Brograve caught her eye at Highclere that summer. How could he not, when at more than six foot tall he towered over her? He was the son of the Liberal politician and former Chairman of Lloyd’s of London Sir Edward Beauchamp, and was handsome, thoughtful and excellent company. The two young people flirted gently in the Drawing Room and Eve found she had a decided preference, but she resolved to wait and see what the coming months would do to Brograve’s interest. They were sure to see each other in London before too long.
That summer, Lord Carnarvon spent a few days in Paris with his son. It was a city they both loved. Porchy’s Army career was prospering and he had been in Gibraltar for most of the year. It was there that he met a girl called Catherine Wendell, an American with no great financial backing but considerable charm and sweetness. Porchy always figured prominently on the social scene wherever he was – he was a great ladies’ man; but he was quite clear that Catherine was ‘the only one I could even begin to see as a future Lady Porchester.’ He, like Eve, was not minded to make sudden moves, and although he had his preference, he bided his time.
At the end of 1921, Howard Carter was helping Lord Carnarvon to organise the catalogue for an exhibition mounted by the Committee of the Egyptian Exploration Society, of which the Earl was a prominent member. Carnarvon lent the society the bulk of his collection for the show, which was held at the Burlington Fine Arts Club and was a roaring success. Then, in January, the two men set off on the annual trip. They spent most of the first three months of 1922 out in Egypt.
Aubrey was also back in one of his favourite stamping grounds – Constantinople; as was Porchy, who had just been sent on secondment from his regiment to the British Embassy there. Aubrey’s vocal criticism of the British position in the Middle East had earned him the suspicion of His Majesty’s government, so a junior member of embassy staff was to be dispatched to keep an eye on what he was up to. Whoever was in charge of that mission hadn’t done his homework properly, because he chose to send Lord Porchester, Aubrey’s nephew. The two men were delighted to see each other, and over dinner on the first night, Porchy told his uncle what he was up to. They agreed to cook up a few stories to keep Porchy’s superiors entertained.
Porchy was having a fine time, as was his way. He ran into General Baratoff, the White Russian commander to whom he had delivered a shipment of gold on the shore of the Caspian Sea when the British were still trying to prop up the Russian Army back in 1917. Porchy was sent because he spoke French, the common language, and had been under orders to ascertain how much fight the Russians still had in them. The answer was not a great deal: Baratoff was generally depressed, though plainly relieved to receive the gold. Since then the General had lost a leg and been forced to flee the Bolshevik revolution. He was penniless and even gloomier than ever. Porchy also bumped into Miss Catherine Wendell again. She was accompanying her mother on her travels and the three of them dined together several times. It was enough to make up Porchy’s mind. He asked Catherine to marry him and, being accepted, invited her to meet his parents when she was in London later in the year.
When the time came, Porchy was very nervous. He knew full well that his father was worried about money and would have hoped for his son to marry an heiress, as he had done. Porchy wrote to Eve begging for her support in the matter. His sister stepped in to play mediator once again. The family assembled in Seamore Place to receive Catherine and her mother. Despite the Earl’s disappointment he could see that Porchy was in love and that the girl was delightful, so he allowed himself to be won round. Almina was enthusiastic, as one might expect, unconcerned about anything except that Porchy be happy and Catherine be welcomed into the family in style. She threw herself into arranging the wedding.
Almina decided to give a little dance for Catherine on 14 July, at Seamore Place: The Times reported that 1,000 people were invited. The wedding was held three days later, in St Margaret’s, Westminster, the same church at which, twenty-seven years before, Almina Wombwell had married the 5th Earl of Carnarvon. Catherine wore a simple satin gown and a floor-length veil over her fashionable waved bob cut. She had eight attendants who wore large white hats dressed with ostrich plumes and, in the photo of her and Porchy with their pageboy, the couple look relaxed and happy.
Naturally, given that Almina was the driving force, it was a huge event. The church was packed, and among the relations and friends were Prince George the Duke of Kent, the Marquess of Milford Haven, the American Ambassador, the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, Miss Edwina Ashley and Lord Louis Mountbatten, who were to be married the following day and, of course, Elsie, the redoubtable Dowager Countess of Carnarvon. The guest list must have been overwhelming for the bride, with a host of titled dowagers and aristocrats. Her own friends from America were of necessity a much smaller crowd.
