If anyone, either a neighbour paying a call, or worse, the squire himself, offered anything approaching a compliment on my good looks or choice of gown, they would glance at each other with eyes burning with envy, as if I were a threat of some sort.
I freely confess that I probably did flirt a little with gentlemen guests, but then I was most dreadfully bored. There was little in the way of entertainment at Tregunter, save to drink ale with the squire in the evenings, and attend the Methodist chapel with him on Sundays. Most days I would ride out with Miss Betsy, although I confess I had great difficulty in stifling my mirth over her choice of costume. She would drape a coarse garment made from goat’s hair, which she called a camlet, about her shoulders, and wear a high crowned bonnet.
‘I see no necessity for a fancy beaver hat, or fashionable riding habit,’ she coolly chided me, as I artlessly queried this rigout.
I was delighted to discover the cottage housed a harpsichord, and a fine selection of books in the library. But any hope I had of enjoying either, was soon quashed.
‘A good housewife has no occasion for either music or books,’ Miss Betsy tartly informed me. ‘It is all very well to appear accomplished, but you have no money to support such fancy ways.’
I endured her caustic comments with as much patience as I could muster, but I viewed both these two ladies with pity in my heart. What care I how they judged me? Did I not have beauty, charm, elegance and style, all of which attributes they were sadly lacking?
But then one day Squire Harris kissed my hand and said, ‘I would take you for wife myself, were you not already married to Tom.’ For all he was old enough to be my grandfather, I was filled with trepidation that he appeared to be declaring himself in love with me.
‘I think, Tommy, it is time we took our leave.’
My husband agreed, but on the morning of our departure Squire Harris announced he would accompany us to Bristol. Miss Betsy hastily attempted to intervene.
‘I’m sure that will not be necessary, Squire. Tom and his wife will survive the journey perfectly well without your assistance.’
‘The weather is most inclement for the crossing,’ Mrs Molly hastily put in. ‘You had far better remain safely at home.’
‘Nonsense, I shall see the dear girl safely across the channel, and look forward to meeting your mama, Mary.’
Squire Harris quite took to my mother, and Mama reciprocated by introducing him to her many friends, all highly respectable. The four of us became quite the social gadabouts, and were invited to several dinner parties, while I continued to be something of an idol in his eyes. He would take any opportunity to dance with me, and after a glass or two of ale or wine, would sing to me, declaring that I was the most delightful of beings. He even sought my advice on new refurbishments for Tregunter House, and I helped him to pick out new marble chimney pieces.
‘Choose them as you like, Mrs Robinson, for they are all for you and Tom when I am no more.’
So far as my husband was concerned, it was a comforting prospect that ultimately his ‘uncle’ intended Tregunter House and estate to pass to him.
Three
Young Lady About Town
The busy world, the sylvan plain,
Alike confess thy potent reign.
Queen of the motley garb – at thy command
Fashion waves her flow’ry wand;
Mary Darby Robinson
‘Ode to Vanity’
The moment Squire Harris tired of Bristol and left for South Wales, Tommy and I set out at once for London. I felt a deep sense of relief, coupled with excitement, as I had greatly missed being in town.
‘Now that our future is secure and my prospects confirmed by the kindness of my uncle, we can make ourselves more comfortable,’ Tommy announced, and the moment we arrived he immediately set about finding us new quarters.
As we could now live together openly as man and wife, we rented a newly built house at Number 13, Hatton Garden, a district popular with the newly prosperous, whether they be merchants or moneylenders. We then commenced to furnish it with particular elegance. Tommy hired servants, purchased new clothes for us both, and bought a phaeton and a pair of greys, plus a saddle horse for his own use.
‘Are you quite certain we can afford all of this?’ I would ask when my husband agreed to the purchase of silk wallpaper, or a beautiful Persian carpet.
‘I do assure you that in every respect I am perfectly competent of arranging our finances.’ He always grew irritable when I questioned him about money, implying I knew nothing. This was probably true since as a child I’d never needed to consider the cost of anything, not until Papa left.
