Furthermore, the Act conferring the Marlborough title on the 1st Duke, because he had no male heir, had legislated that in the event of no male heir the title would pass into the female line. Thus the legal heir to the title now would be Susannah, the girl Blandford had fathered with Susannah Law. The family were forced to act and they took out a case for libel. All the details of Blandford’s deceitful behaviour and betrayal were paraded in court, to the embarrassment of the whole family. However, two of Blandford’s friends swore that, during the stay in Scotland, on no occasion had Blandford actually paraded openly with Susannah as his wife, and since the letters he had signed as her husband had been surrendered years earlier The Satirist lost its case.
The prospect of an unsavoury father-in-law must have been part of the reason Frances’ parents resisted her marriage. Yet the financial future of Frances and her husband depended on him and so there was constant contact with him, the more so when the children arrived and the Park became their playground. The stability and common sense that characterised Frances were a perfect complement to her husband’s good judgement. They had what was generally a sound working relationship with the Duke, and at his father’s death John Winston was able to step smoothly into the ducal role. It also says much about Frances’ strength of character, the depth of her feeling for John Winston and her confidence in him, that she stood firm in her love. Her judgement was well founded; she had a strong and happy marriage of 41 years. Theirs was a mutually supportive relationship, which enabled both to weather the many family anxieties and worries that those years brought.
Frances was a remarkable woman. Her warmth and sensitivity may have made her vulnerable, yet she had the resilience and strength of character to absorb shocks and responsibilities which would have overwhelmed a lesser person. This was just as well: the problems caused by her errant sons pursued her and her husband. No sooner had they returned from Ireland, where Randolph’s mistakes had precipitated them, than their eldest son presented his mother with yet another responsibility. She had already had to weather the public humiliation of his adulterous nine-year affair with Lady Aylesford. Now Lady Aylesford bore Blandford a son, Guy, and was then left to bring him up alone when Blandford deserted her. He was quoted as saying, ‘Mistress, yes; but future Duchess of Marlborough, never!’ Later, after the Marchioness had divorced him in 1883, he married a rich American widow. Frances once again provided a refuge at Blenheim for a child in need and is said to have given the unfortunate Edith Aylesford a pension.
On her husband’s death in 1883, Frances’ determination and resolution were called upon once more, again on behalf of a child. Earlier that year Bertha, Blandford’s wife, had been given custody of their three daughters on their divorce. Blandford was now the 8th Duke and the heir was his only son by marriage, Charles, now the new Lord Blandford. The 7th Duke had sensibly wished that Charles, his grandson, should not leave with his mother but be brought up in contact with Blenheim in order to develop in him a proper awareness of the Palace and of the duties and responsibilities he would have there later as Duke. To this end he had effected part legal guardianship of the boy. When he died Charles was only eleven years old and so, at the age of 61, Frances, who understood and supported her husband’s wishes for Charles, steeled herself to go to court to replace her husband as guardian. She was successful in this, although she had to accept the condition that she should live at Blenheim to supervise the boy and be responsible for a large part of the staff and household expenses. To all this she dutifully agreed.
It could not have been easy for Frances to oppose Bertha on the guardianship issue. Apart from an inclination to play practical jokes, Bertha had been a responsible and conscientious member of the family; Frances had welcomed her as a daughter-in-law, and liked her. But Frances had a strong sense of duty and an understandable desire to carry out her husband’s wishes. So oppose Bertha she did, and Charles came partly into her care. Yet Bertha clearly respected Frances’ principles and altruistic motives because she maintained a strong and loyal relationship with her. In Frances’ years as Vicereine in Ireland, Bertha was the family member above all others who regularly stayed with her to give support. She appeared regularly at Frances’ official functions.
Over a period of some 34 years, from the orphaning of Clementina, through Winston’s gradual maturity, to the adulthood of her grandson Charles, later the 9th Duke, between the ages of 35 and her late sixties, the love and commitment Frances gave to children who needed her, as well as her own eight surviving children, is clear and admirable. She had what Jennie described as ‘a warm heart, particularly for members of her own family’.
