It was during Harriet’s stay in Brighton that her father-in-law was made a duke. News of the ennoblement spread rapidly. Her sister Georgiana was the first to know – Lady Grey whispered the news ‘with great glee’ during a dinner at the Pavilion. Georgiana immediately rushed to inform Harriet, ‘who knew nothing about it’. In the gossipy atmosphere of Brighton, the news soon became ‘a secret, which is no longer one’.13 On hearing the news from Georgiana, Harriet hastily wrote to Caroline, with the expectation that gossip had preceded her letter. ‘You will have heard I fear before mon announce, as I should like to be the first to tell you anything that concerns us, that Stafford is to be a duke.’14 Stafford chose the title Duke of Sutherland, in honour of his wife’s heritage. The news put Harriet in the spotlight at Brighton, and her attendance was much anticipated at the Pavilion. Her debut was on Tuesday 29 January and her second appearance on Friday 1 February; Georgina wrote to Caroline that Harriet ‘was looking very well both nights’. She cut a fine figure, wearing on the first night a gown of ‘pink velvet and pointe lace’ and a ‘rose in her hair’, and on the second, a dress in ‘black satin, embroidered with coloured flowers’ and a pale lace headdress.
Stafford’s ennoblement was life-changing for Harriet and George, firstly because the dukedom would pass to George on his father’s death, and secondly because it meant that they inherited the marquisate of Stafford. Little George, Viscount Trentham, became Earl Gower in his father’s place. Georgiana wrote proudly to Caroline about the rearrangement of names: ‘the Staffords… how difficult it will ever be to call them so! They had at first settled to remain as they are but the King called him Lord Stafford and told him it was so, which decided the case differently.’ She also added an endearing aside about little George, who ‘is very amusing about his new name [Earl Gower]… and thinks himself ready to become “Papa”’.15
The newly made Staffords returned to London on 2 February and Harriet began preparing to move from Hamilton Place to Bridgewater House, which overlooked St James’s Park. ‘I have been in a state of hurry and interruption, not knowing what to pack and how to pack,’ she wrote.16 But Harriet was not able to luxuriate in her new title for long. Shortly after her return to London, the health of her sister Georgiana’s husband, which had never been robust, relapsed. Harriet stayed by her sister’s side during his painful illness; George Agar Ellis died aged just 36. Devastated, Georgiana retreated to the Isle of Wight and, with the exception of seeing her children, lived in complete seclusion until her death.
Ten days after Ellis’s death on 19 July, Harriet’s father-in-law, the Duke of Sutherland, died at Dunrobin. Harriet was unable to attend the funeral, and George, the ever-attentive husband, sent her a long account of the lavish event, suitable for ‘the richest individual who ever died’.17
Overnight, Harriet had become the richest wife in England. George wrote to her from Dunrobin expressing his desire that they use their fortune wisely, ‘In short, my dearest love,’ he ended, ‘I hope you will have a great deal of enjoyment, and of the purest sort.’18
Chapter 5
‘A LEVIATHAN OF WEALTH’
AS THE NEW duchess of Sutherland, the world lay at Harriet’s feet. She had at her disposal Stafford House, one of the grandest residences in London, as well as the smaller house Westhill in Wandsworth. Outside the capital, there were Lilleshall and Trentham Hall, the most imposing mansions in the Midlands, not to mention Uppat and Dunrobin in Sutherland, her vast Scottish territory. The Sutherlands also possessed boundless capital to invest in their properties. With her strong opinions on design, it was inevitable that when the couple embarked on extensive renovations, Harriet took the lead. The most ambitious of her early building schemes was the transformation of Stafford House, on the north side of St James’s Park in London. Harriet’s father-in-law had been making improvements to the property since he purchased it in 1827, but the house was still not finished when Harriet and George inherited it in 1833. Harriet immediately set to work, developing an elaborate plan for the house in consultation with Charles Barry, who would later work on Trentham Hall, and Cliveden.
