The Real Life Downton Abbey: How Life Was Really Lived in Stately Homes a Century Ago

by Jacky Hyams

  Chapter 10

  Morals & Manners

  It’s midnight in the big country house. The party guests are nearly all in their rooms. A frock-coated gentleman, loosening his cravat, is making his way down a long corridor. Thanks to the discretion of the hostess, he already knows the object of his desire is on the same floor – but where? Peering at the discreet little brass frames on each door, he checks for the name. Ah, here she is. Confidently, he turns the brass handle and steps into the spacious bedroom. A fire crackles in the big grate. Seconds later, the pair are ridding themselves of their elaborate coverings, tugging furiously at buttons, fumbling with laces and stays, throwing waistcoat, overskirt, corset, bloomers, silk stockings, shirt, trousers, up in the air, their passion overwhelming – the evidence of their fevered, hurried coupling to be scooped up from the floor, with knowing smirks, by the servants the following day.

  Welcome to adultery in Edwardian high society. Both parties are titled and married. Some people in their exclusive circle know of their affair. It’s been talked of for weeks now, gossiped about across the card tables or on the huge yachts of the elite as they glide through the sparkling blue waters of the Mediterranean.

  Both are known for their string of different amours. Though it is now rumoured that the man’s wife, having caught him in bed with a teenage footman the year before – and having openly voiced her disgust to others – is being packed off, to their Scottish estate by her parents. And, of course, downstairs chatter between the housemaids the next morning is lively and speculative. Everyone downstairs knows about the footman because his aristocratic lover promptly sacked him after being caught in the act. And the boy tried, unsuccessfully, to get a job with another posh family. The disgusted wife’s lady’s maid blabbed downstairs, too. But does the bisexual man’s latest love know about the footman? And does she care?

  She probably does know, given how discreetly bitchy the women in her circle can be. Subtle but clear hints have been dropped into her ear over tea in gilded salons. Yet she won’t be questioning her lover about it. Her own marriage, since she had her son and daughter, is a sterile, hands-off relationship and she relishes the sheer thrill of the romantic, clandestine affair, the midnight assignations, partly through desire and physical need for passionate lovemaking – but also because it is so exciting to organise these stolen moments of abandon in a stiflingly boring life dominated by appearances and the rules.

  Outwardly, she is a glittering hostess in the social firmament, not yet thirty, decked in jewels, silks and furs, her glamour and beauty celebrated everywhere. But her private life is a hot topic. She’s aware that certain people in her circle know what’s going on – yet she dare not discuss her secret love life with anyone. Only in unanswered letters to her lover does she give voice to her innermost feelings and emotions… a dangerous exercise should they fall into the wrong hands.

  Yet again, the moral code of Edwardian high society dictates that the superficial is what counts. In fact, there is a long-held mantra that a respectable society woman’s name only ever appears in a newspaper at birth, on marriage and on her demise. Newspapers, of course, will report the official engagements of high society. But if it all explodes into scandal and a widely reported court case – which it infrequently does – then it’s open season on those who are ‘caught’. And social death.

  Essentially, the code permits married wealthy people to cover up their love affairs with a finely woven web of discretion and manners. If they are caught out by their spouse, the aggrieved party cannot make a scene or a noisy fuss. That just isn’t permitted. Etiquette matters so much more than a discreet affair between marrieds, though at times, of course, very human emotional responses break through the web of discretion.

  The royal marriage of ‘Bertie’ and Alexandra, which lasts for nearly 50 years and produces six children, survives scandal after scandal, mostly thanks to Alexandra’s tolerance, is the upper-crust benchmark: have your cake and eat it. But keep shtum.

  The social code is such that only married women can have affairs: single high-born women are hands off as far as amorous cheating husbands are concerned. Women either marry – or are married off – or they remain spinsters, a lowly status in this world. Single means ‘unwanted’.

  If a daring, spirited unmarried aristocratic young woman does indulge herself with a lover and falls pregnant, it’s usually hushed up. A lengthy trip to Europe, accompanied by a lady’s maid, is usually discreetly arranged by her family. And the child is born far away from the eyes of her peer group – the baby handed to a convent. But there is no return to society: one mistake and you’re out. And since wealthy aristocratic single women are not required to pursue any profession or work, their sole purpose is to be decorative and ‘come out’ – and be available for invitations to dances, balls or marriage proposals. They may get intellectually involved with the issues of the day and have opinions on the social changes that are emerging around them. And this generation is often intelligent and curious. But as single women their involvement with the affairs of the world must remain limited – unless they wish to wage war with their family.

  Divorce, as already seen, means loss of status, an unwanted consequence. So the big country-house gathering of ‘Saturday to Monday’ guests tends to be a common setting for these not-so-secret affairs; couples, given the space between them, can organise these assignations in the perfect place for ‘playing away’ – and extra marital bliss. In fact, this situation is so widely accepted in the elite circle that in a few big houses, the lady of the house discreetly instructs staff to ring a bell at 6am – to give certain guests a chance to get back to their own rooms before the maids start arriving with the early morning tea.