In her last decade, alone after her husband’s death, Frances accepted more responsibility. Her daughter Annie, Duchess of Roxburghe, was widowed at the age of 53 with quite a young family of three. Inevitably she received some support from her mother, including financial. She was one of only two daughters to whom Frances left money in her will. The other was youngest daughter Sarah, who had made a happy marriage to an army officer, Lt Colonel Wilson. He was not a rich man, however, and they became so short of money he was compelled to ask his wife’s trustee to release money from her marriage settlement; he was refused. Frances provided for Sarah in her will, and also left her the valuable London house in Grosvenor Square.
Chapter Twenty-Four
AN ERROR OF JUDGEMENT
* * *
In 1886, when Lord Salisbury and his Tory government regained power, Randolph became Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House of Commons. At long last, it seemed, the anxieties that had besieged his mother for so many years could finally be put to rest. She could take pleasure in her son’s achievement. He had reached one of the three great offices of state (Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary being the others), more than his father had done, worthy politician though he was, and promised to go yet further. He was only 37, the youngest politician to achieve such a meteoric rise since the younger Pitt. It was no surprise he was talked of as a future Prime Minister. His appointment to the Cabinet Office, however, was accepted in spite of medical advice: he was taking digitalis as a sedative, he smoked continually and he was living on his nerves. In addition, his youth and inexperience meant he worked longer hours than usual, driving himself extremely hard. Frances’ concerns now were over his health and the fact that he and Jennie had still not mastered their financial affairs.
Their extravagance was noticeable: both Randolph and Jennie dressed fashionably and of course entertained lavishly. Despite the fact they were dependent on what had been settled on them by John Winston and Jennie’s father, they showed no sign of being frugal or of heeding expense. Randolph’s letters were addressed from many quarters as he pursued the fashionable and expensive country house round: as well as Blenheim, they were guests at Wynyard Hall (the Londonderrys’ main home), Seaham Hall (Frances Anne’s retirement home on the North Sea coast), Branksome Dene (his sister Cornelia’s home after her marriage), Floors Castle (his sister Annie’s lovely home in the Scottish borders) and several others. Randolph was an accomplished raconteur and a gift to any hostess’s dinner table, while Jennie was still an accomplished pianist.
Frances enjoyed his House of Commons performances. He was a worthy opponent to Gladstone, the ‘grand old man’ renowned for his eloquence and passion. Randolph, with his rapier wit and charismatic personality, was the perfect foil. Winston, who suffered more than most at his father’s hands, constantly being rebuffed, was to write in 1930 that, having read over all his father’s letters and speeches, he understood and appreciated him much more. Randolph’s approach to work was equally illuminating. The staff at the Treasury, who had been dismayed by his appointment, soon discovered that he was very different from what they had expected. Welby, then secretary to the Treasury, spoke warmly of him:
He ruled as well as reigned. He had a mind and made it up, a policy and enforced it. He was quick in acquiring information, quick in seizing the real point, and quick in un
derstanding what one wished to convey to him; impatient in small matters and details and contemptuous if one troubled him with them. Above all he was accessible, ready and willing to hear what one had to say, whether it accorded with his own views or not.1
Randolph’s greatest weakness as a member of the Cabinet was that he was no team player. Perhaps this was the greatest loss he suffered when he neglected his education; he lacked self-awareness and the ability to see another’s point of view. His behaviour, as well as his health, was a cause for concern with colleagues; his old weaknesses of impetuosity and lack of self-criticism began to emerge once more. He was discreet in public but quarrelled openly with colleagues and gave way to temperamental outbursts at home. He was warned not to pass information to the press, which he ignored, threatening to resign if he could not have his way in Cabinet. His tendency to argue or pontificate on matters which should have been left to others was unlikely to endear him to colleagues; ominously, he risked alienating the leader who had defended him so often. He frequently interfered with Salisbury’s role as Prime Minister and often pursued an independent line when he should have been representing either the country or the party. Salisbury complained to a colleague that he had had no choice about appointing Randolph to lead the House, given the danger the government might collapse otherwise, and compared his situation to ‘the task of leading an orchestra in which the first fiddle plays one tune and everybody else, including myself, plays another’.2
Unknown to Frances, clouds were gathering. In mid-December 1886 a crisis was finally precipitated by a minor incident. As Chancellor of the Exchequer, Randolph was persistently complaining about the War Office budget proposals, for which W.H. Smith, as War Minister, was responsible. Smith stood his ground on the issue, just as Randolph was preparing his Budget. An irritable, abusive exchange between them led to Smith’s permanent personal enmity and Randolph’s threat to resign if he did not get his way, a fatal decision. Queen Victoria, kept informed about everything by Salisbury, said that Randolph should not be given in to.