Harriet’s vision for Stafford House involved the addition of another storey.1 The subsequent flurry of building work caused considerable grief to nearby residents, resulting in a number of complaints, including those from William IV and his wife, Queen Adelaide. Though Buckingham Palace would not become the principal royal residence until the accession of Queen Victoria, it had come into increasing use during the early 19th century, especially after a fire destroyed much of St James’s Palace in 1809. Under the guidance of George IV and then William IV, Buckingham House had been transformed into the John Nash palace that survives today. The Sutherlands had taken the proximity of the Palace into account when planning their renovation and were mortified to discover that their builders were disturbing the royals. The king and queen, Harriet anxiously reported, ‘had been woke at 5’. Worse, the queen already had a headache, ‘which the noise did not mend’. Harriet, who was prone to momentary outbursts of rage, or ‘explosions’2 as Lord Melbourne, the Home Secretary, called them, immediately ordered ‘to have the early work stopped’.3
The project also ran into trouble at the other end of the social spectrum, due to struggles over unionisation. Since the late 18th century, the Combinations Acts had made it illegal for workers to combine into trade unions, but between 1825 and 1826 these laws were repealed, effectively decriminalising unions. Despite this legislative shift, attempts to unionise had been vigorously countered by employers and the judiciary. During 1834, the masters of various trades attempted to force their workers to sign pledges that they would not unionise. In response, a number of different trades planned strikes. Harriet was very aware of this unrest, as she had been of the agitation surrounding reform: ‘The last time we went over the upper part [of Stafford House] we were struck with the less agreeable looks of some of the men, and we hear that there is to be a general strike on Friday,’ she wrote in August 1834. She had little sympathy for workers’ rights: ‘they must be beat’, she wrote emphatically.4 The strike eventually took place on Monday 18 August.5 It was followed, on Thursday, by a public meeting of working builders at the Black Horse pub, on Curtain Street in Shoreditch; those present passed a motion that described the anti-union declaration as ‘forging chains for their own necks’.
Despite these problems, Stafford House, a neoclassical landmark, was complete by 1835. The great hall measured 120 feet from floor to ceiling, and the stone and marble staircase was ‘matchless’. The state drawing room and the music room, which served also as a dining room, were lavishly decorated in the style of Louis XV. The great gallery housed George’s magnificent art collection, which included works by Raphael, Tintoretto, Titian, Velasquez, Rubens, Van Dyck, Watteau and Murillo, a reflection of the passion for art that led to George’s appointment as a trustee of the National Gallery that same year and later, in 1841, as a trustee of the British Museum. The house itself, however, received mixed reviews from contemporaries. The poet Rogers likened it to a ‘fairy palace’ with Harriet as its ‘good fairy’, but others were affronted by its sheer scale and sumptuousness.6 ‘Was it really true that the Sutherlands are obliged to add a story to Stafford House?’ Baron Wharncliffe jibed.7 The Sutherlands, however, were immune to such criticism. Stafford House quickly became a centre of artistic patronage. Queen Victoria famously quipped, ‘I have come from my house to your palace’ and when she visited in the 1840s, she found a scene almost absurdly full of creative activity: while Franz Xaver Winterhalter painted his famous portrait of the duchess, ‘a clever French artist’ was sketching the grand staircase, and Stanislas David, a French ‘litterateur’, was reciting poems for the guests.
It was at Stafford House that Harriet established herself as the leading society hostess of her day. Harriet’s previous London residences, and to some extent her pre-inheritance finances, had prevented her from hosting anything on a particularly large scale. Her inaugural e
vent at Stafford House on 6 June 1835 featured a piece of theatre and a concert, with performances from baritone Antonio Tamburini, soprano Giulia Grisi, and Spanish mezzo-soprano Maria Malibran, a trio of the most celebrated opera singers of the time. Guests including the Duchess of Cambridge, Earl Grey and the Duke of Wellington stayed until four in the morning, enjoying the ‘cold suppers’ and ‘luxuriant desserts’, as well as a guided tour of the house. In a detailed description of the festivities, George wrote to his mother that ‘the music was excellent and said to do better than at the opera.’ The staircase, he said, had been ingeniously illuminated by gas lights and mirrors to spectacular effect. But George’s warmest praise was reserved for his wife who ‘looked very well, and was thought to do the honours in a distinguished manner’.8
On a visit to Stafford House, Queen Victoria famously commented to Harriet Duchess of Sutherland: ‘I have come from my house to your palace.’