And now I was to enter society – a thrilling prospect.
‘If the stage has been denied me, then at least I shall step out and make my debut in the broad hemisphere of fashionable folly,’ I announced with dramatic vehemence.
‘You will dazzle all with your beauty, my love,’ Tommy agreed, thrilling me to the core. ‘We shall begin with the pleasure gardens of Ranelagh this very evening.’
‘Oh, but I have nothing suitable to wear,’ I cried, in a typically feminine fluster.
He cupped my face between his hands and kissed me most sweetly. ‘Whatever you choose to wear, you will be the most beautiful woman present.’ He then presented me with a most expensive watch, beautifully enamelled with musical trophies. I was moved by his generosity, my heart warming to his compliments and kindness.
I decided that as all the fashionable ladies would be wearing elaborate gowns of satin or silk, no doubt much beruffled and flounced, I would present the very opposite picture.
I wore my simple Quaker gown which ensured that I stood out. It was of light brown lustring with close round cuffs. I left my auburn curls unpowdered, upon which I pinned a plain round cap and white chip hat, without any ornament whatsoever. And indeed on this, our first visit, it proved to be a most satisfying evening. All eyes were upon me as we strolled among the groves.
I had been launched upon society in complete triumph.
Tommy and I soon became regulars both at Ranelagh and Vauxhall. I enjoyed the former for its classier style, the concerts at the Rotunda, the pretty Chinese pavilion and the exciting allure of knowing I might meet a lord on the turn of a path. Riff-raff were deterred from attending by the half-crown entrance fee. The latter I loved for its music and artworks. Vauxhall’s wooded wilderness of elm, lime and sycamore were a delight, as was strolling down the romantic Druids Walk for a candlelight supper of cold meats, salad and cheese, custards and tarts.
We also enjoyed attending balls, concerts and masques at the newly opened Pantheon in Oxford Street, which was rapidly becoming the most fashionable place for the wealthy to assemble or listen to music.
The very first time we attended the Pantheon I spent hours at my toilette in order to make the best of myself, not an easy task as I was by then with child, and my increasing figure required some artful disguise. Deciding, as always, to be my own woman, I again declined to wear the fashionable hoop the court ladies wore, which I thought clumsy and unflattering. Instead I chose a simple gown of pale pink satin trimmed with broad sable, enriched with some delicate point lace which my dear mother had presented to me.
The moment we entered through the colonnades, I sighed with pleasure, entranced by the magic of the scene. ‘Goodness, how very splendid it all is. And just look at this magnificent dome, so typically Roman with its ornate plasterwork, classical statuary in niches, and the double tier of elegant boxes.’
‘The most splendid box is the one in the centre, which belongs to the royal family,’ Tommy informed me.
I looked at him, eyes shining. ‘Are you saying that we might meet a royal prince?’
My husband laughed at my childish excitement. ‘We might indeed.’
The gilded company, in particular the beauty of the ladies, far excelled even the amazing architecture, certainly to my naïvely innocent gaze. These included Lady Almeria Carpenter, who
was lady-in-waiting to the Duchess of Gloucester; the famous actress, Mrs Baddeley; the Countess of Tyrconnel; and the celebrated beauty the Marchioness Townshend.
I settled myself upon a sofa to observe the rich and famous promenade in their courtly hoops and towering hair styles, all powdered, perfumed, and lavishly decorated with high-flown feathers, flowers and extravagant bows. The buzz of the room was utterly thrilling, but I soon became aware that while I drank in the glories of the fashionable scene, others were watching me with equal attention.
Two dandies, who appeared to be flirting with the marchioness, glanced towards me, and one loudly enquired of the other, ‘Who is she?’
The caustic impertinence in his tone startled me, and I was on my feet in an instant, taking my husband’s arm. ‘I fear I am turning into a curiosity. Perhaps we should take a stroll, or return home for supper.’
Tommy chuckled. ‘As you wish, my dear, although it is not to be wondered at that you are the centre of attention.’ The whispered questions grew louder as we promenaded, occasionally pausing to talk to friends, and I became increasingly shy and ill at ease.
