 1808. Microcosm. Wikimedia

 

The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street – Lady Sarah Archer

Whilst it’s not clear to whom the original name Old Lady of Threadneedle Street pertained to, if anyone, but the caricature of 1797 by Gillray, relates to Lady Sarah Archer and it’s Lady Sarah  that we’re going to look at today. Lady Sarah Archer, was the wife of 2nd Baron, Andrew Archer.

The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street British Museum

Sarah was born in 1741, to parents, James West and Sarah, James who, according to the Bath Chronicle, 30 July 1761, was the joint Secretary to the Treasury and member of Parliament for St Alban’s, Hertfordshire. The couple were the owners of Alscot Park, Preston on Stour, Warwickshire, meaning that Sarah was born into an affluent family.

Alscot Park 1818. Courtesy of British Library

It was at the end of July 1761 that Sarah married the honourable Andrew Archer, son of Lord Archer of Umberslade Hall, Warwickshire and Pyrgo Park estate at Havering in Essex, so perhaps this was the union of two affluent families rather than a love match, but of course, we will never know.

We have no idea of the physical appearance of Andrew, nor do we really know what Lady Sarah looked like, as no portraits appear to exist, but we certainly have plenty of caricatures of her in later life, which are, to say the least, less than flattering.

Six Stages of Mending a face. Lady Archer. British Museum

The couple settled into married life and produced 4 daughters: Sarah (1762 – 1838), Ann Elizabeth (1763-1847), Maria (1765-1789) and Harriet (1769-1816).

The couple also had a son, according to Aris’s Birmingham Gazette 2 December 1771

On Wednesday last the lady of Lord Archer was delivered of a son and heir, at Umberslade, to the great joy of that family.

Their son was born 27 November 1771, but did not survive infancy, although there appears to be no documentary evidence to confirm the date of his death. This left the family with girls, therefore with no male to inherit the title.

It would be just seven years later that Andrew died in the April of 1778. He left no will and so a grant of administration of his estate was issued May 1778, in which his estate was placed in trust for his daughters, then aged 16, 15, 13 and 9.

As such, this left Lady Sarah widowed at the age of 37, with four children to care for. There is no evidence of her seeking a second husband, but she perhaps felt that being a wealthy widow there was no need of one; or possibly she was not the most attractive of women if the caricatures do bear any resemble to her, and as such didn’t find someone willing to marry her and take on four daughters, but of course, we will never know.

Lady Sarah facing right in ‘Race for a husband’. British Museum

All four daughters married well:

Sarah married on 20 May 1788, (not 1778, as I have read elsewhere), her husband sporting the unusual name of Other Hickman Windsor, 5th Earl of Plymouth. The couple were married by Special Licence at the home of Sir James Long of Grosvenor Place.

Maria was the next to marry. Her marriage to Henry Howard took place on November 26, 1788, by Licence, at Glaston, Northamptonshire, but she sadly died on 9 November, the following year.

Ann Elizabeth married Christopher Musgrave on 4 October 1790 by licence, at Edith Weston, Rutland.

Harriet also married on 5 December 1790, her husband being  Edward Bolton Clive. The couple married by special Licence at the home of Harriet’s brother in law, the Earl of Plymouth on Bruton Street.

According to the Morning Chronicle of 5 January 1789, Lady Sarah had died!

Friday died in Hereford Street. Lady Archer, relict of the late Lord Archer. The title extinct.

However, the Morning Post of 8 January 1789, corrected this rumour by stating that:

It is said that the dealers in Carmine and dead white, as well as the perfumers in general, have it in contemplation to present an address to Lady Archer, in gratitude for her not having died according to a late alarming report.

Throughout the 1790s Lady Sarah held regular ‘routs and card parties’ at her London home on Hereford Street.

The knave wins all. British Museum

According to Aris’s Birmingham Gazette, 30 July 1792 though, these parties came to an abrupt end … for a while at least.

Lady Archer has been struck with a paralytic stroke, which has totally deprived her of the use of one side, and has occasioned, in a great measure, the loss of her faculties; it is thought she cannot survive many day, nor is it to be wished, considering her melancholy situation She was warned of the probability of such an event by her physicians, about three years past.

Lady Sarah Archer and Albinia Hobart, Countess of Buckinghamshire in ‘The Exaltation of Faro’s Daughters’. British Museum

Perhaps in light of this illness, the following year, Sarah made her will whilst at her house at Umberslade. Her wish was to be buried alongside her husband, Andrew. She left £1,000 to her sister, Harriet West. To her maid Elizabeth Gallon, he left her wearing apparel, but not her jewellery, plus £100. To her housekeeper, Mary Walklett, again £100. The remainder of her estate to be divided equally between her 3 surviving daughters, Sarah, Elizabeth Ann and Harriet who were to be her joint executrixes.

The Morning Herald 4 March 1793 reported that Lady Sarah was still unwell, but as the saying goes, ‘the show must go on’.

In the Faro campaign of this winter, Mrs Monolieu has gained some advantage, as to visitors, over Mrs Hobart, and both find themselves assisted by the indisposition of Lady Archer. Since this game, it seems, must go on, why not licence it to a certain extent, and let five per cent of the profits to the widows of our seamen and soldiers!

By late 1793, she appears to have made something of a recovery and was back playing the card tables.

The Female Jockey Club, or A Sketch of the manners of the age by Charles Piggot, 1794 provides and interesting sketch of Lady Archer which aimed to summarize her life to that point:

Her Ladyships figure has been for many years common to this metropolis, but the natural complexion of her face, is no more remembered, it having been so long disguised by cosmetic art, that flesh and blood seem not to form the least part of its composition.

The art of painting, however, of brushing up an old decayed picture, is not the only art in which she excels. The noble dame is perfect mistress of all our polite, fashionable arts. In the art of driving phaeton with superior grace and dexterity; of shuffling the cards and raising a cock at Faro.

According to the Hampshire Chronicle April 1797,

Lady Archer let out her house in Albemarle Street, dismissed her servants, turned out the door Faro and his Host, and retired to her seat at Ham Common, Surrey, where she intends to lead a private life.

The Oracle and the Daily Advertiser 23 February 1801 reported the demise of Lady Sarah in almost mocking terms referring to her excessive use of cosmetics:

The death of Lady Archer has alarmed all the female dabbers in those cosmetics which are confessedly pernicious, but which cannot be dispensed with by those who enamel the skin; a mode of painting which requires repairing but about once a month.

Whereas the Bath Chronicle kept their report of her death extremely brief and factual:

Cause of death – as a result of injury by her clothes taking fire.

Lady Sarah died at her home on Charles Street, Grosvenor Square and was buried  on 27 February 1801, as per the wishes in her will, at the same church in Tanworth, Warwickshire, as her late husband.

Given all the caricatures of Lady Sarah, which would have been in the print shops and the references to her gambling in the press, both sources of which she would be very well aware of, couldn’t possibly have been happy about being depicted in such a derogatory fashion, but clearly not enough to stop her gambling or to tone down her excessive use of cosmetics.

Sources

Lady Sarah’s burial – Worcestershire Archive and Archaeology Service; Worcester, Worcestershire, England; The Diocese of Worcester Bishop’s Transcripts; Reference: b736/BA2015/357b

Education, Education, Education – for girls in the Georgian era

I have previously looked at employment for 18th century girls, so today we’re going to look at educational establishments for girls.

Lady Jane Mathew and Her Daughters c1790 YCBA

If you were middle or upper class, you would no doubt have been educated, but for the lower classes education may well  have been carried out by the mother in the home, and in a large part, a girl would have learnt the same skills as her mother, whether that be childcare or perhaps some sort of home based work, for example framework knitting.

We know that for girls born into noble families education was often carried out home, with tutors being brought into the household or by a live in governess, rather than the girl attending a school, but for many upper class young ladies they were educated and would perhaps attend boarding school. Sending your daughter to a boarding school could also be quite risky, as it meant your daughter was no longer under your roof and it would be difficult to assess how safe she might be in such a place, despite their seemingly impeccable credentials.

Trade card of Mary and Ann Favell (Eltham), school. c.1755. British Museum

Of course, it was a different situation for young gentlemen, as there were education establishments popping up all over. Once educated, it was common for an affluent young gentleman to go off on the Grand Tour and for others to go to university, or if not suited to academia, perhaps a career working for the East India Company might have been an option, or joining the military.  None of these options were on offer to young ladies.

Sloane House Boarding School. British Museum

Today, I’m going to look at adverts in the newspapers to see what schools offered young women and women who sought employment in them.

The Morning Herald, London seems to have been a popular newspaper for such establishments seeking both pupils and also for employees and there were certain skills required by potential teachers as we can see from these:

17 March 1802

Wanted, as one of the English teachers in a very superior ladies’ boarding school, a lady, not less than thirty, of genteel manners, an informed mind, and capable of teaching the English language, and different kinds of needle-works. It is also absolutely necessary that she should translate and speak French.

and another from 28 August 1807 by a school looking for

A young lady, who thoroughly understands teaching music. If acquainted with the French language, the more agreeable.

and this from 21 January 1806:

Wanted immediately, as an apprentice in an established ladies’ boarding school, a young lady, who upon reasonable terms will be instructed in writing, arithmetic, needlework, grammar, composition, geography, in the French and Italian languages, and in other departments of study requisite to qualify her for a school, or as a private governess. French and Italian are the languages chiefly spoken in the school.

Trade card of The Misses Lankester (London), school. c1800. British Museum

In the St James’s Chronicle 10 February 1801, we see an advert from a widower who had five daughters and was:

Desirous of their education being completed at home, rather than at boarding school. Any lady of respectability, perfectly qualified for such an undertaking, may meet with a very agreeable situation. Preference will be given if accustomed to the tuition of children. Satisfactory references will be expected.

We then move on to look at young ladies who offered their skills as a teacher such as this one potential candidate who, in 1801 offered her skills as an assistant teacher in a respectable school. She advised potential employers that she was

19 years of age and the daughter of a clergyman and that a potential employer should be aware that as this would be her first trial, salary will not be an object.

Which loosely translate to her being prepared to work for very low wages to gain additional skills.

Morning Post 6 July 1803

Wants a situation, in a ladies boarding school,  a young lady, who can teach the French and English language, needlework and the rudiments of geography.

Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

From the adverts for both lessons being offered, and those equipped to teach them, the skills for a young lady would appear to be English and French, with French being a necessity for all young women. Art, needlework, music and geography were lessons appearing in most adverts, but dancing and music lessons, which I thought might have been included appear to have been offered as an extra-curricular  option and would have been taught by a dancing master, who would often offer this at home.

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John Richard Comyns of Hylands, Essex, with His Daughters YCBA

Dido Elizabeth Belle – 14 Ranelagh Street, Pimlico

As many of you will be aware, research into the life of Dido Elizabeth Belle and her family has been ongoing for quite some time now and today, at the suggestion of Etienne Daly, who has been researching the life of Dido for a number of years, I will take a look at some of Dido and John’s neighbours, in order to gain a glimpse into what living on Ranelagh Street would have been like for this newlywed couple.

When Dido Elizabeth Belle married John Daviniere in 1793, the couple set up home at 14 Ranelagh Street in Pimlico. It’s difficult to determine in which social circles Dido and John mixed after their wedding, or exactly where Dido lived immediately following the death of Lord Mansfield, earlier in 1793.

Her direct family, i.e., her father and Lord Mansfield had both died prior to her marriage, but her step mother, Lady Mary Lindsay was alive until 1799, but there is no surviving evidence to confirm that she and Dido had any contact at all.

Upon Lady Lindsay’s death, Dido’s half siblings, John (1767-1821) and Elizabeth Lindsay, later Hill (1766-1842) were named her will, but curiously, Dido was not. Perhaps Lady Lindsay simply assumed her step daughter, Dido, had been sufficiently provided for by both Lord Mansfield and her husband during their lives.

It’s very clear that Dido’s half siblings, John and Elizabeth were in contact with each other as noted in John’s will, left when he died in India.

I bequeath to my sister, Mrs Eliza Hill of Edinburgh …

Curiously, John had named his half sister, Elizabeth who was by that time Mrs Peter Hill, but no mention was made of his other half sister, Dido.

Peter Hill, Merchant, New Kirk Parish and Elizabeth Palmer (same parish) alias Lindsay) Daughter of Sir John Lindsay

We know for certain that Elizabeth was Sir John’s illegitimate daughter from her marriage entry above, (Scottish records being more detailed than English ones,) sadly, no such tangible documentary evidence exists from Dido’s marriage.

Portrait of Dido Elizabeth Belle Lindsay and her cousin Lady Elizabeth Murray, c.1778. Formerly attributed to Johann Zoffany. The portrait hangs at Scone Palace in Perthshire.

Her cousin, Lady Elizabeth with whom she shared the famous portrait, had married George Finch-Hatton some eight year previously, and although they were obviously close whilst at Kenwood House, although there appears to be nothing left to history to confirm that they ever kept in touch after Lady Elizabeth married, but then their lives took very different paths, with Lady Elizabeth marrying into an aristocratic family and Dido marrying John Daviniere, who was a servant at the time of their marriage.

Sadly, there is also nothing tangible to confirm that Dido had any contact with her half siblings, but as Elizabeth was in Scotland and John, out in Indian with their respective families, so perhaps this is not really surprising given the geography. This would have left Dido with few known contracts, despite her previous social standing as the great niece of one of the most affluent and influential men in the country and living in the grand, Kenwood House.

With a lack of information about her possible acquaintances after her marriage, especially any contact with family and at present there is no knowledge of her  having many, if any, friends, the only people left to provide any clues, are her neighbours in Pimlico.

Ranelagh Street North was newly built when John and Dido moved into their home. Looking at the 1798 Land Redemption Tax return for example, it appears to have been somewhat cheaper to live on Ranelagh Street, than other streets in the surrounding area including Ranelagh Street South.

Land Tax Redemption Office: Quotas and Assessments, IR23; Piece: 54

Whilst it is difficult to be certain, as no house number was given in this advert, but presumably their new home would have been similar to this one, advertised in the Morning Post, August 1800.

The search began with the rates book from 1794 when they moved there, up to around 1807, by which time it is known that John and their two sons had moved out following the death of Dido.

London Land Tax Records 1794. London Metropolitan Archives.

The first interesting piece of information I found, was that when John Daviniere left 14 Ranelagh Street North, Pimlico, the new occupants were a Martha and James White, a  gardener. Martha had married James in November 1794 at the same church that Dido and John had married at in 1793.

However, the land tax return for 1805 shows not only Daviniere as resident of Ranelagh Street, but also James White, as can be seen below.

London Land Tax Records. London Metropolitan Archives.

Why is this relevant? Well, in the marriage register for Dido, the marriage was witnessed by a Martha Darnell, and it transpires that it was this Martha, who went on to marry James White, so it would certainly appear from this, that Dido and John remained in contact with Martha when she married her first husband, so much so, that after Dido’s death in 1804, the White’s moved into the house, perhaps to help care for the boys.

After the death of James at the end of 1808, Martha and her second husband, William Parkes remained in the property for a few years, until they completely vanished from the radar.

It seems feasible that Dido knew Martha from Kenwood House, where it’s possible Martha was a dairymaid or a ladies’ maid, and that maybe her first husband was one of the gardeners at Kenwood House too – pure speculation at this stage, but hopefully at some point tangible proof will come to light.

Another neighbour who lived near Dido and John was a John Mann, who was initially described as a perfumer, but by 1808 he had become a hairdresser and barber. He was clearly not operating his business from home as it’s known that he was renting out part of him home by this time, perhaps business wasn’t going so well.

It was in December 1808 that Mann’s life came to something of an abrupt end as we will now discover. The Hull Packet newspaper of 10 January 1809, amongst others carried reports of his demise.

A melancholy event occurred a few days since, at Pimlico, near London, accompanied with very extraordinary circumstance. Mr Mann, a hairdresser, who resided in Ranelagh Street, had, in consequence of a domestic misfortune, suffered mental derangement; but being, by medical aid, recovered, he had again resumed his occupation. A few morning since, he attended, as usual, to dress and shave several gentlemen in his neighbourhood, by whom he was much esteemed. He had, in all, dressed and shaved nine of his customers, the last of whom was Mr Palmer, of Drury Lane Theatre. Immediately upon his leaving Mr Palmer, he returned home, without attending to any of his other employers, and cut his own throat with one of his razors. The wound was so deep and extensive that he died in a few moments.

The gentlemen with whom he had been, all observed something very singular in his conduct: and there is no doubt that, during the whole of the morning, he was labouring under the terrible malady which induced him to put a period to his existence. Each of the nine has reason, therefore, to be thankful, that the razor was not applied to his neck, before the unfortunate maniac raised it against his own.

It’s not clear what the ‘domestic misfortune’ was, but it could have been connected to the death of his wife, Ann, who had died the previous year. Both John and Ann were buried at St George’s in the Fields, the same graveyard that Dido had been buried in a few years previously, in 1804.

Another of Dido and John’s neighbours was Anthony Fabiani, who, research shows, was one of the Treasury messengers, working directly for the 3^rd Duke of Portland. Ranelagh Street was close to the Queen’s house, so arguably, it was a convenient place for him to live. Bentinck was a close friend of Sir John Lindsay during his lifetime and therefore may have been aware of Dido living in Ranelagh Street through Fabiani or government spies, and that she had a French husband.

Fabiani’s role was to be responsible for seeking out felons and taking them to prison, along with carrying documents the length and breadth of the country and travelling on behalf of the King and ministers all over Europe.  I first spotted his name in the Hampshire Chronicle, 28 July 1798, which noted that:

Tuesday morning a Captain Coppinger, of Ireland, brought a few days since from Guernsey, where he had been arrested on suspicion of being one of the leading men in the rebellion in that Kingdom found means to effect his escape from the house of Mr Fabiani, at Pimlico, one of the Treasury Messengers, where he was in custody. The charges against him are said to be of a most serious nature.

With a little more searching I discovered several arrest warrants issued by the 3rd Duke of Portland, which bore Fabiani’s name, as the messenger sent to apprehend them; most being wanted for High Treason. Interestingly on the subsequent page of warrants was a name that jumped out at me – Edward Marcus Despard.

Despard was famously arrested in 1798, not by Fabiani, but one of his colleagues, George Higgins. Despard was hanged for treason in 1803, despite pleas from his wife, Catherine, who, like Dido was a woman of colour.  It would be interesting to know whether Dido was familiar with Despard’s case and of Catherine, but it does seem quite likely that she would have read about it in the newspaper. Etienne has suggested that Dido’s husband, could possibly have been a spy, but of course, as  you can imagine, there’s no tangible evidence yet to support this but it’s an avenue he is pursuing.

Fabiani lived at No. 3 Ranelagh Street until just after the turn of the century when he moved to Silver Street, Golden Square, where he died in 1810 and again, like Dido, he too was buried at St George in the Fields on 3 November 1810.

At No. 19, lived a music seller, dealer and chapman, Louis Von Esch, who was declared bankrupt in 1796, but presumably life began to dramatically improve, as by the turn of the century his musical talent was recognised.

Princess Charlotte Augusta of Wales by George Dawe. © National Portrait Gallery, London.

Whilst it’s not conclusive, I’m fairly certain that this article in the Morning Chronicle of 1802, relates to Louis rather than his brother, Dominique, also a musician, and it would appear that he has become responsible for the musical education of Prince George’s daughter, Princess Charlotte:

It was around this time that he moved from Ranelagh Street and had moved to Edward Street.  The same year, Louis had joined the Freemasons at the Lodge De L’Esperance, an Ancient French Lodge, giving his occupation as composer of music, along with his brother, Dominique, a music master, the brothers being aged 37 and 33, respectively. Fellow members of the lodge included the artist, Domenico Pellegrini.