The glittering soirées of Harrriet’s early years at Stafford House were famed for their opulence but lacked the intimacy and purpose which later characterised her parties. But even as she began to use her social position to make powerful statements – as she did with her high-profile support of Caroline Norton – she viewed her actions as belonging to a personal and domestic rather than a political domain. Caroline Norton was a witty and beautiful poet married to George Chappie Norton, a man with a quick temper and strong jealous streak. These character traits often translated into violent rages, especially where Caroline’s flock of male admirers was concerned. Among her devotees was the brilliant and raffish Whig Lord Melbourne, who had become prime minister for the second time in April 1835, and with whom Caroline maintained a close but probably platonic relationship. Caroline and George Norton’s relationship became increasingly strained and by 1835, Norton had denied his wife access to the family home and to her children. In June 1836, he began divorce proceedings by bringing a legal case of ‘criminal conversation’ (adultery) against his wife and Melbourne, suing the latter for £10,000 in damages. The case went to court but the trial, a sanitised alternative to duelling which had finally been outlawed in 1815, was over within hours, the jury being unwilling to condemn Melbourne – who was after all the prime minister – on sketchy evidence and the testimony of unreliable witnesses.
This would have been little comfort, however, to Caroline, who remained trapped in an abusive marriage. De facto separation from Norton meant that Caroline, like Anna Maria 200 years before her, was barred from any contact with her three sons, in addition to the loss of all income and financial support. While Anna Maria was able to seek support from the Duke of Buckingham after her husband’s death, Caroline was left with no male patron. Melbourne offered financial support but, fearful of his reputation as prime minister, withdrew from the friendship. Norton made a plangent case to Queen Victoria, protesting the ‘grotesque anomaly, which ordains that women shall be non-existent in a country governed by a female Sovereign’. Victoria responded ferociously to what she saw as ‘this mad and wicked Folly of Women’s Rights’. ‘God created men and women differently,’ she wrote. ‘Let them remain each in their own position.’9
Victoria was wrong to detect feminism in Norton’s protest, as the poet herself made very clear: in 1838 she wrote to The Times that ‘the natural position of women is inferiority to man… I never pretended to the wild and ridiculous doctrine of equality.’10 Likewise, we should not misconstrue Harriet’s support for Norton as a consciously feminist gesture, but rather as a means of addressing what she considered a grievous wrong. The duchess could not bear to watch her friend be so ill-treated by the men around her. In a bid to ease Caroline’s path back into respectable company, Harriet took her driving through the streets of London – a very public and highly visible gesture of support. Caroline was so moved by the expression of solidarity that she dedicated her The Dream, and Other Poems (1840) to the duchess. In 11 stanzas, Caroline committed her gratitude to paper. ‘So Thou, with queenly grace and gentle pride / Along the world’s dark waves in purity dost glide,’ she wrote of Harriet’s kindness. ‘Thou didst not shrink – of bitter tongues afraid / Who hunt in packs the object of their blame.’11 Harriet continued to support her friend, making sure she was a regular fixture at Stafford House festivities. On one occasion, the writer Charles Dickens scandalised guests at Stafford House when he was asked whom he thought was more beautiful, the Duchess of Sutherland or Mrs Norton, and replied: ‘Mrs Norton is perhaps the most beautiful, but the duchess to my mind, is the more kissable person.’12
Early on the morning of 20 June 1837, William IV died at Windsor, aged 71, and Victoria, who had only recently turned 18, found herself acceding the throne. Victoria and Harriet had finally been introduced at a dinner held at Kensington Palace on 24 April 1833, when Victoria was 14 years old and Harriet was 27. By the spring of 1835, Harriet had begun to receive comment in Victoria’s journals, singled out for her beauty, elegance and grace. On 28 May, Victoria described Harriet as one of ‘the handsomest people’ present at a royal drawing room attended by 2,200 guests; soon after, Harriet appeared on a list of ‘the prettiest persons’ at a dinner hosted by Queen Adelaide. On 1 July 1836, Harriet was described in the diary as ‘handsome’; on the 9 July as ‘very handsome’; and in November as ‘handsomer in figure, and altogether handsomer’ than Lady Barham, who herself was ‘very handsome’. In April 1837, she topped the list of the ‘handsomest’ people at another drawing room.13 Victoria was clearly entranced by her new friend, even if her praise was rather monotonous. Despite Harriet’s sharp intellect and reputation for diverting conversation, her appearance remained, to Victoria, one of the most remarkable things about her. Victoria, who was notoriously insecure about her diminutive stature and unremarkable appearance, was dazzled by Harriet’s beauty.
