by Tracy Borman
At length, Miss Hobart arrived back at Marble Hill with her lover in tow. But if her aunt had hoped to find her chastened by the whole unfortunate affair, she was to be bitterly disappointed. Dorothy was as steadfast as ever in her determination to marry Colonel Hotham, and not even her aunt’s famed powers of reason could work any effect upon her. After a series of bitter rows, Henrietta wrote miserably to her brother, pleading with him to advise her what to do next. He replied at once that she should send Dorothy to Blickling, where he and his son John would force her to her senses. She was to go alone, for the Earl was confident that, once separated, the young lovers’ passion would soon fade away.
Dorothy knew her father’s intentions all too well, however, and told a friend that she had complied with his request ‘to give them a tryal whether time or absence cou’d operate any change in an attachment they so much disapproved’. The Hobarts’ friends were confident of success. ‘I had some reason to think this unhappy affair wou’d intirely blow over,’ Lady Mary Coke assured Henrietta. ‘A few Months reflection must I think convince her that the step she was going to take wou’d as infallibly have brought ruin on herself as distress on her Family.’
Like his sister, John Hobart underestimated Dorothy’s strength of feeling. She arrived at Blickling as unrepentant as ever, her passion for Hotham ‘too deeply rooted to be erased’. But there was another, more compelling, factor that bound her to him: she was with child. Provoked by her father’s continued insistence that she must abandon the match, she retorted that it was now far too late, even if she wished to. Horrified by this shocking new twist to her shameful behaviour, Lord Hobart demanded to know how long she had been in this miserable condition. The conception had probably happened during the couple’s elopement at Tunbridge Wells almost three months earlier, so if the family was to salvage any respectability from the affair, the need for a wedding was now of the utmost urgency. This was arranged with all due haste, and the couple were married at Duke Street Chapel in Westminster on 21 October 1752.
Henrietta was shocked and distressed when she heard the news of Dorothy’s pregnancy and hasty marriage. In vain her friends tried to comfort her with the fact that, apart from his reprehensible behaviour with Lady Dorothy, Charles Hotham’s character was otherwise sound. ‘Mr Hotham is well spoke of by all his Men acquaintance,’ wrote Lady Mary Coke, adding (rather unconvincingly) that she believed Dorothy ‘may I think be happy’. Lord Chesterfield, by contrast, was genuinely delighted when he heard of the match, for he had gained a good opinion of Charles when he had met him as a youth. ‘I do not wish you and Lady Dorothy Joy, for I am sure that you both have it,’ he wrote to ‘My Dear Captain’. He had evidently not heard about the pregnancy, for he added that he hoped they might one day be blessed with children.15 His friend Lady Suffolk was, however, convinced that she would now have to stand by and watch as a very painful history repeated itself before her very eyes.
Happily, her fears were never realised. Dorothy and Charles Hotham’s love proved to be more than a passing fancy, and their marriage stood the test of time. Their child – a daughter – was born in the spring of 1753 and, as a conciliatory gesture, was christened Henrietta. Her great-aunt and namesake could not remain angry with the young couple for long, particularly when she saw how happy they were, and they were reunited soon after the birth. So far was Dorothy restored to Henrietta’s affection, indeed, that her daughter became as regular a visitor at Marble Hill as she herself had been as a young girl. Lord Hobart, in contrast, could not bring himself to forgive the wayward young lady, and any hope of a reconciliation was extinguished by his death three years later.16
The scandal of Dorothy Hobart’s elopement has remained hidden in the family archives until now. The editor of Lady Suffolk’s published correspondence removed all references to it, and even Louis Melville, who otherwise relished the more colourful details of her life, omitted it from his study on Lady Suffolk and her Circle. As almost every historian since has relied upon their accounts, this episode – and several others like it – has hitherto been forgotten. In exploring Henrietta’s original letters and papers, a new portrait of her emerges which is at once more human and more compelling than the idealised Woman of Reason.
The more fickle of Lady Suffolk’s acquaintances had been quick to disassociate themselves from her during the scandal of Dorothy’s elopement. Her true friends, however, had proved the loyalty and sincerity of their attachment, and none more so than Lady Mary Coke, niece of her old friend John, Duke of Argyll. Lady Mary’s fierce loyalty towards Henrietta was born out of gratitude, for the latter had come to her aid during a crisis in her own personal life a few years before. The source of this crisis had been all too familiar to Lady Suffolk.