Pellegrini, Domenico; The Opera Box; Tabley House Collection

It would appear that Louis’s music was extremely popular at the time. He socialised in the upper echelons of society and would eventually travel to Milan and the Palace of Visconti, which was where his life reached its conclusion in 1829.

Another long term resident of Ranelagh Street, living at no. 22, so just a few door away from Dido and John, was the watch and clock maker, George Philip Strigel. The couple would, more than likely, have known him in passing at least, as the elderly gentleman who made clocks and Watchmaker to Queen Charlotte.

Courtesy of Tobias Birch.com

According to the Royal Collection Trust, Strigel was described as the ‘blunt, high-dried, honest German’ who ‘had the care of his majesty’s clocks’. He was apparently, once interrupted by the George III whilst attending to a clock dial at Buckingham House, ‘standing upon a stool, placed upon a table, his hands extended above his head’ as he adjusted a clock dial in Buckingham House.

He was made an honorary freeman of the Clockmakers’ Company in 1771 – conferred on those who the Company believed could help to advance its interests – socially and influentially.

Maybe John and Dido even purchased a clock from him for their new home, who knows.  Strigel died in 1798, and like other residents, was buried on 23 December 1798 at St George in the Fields.

In addition to these, Paula Byrne noted in her book, ‘Belle‘, that other neighbours included, the miniature painter and engraver, Charles Wilkins, an architect, George Shakespeare and probably the most interesting characters of all, was the herbalist, Mrs Ringenberig, who examined morning urine from which she could provide cures for female complaints – I wonder if Dido ever used her services?

Wednesday, June 19, 1793

Overall, Ranelagh Street appears to have housed an eclectic mix of trades people people. In addition to the ones above, there was Benjamin Butcher, the landlord of the King’s Head public house; David Black, a baker, who lived next door to John and Dido, at No. 15, along with his wife Lavinia. William Pickard,  a grocer, who, along with David Black was witness to James White’s will in 1808.  Then there was George Smith, a greengrocer, John Bird, a pork man, Charles Clark, a butcher and Thomas Lea, a Cheeseman.

Hopefully, this post will provide a glimpse into the lives of some of the people that Dido and John would have rubbed shoulders with whilst living in Pimlico and it would appear that several residents were employed by the royal family with others employed in a whole variety of roles. Needless to say, apart from her friend, Martha, no women are named, that is because none are known of as yet, but it would be difficult to believe that she had no female acquaintances.

Etienne Daly has found out that Margaret, Dowager Duchess of Portland was a close friend to Lord and Lady Mansfield, and that she was also a good friend to the ‘blue stocking’, Mary Delany and that both women visited Kenwood House whilst Dido was living there, so would most likely have met her, or at least been aware of her presence within the household.  The Dowager’s son, 3rd Duke of Portland was mentioned earlier, so would possibly have known that Dido lived in Pimlico, but there is no substantiated evidence of this.

To find out more about the lives of Dido Elizabeth Belle, her family and descendants, click in this link. 

Sources:

Manchester Mercury 9 August 1796

London Courier and Evening Gazette 29 June 1802

Royal Collection Trust

Byrne, Paula. Belle: The True Story of Dido Belle

Joanna Southcott (1750-1814), religious prophetess

Joanna was born in 1750 and presented for baptism at the local parish church, Ottery St Mary, Devon, by parents William and Hannah on 6^th June 1750. If you look to the left of the entry in the baptismal register, you’ll see a faint, handwritten notation which was added at some time. Someone has written the words ‘The Fanatic’.

If you’ve never come across Joanna before, she held very strong religious convictions and in her early 40’s began to experience apocalyptic dreams and visitations. She believed that she possessed supernatural gifts and wrote prophecies in rhyme. She claimed to be the Woman of the Apocalypse referenced in a prophetic passage of the book of Revelations, Chapter 12, verses 1-6 and that she was destined to have a son who would be the new Messiah or Shiloh (Genesis, Chapter 49, verse 10).

Over time, Joanna acquired a large following who believed in her prophecies, so much so that she began selling paper ‘seals of the Lord’ at prices varying from twelve shillings to a guinea. The seals were supposed to ensure the owners of such would receive eternal life. Joanna became so popular that she was persuaded to leave her home in Devon and move to London.

British Museum

At the age of 64, Joanna announced that she was pregnant, and it was an immaculate conception. The child was to be born on 19 October 1814 and needless to sy there was a media frenzy awaiting the birth of this child, but of course much of her prophecies were viewed with a degree of scepticism.

19 October 1814 came and went, but Joanna was growing ever larger, so people believed that the birth of the child was imminent.

The Statesman of 28 November 1814 reported that her state of health had changed:

On Thursday night, she complained of great oppression insomuch, that she could not lay down on her bed, nor be in one posture, but a very short time together during the night. On Friday morning, she got some sleep, but wakened frequently, with the oppression and pain. Towards the evening she became restless again, had a very bad night and this day (Saturday is so much exhausted, that she cannot keep her head off the pillow. She complains of a giddiness in her head, and extreme faintness all over her and general pains all over. This is the state she is in at present, some change must soon take place, according to all human understanding, as she continues without taking nourishment, except the wine, which does not remain long on her stomach.

Her condition deteriorated and still no sign of the child until about 27 December 1814, when she died, with her Chief Priest Tozer and her close friend, Ann Underwood along with two or three unnamed people at her bedside.

Spirits at work- Joanna conceiving- i.e.- blowing up Shiloh. British Museum

The Examiner 8 January 1815 carried a detailed report titled Death and Dissection of the Prophetess. Just prior to her death it was said that she became insensible, but her supporters continued to believe that he wasn’t dying, but that it was merely a precursor to giving birth. A surgeon, Mr Want, of Tottenham Court Road was made aware of Joanna’s condition some seven weeks prior to her demise. He stated that the symptoms she displayed should be examined independent of the question of reputed pregnancy. He concluded from his examination that there was no pregnancy, but that she would die from her illness, but that he could give her medication to help ease her suffering and to ‘relieve the flatulency of which she was oppressed’. In order to ensure that Joanna’s carer, Ann Underwood was under no illusion that her friend would recover or that she was pregnant, the doctor wisely put his view to Ann in writing, urging her to ensure that Joanna took the medicine he had prescribed. He also noted that Joanna declined any medicine unless The Lord told her she should take it.

Joanna’s supporters believed that Joanna would appear as dead for a period of four days, she would then be revived, and the boy would be born, so her body was not allowed to be moved for burial during this period. They simply believed that she was ‘gone for a while’ and wrapped her body in blankets, put bottles of hot water around her feet and kept the room warm.

Crowds of her supporters gathered in Manchester Street to await her resurrection, all constantly asking for news. Far from waking up after the four-day period, decomposition rapidly began, aided by the heat.

Two surgeons carried out the dissection and as they anticipated, no unborn child was found, her uterine organs were healthy, however, her intestines were distended and flatulent which they believed to be the cause of her appearing pregnant. The cause of death was recorded as ‘natural’.

Joanna Southcott. British Museum

Before Joanna died, she advised Ann Underwood that if the child wasn’t born, that all the gifts given by her followers, for the use of the Shiloh, including a crib were to be returned to them. Joanna left a will, in which she left small financial gifts along with her wearing apparel to named followers, her will contains over two full pages of names in a list along with the item to be given to them.

Following her death there was a media frenzy, describing her as a ‘wicked woman’ taking money from people under false pretences. She was also described as a scandalous  and deluded.

The Caledonian Mercury, 31 December 1814, contained a letter which confirmed that Joanna had died at four o’clock in the morning, 27 December 1814 and was buried on 2nd January 1815 at St Marylebone.

Joanna was also said to have a left a chest containing prophecies which was only to be opened at a time of national crisis or danger and in the presence of all the Bishops of the Church of England.

Quite where this box is now I’m not quite sure, and there appears to be no mention of such an item in her will. I have read that it was at some time been deposited at the British Museum, but that it has now been lost. It’s also said to be with a member of the family and but perhaps the most likely place being that in 1957 it was presented to the Panacea Society that it remains with them, in a house which is now a museum in Bedford.

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The Imposter, or Obstetric Dispute. British Museum

The Pious Mary Anne Deane (1718-1807)

Mary  Anne Deane was born about 1718 and was believed to be the daughter of John Deane, Governor of India, who died about 1752. Sadly, it’s proving difficult to find anything about this lady’s early life.

Teapot with Lid and Cup Inscribed with the Crest of John Deane (d. 1751), Governor of Bengal. LCMA

She came to my attention when I was asked for help in finding out more about her for the television programme, A House Through Time, but, as their plans changed I decided that for now it was worth including the little we do know about her, here on All Things Georgian.

Romney, George; John Wesley (1703-1791); Christ Church, University of Oxford

Mary Anne was a deeply religious woman and friend of John Wesley, the evangelist and lived at The Manor House, Whitkirk, near Leeds, until her death on 4 February 1807, when she was buried at the parish church, aged 88 years, according to the parish register.  The burial register entry also stated:

Her life was pious, her death triumphant

William Dawson described as ‘an eloquent preacher’ gave the sermon at Mary Anne’s funeral which took place the week following her demise. The York Herald 14 February 1807 also paid tribute to her, describing her as, ‘a lady universally respected’.

Mary Anne had moved to Whitkirk about 1768, but it’s not clear whether that it was then that she moved into The Manor House.

Russell, John; The Right Honourable Selina, Countess of Huntingdon (1707-1791), Foundress and Benefactress; Westminster College, Cambridge

Apart from being well known to the Selina Hastings, the Countess of Huntington, the religious leader who played a prominent part in the religious revival of the 18th century and the Methodist movement in England and Wales, Mary Anne was also reputed to be related to the Frances, Viscountess Irwin, but so far it hasn’t been possible to establish whether the connection was to the Countess or her husband.

Viscountess Frances Irwin (Irving) was the illegitimate daughter of Shepheard, but was also known as Gibson, her mother’s name. Her father Samuel Shepheard’s will of 1748, made that clear ‘my daughter Frances Gibson, commonly called Frances Shepheard’.

Frances, Viscountess Irwin (1734–1807), née Frances Gibson Shepheard, after Joshua Reynolds) and Charles Ingram (1727–1778), 9th Viscount Irwin by Benjamin Wilson. Temple Newsam House, Leeds Museums and Galleries

In her will, May Anne stipulated that she should be buried at Whitkirk parish church, with a gravestone just showing her name and age.  She made provision for a Louisa Deane, daughter of her late uncle Lewis Deane, the interest on £1,000 stock, so long as Louisa paid £10 per annum to her brother John. This was all to be left in trust granted to Viscountess Irwin.

She also made reference to bank annuities from 1747, but provided no explanation as to exactly what consisted of. She left £1,000 to a Mary Greenwood, wife of John Greenwood, of Whitkirk, but again, sadly no explanation as to who this was, or whether  John and Mary were connected to her, and also to a Christopher Wainwright she left, 10 guineas.

She also made provision for her employees – household linen and wearing apparel to her chambermaid, Deborah and money to Catherine Houseman, her cook. Not only her wages, to Catherine, but also her ‘Mr Wesley’s unbound magazines‘, which she clearly felt Catherine would really appreciate.

She also mentioned Miss Gordon and Miss Alice Scott, to whom she bequeathed a miniature of Lady Irwin. Her will was proven 5 May 1807.

There was an account in the Wesleyan Methodist Magazine of 1840 about a Mrs Bywater, who had died in 1837. Mrs Bywater being nee Houseman (Catherine) which made reference to Mary Anne and provided a small glimpse into her later life:

In the year 1797, following, as she believed, the leadings of divine providence, she engaged in the service of that venerable saint, the late Mrs Deane of Whitkirk. Her fellow servant was also a deeply pious young woman, and they both enjoyed peculiar privileges while dwelling under that favoured roof. Mrs Dean was so infirm that, though the church was not far distant, it was very difficult to get her there; and, as her hearing was far from good, she could not hear much of the service; and though she could join in the prayers, yet the sermon was lost to her. The servants were induced to propose to her to have preaching on Sunday evenings in the front kitchen; and to this she readily consented, attending as long as she was able, and fining the service very profitable.

In The Sword and The Trowel: A Record of Combat with Sin and of Labour for the Lord, edited by C.H Spurgeon, written in 1873, Spurgeon was writing about the Yorkshire farmer and preacher, William Dawson, who had given the sermon at Mary Anne’s funeral. It was said that Mary Anne was very attached to Dawson and was in the habit of designating him, ‘My Willy’.

In The Life and Times of Selina, Countess of Huntington we have another glimpse into who Mary Anne was:

The late Mrs Deane who resided at that time at Whitkirk near Leeds, was considered as ranking among the higher circles. She had occasionally heard Mr Ingram and Mr Edwards, who had withdrawn himself from Mr Wesley, and had built himself a place of worship, known by the name of ‘White Chapel’, at Leeds, where he continued to dispense the Word of Life for more than thirty years.

Mr Edwards mentioned Mrs Dean to Lady Huntingdon, who observing the mark of a penitent in her, invited her to her house, and there she became acquainted with those bright stars that shone in England, and now shine in heaven. Messrs Whitefield, the Wesley’s, Venn, Ingram, Romain and other clergymen who found a welcome in that honourable house. She had frequent opportunities of conversing with Lady Huntingdon and enjoying those spiritual pleasures which would naturally result from communication with one so well qualified as that excellent lady, to direct and comfort the Christian in his road to glory.

Mrs Dean was a woman of rank, of superior education and accomplishments, ad her letters and meditations afford strong proofs that if there be any happiness separate from union and communication with God by faith in Jesus Christ.

Mrs Deane was nearly allied to the noble family of Charles, Viscount Irvine, of Temple Newson. His Lordship, who had succeeded to the title in 1763, had married Miss Shepheard, a lady possessed of a very great fortune. Mrs Deane’s attachment to and affection for Lady Irvine and every member of that honourable family were remarkable, and always appeared so vigorous that they were constantly breaking forth in the most aren’t prayers for their eternal welfare. She soon brought her Ladyship acquainted with Lady Huntingdon, and never failed to invite Lord and Lady Irvine to her house whenever the Countess was at Leeds, or at Ledstone Hall.

The account goes on to say that Lady Irvine outlived her ‘old friend and relative’ and that Mary Anne died at the age of 88 years and nine months. Hopefully in due course more information can be found about Mary Anne’s earlier life.

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The Manor House Whitkirk

Mary Edwards, a single minded woman (1705-1743)

On 12 July 1704, at Christ Church, Newgate Street, London, Francis Edwards married Anna Margaretta Vernatti and almost nine months to the day their daughter, Mary was born.  On 25 May 1705, Francis and Anna presented their daughter, Mary to be baptised at St Ann’s Soho.

Anna Margaretta was the daughter of Constantine Vernatti of Hackney, who died a year before Anna married.

Constantine Vernatti Courtesy of Geni com

In Constantine’s will, he stated that if  his daughter married with her mother’s consent, that she would receive £10,000, which is over one million pounds in today’s money.

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The remainder of Constantine’s vast estate including lands in Dartford, Kent and Hackney was to be left to his wife and so as you can see, the Vernatti family were extremely wealthy landowners, as were Francis Edwards’ family, so this was a union of two very wealthy families.

In 1729 Francis Edwards died, leaving one of his estates in Ireland, directly to his daughter, Mary, thereby making her an extremely wealthy heiress, not to mention all the land he also owned in England in including properties in Essex, Hertfordshire, Kent, Middlesex, Northamptonshire and Welford, Leicestershire and shares in the New River water Company.

Upon her father’s death, Mary arranged for this memorial below, to be erected in his honour at Welham church.

Monument to Francis Edwards from Mary at Welham church. Courtesy of Leicestershire Churches.co.uk

The London Gazette, August 1729 carried the following notice:

Francis Edwards estate The London Gazette Issue 6801. Click to enlarge

The Daily Advertiser, 17 June 1731 announced that Mary was due to marry:

between the right honourable the Lord Anne Hamilton, brother to his Grace the Duke of that name, and Miss Edwards of Pall Mall, a young lady of distinguishing great virtues, and possessed of a plentiful estate, which according to her innate propensity to the poor, enables her to exert herself in the most extensive charities and acts of humanity towards the distressed part of her fellow creatures.

On 8 July 1731, Mary granted property in Leicestershire to Lord Anne, so had they married? This was followed by an article in the Caledonian Mercury, dated 2 August 1731, which reported that:

on Sunday the Lord Anne Hamilton was married to Miss Edwards of Pall Mall, a rich heiress’,

However, it was soon updated on 24 August:

A marriage is actually concluded, and will soon by consummated, between the Right Honourable Lord Anne Hamilton, and Miss Mary Edwards, of Cambden House, Kensington, a very rich heiress.

(Lord Anne Hamilton took his first name from his godmother, Queen Anne. Born 12 October 1709).

So, when and where did they marry? Articles I have read state that there’s no evidence of their marriage having taken place, others that they married at Fleet prison, so a clandestine marriage. If that were the case, why did the newspaper provide coverage of it and what did her mother, who was still alive, make of it? This seems unlikely, she was a wealthy young woman and someone who the press would have taken great interest in.

It wasn’t until 8 November 1731 that more information became visible about their possible marriage, courtesy of the Daily Advertiser:

On Monday last, and not before, the Right Hon. The Lord Anne Hamilton, brother to his Grace the Duke of Hamilton, was married at Kensington Church, to Miss Edwards, the great heiress of Pall Mall, a lady of upwards of £100,000 fortune (about 12 million in today’s money).

If that figure is even vaguely correct, then Mary was exceptionally wealthy when she married her spendthrift husband. The newspapers also tell us that he had something of a penchant for the horses, presumably both owning and gambling on them, so had he married her and if so, was it purely for her money?

Either way, after two years of marriage, they saw the joyous arrival of a son and heir. The Stamford Mercury 15 March 1733 reported that

On Thursday last the Lady of the Lord Anne Hamilton (Brother to his Grace the Duke of Hamilton), was safely delivered of a son, at his house in Pall Mall, to the great joy of that family.  

After the birth of their son, it was to be Mary alone, who presented the child for baptism on 28 March 1733, at St Mary Abbots, Kensington, the church where is seems likely Mary and Lord Anne had married.

Hogarth, William. Gerard Anne Edwards Hamilton (1732-1773), in His Cradle; National Trust, Upton House

The child, a boy, was born 4 March 1733 and baptised as Gerard Anne Edwards, son of Mary Edwards, Singlewoman.

Click to enlarge

By having giving her status as single, it raises several questions – were she and Lord Anne legally married? If they were, then wouldn’t it be highly likely that the same vicar who presided over their marriage would have also officiated at the baptism of their son and would surely have questions Mary’s actions? Did this act imply that, if they had been married, then by this time Mary no longer regarded herself as such? Or was the son really Lord Anne’s child? The latter seems unlikely, given that she named with child with Anne’s name. This baptism raises more questions than it answers, unfortunately.

It was only a few weeks after the birth of their son, that Lord Anne resigned from his post from the First Regiment of Foot, presumably to spend  more of his time on his passion of horse racing, after all, having married a wealthy heiress, money would not have been in short supply and in 1734 he stood as a candidate for Lanarkshire and became Knight of the Shire of Lanark in early 1735.