Randolph had confided in friend and Cabinet colleague Hamilton that he intended to resign. Hamilton was shocked: had Randolph consulted anyone? Had he spoken to the Duchess? Absolutely typically, he had consulted no one. Hamilton had been sensitive for some time to the unrest in the Cabinet about Randolph’s behaviour and was certain that Salisbury would seize the opportunity to accept his resignation. On 20 December 1886, at Windsor Castle, Randolph wrote to the Prime Minister without, it would seem, too much consideration. In uncompromising style, he gave his views on the Budget proposals on military expenditure he had just received. The total was £31,000,000, which he said could well be exceeded. He urged a considerable reduction, the costs of defence of various military posts, mercantile ports and coaling stations being abandoned or considerably reduced. He maintained that he saw no chance of any agreement to this, so, without leaving room for discussion or compromise, he declared that he could not continue to be responsible for the finances.
There was no doubt in Salisbury’s mind about what to do. Randolph had been a thorn in the side of many people over the last few months and suddenly the solution was handed to him on a plate. He was a wise politician, however, who knew he had to make sure there were as few repercussions as possible if he accepted the resignation. It was better that Randolph should go, but the manner of his going and the result of it had to be primary considerations. Salisbury consulted several colleagues before he replied to Randolph on 22 December. He began by summing up Randolph’s argument, wisely ensuring there should be no escape for him by claiming any misunderstanding. He restated Randolph’s argument about the £31,000,000 Army and Navy budget being too much and then converted what had been a vague statement of intent by Randolph into a clear resignation request: ‘You feel … you must resign your office and withdraw from the Government.’3
He then cleverly included in his reasoning the views of Lord Hamilton and the War Minister concerning the absolute need for the money. Salisbury knew the letter would become public and so skilfully argued from a position he knew would receive popular support: national security. He emphasised that the outlook in Europe was extremely black and the chances were in favour of war at an early date; a strong Commission had already recommended the strengthening of the coastal defences and both parties had agreed. He maintained that Smith’s request was moderate, implying that Randolph was unreasonable, and referred to Randolph’s aggressive manner, which had already alienated so many.
It is the letter of an experienced and skilful politician. Even its conclusion allowed Salisbury room for manoeuvre. He did not accept the resignation explicitly but stated that he could only express his profound regret, throwing all the emphasis and any blame on to his Chancellor. It was far too clever for Randolph, a demonstration of political acumen only serving to emphasise how unperceptive and headstrong Randolph had been.
Randolph had also made a very foolish mistake. He showed a copy of his letter to the editor of The Times and it was published next morning, when Jennie first heard of it. ‘Quite a surprise for you,’ he said to her when she opened the newspaper, with the uncritical self-satisfaction that was so typical of him. This had two serious consequences for Randolph: as the resignation had been made public it gave Salisbury less room for manoeuvre and angered him more; it also infuriated the Queen that Randolph had broken with protocol. As a Minister of the Crown he should have informed the sovereign first of his resignation. He had no support, therefore, even though Queen Victoria was a friend of his mother. In fact, she had already advised Salisbury that Randolph should not be allowed to have his own way.