  The alternative setting for illicit love is the briefer cinq à sept assignation (literally, 5–7pm) so beloved of the French. The venue is usually the London townhouse, where the lady changes into her fashionable tea gown, a floaty, loose, flimsy gown worn without a corset underneath, before greeting her lover. The tea dress has been created as a leisure dress (a sort of equivalent to a Juicy Couture tracksuit, though somewhat more feminine), a light, un-corseted garment that is perfect for love: a welcome improvement on the button-tugging, corset-removing marathon involved when relinquishing formal evening gear.

  Such afternoon diversions are often arranged by a series of notes delivered to and from respective town houses, proffered on silver dishes by the servants – or even via the odd telegram. Phone calls, if the family use one, are too tricky. The phone is frequently kept in a hallway, where everyone can hear every word. Especially the butler…

  Couples may pretend not to know about their partner’s dalliances, but nothing private gets past the personal servants. Take the lady’s maid. She’s looks after her mistress’s underwear. She knows whether her mistress is having a period. Or not. The fine linen sheets too, changed by the servants, tell their own story. It’s all very well having people around to do everything for you. But if you want to keep your love life secret, forget it. When it comes to the amours of their bosses, the servants’ hall is an early twentieth-century version of Twitter.

  Yet if they want to keep their jobs – and sometimes a straight face – they must pretend not to see or hear anything. ‘Do not seem in any way to notice, or enter into, the family conversation, or the talk at the table, or with visitors..’ warns the toffs’ servants’ etiquette manual, Rules for the Manners of Servants in Good Families in 1901. So, should they unexpectedly enter a room to find a half-clad couple entwined behind a sofa, they must remain impassive, stony-faced. Only when they’re downstairs can they give way to laughter and ribaldry.

  In a world where TV and radio have not yet emerged, their boss’s secrets are an ongoing form of gossipy entertainment for servants: the most simple task, like emptying a wastepaper basket in the living area and discovering a torn-up love letter, carelessly thrown away but pieced together by the finder, gives plenty of talk below stairs – and reveals innermost truths
about their masters’ emotional lives.

  But what happens if one of these covert relationships results in pregnancy, you wonder? Scandal and rejection by society? Not always. Some high-born marriages just carry on regardless. One of the Edwardian era’s most beautiful young aristocrats, Lady Diana Manners, is the youngest daughter of the 8th Duke of Rutland and his wife Violet. But society gossips swear that she is the illegitimate offspring of the writer, MP and womanising politician Henry Cust.

  Whatever the gossips say, this does not faze Lady Diana, whose parents, at one point, pin their hopes on her marrying Edward VII’s second son George (who becomes George V after the death of his father in 1910; Edward and Alexandra’s first born, Albert, died of pneumonia in 1892). Eventually, Lady Diana marries another aristocrat, Duff Cooper in 1919. Celebrated as the most beautiful woman in England, such is the passion that Lady Diana inspires that her husband-to-be writes to her during their courtship: ‘I hope everyone you like better than me will die very soon.’

  Yet servants’ unique access to upstairs’ private lives can lead to temptation, too. In 1911, The Times newspaper reports a potential trade between an English servant and an American newspaper. An English butler, advertising for a new position, is approached by an American female journalist. She offers him monthly sums of money in exchange for gossip and tittle-tattle about leading British socialites: American readers are eager to read stories about the English aristocracy, especially anything remotely scandalous about their financial or marital woes. The butler and The Times’ readers are shocked. But a seed is sown for less loyal servants hoping to make a quick buck. Cold cash for celebrity scandal: sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

  However this moral code where adultery is discreetly condoned is just one side of the dualistic nature of toff morality. Because many of these aristocratic women, whether they play around or not, have their other obligations: their involvement with charities and helping the less fortunate. And it is the same society ladies who sit on the committees that run the charities, oversee the fund-raising local bazaars, dinners and balls, the church sales, helping raise the money to fund cottage hospitals, that may be indulging in this extra-marital, secret, but not secret, world.

  Charity work is part of the rules that surround their lives, of course, but a different side of the coin: helping the needy at a time when the State has yet to take responsibility for the less fortunate. Many middle-class women too are heavily involved, of course. Yet the big country house, with all its political social networking, is still at the heart of much charity, alongside the frivolity and double standards of the times. Some country-house wives are involved with organisations like the anti-alcohol movement, the Temperance Society, since alcohol is very much viewed as a social evil, especially among the poor. And, of course, it is sometimes the wife who encourages her husband to make much-needed improvements to the homes on the estate, to ease the living conditions of their tenants. Over 1,000 different charities are being run in the UK in the early 1900s, mostly headed by wealthy or middle-class women – and over half of these charities exist to help women in need.