According to the ODNB

Mary also used her maiden name on 2 July 1733, when signing a grant at the College of Arms, extending the use of her coat and crest to Lord Anne, who briefly assumed Edwards as his middle name.

Sotheby’s, The Edwards Hamilton Family on a Terrace, 1734, William Hogarth, Oil on canvas, 68.5 x 86 cm. Private Collection. Digital image courtesy of Patrick Goetelen. Paul Mellon Center

The couple continued to live together for a while and this conversation piece above depicts the couple together, although from the painting it appears quite obvious that there is little love lost between them by this stage and young Gerard is playing alone on the left of the painting, on the terrace of Mary’s house in Kensington.

Shortly after this, the couple went their separate ways, with Mary clearly having had enough of her husbands spending and stating that he had taken some of her money without her consent, to value of a little under £2,000. Mary continued to live alone until her death in 1744.

Portrait of Gerard Anne Edwards in a brown coat and a red and gold waistcoat with a pamphlet extolling education , 1743–1743 John Shakleton Artnet

Two years prior to her death, Mary wrote her fourteen page will, on 13 April 1742, written in the name of Mary Edwards, complete with full details of her estate and that it should be left to Gerard, in trust until he reached 21 and that her executors be appointed his guardians until then, given that he was only eleven when she died. She stressed the importance of him continuing with his education which was being provided at that time by Rev Cox, in Kensington. She made a somewhat unusual stipulation that her son should not be sent away to public school or university, nor should he be permitted to travel abroad. Mary arranged for him to continue with his education with Rev Cox in Kensington, she was very clear about how important his education was to her.

Click to enlarge

She also set aside money to ensure that the monument erected for her father at Welham be maintained and repaired as and when necessary. She also took the unusual step of confirming in her will, when and where her son had been baptised, and that he to be known as Gerard Anne Edwards, the implication being that no connection to his father should be mentioned. Mary also ensured that her mother, who was still living should be provided for too.

Mary Edwards by William Hogarth. The Frick Collection

Once Mary and Lord Anne had separated, Lord Anne found love again or maybe just another source of money, as it was reported in the Caledonian Mercury 20 December 1742, that he had married again, at Bath, so only months after Mary had written her will, with absolutely no mention of him in it.

Was he really free to marry or was it a bigamous marriage? His bride being a Miss Anna Charlotta Maria Powell, described as a beautiful young lady, with a fortune of £30,000.

Mary died at Kensington on 23 August 1743, aged thirty-eight and was buried at the same church as her father, Welham, Leicestershire.

Lord Anne was reported to have died on 1 January 1749 in either Bath after a long illness, or in Paris, it’s unclear as to which was correct. Whichever it was his burial did not take place until 7 July 1749 at St James, Piccadilly.

When Mary’s mother, Anna Margaretta sat down to write her will in 1762, her daughter, Mary had been dead for several years as Anna made specific mention to in her will. With no-one else to inherit her not unsubstantial will, she left everything to her grandson when she died in 1765, Gerard Anne Edwards.

She referred to her late daughter, Mary Edwards, indicating that either her daughter never married or was no longer married to Lord Anne Hamilton and had resumed the use of her maiden name.  Anna owned property and land in Clapton, Somerstown and Barking. Anna was buried on 19 March 1765 in St. John-at-Hackney Churchyard.

Sources

Fenland notes and Queries

The Herald and Genealogist – Volume 5. 1870

The Scots Peerage. Volume 4. p385

ODNB

Records of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury, Series PROB 11; Class: PROB 11; Piece: 736

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu – a ‘bad mother’

I am delighted to welcome fellow author,  the lovely Jo Willet, to tell us about her book ‘The Pioneering Life of Mary Wortley Montagu: Scientist and Feminist‘ which has just been published by Pen and Sword Books.

Jo has been an award-winning TV drama and comedy producer all her working life. Her credits range from the recent ‘Manhunt‘, starring Martin Clunes, to ‘Birds of a Feather’ and has now ventured in writing. This is her first book and she’s now busy working on her second – also a historical biography. Jo is married with a daughter, a son and a step-son. She lives in London and Dorset. You can find out more about Jo by clicking on the link at the end.

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu – Wikimedia commons. Artist: Jonathan Richardson

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu and her husband Edward had two children – confusingly called Edward and Mary. Lady Mary’s two children had starkly contrasting lives and their mother’s relationship with both of them, though loving, was often stormy. Even in her lifetime she was sensitive to criticism that she was that dreaded thing: a bad mother.

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu with her son, Edward Wortley Montagu, and attendants. attributed to Jean Baptiste Vanmour. NPG

Lady Mary is most famous for her contribution to the fight against smallpox.  Both her children were involved.  She inoculated her son Edward, aged nearly 5,  while the family were living in Turkey in 1718.  But this was common practice in Turkey at the time and Lady Mary was simply following in the footsteps of another Englishman, Sir Robert Sutton.

Lady Mary’s daughter, Countess of Bute – Wikimedia commons. Artist – after Joshua Reynolds.

Her ground-breaking decision was to inoculate her only daughter, young Mary, aged 3, once the family were back in England.  So young Mary became the first person in the west to be given protection against the smallpox. Young Mary was educated at home.  She enjoyed putting on theatrical productions.  Her mother, rather disloyally, described her as plain.

Lady Mary and Wortley set about finding a suitable husband for young Mary, once she reached the age of 18, as was the custom.  They themselves had eloped, but they clearly wanted something more respectable for their daughter.  Young Mary met a Scottish nobleman, John Stuart, Earl of Bute, in 1735, who also liked acting. The two fell in love but her parents were unhappy with the match.  Lady Mary made the mistake of telling her daughter what she thought of Bute.  He was honest, she said, but hot-tempered.  She would prefer young Mary to remain single. Needless to say, this did not go down well. The marriage nevertheless went ahead but without a formal wedding reception.

Lady Mary’s son-in-law, John Stuart, 3rd Earl of Bute – Wikimedia commons. Artist Joshua Reynolds.

The couple were exceptionally happy together and had eleven children. They initially lived at Mount Stuart on the Isle of Bute, where Young Mary grew lonely and depressed.  Her mother – who was herself living far away by now, in France and Italy – worried about her. The two had quarrelled – we don’t know why – at the point when Lady Mary decided to leave her husband and live abroad.  Very gradually their letters trace an improved relationship.  Eventually, nearly 20 years later, Lady Mary was at a concert in Venice when someone told her how beautifully her daughter sang, and she burst into uncontrollable tears.

The Butes had meanwhile moved to London. Here, Bute became great friends with Frederick, Prince of Wales, and when the Prince died his widow, Princess Augusta, made him tutor to their oldest son. When this son then inherited the throne as George III he manoeuvred to have his former tutor made Prime Minister.  Unfounded rumours abounded that Bute was having an affair with Princess Augusta.  When the elderly Lady Mary arrived back in London at the time of Bute’s premiership, her daughter and son-in-law found her an eccentric embarrassment. On her death, they buried her quickly, to avoid controversy.

Lady Mary’s only son, Edward Wortley Montagu, showing his love of the East – Wikimedia common. Artist Matthew William Peters

Lady Mary’s only son, Edward Wortley Montagu, could not have been more different from his goody goody sister.  He caused his parents heart-ache from the start.  He accompanied his parents in their carriage all the way from London to Constantinople, and a love of the East remained with him all his life.  Back home in England, though, he was sent to Westminster School, which he hated.  He ran away, swapping clothes with an urchin in Whitechapel and getting a job as a cabin boy on a ship bound for Gibraltar.  He was missing for five months and his mother wrote that: ‘Nothing that ever happened to me has touched me so much.’  My own instinct – although there is no evidence to support this – is that Edward was probably abused around this time.

His parents, unsure what to do with him, gave Edward a series of tutors and sent him off to the West Indies.  When he returned, aged 17, he provoked controversy by marrying a washerwoman and then immediately abandoning her.  He was sent abroad again, with a new tutor, where he went through a period of religious fanaticism and began drinking heavily. His father avoided having any direct contact with him, but Edward did have a stormy meeting with his mother in London, where he demanded more money.  He was already heavily in debt.

In 1741 Lady Mary – now living in France –  received a letter from her son, asking for her help in dissolving his marriage so he could find an heiress to marry instead.  Mary was sceptical but Wortley pressurised her to meet him.  Eventually the two did spend a couple of days together in a village near Avignon.  Edward, aged 29, had lost his looks and put on weight, Mary wrote to his father and ‘He has a flattering, insinuating manner which naturally prejudices strangers’. Things went relatively well until Edward broached the difficult subject of whether Wortley would leave his by now vast fortune to Edward as their only son. He indicated he would ensure Mary were taken care of, were that to be the case.  This attitude infuriated her and so they parted.

Family connections procured an army commission for Edward, and he even served in battle at Fontenoy in France.  Mary had to wait a month before hearing that he had survived.  He was a prisoner of war for a time but then returned to England.

Again, Wortley exerted family pressure to ensure he was given a safe parliamentary seat, so as to escape prosecution. But Edward fell into bad company again, forging a friendship with a notorious highwayman, James McLean, who was then sent to the gallows.  He made a bigamous marriage with a friend of McLean’s, Miss Elizabeth Ashe, and embarked with her on a career of swindling, gambling, extortion and physical violence. He was thrown into the Châtelet prison in Paris, but released on bail and sent back to England.  As Mary wrote to Wortley:

The only way to avoid disappointment is never to Indulge any Hope on his Account.

Having not seen either of her children for many years, Mary’s death brought them back into her life. Wortley died in 1761 and  defied convention by leaving his fortune to their daughter not their son. Inevitably Edward challenged this.  Mary, who by now had breast cancer, made the long journey across Europe to London to be reunited with her daughter’s family and fight Edward’s lawsuit. She admitted that Edward had broken her heart. But relations with the Butes were not easy either.  Whether or not she was indeed a Bad Mother, Mary’s relationships with her children ultimately brought her precious little happiness.

You can find out much more about Mary Wortley Montagu and her family in Jo’s book and check out her website  here.

Tibby Tinkler, bookseller of Richmond, Yorkshire

What an amazing aquatint of a woman I would love to have met. It was produced after her death, but it’s full of such character, but who was she?  Her name was Isabella, known to all as Tibby Tinkler.

Isabella Tinkler bookseller Richmond North Yorkshire

The image itself does provide a few clues about her. We know that she was a bookseller in the town of Richmond, North Yorkshire and possibly the very first in Richmond and that the image above by George Cuitt, of Richmond, tells us that it was produced after her death in 1794 when she was aged 92.

Now, firstly, was she really 92 when she died? well yes, for a change we know that this to have been accurate.

She was born Isabel, rather than Isabella Foster, and her baptism tells us that she was baptised on 15 June 1702 in Richmond, North Yorkshire, her father being named as Francis, so perhaps she simply preferred the extended name, so we’ll continue to use that.

Isabella was the middle of five children, her siblings being Mary, Ann, Elizabeth and Menhill. On 30 July 1732 she married Robert Tinkler and the couple lived in Richmond for the rest of their lives, although Robert originated from Darlington, North Yorkshire.

For how many years they owned and ran the bookshop is unclear, but Isabella was definitely trading under her own name, in August 1769, according to the Newcastle Courant, which was quite unusual for a woman of that period and her name stands out here, as the only woman listed.

We know that Isabella was widowed April 1782 and that her husband Robert was buried in the parish church which would have meant that Isabella was left to continue running the book shop alone, as they had no children to help her.

In Harry Speight’s book, Romantic Richmondshire, written in 1897, Isabella was described as being:

Quite a character in her way. Her real name was Isabella Tinkler, but she was always known as ‘Tibby’ and few in her trade knew more of books, their histories, mysteries, prices current etc. George Cuitt, the artist etched her portrait in a characteristic attitude in her shop.

On 29 April 1791, Isabella sat down and dictated her last will and testament. She was clearly unable to write as she marked it with a X, the standard way to sign your name if unable to write it, which begs the question as to whether she could read – an interesting thought in light of her occupation or maybe her inability to write her name was simply down to her age.

Isabella made provision for what appears to be quite a number of friends, so she was obviously a popular woman.  She named some 14 people in her will leaving them a variety of sums of money, from one guinea to ten guineas each and named an Isabella Brough, who lived with her, as her executrix and to Isabella she left the remainder of her goods and effects, but no explanation as to who she was, a servant, nurse or simply a friend.

Another indication that she was well known being that the Newcastle Courant of 11 October 1794, published news of her demise.

After her death, the bookshop was taken over by Mr John Bell, who was father to the well known George Bell of the well known London publishers.

If anyone knows anything more about her, I would love to hear from you.

Sources

Yorkshire Notes and Queries Vol 1-2. 1888

Featured Image

Easby Hall and Easby Abbey with Richmond, Yorkshire in the Background by George Cuitt (1743-1818)

Lady Elizabeth Mary Murray

To date, I have written quite a few articles about Dido Elizabeth Belle, along with a few guest posts by Etienne Daly, but suddenly realised that I have largely ignored the co-sitter in the famous portrait, her cousin, Lady Elizabeth Mary Murray, so it’s time to rectify this, but of course it wouldn’t be complete without a snippet of new information about Dido, so do read on!

If we think today’s families are complicated, this might give you a clue that little has really changed since the 1700s.

Lady Elizabeth Mary’s father was David, the 7th Viscount Stormont, later to become the 2nd Earl of Mansfield. It was whilst he was ambassador to the Elector of Saxony that he met his first wife, Henrietta Frederica, the daughter of Henry Graf Bunau. By the time they met, Henrietta was a  widow, her husband Frederik de Berregaard, having died two years previously.

The couple married on 16 August 1759 and almost nine months to the day, on 18 May 1760, Lady Elizabeth Mary was born in Warsaw, Poland.  The couple went on to have another daughter, Henrietta, born 16 October 1763, but sadly, she died  in Vienna, whilst an infant, closely followed by Henrietta herself, who died on 16 March 1766 also in Vienna, aged just 29.

Henrietta was interred at the Protestant churchyard in Vienna, with minimal fuss and ceremony, but her heart was removed, embalmed and taken to Scone at the request of her husband.

Henrietta daughter of Henry Graf Bunau. Painted by Marcello Bacciarelli in Warsaw in 1759. Country Life June 10, 2013

This left David with a daughter to raise alone, a situation which would be almost impossible, so he did what he thought was for the best, and brought Lady Elizabeth Mary  back to England in May 1766, and took her to Lord and Lady Mansfield, who were able to give her a more stable upbringing, something that would have been extremely difficult given her father’s ambassadorial post.

Caenwood House 1786 European Magazine Volume 9 – January-June

On 6 May 1776 at St George’s Hanover Square, David married for a second time. His second wife being the Honourable Louisa Cathcart (1758-1843), thirty years his junior and just two years older than his daughter, Lady Elizabeth Mary who would have been just sixteen at this time.

They went on to have a further five children –David (1777-1840), George (1780-1848), Charles (1781-1859), Henry (1784-1860) and lastly, Caroline (1789-1867).

Their eldest son, David, Elizabeth Mary’s half-brother, would, in due course, become the 3rd Earl of Mansfield.

Mary Hamilton’s diary of Saturday 7th August 1784 provides a tiny glimpse into how others viewed Lady Elizabeth. It does have to be noted though that throughout Mary Hamilton’s whilst there are plenty of  mentions of Lady Elizabeth or letters by her, Hamilton never mentions Dido at all.

As y^e. Servant. told me Lord Stormont’s Daughter — was come from Ken-
Wood. I went in for a few Minutes. I found her in the library writing to relations to acquaint them of Lady Stormont being brought to bed — She told me she wrote y^e. first letter to me yesterday to me — but Lord Stormont would not let her send it as he had written himself. Miss Murray told me she had seen Lady Stormont this Morning. & that she & y^e. dear babe were charming well. She promised to give my love to Lord & Lady Stormont, she goes back to
Ken-Wood but is to come to Town every Morning. Miss Murray is Lord Stormont’s only child by his first wife who died when she was very young. She is near a year older than her mother in law — about 26 or 7. She lives with Lord Mansfield & was educated by the y^e. late Lady Mansfield & two of Lord Stormont’s Sisters who also reside with Lord Mansfield. She is pleasing, good humour’d — well accomplished, & conducts herself with  that propriety which ought to distinguish a woman of fashion & good education.

In September 1796, David, 2nd Earl of Mansfield, died suddenly in September 1796, whilst at Brighton, from a stomach spasm.

When the 2nd Earl of Mansfield was buried at Westminster Abbey, he specifically requested that his heart should be removed, embalmed and take to Scone to be reunited with that of his first wife, the true love of his life. There is a memorial to both the earl and Henrietta at Scone. I do wonder how Louisa, his second wife, must have felt about that!

Click to enlarge

From the Hampshire Chronicle 17 September 1796 account it would appear that the 2nd Earl’s funeral didn’t go quite as planned. His remains were brought from Brighton where he died, to his residence in Portland Place and from there to Westminster Abbey with all the pomp and ceremony you would expect for such an eminent person.

Crowds of people gathered jostling to get a better view of the proceedings outside the abbey. The hearse door was opened, two of the bearers drew out the coffin, and had got it on their shoulders, but through the indecency of the multitude who pressed forward to teat off the ornaments, the horses took fright, and ran off before the other men were ready, consequently the corpse fell to the ground, and the coffin was shattered so much so that the foot part bulged, and a number of the nails and ornaments were forced out.

The concussion must have broken the leaden receptacle, as a large amount of water poured from it. It was all repaired as quickly as possible and his body was interred in the family vault. The former lord and his lady were the only two, beside his Lordship, who were buried in the tomb contiguous to the Earl of Chatham’s monument, on the north-west side of the chancel.

Louisa survived her husband by 47 years and didn’t waste much time in marrying again. On 19 October 1797, her second husband became Robert Fulke Greville (1751-1824), the son of Francis Greville, 1st Earl of Warwick. Robert was known to have been a favourite at court, initially an equerry to King George III, later becoming Groom of the Bedchamber.

Abbott, Lemuel Francis; The Honourable Robert Fulke Greville (1751-1797); National Trust, Calke Abbey

Louisa and Robert went on to have a further three children – Lady Georgiana (1798-1871), Lady Louisa (1800-1883) and finally, the Honourable Robert (1800-1867).

Returning to Lady Elizabeth Mary, she married into another long-established family, the Finch-Hattons. On 15 December 1785, at Lord Mansfield’s town house she married George Finch-Hatton by special licence, her fortune upon marriage was said to be £17,000 – £10,000 from Lord Mansfield (the £10,000 payment is also confirmed in Lord Mansfield’s account book, dated 16 December 1785),  plus £7,000 from her father (about 1.5 million pounds in today’s money).

Sussex Advertiser,  26 December 1785

Lady Elizabeth Murray marriage entry in parish register of St Gile’s in the Fields, Holborn, confirming that they married at the home of Lord MansfieldFollowing the service performed by the Archbishop of York, the couple set off for celebrations at Kenwood House. There is no indication as to whether Dido Elizabeth Belle would have attended the wedding itself, but she would almost certainly have been present for the celebrations at Kenwood.

Richardson the elder, Jonathan; Daniel Finch, 2nd Earl of Nottingham and 7th Earl of Winchilsea; National Portrait Gallery, London

Whether this marriage was a love match or arguably, more about ‘keeping it in the family’ who knows, as Lady Elizabeth’s husband George, was the son of Edward Finch-Hatton, who was the son of Daniel Finch, 2nd Earl of Nottingham and 7th Earl of Winchilsea. Daniel’s youngest daughter was, co-incidentally, also the father of Elizabeth Finch, wife of Lord Mansfield.