‘Who is that young lady in the pink dress trimmed with sable?’
‘Who can she be?’
‘Can she be a courtesan?’
‘Surely not, although she has a pretty face.’
‘I have not seen her about town before.’
‘Nay, I think I spotted her at Vauxhall, but I know not her name.’
Their brazen impudence unnerved me, but then one gentleman, who looked vaguely familiar, said, ‘I believe I do know her. It is Miss Darby, or am I mistaken?’ And he bowed to me with a marked civility.
It was the Earl of Northington, my father’s patron who had been so welcoming to me as a young girl. I was most relieved to see a familiar face.
‘You are quite correct, my lord, or at least I was Miss Darby. My name now is Mrs Robinson.’ I indicated my husband, upon whose arm I rested one trembling hand.
‘Then I hope I may be permitted to pay my respects and join you.’ Much to my surprise and delight, Lord Northington proceeded to walk round the Pantheon with us.
‘How is your father?’ he politely enquired. ‘Still on his expedition I expect, which will hopefully be more successful than the last.’
‘Indeed, sir.’
‘May I also compliment you on the improvement in your own person, Mrs Robinson. You have grown into quite a charming young lady.’
‘Thank you.’ I could feel my cheeks start to burn, very likely caused by the heat of the rotunda, or else my condition, and I suddenly came over all faint.
Seeing my distress, Tommy quickly led me to the tea room where sadly there was not a single seat to be had. Fortunately he found a sofa close to the door where there was at least a breath of fresh air, and sat stroking my hand while Lord Northington hurried off in search of refreshment for me.
Two gentlemen approached, whom Tommy cheerfully welcomed. ‘Ah, here are two of my good friends,’ he said, and proceeded to present Lord Lyttelton and Captain Ayscough.
Minutes later, Lord Northington returned with a dish of tea, which I accepted with heartfelt gratitude, quietly sipping it while the men talked and joked together. Knowing that I was anxious to depart, my husband went in search of the carriage while I hovered in the vestibule.
‘You would be welcome to use my carriage,’ Lord Lyttelton offered.
‘There’s really no need.’ I had never met the fellow until that evening, but found the intensity of his gaze upon me somewhat disturbing, as if he were stripping away the gauze of my gown to view the naked flesh beneath. I was greatly relieved when Tommy returned to say that the carriage was ready.
We swiftly departed, but this introduction marked the start of a difficult period in my life, one in which I soon discovered that beauty could be a curse as well as a bounty.
The following morning I received three callers: Lord Northington, Lord Lyttelton, and Colonel Ayscough. Naïve as I was, I made no protest as they insisted I receive them, despite my husband not being present. I may have been a wife in legal terms, but at heart I was still little more than a child, albeit one soon to become a mother. I was dressed somewhat déshabillé, nor was I wearing any powder or paint, which no doubt enhanced my youthful appearance. Lord Lyttelton instantly commented upon it.
‘I had not realised how very young you are,’ he coyly remarked. ‘In my opinion no woman under thirty years of age is worth admiring, even the antiquity of forty is preferable to the insipidity of sixteen.’
That he should say such a thing to me, on so short an acquaintance was appalling. I felt myself grow hot with embarrassment. The man was loathsome, his manners utterly abhorrent. ‘Are you implying, sir, that I am too young to be attractive, or even to be married?
He feigned an expression of distress. ‘Oh dear, have I made the pretty child angry?’
I knew in that instant this man would be a thorn in my side. And so it proved. Lord Lyttelton led my husband away from the domestic felicity we had happily built together, and, much to Tommy’s detriment, into a riotous life of gambling and drinking with his aristocratic friends. Lyttelton continued to taunt me over my absent spouse.
‘Dear me, has the child been deserted,’ he would say on finding me alone yet again, caustically using this description in order to belittle me. ‘How sad to be a neglected wife.’
His supercilious attitude made me detest him all the more, and I resolved not to respond. Instead, I buried myself in my writing, applying myself to my poetry, which he would also ridicule.