Watching Catherine marry her son, Almina couldn’t help but remember standing in the same spot and pledging her life to the Carnarvon cause. The difference was considerable, though. When she married into the Herbert family she might have been a relative unknown, but at least she had a fortune backing her up. Catherine did not, and it was up to Almina to champion her. She assisted Mrs Wendell in finding a house in which to hold the wedding reception, just as Elsie had helped her and Marie all those years ago. Twenty-one Grosvenor Square was lent for the occasion and the couple were given a tremendous send-off. Henry and Catherine Porchester left to spend a few days’ honeymoon at Highclere before sailing for India to rejoin Porchy’s regiment.
Almina revelled in extending her habitual largesse, but it was a bad moment for Porchy to be marrying without money. The Earl had spent months steeling himself to have a conversation he was dreading, with Howard Carter. He had decided to ‘draw stumps’ on his concession to excavate in the Valley of the Kings. He simply couldn’t afford to continue. It is estimated that by 1922 the Earl had spent some £50,000 (£10 million in today’s money) over the course of fourteen years on excavating in Egypt. It was a serious outlay, even for a man of means. He had sold three of the four estates he had inherited and was one of the last private excavators left. Britain had given up its Protectorate and declared Egypt a sovereign state earlier in the year, and the era of British aristocratic archaeologists was fading. Excavation was increasingly the province of museums or government bodies. And, to cap it all, although he had amassed a great collection of art and was renowned for the diligence and scientific method of his expeditions, he had failed to find the great treasure, the tomb that he and Carter had believed in for so long.
He told Carter of his decision at a Highclere house party during Newbury races. Carter was desperate and, having been unable to move Lord Carnarvon by persuasion, said simply that he would fund one last season himself. Carnarvon knew this would bankrupt his old friend. He considered. Touched by Carter’s willingness to risk everything he owned, the Earl agreed to pay for a last season. He was, after all, a gambling man, and it was true that there remained an unexplored area in the vicinity of the tomb of Ramesses VI.
The two men met again in London in October. Lord Carnarvon came straight from the Memorial Service for the war dead at Newbury, where the Bishop of Oxford had presided over a ceremony attended by 8,000 people.
The mood was sombre all round. This was the last chance for Carnarvon and Carter’s joint dream of glory. They had decided that they would begin the excavation work earlier than usual this year. By January there were always so many visitors to the tomb of Ramesses VI that it would be quite impossible to investigate what lay under the remains of the workmen’s huts in front of it.
Carter arrived in Luxor on Friday 27 October. He began work the following Wednesday. On Monday 6 November, less than a week later, he sent Lord Carnarvon the cable that would change their lives:
At last have made wonderful discovery in the Valley. A magnificent tomb with seals intact. Recovered same for your arrival. Congratulations.
A group photograph of the 5th Earl’s son, while he was Lord Porchester, to Catherine Wen
dell in 1922. This was taken four months before the 5th Earl’s discovery of the Tomb of Tutankhamun in November of that year.
The Earl of Carnarvon with his daughter Lady Evelyn at Deauville Races, August 7, 1922. (photo credit i4.2)
A photo of the Earl of Carnarvon taken shortly before his trip to Egypt in 1922. (photo credit i4.3)
A portrait of the Earl of Carnarvon, currently displayed in the saloon at Highclere.
The Earl of Carnarvon relaxing in Egypt, 1923. (photo credit i4.5)
The Earl of Carnarvon with Lady Almina at Ascot, 1923. (photo credit i4.6)
The Earl of Carnarvon, his daughter Evelyn, and Howard Carter, meeting with H.E. Mudirt Jehir Bey, in Luxor, shortly before the opening of the tomb.
General Edmund Allenby, High Commissioner in Egypt, with his wife, Lady Adelaide, and the 5th Earl of Carnarvon. (photo credit i4.8)
Howard Carter and the Earl of Carnarvon at the opening of King Tutankhamun’s tomb, 1922.