Most places seem to show that Elizabeth Mary and George had just three children, so let’s set this record straight – they had seven.

Their first child was a daughter, Louisa, who was born 12 November 1786. Louisa married the Honourable Charles Hope (1768-1828), the son of John Hope, 2nd Earl of Hopetoun (1704-1781) and his third wife, Lady Elizabeth Leslie. The couple married on 30 April 1807 at the church at St. Marylebone, although their marriage was also registered at Aberlady, Scotland.

27 October 1788 at Gretton, Northamptonshire, their second child, Anna Maria was born. Anna Maria never married and died on 2 December 1837 and was buried a few days later at All Saints, Leamington Priors, Warwickshire.

Most records seem to have written Anna Maria out of history, and yet she was referred to by Lady Anne Murray in a letter of 6 January 1789, which she wrote to Mary Hamilton:

The Mary Hamilton Papers HAM/1/5/2/15

She was also mentioned by the author Jane Austen in somewhat less than flattering terms, in a letter to her sister Cassandra on 6 November 1813:

Lady Eliz. Hatton and Annamaria called here this morning. Yes, they called; but I do not think I can say anything more about them. They came, and they sat, and they went.

It would be two years after the birth of Anna Maria, that their third child was born, Elizabeth Henrietta, who was born on 19 January 1790. Elizabeth never married and died at the age of 30, in 1820. Elizabeth helpfully left a will, in which she left bequests for all her siblings.

George Finch Hatton 10th Earl. National Portrait Gallery

Their fourth child was their son and heir, George, who was born on 19 May 1791. He attended Westminster school, then Cambridge university. He then went on to have a military career, before becoming a politician and became well known for a duel with the then Prime Minister, Arthur Wellesley, 1^st Duke of Wellington.

The field of Battersea. Duke of Wellington as a lobster. British Museum

George married three times, his first wife being Georgiana Charlotte Graham (1791-1835), his second wife being Emily Georgiana Bagot, who died in 1848 and finally Fanny Margaretta Rice, who outlived George who died in 1858. George and his first two wives died at Haverholme Priory, near Sleaford, Lincolnshire.

Haverholme Priory in an 1826 sketch in The Gentleman’s Magazine, now a ruin

Today, in the neighbouring village of Ewerby, is a village pub named after the family, The Finch Hatton Arms, which was apparently used by the family as a hunting lodge.

Their fifth child and second son was Edward Frederick, who was baptised at Eastwell, Kent on 16 January 1793. Edward Frederick’s life was cut short, when he died at the age of just 20, and was buried 8 September 1813 at Eastwell. No cause of death was provided for Frederick, but the Kentish Gazette, 7 September 1813, reported that he was a Lieutenant in the Royal Navy and was much lamented by his family and friends.

Their sixth child and third son was Daniel Heneage, who was born at the family home, Eastwell, Kent on 5 May 1795. Daniel went into the church and eventually married on 15 December 1825 at St George’s, Hanover Square and kept his marriage ‘in the family’ so to speak. As noted earlier, Daniel’s maternal step grandmother was Louisa, 2nd Lady Mansfield. On the death of Lady Elizabeth’s father, she married again. Her second husband being Robert Fulke Greville. Together they had three children. Daniel Heneage married the middle child, Lady Louisa Greville. Daniel died in 1866 at Weldon, Northamptonshire.

Emily was their seventh and youngest child and, who, like several of the others, appears to have been all but written out of history. Emily was born 12 Oct 1797 and baptised at Eastwell. In 1826, she married a vicar, Alfred Charnley Lawrence, who was the rector of Sandhurst, Kent.  The couple had three children and Emily died in 1868.

Lady Elizabeth Finch Hatton’s calling card British Museum

From the newspapers of the day you get the impression that Elizabeth Mary was something of a social butterfly, frequently paying visits to people within in her social circle, being seen in all the ‘right places’, attending and hosting balls, one of which that warrants mention, held for her three younger daughters:

Saint James Chronicle 10 May 1817

Lady Finch Hatton’s Ball – this elegant Lady opened Mansfield House, in Portland Place, on Thursday evening, with a ball and supper. It was a juvenile party, for the express purpose of introducing the three accomplished Misses Hatton into the fashionable world.

We must also remember that when Lady Anne Murray, Lady Elizabeth’s paternal aunt, died on 3 July 1817 at her Brighton home, leaving many bequests to faithful servants, she left the bulk of her estate to Lady Elizabeth Mary’s husband, George, along with bequests for all of their children.

Samuel Hieronymus Grimm’s 1787 depiction of Marlborough House, Brighton. Illustration: courtesy of the British Library. Previously owned, until his death by W G Hamilton MP (1729-1796) Shortly after it was purchased by Lady Anne Murray.

Lady Anne also left £50 to each of Dido Elizabeth’s 3 boys. This implies that in late 1804, when she wrote her will, that Dido’s son John, believed to have died in infancy was in fact still alive at that time. Lady Anne must have kept in touch with Dido’s family, as she knew Dido had died, but what became of her son John remains unsolved.

A View of the Earl of Radnor’s House at Twickenham. Yale Center for British Art

Lady Anne’s sister, Lady Margery, who had purchased Radnor House, Twickenham after the death of Lord Mansfield, died in 1799, was also clearly very fond of Dido as she too left her £100 in her will.

Click to enlarge. ‘To the late Mrs Daviniere’s three boys fifty pounds each’

George Finch Hatton died in 1823 and Lady Elizabeth Mary, just two years later in Edinburgh.

Old Parish Registers Deaths 685/1 1000 17 Edinburgh

She left a very detailed will, ensuring that all her surviving children were well provided for. In her will, there is a lovely mention of her late mother, Henrietta when she specifically left Anna Maria a miniature portrait of her, a memory of her mother kept safe for almost 60 years.

Extract from Elizabeth’s will re miniature of her mother for Anna Maria. Click to enlarge

One final snippet of information, Lady Elizabeth Mary’s great grandson, Denys Finch Hatton (1887-1931) the son of Henry Stormont Finch-Hatton, 13th Earl of Winchilsea and 8th Earl of Nottingham (1852 – 1927), had a relationship with Karen Blixen, who wrote her autobiography – Out of Africa. The film of the same name was loosely based on her book.

Sources

Paul. Sir James Balfour. The Scots peerage; founded on Wood’s edition of Sir Robert Douglas’s peerage of Scotland; containing an historical and genealogical account of the nobility of that kingdom. Volume 8. Page 208-209

Records of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury, Series PROB 11; Class: PROB 11; Piece: 1280

The Scots Magazine 7 November 1763

Caledonian Mercury 14 April 1766

Oxford Journal 31 May 1766

Dublin Evening Post – Tuesday 27 December 1785

Hereford Journal – Thursday 22 December 1785

Bolton Chronicle 9 December 1837

Edinburgh Sheriff Court Inventories SC70/1/33

Feltham, John. A Guide to all the watering and sea bathing places 1813. p87

Header Image

Dido Elizabeth Belle. The portrait hangs at Scone Palace in Perthshire.

 

The portrait of Lady Brisco (1755-1822) by Gainsborough

This portrait caught my eye recently whilst looking at portraits by Gainsborough and I was curious to know a little more about her, especially as she was sporting the high hair fashion of the day.

Gainsborough, Thomas; Lady Brisco; English Heritage, Kenwood

The extravaganza, or, The mountain head dress of 1776. Lewis Walpole Library

She was Carolina (not Caroline as noted in many places) Alicia Fleming, born in 1755 to parents Gilbert Fane Fleming and Camilla Bennet. It’s worth mentioning that Carolina’s maternal grandparents were Charles, Bennet, 2^nd Earl of Tankerville (1697-1753) and Camilla Colville (1698 -1775). Camilla being a Lady of the Bedchamber to Queen Caroline and afterwards to the Princess Augusta.

In July 1776 Carolina married the baronet, John Brisco (1739-1805).  It was just one year after their marriage that Carolina’s father died, and in his will he made provision for Carolina’s husband to take over ownership of his two plantations on the island of St Christopher, Westhope in St Peters Basseterre and Salt Ponds in St Geo. Basseterre.

Of course, along with the plantations were slaves, in this case the couple inherited a considerable number to work on the plantations. So far as I can tell the couple spent no time at their plantations, presumably preferring to leave them to be managed on their behalf and simply reaping the rewards from the crops. The couple owned several properties around the country including their country estate, Crofton Hall in Cumbria and a house on Wimpole Street in London.

The couple had seven known children, although most sources imply that there were just three. The seven being, Camilla born 1777, their son and heir Wastel in 1778, Caroline the following year, Fleming John in 1781, Augusta in 1783, Emma the next year, followed by Frederick in 1790 and finally, Henry in 1796.

In 1804 just prior to his death, Sir John Briscoe also purchased Alexander Pope’s house at Twickenham, which Lady Briscoe retained for just a couple of years after his death before selling it in 1807 to Baroness Howe of Langar, who, having already demolished Langar Hall, went on to demolish Pope’s house too.

Scott, Samuel; Pope’s Villa, Twickenham; Yale Center for British Art

After the death of Sir John, his son and heir, Wastel, inherited all the estates and in November 1806 he married Sarah Lester, daughter of a Mr Ladbrook. Now, despite producing three children including a son and heir, this marriage that proved to be something of a disaster. It is from this point onwards that Lady Carolina’s story has, I’m afraid, been hijacked by that of her son, Wastel. Please be aware, it does not make for pleasant reading from this point onwards.

By 1813, Lady Sarah had had more than enough of her husband and took him to court for cruelty and adultery. This was to prove to be an incredibly lengthy affair lasting for over ten years. Lady Sarah remained at their home in London, whilst her erstwhile husband went to live in their country estate in Cumbria.

As well as the issue of adultery the tricky subject of money reared its ugly head and how much money each of them had and how much they believed they should have as a result of a possible divorce.

Lady Sarah made quite a few purchases for items she needed, not least clothes, as it would appear that during their dispute, Sir Wastel burnt most of her clothes which were valued at in excess of £200 (which is about £10,000 in today’s money).

Sir Wastel however, disputed, not the burning, but the value of the said clothing, and according to him they were worth a mere £10 or £500 in today’s money. Lady Sarah stressed that she not only required new clothes, but that she needed sufficient money from him to live in the lifestyle she was accustomed to and to ensure that his children were well provided for.

Eventually the court allocated Lady Sarah £200 a year, plus £200 a year pin money, but the battles over money continued for years, with Lady Sarah claiming that her husband had been having a relationship with a servant at their home in London, one Sarah Stow of Norfolk. He in turn, accused her of adultery.

Image courtesy of Crofton Hall estate. Just behind the stairs can be seen the portrait of Lady Brisco

Sir Wastel moving out of the marital home and set up home with his mistress, eventually moving to their country residence in Cumbria, where Sarah Stow continued to live as his ‘housekeeper’. Sarah Stow by this time also used the surname Stageman.

The couple, once free of Lady Sarah, although not legally, went on to have at least eleven children, all baptised with just Sarah Stow’s name, no father was named, but you would have thought everyone in the local area would have easily put two and two together to work out who the father was.

It isn’t until you look at her will, which was proven 1853, that you notice that she referred to herself as Sarah Stageman, otherwise Stow. There’s no explanation as to why she used the name Stageman, but  it’s you take a look at the slavery register for 1827-1828 for slaves owned by Sir Wastel, that a familiar name appears, in the form of his attorney – a James Stageman. It’s such an unusual surname that he must surely, in some way be connected to Sarah, but to date I’ve no idea how.

St Christopher Slave Register 1827-1828. click to enlarge

Sir Wastel died 1 October 1862 at his country home, at which time his son and heir inherited the title and estate, but what became of  his wife, Lady Sarah?

After several years spent intermittently living apart, Sir Wastel stopped paying alimony and found himself back in court, well he would have, had he bothered to appear, instead found himself in contempt of court.

Doctors’ Commons in the early 19th century. Thomas Rowlandson

It was in June 1826, that Lady Sarah found herself accused of adultery with the Sir John Winnington, by his wife. In this instance Lady Winnington was granted her divorce as the evidence was clear, he was guilty of adultery with Lady Sarah.

Lady Sarah’s battle with her husband, as they were still not divorced, continued to rage, so much so that he took out the following advertisement in the local newspaper.

Carlisle Patriot 20 September 1828

Yet again, in 1830, Sir Wastel found himself in court this time, it was a case against him for non-payment of accounts due to a Mr David,  that had been accrued by Lady Sarah. On this occasion a number of witnesses were called who testified about the nature of Lady Sarah’s relationship with her husband.

One witness said she had seen him in a compromising position with another woman, another witness, that she had seen Lady Sarah coming downstairs with blood pouring from her mouth and how cruelly she was treated by her husband. Another that she often had cuts and bruises on her body, had her hair pulled  out in handfuls, and had been locked in her room with no food or water, the list went on and made for shocking reading.  In a nutshell he said that he would persecute her for as long as she lived, which seemingly he did. The judge found in favour of Sir Wastel and that he was not liable for Lady Sarah’s debts.

Life just even worse for Lady Sarah when in 1833 she found herself spending two months in the house of correction at Coldbath Fields, for libel. A few years later she found herself in court once more, again for libel. Lady Sarah died in 1840 and had spent the majority of her life living in fear of her husband and being pursued by him to the end.

Sources

Legacy of British Slave-Ownership

The Annual Register 1817

Office of Registry of Colonial Slaves and Slave Compensation Commission: Records; Class: T 71; Piece Number: 258

Records of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury, Series PROB 11; Class: PROB 11; Piece: 2173

Saint James’s Chronicle 23 April 1825

British Press 24 June 1826

Evening Mail 13 December 1830

Featured Image

Carlisle Cathedral and Deanery above Old Caldew Bridge. Matthew Ellis Nutter (1795–1862) (attributed to). Tullie House Museum and Art Gallery

 

Bold Bling, Romantic Posies and Star-Set Jewels, Georgian Jewellery That Would Even Make Even the Cast of Bridgerton Jealous!

Today I’m thrilled to welcome a new guest to All Things Georgian,  Molly Chatterton of Lillicoco, antique and vintage jewellers, to talk about a subject close to my heart – 18th century jewellery, so without any further ado I’ll hand you straight over to Molly:

The explosion of Bridgerton on our screens late last year has brought a renewed interest to the Regency era. And whilst we were glued to our screens waiting for Daphne and Simon to just profess their undying love and devotion for one another, we couldn’t help but also be dazzled by the array of glittering jewellery.

Isabel de Farnesio. Museo del Prado

Whilst some jewellery historians have already said that the jewellery within this TV series has taken the artistic licence quite liberally, it does make us wonder what kind of jewellery was worn in this period, and specifically, the types of jewellery worn to debutante balls and important occasions.

From Diamond sprays to stomachers and sevignes, there were an array of high Georgian jewellery that was pinned, clasped and sewn into a young woman’s eveningwear. Here, we focus specifically on three different types of sparkling Georgian jewellery that was front and centre at fashionable 18th century European balls.

Foiled Jewellery

If there was something that the Georgians specifically wanted from their jewellery, it was luminosity, vibrance and colour, and this was achieved through the ancient art of foiling.

V&A Museum

18th and early 19th-century lapidaries could only do a few certain kinds of gemstone cuts. These included rose cut, table cut, and flat cut. Unlike more modern gemstone cuts, these gemstone cuts did not reveal the natural innate fire of certain gemstones. That being said, they certainly possessed their own romantic character and allure. To increase the gemstones vibrancy, and to add more colour and depth, the Georgians placed foils in the backs of the gemstone settings. These foils could be the same colour as the gemstone or they could be a different but complementary colour entirely.

Lillicoco – Georgian Portuguese Black Dot Foiled Paste Brooch and Georgian Foiled Garnet Paste Brooch

The foils were designed to increase the refraction of light, creating an intense flash of colour and draw the eye to the centre. Some of our favourite foiled jewellery pieces in our collection have included pink-foiled Amethyst and Paste, peachy-foiled Diamonds and Paste, and sumptuous foiled Garnets.

Lillicoco – Georgian Foiled Paste Earrings with 18ct Gold Hooks

Foiled pieces were highly fashionable and sought after for 18th and 19th-century balls, this is because the foils would literally come alive in candlelit rooms. 18th century and early 19th century fashions lowered the decollete of ballgowns, which, of course, led to more flesh on display. With this in mind, foiling was commonly used with earrings, riviere necklaces and pendants. So, if you wanted to attract a certain suitor, then this style of jewellery would literally catch their eye and draw their gaze towards your face and neck.

Lillicoco – Georgian 18ct Gold Perpignan Garnet Foiled Riviere

Celestial Jewellery

It is no secret that beautiful bejewelled jewellery and the night sky certainly have a stylistic affinity with one another. You can find a myriad of celestial fashion jewellery today but did you know that astrological themed jewellery was in vogue during the 18th and 19th century?

V&A Museum

This rise in Georgian celestial jewellery coincided with the Age of Enlightenment (1650-1780). Just a century before, there were spectacular scientific discoveries made by Galileo about outer space. This clearly held huge weight within Georgian society, as the whole world was not only bedazzled by the universe, but also what part they played within it. With this in mind, the interest in astrology boomed, and it wasn’t long for the fascination with the heavens to pass through the minds of astronomers to the fingertips of jewellers.

Lillicoco – Georgian Green Paste Roundel Brooch, Georgian 18ct Gold Pearl Ring

One of the two most sought after pieces of Georgian celestial jewellery were Bagues Au Firmament and Halley’s Comet. Bagues Au Firmament were a fashionable ring trend first emerging in France, and were even worn by the Queen Marie Antoinette herself! Bagues Au Firmament dreamily translates to “Ring of the Heavens”, and they were a poetic rendition of the night sky. These rings were often a sea of blue Enamel or blue glass, and were speckled with Diamonds or Paste gems. Certainly a statement piece, these rings were a must-have for any regency ball. As not only did it show that you were learned in the art of the universe, but also that you had the taste of Parisian and French fashions at your fingertips.

Lillicoco – Bagues Au Firmament Ring

The second type of Celestial jewellery that was a must for regency balls were Halley’s Comet jewellery. If you weren’t already aware, Halley’s Comet is one of the world’s most famous comets, circling the sun every 75-76 years. The comet was named after Sir Edmund Halley, a royal astronomer who accurately predicted all of the comet’s sightings. In 1759 and 1835, the comet made its regular appearance in a scheduled and timely manner. What resulted was an explosion of commemorative jewellery, from Diamond shooting stars, Paste-encrusted sunbursts and meticulously carved intaglio’s of Halley’s face. We can just imagine the numerous balls and parties that were thrown to celebrate the comet’s arrival, the long-awaited special VIP guest of the night!

Just like the Bagues Au Firmament, it was paramount to have these quintessentially romantic jewels at regency balls, especially if you wanted to have the gossip periodicals discussing your etoile-encrusted ensemble the next day!

Lillicoco – Georgian Black Dot Paste Star Pendant

Giardinetti Jewellery

Giardinetti jewellery is beautiful and captivating. Throughout the 18th and especially in the 19th century Flowers were a fashionable and symbolic bejewelled choice, especially when it comes to the art and ardours of love. So much so that this culminated in the Victorian language of flowers.