‘Amusing yourself by feigning a talent, I see. I seem to recall Robinson mentioning that previous to your marriage you were about to appear on stage in the role of Cordelia. How very daring! Presumably, having failed at becoming an actress you have now set your heart upon becoming a poet? A nobler ambition, perhaps, if, as you say, one requiring a particular skill.’
I gritted my teeth and made no reply.
‘I shall dub you Poetess Corry, in honour of the role you never played.’ At which jibe he roared with laughter, as if amused by his own wit. But he was not done with me yet. ‘I dare say even bad poetry is some compensation against the neglect of a husband who prefers the society of libertine men and abandoned women.’
This from a man who was so sunk in dissipation that he had recently abandoned his own wife of less than a year to run off to Paris with a barmaid, whom he had no doubt also deserted. His reputation was such that even being in the same room with him could easily ruin my own, and possibly already had. Our unwelcome alliance had recently featured in the gossip sheets, Lyttelton being anonymously described as a ‘Libertine Maceroni who was laying siege upon a Mrs R-’.
I shuddered at the horror of it. ‘God can bear witness to the purity of my soul,’ I wrote to Mama, anxious that she hear these attacks upon my good character from my own hand.
Lyttelton was, I decided, overbearing and insolent, slovenly of person, and the most accomplished libertine that any age or country has ever produced. How I loathed his vulgar pride. Yet my husband was flattered by this aristocratic friendship, and would readily go off with him each morning about some mischief I’d rather not be aware. Gambling away more money we did not have, no doubt.
When next Lord Lyttelton called at Hatton Garden, I instructed my maid to inform him that I was not at home. She did so, only to return seconds later with the message that he wished to speak with me most urgently on a matter of grave importance. There seemed no alternative but to admit him, and at first sight I could see he was in some distress.
‘I have a most confidential matter to impart to you, dear child, one of considerable moment to your interest and happiness.’
I started. ‘Nothing, I trust in heaven, has befallen my husband!’
Lord Lyttelton regarded me with sadness in his gaze. ‘How little does that husband deserve the solicitude of such a wife! I fear that I have in some degree aided in alienating his conjugal affections.’
/>
Irritated by this fabricated sympathy, my response was brusque. ‘Speak briefly, my lord.’
Fixing his gaze upon mine, he said. ‘Very well, I must inform you that your husband is the most false and undeserving of that name! He has formed a connection with a woman of abandoned character, and lavishes on her those means of subsistence which you will shortly stand in need of yourself.’
I was horrified. ‘I do not believe it!’
‘Then I must attempt to convince you that I speak true. Remember that if you admit it was I who revealed his secret, I shall be obliged to fight Robinson in a duel, for he never will forgive me.’
A hollow sickness opened up inside. I had felt little in the way of love towards my husband at the start of our marriage, yet an affection had grown between us, and I’d believed utterly in his devotion and loyalty towards me. ‘It cannot be true,’ I weakly protested. ‘You have been misinformed.’
‘By whom pray, the woman who usurps your place in the affections of your husband? For it was from she that I received this information.’
‘What is the name of this woman?’ Even as I asked the question I had no wish to hear the answer.
‘A Harriet Wilmot. She resides in Soho where your husband visits her daily. You waste your affections on such a man, dear child. Leave him! Robinson is ruined, his debts such that nothing but destruction awaits you.’
I half expected to faint, or at least burst into tears, on hearing such devastating news in my delicate condition. Instead, I felt a deep and burning anger at Tommy’s betrayal, although even more so at this man whom I blamed entirely for my husband’s fall from grace. ‘If that is true, then it is because you have sunk him by luring him into the foul habits of gambling and womanising.’
Lyttelton softly chuckled at my vehemence. ‘I assure you, he needed no lessons from me upon either subject. But if you do not believe me, go and see for yourself. If you are truly the woman of spirit you make yourself out to be, then be revenged. My fortune is at your disposal. You have only to command my powers and I will gladly serve you.’
Lady of Passion Page 6