Standing on the steps leading to the doorway of Tutankhamun’s tomb, December 1922. Lady Evelyn is standing with her father, along with Howard Carter and his assistant. Evelyn accompanied her father to Egypt often and was there when the tomb was first opened. (photo credit i4.10)
Lord Carnarvon photographed working on the summit of Beacon Hill, shortly before he died. Coincidentally, this was where he was buried. (photo credit i4.11)
The widowed 5th Countess of Carnarvon keeping vigil on Beacon Hill after the funeral of the 5th Earl, on the 30th April, 1923. She remained there until evening.
The 5th Earl of Carnarvon’s faithful dog, Susie. She is famously said to have howled and dropped down dead at 2am on the morning that her master died.
The Pall Mall Gazette’s front page from the 5th April 1923, announcing Lord Carnarvon’s death.
The 5th Earl’s death certificate. It mistakenly lists his date of birth as the 22nd June 1865. He was actually born on the 26th June 1866. (photo credit i4.15)
A portrait of Lady Evelyn taken shortly after her father’s death in 1923. (photo credit i4.16)
The Christening of Porchy’s daughter, at Highclere castle in 1925. Left to right: Sir Brograve Beauchamp, Mr Jac Wendell, the 6th Countess of Carnarvon and baby, the 6th Earl of Carnarvon, Lady Evelyn Beauchamp, Mr and Mrs Portman with little Lord Porchester and Mrs Wendell. (photo credit i4.17)
Almina’s son Porchy, the 6th Earl of Carnarvon, with his wife and daughter, in the 1930s. (photo credit i4.18)
Lady Evelyn with her mother Almina, at the Exhibition of French Art at the Royal Academy of Arts, 1932. (photo credit i4.19)
19
‘Wonderful Things’
Howard Carter dispatched the telegram and then returned to the Valley of the Kings to refill the stairway down to the entrance to the tomb. He and Carnarvon had been colleagues and friends for fifteen years, and he was not about to press on with what he was convinced was the find of a lifetime without his patron. But what an enormous amount of restraint that must have taken. Carnarvon and Carter’s hunch or, better put, their informed guess, closely cherished for years, had paid off. And now Howard Carter was going to have to wait the two or three weeks it took for Lord Carnarvon to arrive. The tomb had to be kept safe from grave robbers in the meantime, so Carter was all discretion, telling as few people as possible about what he believed he had found. He hunkered down to wait.
He left Luxor for Cairo on 18 November, only to discover when he got there that Carnarvon’s ship was delayed. Carter made use of this enforced pause to begin to assemble a team of experts to assist at the opening of the tomb. Arthur Callender was a noted chemist and longstanding friend. He had to ask Carter to repeat himself when he heard the news. It sounded too good to be true: the sealed, unplundered tomb of a pharaoh? If Carter was right, then this was a totally unprecedented moment in archaeology. Callender agreed at once to come along and help out.
Lord Carnarvon paced the deck of the ship from Marseilles, willing it to travel faster. Eve was with him but Almina was not. She had gone with her husband on every trip he had made to Egypt since their marriage, but now she was unwell with terrible pain in her jaw and head. On Dr Johnnie’s advice she had reluctantly elected to stay at home in case she should need dental treatment. She waved her husband and daughter off, demanding that they call on her if she could be of any use.
The whole family knew what was at stake. They had been discussing ‘the undiscovered tomb’ for years. Carter’s informed guess was based in part on American Egyptologist Herbert Winlock’s suggestion that some of the interesting fragments turned up by Theodore Davis, Carnarvon and Carter’s predecessor in the Valley of the Kings, might be items used during Tutankhamun’s funeral rites. Davis wasn’t interested in such minutiae at the time, but Winlock, who had been a guest at Highclere, was. And so were Carnarvon and Carter.
On Friday 24 November, Lord Carnarvon and Lady Evelyn arrived at Luxor. The mood was of tense excitement; everyone was on edge. Eve was very fond of Howard Carter but she also found him a bit difficult to deal with because of his absolutely single-minded obsession and tendency to sarcasm; now she braced herself for the increase in pressure. Carter and Callender lost no time in clearing the rubble away from the staircase once more. It wasn’t until the afternoon of Sunday 26 November that the party of four found themselves standing in front of the doorway. Lord Carnarvon wrote, ‘We wondered if we should find another staircase, probably blocked, behind this wall or whether we should get into a chamber. I asked Mr Carter to take out a few stones and have a look in.’