V&A Museum

Giardinetti jewellery actually first became popular in Italy, with “Giardinetti” translating to “Little Garden”.

Lillicoco – Georgian Emerald Diamond Floral Brooch, Georgian Garnet Foiled Pansy Earrings

These were mainly rings and brooches that were speckled with tiny blossoms of Rubies, Emeralds, Diamonds and coloured Paste gems protruding from Silver and Gold flowerpots. This style of jewellery reflected the delicate and elegantly composed fashions of the Rococo period, as well as in keeping with the floral embroidered gowns that were in vogue from the 1740s to 1780s.

Giardinetti jewellery was a literal breath of fresh air in the world of 18th century fashion, adding an innocent soupçon of sparkle to a pastel silk gown. Giardinetti gems were also exchanged between lovers and friends, perhaps Simon would have given Daphne a Giardinetti ring or brooch to show the other suitors just what they were missing!

From Left to Right, Lillicoco – Rare 18ct Gold Georgian Turquoise Ring, Georgian 12ct Gold Forget Me Not Ring, Late Georgian 18ct Gold Turquoise Pearl Mourning Ring

We hope you have enjoyed reading all about fabulous glittering Georgian jewellery, you can see the current Lillicoco Georgian jewellery collection here!

The Persistent Legend of Princess Elizabeth (1770-1840) and the mysterious George Ramus

Well, this certainly was not a proverbial rabbit hole I expected to find myself down when this beautiful portrait caught my eye. I simply wanted to know more about the young lady whose beauty had been captured by George Romney. The portrait is of ‘Elizabeth Ramus (1751-1848), the daughter of Nicholas Ramus and subsequently wife of Baron de Nougal’.

Portrait of Elizabeth Ramus (1751-1848), daughter of Nicholas Ramus and subsequently wife of Baron de Nougal, half-length, in a pink dress with gold trim and a green shawl, her hair tied with a gold-embroidered white muslin scarf by George Romney. Courtesy of Christie’s auctioneers

Instead the research took something of a curious turn that I really could not have foreseen, and led to an ongoing piece of potentially ‘fake news’ regarding the young Princess Elizabeth (1770-1840), the third daughter of King George III.

Princess Elizabeth by Henry Edridge. Signed and dated 1804 Royal Collection Trust

This story has been around for well over a century, but no-one knows from quite  where it originated. The story goes like this – when in her teens, Princess Elizabeth had unlawfully married the mysterious George Ramus who worked in the royal household and in 1788 they had a child, Elizabeth Louisa, who was taken to India by her uncle, Henry Ramus of the East India Company where she was raised as his daughter.

The Royal Archives had checked their records and there was no sign of a George Ramus being employed in the Royal Household, so did George Ramus ever exist?  Arthur Crisp in his, Visitation of England and Wales in 1896 also referenced the marriage of the princess to George Ramus, but never cited his source for this snippet of this information and therefore history has continued to repeat it as fact.

The story may have been true, but where was the supporting evidence? Despite Crisp being renowned for his accuracy I noted an error in that specific entry which has never been picked up, which for me, throws doubt upon the rest of it, but more about that later.

The story has continued to be retold in books and online, right up to this day, with most people, dismissing it as fiction, but with little supporting evidence either way and if it were fiction then why bother retelling it, or does it simply provide a salacious piece of Georgian gossip, with no substance?

When young, Princess Elizabeth was known to have issues with her health and especially her weight and was, according to the newspapers frequently ‘indisposed’ and regularly suffered from ‘fainting fits’ and ‘corpulency’ as the press referred to her weight gain. Could someone simply have been making mischief by saying that she looked pregnant and from there the Chinese whispers began?

At first sight I wondered if there could be even a grain of truth in the story, after all the child did exist, and she was born in 1788 and lived until 1869, so let’s see how this works out.

St George’s Hanover Square. Westminster Church of England Parish Registers; Reference: STG/PR/2/5

Henry Charles Ramus (1752-1822) was one of the sons of Nicholas Ramus (c1709-1779), a native of Switzerland and his wife Benedict nee Covert (? -1796).

Henry’s father, Nicholas, was employed in the Royal Household from 1748 as ‘page of the backstairs’ to King George III whilst he was still Prince of Wales, and then from 1756-1760, he became ‘page of the bedchamber’. On his death his obituary confirmed that he had worked for the royal family for nearly 40 years.

Apart from his father, several members of the Ramus family were also employed in a variety of positions within the royal household, his uncle Louis was the purveyor of cheese, butter, eggs, oatmeal and dried pease and his other uncle, Charles appears to have been employed in the household of Augusta, Princess (later Princess Dowager) of Wales 1736-1772 as Clerk to the Vice Chamberlain.

Henry’s cousin, Joseph (1747-1818), son of his uncle Charles, ultimately became Gentleman of the royal wine cellar and his brother William (1751-1792), was first page to his majesty until being dismissed in 1789 during the King’s illness for offensive curiosity about ‘His majesty’s looks and gestures’.

William, who apparently had no idea what he done wrong packed his bags and set off for the East Indies, but not  before taking with him a glowing reference from the Prince of Wales, of whom he was a favoured courtier.

Rather than joining the Royal Household, Henry left England having joined the East India Company. He left behind several siblings – George (1747-1808), who was, by 1785 one of the Chief Clerks to the Treasury and it was he that was reputedly the ‘husband’ of Princess Elizabeth; Benedette (c1752-1811) whose portrait we see below, (also painted by Romney, sadly the original of  her portrait was destroyed in a fire) who married Sir John Day in 1777, and Elizabeth, who was the original protagonist of this story until it was hijacked. Elizabeth married Baron Pierre Augustin De Nougal de la Loyne in 1797.

Marriage of Elizabeth Louisa. St Marylebone. Church of England Parish Registers; Reference Number: P89/MRY1/177

Miss Benedetta Ramus by George Romney from the book ‘Romney’ by Charles Lewis Hind

Once in India Henry Charles Ramus met and married, Miss Joanna Vernet daughter of the Honourable George Vernet, who ultimately became Governor and Director of Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie, more commonly known as the Dutch East India Company.

Henry and Joanna spent much of their married life in India, where they had four legitimate daughters, Marian, Louisa, Harriot and their youngest daughter, born 1791, Isabella and one son, John Henry. In addition to these, Henry  also fathered an illegitimate daughter, Maria.

All of their children were born in India, so where did this other daughter, Elizabeth Louisa materialise from? If they spent all their lives in India, then how did they acquire her? I was beginning to think there was some truth in the story after all.

Did they really make the long journey to England after Princess Elizabeth had given birth and take the child to India with them or did someone take her out to India? Records tells us that Elizabeth Louisa was certainly raised in India and married her husband James Money in Bengal in 1804.

Drawing of The Seahorse, renamed in 1784, The Ravensworth

This really wasn’t adding up. However, trawling through the newspapers an interesting article came to light. No, they didn’t stay in India permanently, in fact in 1787 they made a trip to England. According to the Calcutta Gazette 15 November 1787:

At three o’clock yesterday morning, the Honourable Company’s Ship the Ravensworth, Captain Roddam, weighed anchor and left the roads for Europe. Henry Ramus Esq and Lady; Thomas Henchman Esq. and Messrs Dent and Yonge, are passengers.

The Derby Mercury 27 March 1788 also provided the route for the Ravensworth

Arrived in England on 23 March 1788. She left Bengal on 7 October 1787, then at Fort St George on 23 October 1787, sailing on to arrive in St Helena on 29 January 1788, then left on 3 February 1788. The ship eventually arrived in Dover 23 March 1788.

So how was Princess Elizabeth spending her time around this period? I’ve decided to try to trace her public engagements to see whether being pregnant she had been taken away to a secret location out of the public gaze.

Another newspaper article 5 June 1788 provides a glimpse of Prince Elizabeth attending a party for her father’s 51st birthday at which the whole family were in attendance along with other aristocrats. Princess Elizabeth was described as:

wearing body and train laylock and white, the petticoat richly embroidered, with a sash of crape fastened on one side with a plume of white feathers, green spangles and bunches of roses.

If the myth had any grain of truth in it, then by the King’s birthday, Elizabeth would have been about 6 months pregnant – I rather think this would have been highly visible for all to see.

Other later newspaper articles confirms that in between bouts of illness Princess Elizabeth was publicly visible during this reputed pregnancy, attending the theatre, meeting with members of the nobility, taking a trip along with most of the other royals to Cheltenham in July. She was also present in August to celebrate her brother, the Prince of Wales birthday.

Given that Elizabeth Louisa was born on 12 September 1788, she must, assuming she was carried full term, have been conceived around Christmas 1787. This would place Henry and Joanna at sea enroute from Fort St George and St Helena.

Baptism of Elizabeth Louisa daughter of Henry and Joana Ramus born 12 September baptised 17 Oct 1788 St George’s Hanover Square

Henry and Joanna presented the child, theirs or otherwise, for baptism at St George’s Hanover Square on 17 October 1788 before returning to India. Would they really have presented a child for baptism that wasn’t theirs? To me, that seems somewhat unlikely, unless the Ramus family would do anything to protect the royal family’s reputation.

Her Royal Highness Princess Elizabeth November 1788 by William James Ward Senior. Royal Collection Trust

With a little stretching of the imagination, it’s just about plausible that the child was Princess Elizabeth’s and that royal family and the entire household and employees including the likes of Frances Burney, Keeper of the Robes to Queen Charlotte and Mrs Papendiek, Queen Charlotte’s lady-in-waiting, were all aware of it and sworn to secrecy, and that the Ramus’s collected the child after she was born and that their being in England at the right time was simply extremely fortuitous, as they had set off from India prior to the child’s conception, but sorry, no, I simply don’t buy into the story. In my opinion the child was Henry and Joanna’s.

Mrs Burney & Mrs Papendiek

I would also question the likelihood of Princess Elizabeth having had any kind of relationship with a Treasury Clerk who was almost double her age as I’m struggling to see any way in which their paths could have crossed.

Hopefully, this has provided a little more padding on the bare bones of this story, but there still remains no conclusive answer either way, but perhaps a little more evidence for readers to make their own judgement.

Just one final observation, when Henry Charles Ramus died, he left a legacy for his wife Joanna, and his sister, Elizabeth who I began this story with.

Other beneficiaries included his illegitimate daughter, Maria, now married to William Bertram, Marian Helen who was married Edward Stopford and Isabella who had married Robert Keate and finally his son John Henry. We know that Elizabeth was still very much alive, why was she ignored in his will, because she wasn’t actually his daughter perhaps or perhaps there was some other unexplained reason that hasn’t come into view yet.

I did say I would come back to the entry by Crisp about Princess Elizabeth’s reputed daughter, the error was in the naming of Elizabeth Louisa’s daughter, he referenced her as Marian Martha Money, she was actually Marian Patty (1805-1869), and there was another daughter, Charlotte Eliza Money (1807-1886).

Sources

Kentish Gazette 28 September 1792

London Chronicle 9 February 1779

Morning Post 24 March 1789

The World 20 August 1788

Burney Fanny. The Court Journals and Letters of Frances Burney: Volume II

Burney, Fanny. The early diary of Frances Burney, 1768-1778

Childe-Pemberton, William. The Romance of Princess Amelia, daughter of George III (1783-1810) including extracts from private and unpublished papers

Papendiek, Charlotte. Court and Private Life in the Time of Queen Charlotte: Being the Journals of Mrs. Papendiek

Stuart, Dorothy Margaret. The Daughters of George III

Jackson, Joseph. Harris George William. Crisp, Frederick Arthur. Visitation of England and Wales Volume 5. 1897

Header Image

The Royal Family of England in the year 1787 Royal Collection Trust. Princess Elizabeth is on the right of the painting

 

The Complex Life of Teresia Constantia Phillips Part Two

Today, we pick up where we left off last week with the story of Con’s life.

It was about 1737 that she became involved with a gentleman she simply referred in her ‘Apology’ as Mr Worthy, his identity eventually his name came into the public domain – he was Henry Nedham. She provided at least two clues in her Apology, which helped to identify him, firstly, she referred to him being the son of a wealthy plantation owner in Jamaica and the second clue, which confirmed it was that his cousin was named Hampson (Volume 3. Page 124).

With these two clues it became possible to trace the Nedham or Needham (there seems no explanation as to the slight surname change though), family tree back and with it the connection, between not only Henry and his cousin Hampson, but also to them both being related to Henrietta Crofts, daughter of Eleanor Nedham. So, was Con telling the truth about Henrietta being her godmother? It certainly seems much more feasible than originally thought, and that the handsome, Oxford educated, Henry appeared in her orbit via her godmother, by then the dowager, Duchess of Bolton, Henrietta (the 2^nd Duke having died in 1722).

Harbour Street, Kingston, Jamaica. Hakewill, James, 1778-1843, A picturesque tour of the island of Jamaica, from drawings made in the years 1820 and 1821

It was around 1739 that Henry had to return to Jamaica to sort out an issue on the plantation pertaining to his father, and Con was determined to follow him out there. After two failed attempts to get to Jamaica and then Boston where he had gone to, she gave up on the relationship and in 1740 returned to England.

This, she admitted, was an error, as she fell ill with a fever and by then was again in debt with creditors chasing her. On her return she stayed with a friend, an unnamed surgeon, but the following morning the bailiff appeared at the door for her, but somehow she managed to avoid him by climbing out of the kitchen window and making her escape, but the bailiff was wise to her plan and set up a watch outside the rear of the premises, but Con escaped by using a ladder to climb into next door’s garden, that being the home of the Duchess of Marlborough.

Con eventually gave herself up and paid off her debts. But life was not improving for her, as she met up with an old friend, Colonel Vassall, a merchant who she knew from Boston. He was ill and broke, so Con made him a loan to help him out, but he died before being able to pay her back.

She was now penniless and sometime between 1742 and 1744 she was arrested for debt. She made been living well beyond her means and also had debts mounting for the legal action against Muilman.  With that she fled to France for several months.  Eventually on her return to England she wrote her ‘Apology’, which was going to act as a tool for blackmail, a ‘name and shame if you don’t pay me’, type document. Quite who, if anyone actually paid up we will never know, but presumably very few and it was late 1750 that according to Read’s Weekly Journal, News from Jamaica

Mrs Con Phillips was arrived there from England

So Con had returned once again to Jamaica, perhaps hoping for a better life there.

The Ipswich Journal 13 April 1751, tells us a little about of Con’s fiery personality when she was obliged to appear before a magistrate to give security and keep the peace.

A complaint had been made by an unnamed gentleman, that Con arrived at his home and without saying a word, rushed up to his bedchamber where this poor man was lying in bed, unable to move as he was suffering from gout. When she realised that he was ill her demeanour changed and she calmed down toward him, however in a fit of jealous upon seeing his black handmaid in the room, Con took her by the ear and began to slap her. The maid retaliated but was cuffed again five or six times by Con at which time she became delirious.

Con was fined one hundred pounds for this seemingly unprovoked attack on the maid and fifty pounds surety.

The same day, Con place a notice in the newspaper that she was going to have to delay the opening of her Boarding School for the Education of Young Ladies, for which purpose she had taken a large house and white women to wait on the ladies. Presumably as she had to sort out the court action.

According to an anonymous article in the Gentleman’s Magazine (1766), she:

made three further, bigamous marriages, to ‘Mr M.’, an Irish land surveyor, then to ‘Mr S. C.’, a Scotsman and commissary for French prisoners of war in Jamaica, and finally to a Frenchman named Lanteniac.

Further research does confirm that there were in fact a further three husbands, but, as Con hadn’t obtained a divorce from husband number one, they would all be classed as bigamous.

Her first of these, i.e. husband number three, was a wealthy, Irish land surveyor, Hugh Montgomery. This marriage was reputed to have taken place towards the end of 1752, as, on 4 Jan 1753, the London Evening Post said:

‘Tis said a Letter from Spanish Town in Jamaica gives an Account, that the noted Con Phillips is married there, and keeps the most considerable Publick House in that Town. Spanish Town St Catherine’s parish.

Sadly, checking the parish registers for 1752 and 1753 there seems to be no surviving record of exactly when it took place. However, Con wrote a letter in 1755 from Jamaica, to Mr Rose Fuller, MP who had recently left Jamaica, in which she titled herself Constance Montgomery and saying:

from an abandoned woman whose understanding deserved far more of a reasonable creature than ever her beauty did;… you and only you I have to curse for the cruel exile I suffer in this damned country, for which I will thank you in the 4 volume of my life which I have almost completed; adieu.

Quite what her fit of pique toward Fuller was all about we will never know and whether he responded to her letter is equally a mystery.  The author Nick Hibbert Steele mentioned Con in his book about Hibbert House, Kingston saying that :

it was built in 1755 by Thomas Hibbert, as a result of a bet with 3 other merchants in Kingston, to see who could build the finest house. The prize was the hand in marriage of Teresia Constantia Phillips a notorious courtesan. Thomas Hibbert won the bet but declined to marry Con. Phillips recognising her as a gold-digger.

This seems a curious story if Con was already married to Montgomery by then, but perhaps all was not what it appeared to be in paradise.

In their early years together everything went well, but it was becoming clear that Hugh was unwell, his physicians were very concerned at his rapid weight loss and put it down to Cons carryings-on.

He eventually became so weak that he decided that he should write his will, which he duly did. As Hugh and his physicians felt that a trip to the country might be of benefit, fresher air and a chance to relax and recuperate, but, as Con was busy with her appointment as Mistress of Revels for the island and was too busy to accompany him, he would go alone. Con was appointed to this post by the Governor of Jamaica, Henry Moore (1713-1769).

It was only when it was time for him to leave that Con became emotional, fearing this would be the last time she saw him alive. She immediately asked him whether he had made a will and whether he had left her provided for. ‘Yes of course’, he replied – this was not quite the truth.

He had made a will, which unknown to him, Con had read and it was hidden in her her pocket, so she knew at this point that despite his words, she was not provided for. So before allowing him to leave she had him dragged back into the house, where he was made to re-write it, dictated by her and witnessed by three people, who she had on standby. No way was he leaving her without her ensuring that she was provided for.

Everything was left to her, his ‘his death and beloved wife’. The will was made on 14 January 1760. After sorting this, he was free to leave and Con watched him set off and sure enough she didn’t see him again. Hugh’s body was returned to Kingston and buried on 8 May 1760.

28 May 1760 – Kingston Jamaica – burial of Hugh Montgomery

In 1760, Con, penned from her home in Jamaica, what appears to be her last piece of correspondence that has survived, perhaps reflecting on the imminent closure of her own life, to someone whom she regarded as a friend, The Right Honourable, the Earl of Chesterfield. This letter appears to be her reflecting on her life and how it turned out and was in the form of advice for young women on how not to live if they wished to be happy.

For my part, my life has been one continued scene of error, mistake, and unhappiness. I was by my ill fate, left mistress of myself, before the time I ought to have forsaken the nursery.

Within the letter she talked about her life and loves, her time in Jamaica and about her niece who was aged fifteen at the time and how she was teaching her how to live a better life than she had. Whilst it isn’t clear from the letter, Con appears to know her niece well, so it can only be assumed that she was living along with her mother, in Jamaica. The reason for writing to him was, that according to Con he had written a booklet entitled ‘The Whole Duty of a Man’.

However, Con was not in danger of imminent death, instead she was to walk up the aisle yet again, when she married yet again, husband number four. This marriage was to a young Scotsman, Samuel Callendar, Commissary for the French prisoners of war brought to the island. Quite where on the island they married is unknown, but it certainly wasn’t recorded in the records for Kingston.