  THE UNMARRIED DAUGHTER

  But what of the aristocratic daughter? If she has brothers, their path in life is set in stone: Harrow, Eton, an inherited seat in the House of Lords and eventually the cares of the family estate. But as an unmarried young woman, she can have neither affairs nor a career. Educated at home by a governess, fluent in French and German, she plays the piano beautifully and is an excellent horsewoman. But essentially, all her ‘training’ is for marriage, her presentation at Court during her first Season, her introduction to the rules of society.

  In the meantime, there are all the customs and manners of polite society to take her into adulthood: even if she does become engaged, she is not expected to travel unaccompanied with her fiancé, for example – and such is the morality of the times, once she is ‘out’ in society, there are many lines she cannot cross if she wishes to be accepted by her peers. Even her hairdo plays a part. A lady may only be seen in public with upswept hair. Loose hair is regarded as a symbol of immorality, or promiscuity: a lady only permits herself to be seen this way by her spouse. Or her lady’s maid.

  And there are other small but important social niceties that must be followed, now that the world is changing. Young women, just like the Earl of Grantham’s daughters in Downton Abbey, are becoming preoccupied with ‘new’ ideas and social etiquette, which their elders would never have permitted. Etiquette itself changes to adapt to the new ways…

  Smoking: Previously a male habit, smoking is gradually becoming socially acceptable for women – though some still find it deplorable. The new etiquette says that a lady should take her present company’s inclination into consideration before indulging.

  Motoring: In the motorcar, ladies must carry hairpins and a hand mirror. These are seen as indispensible aids to attractive travelling.

  Make-up: Advice for those considering painting their face states that there is a right way and a wrong way of doing it. The art of concealing is very important. Anyone powdering and painting in imitation of singers and actresses must remember that these women are usually seen at a distance.

  MANNERS FOR VISITORS

  Because the toffs are so determined to keep their world intact and keep everyone beneath them at a distance, there is a very strict code of manners to be followed when it comes to paying calls on each other: all must follow the etiquette of the calling card.

  Essentially, this system enables the upper crust to maintain formal relationships with those in the same group – and keeps out the unwanted or the social pariahs who fall from grace.

  The traditional etiquette of early twentieth-century card-calling in London makes emailing seem positively blissful. A lady cannot call on another person without first presenting her calling card, via a servant. And so she may go out and about in her carriage, passing a footman her calling card to be presented at a certain grand address. (Sometimes she might keep the appropriate distance between them by telling him the address via a speaking tube.) On reaching the address, the footman rings the doorbell and the door is opened by a butler or maid. The card is then handed over with the compliments of the lady, the footman enquiring if the other lady is ‘at home’ today. The front door is then closed. Inside the house, staff check whether their boss is ‘at home’. If she is, the footman then helps his lady out of the carriage, into the house – and must remain standing outside until the visit is over. (If she’s out, the card is then kept on a silver tray in the hallway so it can be seen when she returns.)

  At times, this process is accelerated by the footman being dispatched to travel around the city alone, taking calling cards from house to house, in order to demonstrate that their boss is in town.

  Even the calling cards themselves follow strict etiquette. They must be plain with the gentleman’s name smaller than the lady’s, with the name and address printed in an ordinary typeface. Married couples have their names together on one card. Unmarried daughters have their names placed beneath their mother’s.

  And typically, once an introduction has been made through a mutual friend, a formal call must be returned within three to four days. After a dinner or a ball, it is necessary for a guest to call or leave their card at the host’s house within the next few days. Calling hours are strictly between 3–6pm. To call before luncheon is socially unacceptable. (‘A call’ is not the same as ‘a visit’; a visit means spending at least one night away from home.)

  Once these rituals have been observed, there are other rules to observe:

  The first call should be short, about 15 minutes. Conversationally, topics may only be light and superficial. No talk of politics, religion or anything remotely controversial. Nor should dogs or children accompany the visitor.

  For the afternoon call, a coat or cloak may be taken off. But a lady must keep her hat on (this is probably more to do with the fact that the hats are so enormous and hairdos are so elaborate, it requires
careful help from a lady’s maid to take it on and off). A gentleman is permitted to bring his hat and stick into the room and keep it in his hands or on the floor. Only after this first call – and provided it has gone well – can a dinner invitation be issued.

  When country house families travel to London for the Season, their cards are marked PPC (Pour Prendre Congé, translated from French and meaning ‘to say goodbye’). And when they are back in their country estate, the same rituals must be observed when making social calls in the area. A few aristocrats ignore all this, mainly because they are so grand, they don’t need to bother, yet even by 1911, the etiquette manual, Etiquette of Good Society, written by Lady Colin Campbell, tells calling card dissenters: ‘Visits of form of which most people complain and yet to which most people submit, are absolutely necessary – being in fact the basis on which that great structure, society, mainly rests. You cannot invite people into your house, however often you may have met them elsewhere, until you have first called upon them in a formal manner and they have returned the visit. It is a kind of safeguard against any acquaintances which are thought to be undesirable.’

  SECRET VICES

  ‘Undesirable acquaintances’ in their social clique may be avoided by a strict code of manners, yet the morals of the upper crust remain silently tolerant of other sexual habits.