Upon her accession, one of Victoria’s first acts was to appoint the 31-year-old duchess as Mistress of the Robes. ‘I am delighted to have [Harriet] as my Mistress of the Robes,’ Victoria wrote of the appointment, adding in her usual style that the duchess ‘was looking so handsome and nice’.14 Thus Harriet became a royal official as well as a friend to the queen. Far from being a titular appointee, the Mistress of the Robes was expected to perform many well-defined duties – more so than most other female roles at court, and on a par with offices of state held by men. Harriet was head of the office of robes, putting her in charge of a team of four: the Groom of the Robes, the Clerk of the Robes, a messenger, and a furrier. She purchased Victoria’s robes of state, settled the queen’s personal clothing bills, provided salaries for the queen’s dressers, hairdresser and wardrobe maids, and issued warrants for the appointment of tradespeople. The Mistress of the Robes was also the first person to whom the queen would turn with enquiries about potential courtiers for official appointments. She was responsible for drawing up rotas of maids and ladies-in-waiting, and for developing contingency plans should a lady-in-waiting not be able to attend the queen for reasons such as pregnancy or illness.15 The Mistress of the Robes herself attended the queen at levees and drawing rooms and on important state occasions. The most momentous of these was 28 June 1838, when the trembling 19-year-old Victoria was crowned at Westminster Abbey. Harriet spent the hours before the coronation dressing the queen and attending to her every need. No record survives of the conversation that occurred between the two friends on that day, but we can speculate that Harriet calmed Victoria’s nerves with a mixture of maternal reassurance and inane chit-chat.
Harriet was a sensation at Victoria’s court. Admirers marvelled at how the statuesque duchess ‘moves like a goddess… and looks like a queen’.16 Such adulation may have posed a challenge to her friendship with the tiny monarch, only 4 feet 11 inches in stature. Yet for the first months of her reign, Victoria retained her girlish admiration for Harriet. The queen’s diaries indicate that she spoke of the duchess almost as often as she spoke with her – and she spoke with her a lot. Between 1837 and 1840 Victoria recorded frequent instances of the
m visiting the opera, travelling together in the state coach, and sitting next to each other at dinner. They spent hours in conversation while Harriet dressed Victoria, discussing politics, horse riding and everything in between. No one was more emotionally intimate with the queen, or so consistently close to her person. Indeed, when Harriet accompanied Victoria on her first official visit to the Continent, the Mistress of the Robes was mistaken for the queen herself. Harriet’s aunt Lady Granville jokingly referred to ‘that other Queen, Harriet the First’.17
Another figure who had an inordinate influence on Victoria during her early reign was her first prime minister, Lord Melbourne. Victoria adored Melbourne and sought his advice on every matter under her consideration. ‘He is so sensible and so reasonable upon every point and has such right feelings about everything’ Victoria wrote in her journal in December 1837.18 Melbourne was one of the few people to appear in its pages as often as Harriet. A conservative Whig with a profound distrust of social change, Melbourne had a deep influence on the political outlook of the young queen. He educated her in statecraft, constitutional practicalities and government, while offering her the emotional guidance and adoration she craved. At 58, Melbourne assumed the role of Victoria’s surrogate father, guardian and mentor. But their mutual devotion teetered on romantic infatuation. Victoria was entranced by his animated grey-blue eyes and often remarked on his appearance, especially when wearing the ‘Windsor uniform’ of dark blue and red, or when his hair became dishevelled in the wind. She was fiercely possessive of her beguiling prime minister.
The Mistresses of Cliveden: Three Centuries of Scandal, Power and Intrigue in an English Stately Home Page 25