He was said to have been from a good family, well respected and held a prominent position in the social life of Jamaica – until he married Con, that was.

Shortly after they married, he seemed to vanish from the social circle and was reputed to have only left his home three times during the two years of their marriage.

Before the end of their second year together, he too was dead. Although there’s no sign of their marriage, we know that it was short lived as Callendar was buried on 2 Jan 1762, again at Kingston.

2 Jan 1762 – Kingston Jamaica – burial of Samuel Callendar

Just 3 months later, on 24 April 1762, Kingston, Con married for what would be her fifth and final husband, as the widow Teresia Constantia Callendar.

24 April 1762, Kingston – Con married as widow Teresia Constantia Callendar

Her final husband was Monsieur Adhamar de Lantagnac who had only recently arrived on the island as part of a batch of French prisoners over whom Con’s late husband had control over. This final husband was said to have grown up amongst the Canadian Indians whose customs he had adopted such as tattoos on his body, arms and legs. His appearance, if nothing else, caused him to be a great hit amongst Cons social circle.

The problem with this husband being that he enjoyed spending money, or to be more precise, Con’s money that she had accumulated from both previous husbands. Callendar had died without leaving a will, but Con took it upon herself as his wife, to take control of his assets including a cargo worth about £2,000 (about a quarter of a million in today’s money), which she had landed and promptly sold, netting Con a decent amount of money to live on for the rest of her life, or so she thought, but her new husband saw to it that this would not be the case. He ran through her money very rapidly on clothes, food and drink and with that Con told him to pack his bags and leave before she was completely destitute.

As was so often the case, money was in short supply again for her, her friends rallied round and help her out, but when this occurred for a second time friends were suddenly found to be in short supply.

As the curtain went down on her final show at the Kingston Theatre, Con saw her own life now coming to an end, with no husband for comfort and precious little money, she wondered how it had all gone so wrong.

As she lay on her death bed, she was terrified that her corpse might be arrested to pay off her debts on its way to the grave, as was the custom at that time.

Her wish was to die on a Saturday night so that being buried on a Sunday her body would be safe in the ground. She got her wish and was buried in Kingston graveyard on Sunday 20 January 1765, as Teresia Constantia, wife of Adhamar Delantagniac, with not even the apothecary to mourn her passing. In life, known as the Mistress of Revels and the Pride of England, her body went unnoticed to its nameless grave.

The burial of Teresia Constantia Phillips. 20 January 1765. St Catherine’s, Jamaica

There was no-one present at her burial, not even her niece who lived on the island. For someone who knew everyone in Jamaica, and everyone knew her, she died very much alone, but the name Teresia Constantia would live on, as I noted several children baptised with those names in the Jamaican baptism registers.

Sources

The Real Duty of a Woman, in the Education of a Daughter: A Letter Humbly addressed to the Right Honourable, The Earl of Chesterfield. 1760

The Gentleman’s and London Magazine. Volume XXXI. 1766

Morris. John. The Troubles of Our Catholic Forefathers Related by Themselves, Volume 1

Stone. Lawrence. Uncertain unions : marriage in England, 1660-1753

Black. Clinton V. Tales of Old Jamaica

East Sussex Records Office SAS-RF/21/18

Familysearch Jamaica BMD’s.

The Complex Life of Teresia Constantia Phillips Part One

Teresia Constantia Phillips, courtesan, bigamist and author of her autobiography, first appeared on the radar whilst researching the duchesses of Bolton, for our latest book, The History of the Dukes of Bolton published by Pen and Sword Books.

Teresia, better known as Con, claimed that the Duchess of Bolton was her godmother, in her ‘Apology for the Conduct of Mrs T C Phillips’, written in three parts, the first of which was published in 1748, from her home at Craig’s court, Charing Cross, near Whitehall.

This appeared to be quite a claim with little to substantiate it. Of course, it became necessary to know more about Con and to establish how much of her story was true, especially the connection with the Duchess of Bolton.

Certain sources claim that the reference was to the 4^th Duke of Bolton’s wife, Catherine Parry, this could not be feasible – the dates simply didn’t work, Catherine didn’t become the Duchess until 1754, long after Con published her Apology, so it had to be have been Henrietta, the 2nd Duchess of Bolton, wife of Charles Powlett.

In order to establish whether the snippet of information Con provided about the Duchess of Bolton had any truth to it, it’s necessary to take a brief look at Henrietta, Duchess of Bolton’s ancestry, which will make sense later in the story.

Born Henrietta Crofts, she was the illegitimate daughter of Eleanor Needham or Nedham (the spelling seems to vary becoming Nedham when part of the family moved to Jamaica) and James Scott, 1st Duke of Monmouth (1649-1685). Henrietta was given the surname Crofts as it was the name adopted by her father when he was in the care of the Crofts baronets.

Riley, John; James Scott (1649-1685), 1st Duke of Monmouth; Museums Sheffield

Her maternal grandfather being Sir Robert Needham of Lambeth, one of the sons of Thomas Needham of Pool Park, Denbighshire and his wife Eleanor Bagenal and her aunt was Jane Myddleton nee Needham, one of the Petworth Beauties’.

Jane Needham, Mrs Myddleton. Royal Collection Trust

Sir Robert married twice, Eleanor being his daughter by his first wife, Jane Cockayne. She had several siblings, but after the death of Jane, Sir Robert married a second time, his new wife being a Mary Hartopp, with whom he had at least a further two sons, Robert and George.

Of these two sons Colonel George, is the significant one in this story. Colonel George Nedham left England for the Caribbean in 1680 and married Mary Byam, the daughter of William Byam, Governor of Antigua and his wife Dorothy Knollys, from an extremely distinguished family.

George and Mary had several children, but it’s the eldest child, Robert (1672-1738) that we’re interested in right now.

Robert married Elizabeth Shirley and again had several children, but the one who is important in this story is Henry. Remember that name as it will crop up in Con’s story, but in the meantime, here is the family tree to help.

Click to enlarge image

So, let’s return to the beginning of Teresia Constantia’s complicated life; a life which she recounted in her ‘Apology’ which we know ran to three volumes, although she claimed there was a fourth, which, if it existed, hasn’t been discovered.

According to her ‘Apology’ she was born January 2, 1708/9 at somewhere she referred to as West Chester, now this could have meant west of the city of Chester, or somewhere completely different, whichever it was there is no sign of her baptism, assuming she was ever baptised.

Con claimed that she was the daughter of Thomas Phillips, the younger brother of the Phillips of Picton Castle in Wales. Her paternal grandfather, she claimed, married an heiress of the Powlett family, if that were the case, evidence is sadly lacking.

Her maternal grandfather was said to have been the younger brother of Sir Henry Goodrick of Yorkshire and her maternal grandmother was of the Deans of Wiltshire. Her parents married 1707/8 when her father was Captain of Grenadiers in Lord Slane’s regiment, afterwards Lord Longford. Colonel Thomas Phillips possibly married Frances, niece of Sir Henry Goodricke, but that too remains speculation, so all very well connected.

Henrietta Duchess of Bolton with her husband Charles, 2nd Duke of Bolton

It was around 1717 that her father, Thomas left the army and was in poor circumstances so took his wife and children to London. The family at this point was split up, with the eldest son being sent to Barbados and Con’s godmother, the one she claimed was the Duchess of Bolton arranging for Con to attend Mrs Filler’s (Filer’s) prestigious boarding school in Prince’s Court Westminster. There she learnt the skills which she would later rely on as one of the most well-known courtesans of the day.

Rates return for Filler’s school, Prince’s Court

This arrangement didn’t last very long as about 1720 her mother died, and Con was promptly withdrawn from the school. According to Con, her father quickly remarried, his choice of bride being the family’s servant, someone that Con didn’t get along with very well.

It was when she was just thirteen, according to her Apology, that she was seduced and raped by someone she only ever referred to as Thomas Grimes, possibly because she never knew his name, although it has often been thought this to be Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield, but this has now been revised and it is now believed to have been Thomas Lumley-Saunderson, 3rd Earl of Scarborough.

Knapton, George; Philip Dormer Stanhope (1694-1773), 4th Earl of Chesterfield; National Trust, Beningbrough Hall

Irrespective of which one of them it was, Con found herself in desperate straits and by 1721 aged under thirteen, she was in need of money as she was facing arrest for debt.

Desperate to rid herself of her debts and thus avoid prison, Con paid ten guineas to a Mr William Morrell of Durham Yard to procure a potential husband for her. The idea of this being, that the man would marry her and that way her debts became his, allowing her to avoid debtors prison. At that time the legal age for marriage was 14 for the groom, but just 12 for the bride, this remained to situation until the Marriage Act 1753, which in part came about as a result of Con’s marriages.

Rates Return 1723 for William Morrell, Durham Yard

With that thought in mind, a willing participant was found, to become husband number one, in the shape of a Francis Devall. Apparently, William Morrell got him drunk, presumably so that he couldn’t identify her later, and once somewhat inebriated, the sham marriage took place at Saint Benet Paul’s Wharf, to a Francis Delafield, a man she had never seen before and with whom she had never exchanged a word. Clandestine marriages were often performed by needy chaplains without banns or a licence and on the day that Con married Francis Devall, a further three marriages took place which must have kept the chaplain busy.

Marriage of Francis Devall to Teresia Constantia Phillips

After the ceremony Con suddenly became a respectable married woman, Mrs Devall and with it, came the freedom from debt, at which point, she rapidly packed her bags and left for Rouen, France, where she remained for a few months before returning to England. She offered no explanation for this sudden sojourn, but presumably it was somewhere to lay low until the dust settled with her debts all cleared, and to allow enough time so that Devall couldn’t identify her.

What of course Con perhaps didn’t know at that time, was that her new husband was already married and his wife, still very much alive. He had married Magdalen Youn of St Andrews, Holborn on 17 September 1718, using the name Francis Delafield, so as to which was his real name we will never know.

Marriage of Francis Delefield to Magdalen Youn

Very soon after this escapade Con found herself being courted by a wealthy Dutch merchant named Henry Muilman (c1700-1772), who quickly succumbed to her charms and whilst her expectations being that she would be his mistress, he wanted to make her his wife, so it appears that without divorcing her first husband, she married husband number two, Henry on 9 February, 1723.

Marriage of Henry Muilman to Teresia Constantia Phillips

But this marriage was a big mistake as they did not get along with each other and his family utterly disapproved of her. According to Con he was violent and abusive toward her and that having married her he was able to use her as he pleased – she was after all his wife, and behaviour like that was often regarded as acceptable at the time.

From her Apology, Volume 1, Con wrote of Henry

What! (he would say) not sleep with you? Are not you my wife! my dearest wife? Have I not made you so, at the price of my ruin? Yes, I will have you, and not all the powers in Heaven or in Earth shall keep you from me; and would sit sometimes on a chair whole nights by her bedside: at others, he would come to her, and half a dozen of these strange fellows with him, and beat, and abuse her in the most barbarous manner; and, if he found her in bed, strip the cloaths from off her, and expose her, to them, naked, as she lay; or drag her, by the hair of her head, out of bed.

Eventually, in order to escape from this marriage and to rid himself of her, according to the Daily Post, 3 March 1725, Henry obtained a ‘nullity of marriage with the daughter of Captain Thomas Phillips, on account of her prior marriage with an attorney’s clerk’. This annulment however, cost him a generous annuity of £200, but Muilman refused to pay up and a lengthy dispute between them began.

In 1728 Henry married for a second time, his new wife and mother to his two children being Ann Darnell, the daughter of Sir John Darnell, Sergeant at Law and Judge of the Palace Court.

Con had relationships with numerous men including the mysterious Mr B., whom she said she had known from childhood, but his identify still appears to be well hidden. Although never named, she said he was the son of a General, who would ultimately inherit a substantial fortune. The pair travelled around Europe, proclaiming to be married, living the high life and spending money like water. However, in 1728 they had a major argument and Con took herself off to a convent in Ghent where she remained for around 18 months, the couple eventually agreeing to go their separate ways.

When this relationship ended, she became moved on to have a relationship with to Sir Herbert Pakington, a wealthy baronet, who was married to Elizabeth Conyers at the time. This was to be yet another relationship which ended badly as he proved to be a jealous lover and became so jealous that he attempted to take his own life on at least two occasions, once by use of his sword at the dinner-table. On the second occasion, enough was enough for Con and she ended that relationship and disappeared to her convent in France.

However, Pakington didn’t give up easily and regularly wrote to her pleading for her to return, despite the newspapers apparently having accused her of attempted murder. The London Evening Post, 25 February 1731, however, noted that he was ‘in a fair way of recovery’. So clearly there not too much harm done.

Pakington travelled over to France to meet her but appeared to be jealous of anyone she spoke to and attempted to take his life again. That was the final straw and Con left him once back in England and placed herself under the care of Lord Falkland at his home in Hertfordshire.

However, on 16 Apr 1734, Lucius Charles Cary, 7^th Viscount Falkland married the widow Jane Butler and made Con a payment for agreeing to release him from their arrangement, thereby making him free to marry some more suitable, an heiress.

Quite what became of Con for the next few years appears somewhat vague. During the time she spent with B she accumulated quite a bit of money, plus the money from Lord Falkland, so began spending it on litigation over her marriage to Muilman.

Whilst these relationships had be going on, she involved herself with someone simply named as ‘Tartuffe’ the French word for imposter or hypocrite. It has been widely acknowledged now that it was Philip Southcote, son of Sir Edward Southcote. With Tartuffe she had a child, which lived until it was aged just eleven, so until the early 1740’s, and which Tartuffe failed to support. She did not confirm the gender of this child, so it seems we will never know more about it apart from that Tartuffe only saw the child on less than a dozen occasions. There was a curious entry on 15 Jul 1740 in the General Evening Post:

By Letters from Jamaica we hear that the celebrated Con Phillips died there in April last, after a short illness

Given that we know Con hadn’t died, could this have misinterpreted and that it was her child who died, speculation of course.

The only other piece of information we know about Tartuffe being that he was married at the time. It was clearly a volatile relationship as Con spent most of the second volume of her ‘Apology’ telling readers how dreadfully he had behaved toward her.

Part 2 can be found by clicking the highlighted link here.

Who was Selina Cordelia St Charles?

Today I am delighted to welcome a new guest to All Things Georgian, Paul Martinovich. After a career spent planning museum exhibits in North America and Ireland, Paul retired to pursue a longstanding interest in the Napoleonic Wars.

He first came across Selina Cordelia St Charles whilst researching for his forthcoming biography of Pulteney Malcolm: The Sea is my Element: the eventful life of Admiral Sir Pulteney Malcolm, in which you can find out more about the liaison between Malcolm and Selina, and the fate of their son.

The biography of Malcolm is the result of several years research in archives in Britain and North America.

With that introduction I’ll now hand over to Paul to tell you more about the illusive Selina Cordelia St Charles:

In April of 1796, a 13-year-old girl boarded the East Indiaman William Pitt in Portsmouth harbour. An observer might have noted that she was well-dressed and well-spoken—these facts (along with her elegant name) would have suggested she was from a good family.  But what were her origins, why was she going to India alone (except for her maid), what would become of her when she got there? These questions are not easy to answer, but the research has revealed a strange and unexpected life, and the interesting woman who lived it.

Selina was not famous and is not well-documented in the historical record. In fact, her origins are shrouded in mystery, and are the least-understood part of her life. She was almost certainly illegitimate, and born in 1782 or 1783. She was said to have been born in Quebec, and named ‘Selina Cordelia St Charles’, ‘facts’ which it has not been possible to verify, and may well be a red herring to conceal her true parentage. Her father was almost certainly one of a clan of prosperous traders and professional men named Birch, possibly William Henry Birch, an officer in the British Army. Her mother’s identity remains unknown.

John Zephaniah Holwell (1711-1798), East India Company servant. National Portrait Gallery

The infant Selina was brought up by her Birch grandparents, William and Sally Birch, in Pinner just outside London. Sally Birch was born a Holwell, a family that, like the Birches, had long-standing trading connections with India. She was the daughter of John Zephaniah Holwell, survivor and publicist of the ‘Black Hole of Calcutta’. In this famous outrage nearly a hundred-and-fifty British civilians, captured by an Indian ruler, were crammed overnight into a space the size of a good-sized bedroom. The next morning most of them were dead, but Holwell was among the living. After the British recaptured Calcutta, in order to perpetuate the memory of his dead companions he had a monument erected on the site and wrote a widely read book on the incident.

Selina would have learned of these events, and of her family’s Indian links from her grandparents. They also provided her with a good education judging by her letters, which are well-composed and written in an elegant hand.

In 1796, possibly as a result of the death of her father, it was decided to send Selina to India, even though she was only about 13 years old. There she would live with her Birch uncles, prominent businessmen with the East India Company, and would be expected eventually to find a husband. The dispatching of children to live with relatives in distant countries was not unknown in Georgian times, and the annual traffic in young women travelling to India to seek a husband was so common that it came to be nicknamed ‘the fishing fleet’.

Click to enlarge

So when Selina boarded the Indiaman she must have felt she was about to begin a great adventure. Another passenger was Major John Shee, a British Army officer going out to join his regiment (the 33rd) in Bengal.

Their shipboard acquaintance led the astonishingly young Selina (she was still playing with dolls) to marry the 26-year-old Shee when the ship stopped at Cape Town. Even though marriages to 16 or even 15-year old girls were not unheard of in the Georgian period, it is difficult to understand how under any circumstances a child of 13 could be allowed to marry a man of 26. Probably, Shee got around the legal prohibition on those under 21 from marrying without parental consent by having the banns read in three successive Sundays at a church in Cape Town. Shee’s regiment stayed at the Cape for a couple of months before embarking for India. Selina (now Mrs Shee) seems to have proceeded to Calcutta on a different ship to her husband, under the protection of a Captain Henry Churchill, who was probably her uncle. Perhaps this was because it was felt that such a young girl should not be exposed to the sights and sounds on the troopship in which Shee travelled.

The couple reunited in India and the marriage seems to have been briefly happy as Selina lived with John Shee at Fort William in Calcutta. However in 1798, he sent her back to England on the Indiaman Hawke. Later Selina claimed that this move was for her health, and that she expected Shee to soon join her. Another explanation for sending Selina to England might be to remove her from being caught up in a war with Tipu Sultan, which was clearly imminent. Whatever the reason, Shee not only sent his teenage wife home without making any provision for her support while she was in England, but then also failed to communicate with her in any way for more than two years.

Description from Bellmans Sussex saleroom 7112017

In England Selina lived with her grandparents in Pinner. Naturally she was very short of money, so she wrote a series of polite letters to her husband’s relatives (which included Sir George Shee, a rich nabob with an important government post) asking for support, while proclaiming her continued affection for her delinquent spouse. Selina’s efforts to convince herself that her husband was not the callous spouse that he seemed to be are captured in this extract from a letter she wrote to Jane Jackson, Shee’s sister.

 It is the appearance of neglect from him who is dearer to me than life which has stung me to the heart; how then can I help tenderly loving her [Jane Jackson] who assures me of the truth of that which I have always believed? that cruel accident [letters having gone missing] and not neglect is the cause of all my anxieties. I have had every proof of the goodness and Generosity of Col. Shee’s heart, not only in his behavior to me while in India (which was all tenderness and affection), but from his general Character. Is it likely then that his Wife alone should have just reason to doubt the Excellency of his heart?