Carter made a small hole through which he could insert a candle into the space beyond. He would describe the moment of discovery for the newspapers over and over. ‘Presently, as my eyes grew accustomed to the light, details of the room within emerged slowly from the mist, strange animals, statues, and gold – everywhere the glint of gold. For the moment – an eternity … I was struck dumb with amazement, and when Lord Carnarvon … inquired anxiously, “Can you see anything?” it was all I could do to get out the words, “Yes, wonderful things.” ’
Carter’s three companions exploded into relieved delight. His heart pounding, Carter widened the hole and made way for Eve, who took her turn to peer through into the chamber. ‘On getting a little more accustomed to the light, it became apparent that there were colossal gilt couches with extraordinary heads, boxes here, boxes there …’ Carter could contain himself no longer. He pulled at the wall, scrabbling to enlarge the hole sufficiently to let himself down to the chamber. He scrambled in and started to tread, softly, reverently, as he held the candle above his head to cast its light as far as possible into the corners of the space. The others followed and stood still in amazement at what they saw by flickering candlelight. ‘We knew we had found something absolutely unique and unprecedented.’ Carnarvon wrote that there was a throne of ‘surpassing beauty … the delicacy and grace indescribable … from a period when Egyptian art reached one of its culminating points.’ Here, finally, after fifteen years of searching, were the treasures of the Pharaohs. And, as their eyes adjusted and their minds raced to catch up with what they were seeing, the group realised that just as significant, if not more so, was what wasn’t there. There was no sarcophagus. Which meant that there had to be more chambers, perhaps a whole series of them.
Then they spied something, ‘between two life-size statues, a wall covered in seals and low down … traces of a break large enough to admit a small man.’ Perhaps thieves of early millennia had robbed the inner chamber. Overwhelmed, Carnarvon called a halt. Carter agreed: there were procedures that needed to be followed.
The group clambered back out and stood staring at one another in the fading daylight. Everyone was elated. Carnarvon and Carter clapped each other on the back in mutual congratulation. Carter looked as if he might burst with excitement. Arthur Callender had the expression of a man who couldn’t believe his luck, and Eve, overjoyed for her beloved father, thought wistfully of how much Almina would long to be there wh
en they told her.
There were drinks on the terrace of the Winter Palace Hotel and then Lord Carnarvon placed a call to his wife, during which he, like Carter with Callender, had to repeat himself several times before Almina could take in what he was saying. Who could sleep after what they had seen? A small party secretly returned later that night to explore the other, partly closed room. It was not difficult to knock out the wall through which the robbers had gained access 3,000 years earlier. Carter, Lady Evelyn and Carnarvon simply had to enlarge it again and slip through.
The little party left unable to speak about what they had seen. They carefully placed some old rush baskets against the lower part of the false door. Attention from visitors would be taken by the pair of life-size gold-kilted statues. They had found it: the burial chamber of Tutankhamun.
The following morning, Carter sent a note to Engelbach, the local Chief Inspector of the Antiquities Department, informing him of the developments. Engelbach had been told about Carter’s initial discovery of the steps and was present when Callender and Carter began to clear the debris away again. But he, like almost everyone else, believed that the Valley of the Kings was exhausted, and didn’t consider Carter’s staircase worth hanging around for on a Friday afternoon.
Now he sent a representative of the Department to accompany Carnarvon’s group as they returned to the tomb. They had arranged to connect to the mains electricity in the valley, so this time, when they stepped into the chamber, they could see everything in crisp detail. Carter later wrote in his book, The Tomb of Tutankhamun, ‘Three thousand, four thousand years maybe, have passed and gone since human feet last trod the floor on which you stand, and yet … the blackened lamp, the finger-mark upon the freshly painted surface, the farewell garland dropped upon the threshold – you feel it might have been but yesterday … Time is annihilated by little intimate details such as these …’
Lady Almina and the Real Downton Abbey: The Lost Legacy of Highclere Castle Page 20