There was not the public outcry in Randolph’s support that he might have expected. The Christmas recess meant that many people were away or relaxing from their labours. Salisbury’s decision to play on concerns about national security worked, the opinion that Britain’s defences needed strengthening being widely held. The effect on Frances was, of course, appalling. Randolph’s success had lifted her so high that the disappointment and dismay were the greater. He had neither consulted her nor given her the courtesy and consideration of a warning to mitigate the shock she now suffered. There was humiliation too. She was actually at Hatfield House, the Salisbury home, attending a Christmas Ball when Salisbury received Randolph’s letter. He did not break the news to her but allowed her to leave next morning in ignorance. Frances wrote to Lady Salisbury, whom she thought of as her friend, only to have her letter returned unopened. She kept the true depth of her hurt to herself, however, revealing it at Randolph’s death in 1895. In a reply to Salisbury’s letter of condolence, she then revealed the shock and sadness that had overwhelmed her. Her letter is uncharacteristically bitter in tone but is all the more telling for being so. She formally thanked Salisbury for his sympathy but could not restrain herself from expressing her true feelings: ‘Oh, it is too late, too late ….’ The pathos is understandable in a mother who deserved better from her son.
There was much speculation about what had occurred. Randolph had been in office less than a year but the strain on his health must have been considerable. Also, his temperament was the opposite of Salisbury’s, the shrewd, pragmatic operator. Lord Rosebery, Randolph’s closest friend, described him as always impatient of opposition and irritated into an act of violence when doubted by his colleagues. The manner of his communication with W.H. Smith had won for him an unforgiving enemy. Furthermore, he had refused to listen to his friend Lord George Hamilton, who knew that Salisbury wished him gone. There is an opinion that Randolph had never meant to be taken seriously when he threatened to resign; Salisbury had always suggested a meeting in the past and some agreement had been reached. Perhaps Randolph was expecting this to happen again, but failed to realise that on this occasion he had pushed Salisbury too far.
Ever a wily politician, Salisbury was careful to place his reasoning on record. In a letter to Sir James Stephen, the Lord Chief Justice, he pointed out how Randolph disagreed with collea
gues and how combative his manner could be. He cleverly drew attention to the fact that it was widely felt among colleagues that they had done their best to work with him, but that Randolph had insisted Budget considerations should overrule the needs of other departments. Unless he could balance his judgements better, and have more consideration for colleagues, he would not be able to work with any Ministry.
In writing to Frances, who was respected and admired and had the sympathy of all, Salisbury tried to soften the blow. He painted a more favourable portrait, bringing out Randolph’s qualities and trying to give her hope:
Nothing has happened seriously to injure or damage a career of which you are so justly proud or to deprive the country of the value of his services in the future.4
This was little consolation to the stricken mother. Randolph’s career was over. He left with some dignity, however, making it clear that:
I shall make no further attempt to defend my action, lest by any such attempt I might, even by one iota, increase the difficulties which surround him; but, recognising to the full my great fallibility of judgement, I shall watch silently and sadly the progress of events.5
Notes
1. Cited by Robert Rhodes James in Lord Randolph Churchill, p.267.
2. Cited in Lord Randolph Churchill, p.277.
3. Cited in Lord Randolph Churchill, p.293.
4. Cited in Lord Randolph Churchill, p.304.
5. Cited in Lord Randolph Churchill, p.312.
Chapter Twenty-Five
MIXED EMOTIONS
* * *
The sudden death of their father in 1883 had drawn Randolph and George, who now became the 8th Duke, closer together than they had been for some years – to Frances’ quiet satisfaction. Her commitment to the upbringing of her young grandson, Charles, now Marquess of Blandford, meant she remained at Blenheim after her husband’s death and could again enjoy Randolph’s presence. After his father’s death he had sought solace there, spending hours reading over his father’s letters. Also, at his brother’s prompting, he started up the Blenheim Harriers again. To Frances’ pleasure this activity was now shared by both her sons, who also enjoyed a holiday together in Switzerland. Her sons worked together as they took forward plans their father had had for bringing the railway to Woodstock, which they accomplished in 1885 on land originally set aside by John Winston.
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