Selina seems to have received little or no assistance from the Shees, so when the financial situation of her Birch relatives became more difficult, she resolved to return to her husband in India. Where the money came from to pay for her passage is not clear.

Lawrence, Thomas; Arthur Wellesley (1769-1852), 1st Duke of Wellington; English Heritage, The Wellington Collection, Apsley House

John Shee had meanwhile risen to the rank of brevet lieutenant-colonel in the 33rd, which happened to be the regiment of Arthur Wellesley, the future Duke of Wellington. There is ample evidence that Wellesley despised Shee, considering him an incompetent officer, and ‘a species of assassin’, who practiced with a pistol in order to be able to kill his opponents in duels more efficiently.

Selina reached India in July 1801 but did not stay long, since Shee (apparently because of Wellesley’s enmity) decided to return to England and sell his army commission. She accompanied her husband on this journey, but the marriage was now breaking down, and it seems likely that Shee was physically abusing his wife.

The couple was offered a passage from Cape Town to England by a naval captain named Pulteney Malcolm, who was returning in his ship of the line after some years in Indian waters. A number of other passengers and about a hundred troops were also crammed aboard the ship, which was in poor condition and urgently needed repairs.

Sir Pulteney Malcolm by George Engleheart Dumfries Museum

During the passage, Malcolm and Selina became lovers, despite the proximity of her husband, who on discovering the liaison quitted the ship to complete his journey on another vessel. On reaching England Shee sued Malcolm for Criminal Conversation, essentially an action for ‘damages’ to his ‘property’ i.e. his wife’s reputation. During the trial it became apparent that Shee had beaten Selina, and while the jury found for the plaintiff, it clearly did not feel he deserved any sympathy in the situation.

As was customary in such cases, Selina did not testify in the trial. In fact she was now pregnant with Malcolm’s child, and gave birth to a son a few months later.

Somewhat conveniently, John Shee died (possibly due to alcohol, since he was a heavy drinker) in March 1804.

Three weeks later Selina married one James Martin Holwell, a haberdasher aged 21. This was no sudden infatuation—James Martin was her cousin, another descendant of John Zephaniah Holwell, and she had surely known him from her childhood in Pinner.

Click to enlarge

At this point, Selina’s life settles into a more typical path. The couple moved to Devon, where Selina had two children with James Martin. His haberdashery business did not prosper and he went bankrupt, but was rescued by Captain Malcolm, who got him a job with the Navy. In the post-war slump, the Holwell family emigrated to Canada, and settled in Montreal. It is not clear if by this move Selina was returning to her roots in the New World: this is just another aspect of the mystery of her eventful life. Selina Cordelia Holwell died in Montreal, still only 42, in 1825.

Burial of Selina. Presbyterian Church in Canada Archives.

Should anyone happen to know something about Selina’s origins—where and when she was born and who her parents were Paul would be grateful to learn the details. Such an extraordinary woman deserves a full accounting of her life.

Featured Image

East Indiaman Pitt in two positions by Whitcombe (Christies)

The Sussex Giantess – Jane Cobden

In the 18th and 19th centuries people were fascinated with people who were different in some way to the ‘average person’ and people such as the Sussex Giantess were bought by often unscrupulous people, to be on show for the paying public. So let’s find out a little more about Jane Cobden and her family.

William Cobden and Millicent Amber were married in 1798 and together they had eleven children, five boys and six girls, including their famous second son, Richard Cobden, who was noted in history as being a politician.

 

William and Millicent. Manchester City Library

Their children were – Frederick (1799); Emma (1800-1836); Millicent (1802); Richard (1804-1865); Jane (1806); Charles (1808); Priscilla (1809); Miles (1812); Henry Andrews (1813-1858); Mary (1815); and their youngest, Sarah (1817).

Richard was probably best known for his association with two major free trade campaigns, the Anti-corn law league, and the Cobden Chevalier Treaty, which promoted closer interdependence between Britain and France. He was so well respected that he even has a memorial bust in the west aisle of the north transept of Westminster Abbey.

Fagnani, Giuseppe; Richard Cobden (1804-1865); Rochdale Arts & Heritage Service;

To give you a little background into the family, they were a long-standing Sussex family who could trace their ancestors back to the fourteenth century. They lived in the hamlet of Heyshott, near Chichester, Sussex in an old farmhouse, known as Dunford.

Dunford Farm Sussex National Library of Australia

They were not a wealthy family and Richard’s father was described by Richard’s biographer, John Morley as

a man of soft and affectionate disposition, but without the energy of affairs. He was the gentlest and kindest of men. He was cheated without suspecting it, and he had not the force of character enough to redeem a fortune which gradually slipped away from him.

Millicent, however, appears to have been the stronger character, described as being

endowed with native sense, shrewdness and force of mind.

She would have to have been a strong character, given the number of children she had to raise. It must have been difficult trying to raise such a large family with limited income, always trying to find ways to make ends meet. In 1809, the family had to be sold and the family moved to a smaller farm, Gilder’s Oak.

By 1813, the family hit hard time and had to move again, finally settling in West Meon, Hampshire.

By this time their third daughter, Jane was only seven years old, but was there anything unusual about Jane at that time? We will never know. The first sighting of a Jane Cobden was not until 1824, when her name appeared in the Norfolk Chronicle where she was described appearing as part of a travelling show of ‘curiosities’ at Mr Hubbard’s’ Great Room, Kings Head, upper side of the market. Sadly, the advert carries no further information as to quite where Mr Hubbard’s Great Room was, given that the notice appeared in a local newspaper, possibly Norfolk.

Jane was described as being

Only 18 years of age, stands near seven feet high. This young lady is allowed by all ranks of people, to be the tallest, handsomest, most elegant and accomplished young lady ever exhibited to be British public.

She was appearing alongside Mr Thomson, the Scottish Giant, who stood at over seven feet tall and Mr Robertson who stood a mere twenty-six inches tall. Admittance being one shilling for ladies and gentlemen and just six pence for servants.

In July 1825, Jane’s mother, Millicent Cobden died at the age of 50, did Jane know as she was busy travelling around the country?

It was the festival at York in December 1825, that provided just  one more clue as to her identity when it specified that she was a native of Chichester and that:

This British phenomenon is a striking instance of the power of nature and the natural beauty of this young lady has proved a magnet of irresistible attraction to a wonderful world.

The final sighting of Jane was in the Evening Mail, 9 June 1826, when she appeared at Ascot Races, accompanied by a ‘dwarf from the Low Countries’, a ‘Bohemian who balanced coach wheels on his chin’, a black sleight of hand player, several dogs and a lady who ‘took money’, all dwelling in a covered cart not twelve feet square, and all to be seen for just one penny.

Jane simply vanished after this, but it is reputed that she died in Hertfordshire in 1830, making her just 24 years of age. Whilst I cannot be absolutely certain that this young lady was the sister of Richard, she was the only Jane Cobden, born in Sussex whose year of birth matches or even comes close and there seems nothing to suggest that it wasn’t her – perhaps someone out there might be able to confirm one way or the other.

UPDATE

I have now found a burial for Jane and the ages ties in nicely with it being Richard’s sister. She was buried at Chipping Barnet 31st May 1830, aged 24 years.

 

Sources:

The life of Richard Cobden by Morley, John, 1838-1923

Hurley and Skidmore Family History

Liverpool Mercury Friday 9 December 1825

Norfolk Chronicle Friday 24 December 1824

A Most Horrible Murder in Hankelow, Cheshire

On April 18, 1797, George Morrey, from the village of Hankelow, near Nantwich, Cheshire married Edith Coomer, from the neighbouring village of Wybunbury. The couple went on to have six known children, the first, Elizabeth, born in 1798, followed by William, James, Mary (who only lived for a year), Edith and finally, George in 1810.

Marriage of George and Edith 1797

Clearly, despite George being a successful farmer, their marriage was not as happy as it ought to have been and as the saying goes ‘while the cat’s away …’ it was whilst George was away selling his wares, that Edith began an affair with a younger man, their former farmhand, John Lomas late 1811. It was in the Spring of 1812 that things came to a head when Edith found herself pregnant with John’s child. Things had to change and with that, John and Edith hatched a plan to murder Edith’s husband, George.

Between two and three o’clock in the morning of Sunday 12 April, the family servant, Hannah Evans, who slept with the children in the room adjoining the parlour heard a noise which sounded like several blows being delivered in her master’s room.

She quickly got up and could hear groans coming from the bedroom. She opened her chamber window to get through it, and, as she was putting her head out of the window she heard the door open, and turning her head saw her mistress come in with a lit candle, and caught hold of her, saying, she must not go out, as there was a murder in the house, and if she went through the window she was likely to be killed. After a few minutes, all went quiet, Edith sent Hannah to fetch John Lomas, their servant. Hannah then told him to wake the neighbours which, after some persuading, he agree to do.

Having gathered some neighbours and George’s brother they went upstairs to George’s bedroom, where they found him lying in dead on the floor, his throat having been cut through the windpipe, a left temple bone fractured. A large, blood-stained axe, covered in blood was found underneath his body. Claims of a break-in were made, but on checking there were no signs of any sort of break-in.

When daylight appeared, one of the neighbours noticed that Lomas had blood on his nose and on one of his wrists, creating suspicion of guilt. The room in which he slept was also found to have traces of blood on the floor and the stairs leading up to his bed. Also, his bed showed traces of blood and he was wearing a clean shirt. On finding the one he had worn the previous day, needless to say, other items of clothing were found with had blood on them too. This was hardly a well-thought-out crime as he had left evidence of his crime, everywhere.

British School; The Port of Chester; Grosvenor Museum

Once the search was complete Lomas was taken away by the constables to await his fate. Whilst on the journey not only did Lomas confess to the crime but also implicated his mistress, Edith as his co-conspirator, saying that it was she who had administered alcohol to her husband to get him drunk and that she had urged Lomas to kill her husband so that once he was out of the way she would inherit the farm and the money they had and she would be free to be with Lomas.

When Edith was questioned the constable went to arrest her when she produced a razor and attempted to cut her own throat, but as a doctor was already present in the house examining George’s body, he was summoned and quickly sewed up the wound.

After the trial at which both pleaded not guilty, after just a few hours deliberation and, with a packed courtroom, the like of which had never been seen before, the death sentence was passed for the pair. Lomas immediately said ‘I, John Lomas, deserve my fate’. He was taken from the County to the city goal in Chester, and at midday ascended the drop and met his maker.

According to the Criminal Registers, John Lomas was executed on 31^st August 1812 and that prior to his execution, it was agreed that both he and Edith should receive the sacrament together at which time the pair made a full confession of their guilt.

But what about his accomplice, Edith. She pleaded ‘the belly‘ i.e. that she was pregnant, a fact that was substantiated by a jury of matrons who confirmed that she was between four and five months pregnant and therefore permitted to live until the birth of her child, once born she would then suffer the same fate as Lomas.

On 23 April 1813 Edith was taken to the scaffold. She walked from the Castle to Glover’s Stone, having hold of Mr Hudson’s arm, with the utmost firmness, amidst an unusual pressure from the immense crowd assembled. She then got into the cart, and immediately laid herself down on one side, concealing her face with her handkerchief, which she has invariably done when in public, from her first appearance before the judges to her final dissolution, and we venture to affirm that no person obtained a view of her face out of the Castle since her commitment. She remained in prayer with the Rev. W Fish till one o’clock when she ascended the scaffold with a firm and undaunted step, with her face covered with a handkerchief and she immediately turned her back to the populace. When ready Edith dropped the handkerchief as a sign that she was ready to die.

By the time Edith died, her son Thomas was now aged four months, having been born on 21 December 1812.

But what became of this ‘love child’? He was raised by Edith’s brother, Thomas Coomer, but this child had his own story to tell. He was baptised in 1814, his baptism showing clearly that his parents were dead.

Life was not to be plain-sailing for this young man, who frequently found himself in trouble for thieving and according to the Chester Chronicle, 12 April 1833, yet again young Thomas found himself in trouble with the law –

A Jail Bird

At the present session, a youth named Thomas Morrey, only 20 years of age, appeared before the court for the third time, charged on this occasion, with stealing a quantity of wearing apparel, and some fowls, from his uncle, Thomas Coomes, of Basford, who had humanely taking him into his house, in the hope of snatching him from a career of crime which must end in bringing him to the gallows. This ill-starred boy is the son of Edith Morrey, who was convicted at the August assizes of 1812, of the murder of her husband and whose execution took place in April 1813, was stayed on account of her pregnancy until after the birth of this boy.

The court despaired of ever being able to reform young Thomas, so opted for having him transported to Tasmania, for a period of 7 years.

Following his sentence, he was removed to the prison hulk, Cumberland, moored at Chatham, Kent, where he remained until being transported the following year on board The Moffatt. On arrival in Tasmania, he was appointed to ‘public works’ and received a ticket of freedom in 1846.

Certification of Freedom for Thomas Morrey

As to what became of him after that is lost to history, so far, perhaps someone out there knows!

Sources

Leicester Journal 24 April 1812

Chester Courant 27 April 1813

Lancaster Gazette 20 April 1833

Home Office: Convict Prison Hulks: Registers and Letter Books; Class: HO9; Piece: 1

England & Wales, Criminal Registers, 1791-1892. Class: HO 27; Piece: 31; Page: 72

The Gentleman’s Magazine, Volume 82, Part 1; Volume 111

The full story of this family’s life has been told in a book, ‘Rope Dance’ by Maureen Nields.

Featured Image

Stanfield, Clarkson Frederick; Prison Hulks and Other Shipping; University Hospitals Bristol NHS Foundation Trust

The Colour of Mourning

I accidentally came across this trade card below, for a Matthias Otto of The Strand, London, and for those who are regular readers of All Things Georgian, you will no doubt be aware of my interest in trade cards, but something about this one specific jumped out at me on this one.

British Museum

It was dated c1765 and referred to Matthias Otto as being a seller of amongst other things – ‘widow’s weeds‘.

Little seems to be known about Matthias, however, we do know that following his death, his son Matthias junior continued the business after his father as another trade card exists which depicts him selling the same items of clothing.

Now, I have to confess I thought the term ‘widow’s weeds’ was a term usually associated with the Victorian period rather than Georgian when women wore black for long periods of time and didn’t realise that it was in common usage prior to this.

The term ‘weeds’, according to Dr Johnson’s Dictionary of the English Language:

originated from the word waed –  a garment of clothing, habit, or dress. Now scarce in use, except in ‘widows weeds’, the mourning dress of a widow.

With that, I decided to what more I could find out and my first point of reference was the trusty, Ackermann’s Repository and in 1809 there was a little more information about widow’s weeds:

In every country on the earth some emblem of grief, or token of esteem, is worn by the surviving relatives of deceased persons; but the mode of expressing this affection varies according to the custom or fashion in different nations.

In Syria, Cappadocia and Armenia, sky-blue dress is worn on this occasion, because it is the colour of those regions which it is hoped their departed friends inhabit.  In Egypt, a yellow dress is used on such occasions, being a symbol that death terminates our mortal expectations, as the leaves of the trees turn yellow when decayed. The Ethiopians wear grey, and Europeans black. Grey is emblematic of the earth to which the dead return and black, which is a privation of light, it is also typical of the absence of life, but for virgins, a white dress is worn, because it is an emblem of purity.

Another thing that I hadn’t really given any thought to was the process of dying fabric to produce the colour black which given the high mortality rate in Britain would have been something in great demand. Again Ackermann’s provided some answers.

Mourning Dress – Ackermanns Repository 1809

A Mr Vitalis found an improved way of producing a good quality black fabric and thread to make mourning weeds. There had clearly been an issue with the dye, as it was not long-lasting and turned fabrics a rusty colour fairly quickly. For those unable to buy specific mourning clothes it was common practice to dye existing clothes black using iron filings and the bark of an elder tree. The use of iron filings would explain this rusty colour and then keeping such items to be passed down through the family.

Lady Hall of Dunglass 1752 Allan Ramsay 1713-1784 Bequeathed by Sophy, Lady Hall in memory of Lt-Col. Sir John Hall, 9th Baronet of Dunglass 1952

General rules for behaving whilst in mourning were published, as someone decided that the correct etiquette was not being correctly observed and that people needed to be reminded about how to behave.

A wife losing her husband

She should not appear in public the first week, nor in private without a handkerchief.

The second Sunday at church, much affected with the sermon, the handkerchief not omitted.

She may go to a tragedy after the first month, and weep in character, either the play or the loss of her husband. The second month she may attend a comedy and smile, but not languishingly.

Drake, Nathan; Lady in Mourning; Ripon City Council

A husband losing his wife

Must weep or seem to weep at the funeral.

Should not appear at the chocolate house during the first week.

Should vent a proper sigh whenever the good wife or even matrimony is mentioned.

May take a mistress into keeping the third week, provided he had not had one before.

May appear with her in public at the end of the month, and as he, probably, may not choose to marry again, he may, at the close of the second month, be allowed a couple of mistresses, to solace him in his melancholy.

Sources

Johnson, Samuel. A Dictionary of the English Language. Volume 4

The Town and Country Magazine, Or Universal Repository of Knowledge, Instruction, and Entertainment, Vol. 1. 1769

The Repository of arts, literature, commerce, manufactures, fashions and politics by Ackermann, Rudolph, 1764-1834. 1809

Town and Country Magazine. Etiquette for mourning. 1769

Charlotte Howe of Thames Ditton

Captain Tyringham Howe, the son of Millicent Philips and William Howe. Tyringham was one of five children. His siblings being – Millicent who married Thomas Wilkinson in 1796 at Harwich, Essex; William Howe, a naval captain, who remained unmarried until his death in 1760; Stephen, who was a lieutenant colonel and aide-de-camp to the King, who died 1796; Captain Philip who lived with his wife Mary Anne Tongue (?-1826), prior to his death at Warblington, Hampshire in 1815 and finally Grace, about whom nothing appears to be known.

Back to Captain Tyringham Howe though, like his siblings he was a naval man through and through, serving from 1765 on a variety of ships, all over the world, becoming a captain on 11 May 1775. In December 1780, he was promoted to commander of HMS Thames, but just before that, the same year, he found the time to marry the widow, Elizabeth Stein at Ross, County Cork, Ireland. The couple had no children, nor it would seem did any of his siblings.

Source – Familysearch – Click to enlarge image

There has been much written about the story of Charlotte Howe, but so much of it remains annoyingly vague. Tyringham returned to England at some time during 1781 bringing with him a black slave girl, believed to be around 15 years old at the time, whom he had purchased whilst in America, to live with Tyringham and his wife at Thames Ditton.

Just a couple of years later Tyringham’s life was cut short, as he died in June 1783 and was buried in the parish church of St Nicholas in Thames Ditton, aged just 38, thus leaving his widow Elizabeth with the girl, along with another servant.

He clearly knew that his life was coming to an end having written his will he added a codicil to it, appointing a Mr Alington Hodges of Middle Temple to be joint executor, along with his ‘dear wife, Elizabeth‘ who became the sole beneficiary, but he made with no mention of the girl who was living with them or in fact of any other servants who may have been resident in the household at the time.

On 17 December 1783, the girl was presented for baptism at the same parish church and from then on she was known to history, as Charlotte Howe.

Click to enlarge image

It was perhaps about a year later that Elizabeth took a property on Sloane Street, Mayfair in the parish of St Luke, taking Charlotte with her, along with another servant; both of whom it appears were unpaid workers.

It appears that something occurred in 1784, causing Charlotte to leave the house, presumably with no money or belongings and no husband to support her, thereby making herself free and no longer a slave, but of course, this equally meant that she had no money or possessions.

It would appear that Charlotte must have somehow returned to Thames Ditton, where, with no money, she found it necessary to apply to Thames Ditton for poor relief. There seems no explanation as to why she would have returned there rather than remaining in London, which seems somewhat strange. What was the appeal of Thames Ditton? A question for which there appears no answer.

However, as she had been living in the parish of St Luke’s she was deemed ineligible to receive parish relief in Thames Ditton and as such, they returned her to St Luke’s where she was admitted to the parish workhouse on 25 October 1784, although Thames Ditton agreed to fund her relief for three months.

St Luke’s appealed against the decision to keep her there, as they didn’t want to fund her and eventually it took a court judgement to resolve the situation. The parishes played a game of ‘ping pong‘ with poor Charlotte, with neither wishing to take responsibility for her.

This process went on from late summer 1784. St Luke’s won its appeal against Thames Ditton and Charlotte was returned from St Luke’s to Thames Ditton on 20 January 1785.

William Murray, 1st Earl of Mansfield by Jean Baptiste van Loo. © National Portrait Gallery, London

At the end of January however, the vestrymen sought the opinion of the King’s Bench regarding the costs and Charlotte’s case was put before the highest judge in the land, Lord Mansfield which is interesting given his familial connection with Dido Elizabeth Belle, who would no doubt have been aware of this situation and it would be fascinating to have known her view of this case, especially as the two women would have been the same sort of age and with Dido’s mother having been a slave.

The argument being that Charlotte had worked in the role of servant and according to the attorneys, she understood the nature of her obligation and that she never thought of leaving until after the death of her master and that before she could benefit from parish relief she would need to prove that she had worked for forty days within the parish, which of course she could not, as she had been living and working in St Luke’s parish for Elizabeth Howe, prior to returning to Thames Ditton. Lord Mansfield ruled that Charlotte neither qualified for relief in neither St Luke nor Thames Ditton, as she was not receiving payment for the work carried out for Captain and Mrs Howe. She was therefore homeless and penniless.

There are several things which are unclear about this story, firstly whilst Elizabeth Howe appears on the rates return for 1786 i.e. just prior to her death and she also specifically gave her address as being ‘of Sloane Street‘, in her will, but there is no sign of her being there prior to that time and no explanation as to exactly where she was living nor why she was not involved in Charlotte’s court case to provide evidence.

Elizabeth died 29th December 1785, and as requested in her will she wished for her funeral to consist of a hearse and four horses, a mourning coach and four, and for her body to be buried with her late husband at Thames Ditton. In her will, she named various beneficiaries including a servant, but no mention was made of Charlotte. It was as if this girl had suddenly appeared, then just as quickly disappeared from any records.

Charlotte simply vanished from any records found to date, but it would seem likely that she remained around the Thames Ditton area, why else would she have returned there after leaving Elizabeth? Did she feel more comfortable living there, rather than in London, could that have been why she headed there when she left Elizabeth? So many unanswered questions.

I came across is a very curious entry, however, dated 22 August 1852 in the parish burial register of Hersham, a village just three miles away from Thames Ditton.

The Charlotte Howe named on the entry would have been born about 1763,  which looks to have been about the right sort of age. Of course, there is no way of confirming this that this entry was for the same person or just purely coincidence, but it seems feasible that Charlotte remained close to Thames Ditton for the remainder of her exceptionally long life, but doing what, who knows.

I searched for a Charlotte Howe and variations of that name on the 1851 census and for nearby Walton on Thames, there was in fact, a Charlotte Howes, she was recorded as visiting a William Hobbs, a rail labourer and his wife Mary Ann. The surname is slightly different with the addition of an ‘s’, and she was recorded as being a widow from Hampshire, so on the face of it could it be the same person or simply a coincidence and she was also the person buried at Hersham? But given that Hersham is only two miles from Walton on Thames it seems tantalisingly likely and that she had made up a story about her origins.

I tried to find her on the 1841 census in Thames Ditton, Walton and Hersham but with no luck, especially as the census for Thames Ditton is no longer available.

Sadly it appears likely that we will never really know what became of her, but it would be good to think that she had a good life and that it was the Charlotte Howe buried at Hersham.

UPDATE

Thanks to a lovely reader, Bernadette, we have solved the mystery of the Charlotte buried at Hersham. Bernadette was able to confirm her as being the wife of Henry Howe, a gamekeeper. With this I managed to find a marriage entry for her in Hampshire, which is where she said she was from on the 1851 census and she was a Miss  Charlotte Keene. Sadly, the hunt for the other Charlotte Howe will have to continue.

Sources

London, England, Land Tax Records, 1692-1932. Call Number: MR/PLT/4612

An Alphabetical List of the commissions of His Majesty’s fleet: with the dates of their first commissions.

The Will of Tyringham Howe, late commander of His Majesty’s ship, Thames of Thames Ditton, 9 July 1783. PROB 11/1106/110

The Will of Elizabeth Howe, Prerogative Court of Canterbury and Related Probate Jurisdictions: Will Registers; Class: PROB 11; Piece: 1142

Surrey History Centre; Woking, Surrey, England; Surrey Church of England Parish Registers; Reference: 2568/1/4

Surrey History Centre; Woking, Surrey, England; Surrey Church of England Parish Registers; Reference: 2843/1/26

1851 census – Class: HO107; Piece: 1593; Folio: 77; Page: 10; GSU roll: 193490

The Times. 29 April 1785

London Lives. St Luke’s Workhouse Registers: Workhouse Admission and Discharge Registers 25 October 1784 – 20 January 1785

 Featured Image

King’s Bench. Rudolph Microcosm of London. British Library

Elizabeth Woodcock – Buried in the snow in 1799

Born December 1756 in the small village of Impington, about 3 miles from Cambridge, Elizabeth Williams married her first husband, John Sockling and shortly after this they started their family, culminating in at least five children from 1785 onwards.

However, John died whilst the children were still young, leaving  Elizabeth in need of another husband to help her raise these children, and with that Daniel Woodcock, a local farmer stepped up to the mark and the couple were married in 1796, shortly after which, their son William was born.

It was when young William was only about two years of age, in 1799, that Elizabeth found herself making news.

Wellcome Collection

On market day, 2 February 1799, Elizabeth rode off on her horse to the market in Cambridge, purchased the goods she needed and began to ride back home with her basket of goods. The weather, as would be expected for February, was very cold, but it began to deteriorate further.

Rhodes, Joseph; Snow in the Farmyard; Leeds Museums and Galleries

It had been snowing when she had left home, but on her return journey the snow was coming down even harder, making her journey treacherous.  Suddenly there was a flash of light in the sky,  perhaps a meteor, she thought, whatever it was it startled her horse, ‘Tinker’.

She quickly dismounted and thought she should walk the horse back home rather than risk it being startled again, however, she accidentally let go of the reins and off the horse went. She tried to catch it but having a full basket of goods on her arm she simply could not catch it and had to let it go of both the horse and her basket. She finally managed to trudge through the snow until she caught up with the animal, but by this time she was cold and exhausted and had managed to lose a shoe during the chase. She sent the horse, off towards her home, in the hope that her husband would realise what had happened and come out to rescue her.

St. Andrew’s church at Chesterton (Robert Edwards)

She sat down in the field, knowing exactly where she was, but too tired to go further and she could hear the church bell of neighbouring Chesterton, ring for eight o’clock, by which time she was unfortunately completely snowed in.

The snow was about six feet perpendicular and over her head between two and three feet, completely imprisoning her. She was unable to escape from this icy prison, minus one shoe and now with her clothes frozen with ice. She sat like this all night, calmly resigned to the situation.  She remained here for a couple of days, trying to keep herself occupied, hoping, of course, that she would be found, but knowing that she was in quite a predicament as she was buried under the snow, how could anyone possibly find her?

She noticed a small part of the ‘igloo’ had a light covering of snow over it and she could just see daylight through it, so she managed to break through this using her handkerchief, but by the following day it had closed up, the next day though it stayed open. She found a small twig to which she tied her red handkerchief and pushed it through the hole, in the hope that someone would spot it.

Sure enough, people were passing close by, some gypsies, but they were busy talking to each other and didn’t hear her shouts or spot the handkerchief. She recalled watching the moon so that she could work out day and night to ascertain how long she had been there and consulted her almanack which she eventually managed to extricate from her frozen pocket.  She also had access to snuff and some brandy which she had purchased just before setting off from Cambridge. But, as the cold began to numb her hands she took off her two rings and the little money she had and put them in a box, hoping that if she was going to die, it would be possible for someone to identify her quickly from these items.

Whilst trapped, her husband and others had been out frantically searching for her but without any success, he felt sure that she must have died. She, of course, had no food, having let go of her basket earlier, but managed to survive by melting the snow and drinking it.

She remained there long enough to have heard the church bells ring on two Sundays until eventually the snow began to thaw and the hole in the snowdrift got larger, she tried to free herself, but without having eaten and being trapped in such a confined space her legs simply wouldn’t bear her weight. She knew that if help didn’t arrive soon, that she would surely die from cold and malnutrition.

Portrait of Elizabeth Woodcock; whole length, lying in bed propped up on a pillow, leaning and looking to the right, her left arm resting on duvet; wearing bonnet and gown with broad collar; original design reduced at the top; after drawing by Baldrey. 1799. British Museum

It was on Sunday 10 February that a local farmer, Joseph Muncey was on his way back from Cambridge across the fields where Elizabeth was when he spotted her handkerchief. He peered into the hole and saw a woman sitting there, frail and breathing hard.

He immediately shouted to a nearby shepherd, John Sittle, who came over and asked if she was Elizabeth Woodcock. Elizabeth instantly recognised him and asked them to help her to get out of there.  Muncey went to find her husband, who swiftly returned with his horse, cart and blankets and they returned home.

Sadly, she didn’t really recover fully from this ordeal and died later the same year. Elizabeth was buried at the parish church on 14 July 1799, followed by her husband, Daniel just over a year later, leaving the children orphaned.

According to a newspaper of 1939, alongside her burial entry in the parish register, was a note in different handwriting, stating:

She was in a state of intoxication when she was lost and her death was accelerated (to say the least) by spirituous liquors afterwards taken – procured by the donations of numerous visitors.

Elizabeth’s former home is still there, at no. 83, Station Road, Impington and it is just possible to see a plaque to the side of the door, which bears her name.

Sources used

Chester Courant 6 August 1799

Cambridge Independent Press 10 March 1939

Who was Kitty Clive? Guest post by Dr Berta Joncus

Today I have the honour to host a guest post about the famous 18th-century celebrity, Kitty Clive, by Dr Berta Joncus.

Berta is Senior Lecturer in Music at Goldsmiths, University of London. Before joining Goldsmiths, she was at the University of Oxford: she took her doctorate there and was a British Academy Post-Doctoral Fellow at St Catherine’s (2004–7), then music lecturer at St Anne’s and St. Hilda’s (2007­–9). As a scholar, she focuses on the intersection in eighteenth-century vocal music of creative practice and identity politics.

Book jacket, illustration: William Verelst, Catherine Clive, 1740. Oil on canvas. By kind permission of the Garrick Club. Paintings: G0122.

Historians have typically described Kitty Clive as a fat, vain comedienne. My book reveals another artist altogether.

From her 1728 debut until 1748, Clive was an awe-inspiring songster who changed Georgian playhouse history. She was the first playhouse performer to make music the basis of her stardom. She upended hierarchies of taste, dazzling equally with smart airs, operatic pyrotechnics and raw street ballads.

Was she a cheeky minx, a refined siren, a leering vulgarian, or all or none of these? Audiences flocked to the playhouse to find out. Handel, Thomas Arne, Henry Fielding, David Garrick and others supplied vehicles for personae Clive re-invented on the boards, defying male authority through her ability to, as she once wrote, “turn it & wind it & play it in a different manner to his intention.”

Facing systemic discrimination against women, Clive strategized brilliantly. She had some lucky breaks: in 1728, as she prepared for her debut, the collapse of London’s Italian opera company deprived audiences of high-style song, and The Beggar’s Opera whetted appetites for low-style song.

Composer and singing master Henry Carey had groomed Clive to excel in operatic and ballad singing, and Drury Lane manager Colley Cibber, desperate to rival other houses, hired the seventeen-year-old on first hearing. Carey was Clive’s friend and ally, fitting her earliest parts to her strengths, whether as a singing goddess (in masques), a witty shepherdess (in ballad opera), or a sentimental heroine (in sung comedy). Like Carey, the playwrights Charles Coffey, James Miller, and William Chetwood – this last Drury Lane’s prompter, and Clive’s first biographer – designed flattering stage characters around her gifts.

But often Drury Lane managers’ casting disadvantaged Clive, forcing her to create her own opportunities. Performing in The Devil to Pay, a 1731 ballad opera that extolled wife-beating, she used the songs Coffey had added to transform Nell, scripted as the drab victim of her cobbler husband, into a tender, courageous heroine. Overnight, she became Drury Lane’s star of ballad opera as well as of serious song.

In 1732 Cibber replaced Carey with Fielding as Drury Lane’s author of Clive vehicles, driving the indebted Carey to suicide and saddling Clive with Fielding’s unsavoury characterizations – in comedies, epilogues and air verses – through which she nonetheless shone.

With success came marketing. Illustrator John Smith claimed that an image he had engraved of a bare-breasted nymph from an old Dutch oil was a likeness of Clive igniting a years-long battle over whether she was plain or comely.

After Gottfried Schalcken [Couple d’amoureux dans un forêt, c1695], MISS RAFTER in the Character of PHILLIDA, 1729. Mezzotint. © Victoria and Albert Museum, London. Museum number: S.3874-2009.

John Faber after Pieter van Bleeck, The Celebrated Mrs. Clive, late Miss Raftor in the Character of Philida, 1734. Mezzotint. © Victoria and Albert Museum, London. Museum number: S.3816-2009.

Fig. 6.6. Alexander van Aken after Joseph van Aken, ‘Of all the Arts…’ [Catherine Clive, ‘Printed for T. Bowles’], 1735. Mezzotint. © Trustees of the British Museum. Museum number 1902,1011.6026.

Theatrical wars were an occupational hazard throughout Clive’s career. In 1733 Colley Cibber’s son Theophilus, angered by not being made Drury Lane’s manager, led an actors’ revolt that Clive refused to follow.

While pamphleteers attacked her, she shored up her reputation by appearing to marry into the genteel Clive family of Shropshire. This ‘union’ was perhaps the most brilliant invention of the former Kitty Raftor: it bestowed on her the status of a Clive while allowing her to keep her earnings, and hid the same-sex desires that both she and George Clive harboured. Kitty’s reputation for propriety – one satire glossed her as ‘Miss Prudely Crotchet’ – became a critical means for garnering sympathy once Theophilus Cibber returned victorious as Drury Lane’s deputy manager.

In 1736 the younger Cibber tried to steal Clive’s parts for his new wife, Susannah. Rewriting the rules of playhouse power, Clive ran a newspaper campaign about her rectitude and her right to her parts; this battle Theophilus lost, despite having the more credible behind-the-scenes account.

Dissimulation was one of Clive’s arts, and her ability to shape-shift made her a Town favourite. She appealed to wit, not sensuality, and claimed to speak for the middling sorts. In her airs and parts of the 1730s and 1740s, Clive protested against effeminate fops, foreign entertainers, men’s authority, Spain’s perfidy, and first minister Robert Walpole’s corruption.

Mrs Riot, the Fine Lady : Lethe; or Aesop in the Shades by Van Bleeck Peter. Garrick Club Collection

‘The Clive’ stood for native taste in music (she was given two parts in London’s favourite masque, Comus), in legitimate drama (her Portia in The Merchant of Venice became legendary), and in celebrity connections (Handel wrote Samson for her to lead, and an elegant air for her 1740 benefit). In propria persona ‘Kitty’ roles multiplied, not least from the pen of Garrick, so that she could effervesce in the playhouse, season after season.

Clive’s very success sowed the seeds her failure. When in 1743 Drury Lane manager Charles Fleetwood cheated company members of their salaries, she co-led a company rebellion, prompting Fleetwood to claim that the house had been bled dry by stars’ outrageous salary demands.

He published Clive’s earnings, which were indeed large, and the perennial eagerness of the celebrity industry to consume its own children did the rest. Critics charged her with being vain, greedy, jealous and ambitious; a story was faked that she had been involved in a back-stage scuffle with rival actress Peg Woffington. In December 1745 Susannah Cibber engineered another press row with Clive, but this time readers believed her, not Clive. By 1747, Clive had lost her following.

Needing to work to support herself, her brother, and their household, Clive colluded with new Drury Lane manager Garrick to regain public favour. He re-cast her as a blousy, arrogant has-been whose saving grace was how cruelly she mocked herself. To verify Garrick’s version of her, Clive wrote and led self-incriminating in propria persona afterpieces; in her first such work, The Rehearsal, or Bays in Petticoats (1750), she also staged her farewell to serious song. Clive would again succeed at Drury Lane, where she would dominate for another twenty years, but in farce rather than art song or drama. She retired early and wealthy, but her former reputation as a vocal artist of rare skill, and an exponent of British virtues, was in tatters.

Kitty Clive’s rich, complex story, both familiar and foreign to our own celebrity-obsessed era, has been buried under mis-information for centuries. In Kitty Clive, or The Fair Songster, I invite readers to appreciate for the first time not only her achievements as a singer, actor, writer and self-manager, but also the obstacles she had to overcome and the compromises she had to make to reach, and regain, her leading position on the London stage.

***
For a signed author’s copy at £35.00 (or $45.00) posted free of charge, please email b.joncus@gold.ac.uk.

To listen to the song Handel composed in 1740 for Clive, please to go this link.

 

The Ladies of the Bon Ton – ‘Scoring sheet’!

One of our lovely readers asked for help in finding a document for some research he was doing. Having found the document I was fascinated by it and thought it was worth sharing with you.

The Morning Post, of 2nd October 1776 contained a ‘scoring sheet’ for twelve ladies of the ‘Bon Ton,’ Britain’s high society ladies of the day. The newspaper described it as ‘ Scale of Bon Ton’, with the ladies being marked out of twenty for each of nine virtues (there’s a copy at the end).

No explanation was offered as to who wrote it and more importantly who decided on the points awarded, but it reads a bit like the scores for a beauty pageant, so I’ll simply present them as per the newspaper and let you make your own decision about this!

The outright, clear winner was the Countess of Barrymore, who scored almost full marks in virtually all categories, but for whom there appears to be no portrait available, which is such a shame given her score.

In second place, we have joint runners-up, Lady Harriott Foley and Lady Anna Maria Stanhope, daughter of William Stanhope, 2nd Earl of Harrington who married Thomas Pelham-Clinton, 3rd Duke of Newcastle

Lady Harriot Foley NPG

Radicalism & Incivility, or The Fair Pensioners by John (‘HB’) Doyle, published by Thomas McLean lithograph, published 24 January 1831 (inscribed 1830). Anna Maria on the left. NPG

Fourth place goes to Mrs Harriet Bouverie.

NPG D42054; Harriet Bouverie (nee Fawkener, later Lady Robert Spencer); Edward Bouverie sold by James Watson, sold by Butler Clowes, after Sir Joshua Reynolds

Somewhat surprisingly, given that she was always regarded as the most beautiful woman in England, the Duchess of Devonshire only achieved overall fifth place, scoring such a low mark for ‘expression’.