Lady Mary was married to a dissolute and disreputable man whose violent temper was fuelled by excessive drinking. Edward, Viscount Coke, was the son of the Earl of Leicester. It seems that Mary had married him somewhat against her will, his reputation being widely known in Norfolk, and her apprehension proved fully justified. She led a miserable life at Holkham, often falling foul of his violent rages. On one occasion, fuelled by drink, Coke burst into his wife’s room and began searching it for proof that she was plotting to have him murdered. Lady Mary pleaded with him to see sense, but he turned on her, and she later described the terrifying scene that followed: ‘Lord Coke abused me in the most cruel manner but not content with that, he struck me on my Arm! tore my ruffle all to pieces & told me I deserved to be assassinated.’ She was only saved from a further beating by the arrival of a local clergyman, who had come to pay his respects to the couple. Upon hearing the disturbance, he set aside propriety and rushed to Lady Mary’s aid, restraining her half-crazed husband until the worst of his temper had subsided.
Although she was humiliated by her husband’s treatment, Lady Mary could not suffer in silence and pleaded with her family to help. Her uncle, the Duke of Argyll, at once told Lady Suffolk of her plight, knowing that she would provide a sympathetic ear and, he hoped, some guidance for the young lady. She did not disappoint him, and promised to do all she could to help his wretched niece. Lady Mary was overjoyed to have such a wise confidante, knowing how well Lady Suffolk was qualified to help her, and she soon came to rely heavily upon her guidance. ‘Lady Mary wishes extremely to see you & that soon,’ her sister Elizabeth wrote to Henrietta. ‘She wants your advice about several things.’
Lady Mary used the opportunity of a visit with her husband to London to meet with her new acquaintance. Henrietta braved foul weather to travel up to town so that she might console the girl and devise a plan of escape. Their meeting was conducted in the greatest secrecy. Rumours were already circulating about Lady Mary’s marital troubles, and if she had been seen conversing with a woman who had used the law to escape from her own violent husband, then speculation would have been rife. Henrietta counselled her to begin collecting all the evidence she could of Lord Coke’s ill treatment, and to keep a detailed diary – well hidden, of course, from his already paranoid gaze. She also urged her to keep her spirits up and her mind alert, no matter what abuses he might inflict upon her body.
Lady Mary was overwhelmed by Henrietta’s kindness and assiduity, especially given the shortness of their acquaintance. ‘I now find fresh reason to wonder at your goodness,’ she wrote upon her arrival back at Holkham. ‘The great attention you seem to have for me, and the anxiety you express for my happiness are greatly beyond my expectations.’ She added that she had followed her friend’s advice to the letter, keeping a record of everything that occurred and sending a copy to her brother-in-law, James McKenzie, the member of the family whom she trusted most.
She had, alas, much to record. Her husband was more violent than ever, and Lady Mary began to fear for her life. ‘If my friends shou’d think of acting any thing in my favour for God’s sake let it be done soon,’ she implored her sister, ‘for I am now so ill delays wou’d be dangerous.’ But Elizabeth offered her little comfort. Anxi
ous to avoid a scandal in the family, she urged her to show greater fortitude and remember her wifely duties to Lord Coke. Mary received no more sympathy from the friends she consulted, most of whom echoed her sister’s sentiments. Only Lady Suffolk proved to be a true and constant supporter. ‘The unkindness of friends is infinitely more terrible, then all the injurious usage that can be inflicted on one by Enemies,’ Mary lamented in a letter to her. ‘I assure your Ladyship that tis you alone that shall ever learn from me this instance of their cruelty.’ In reply, Henrietta urged her young protégée not to become paranoid in the face of her distress: ‘I must insist that you suspend all hard thoughts and reflections and not add imaginary to real distresses,’ she counselled. ‘Take comfort my Dear Child be assured you have friends.’
For all Lady Suffolk’s calm reflections, she was working earnestly behind the scenes to secure Mary’s release from her violent marriage. She begged James McKenzie to visit her in secret at Marble Hill so that they might discuss the matter. Together they agreed that the only course of action left to them was to enlist the services of a lawyer and begin proceedings for a separation. James subsequently instructed his wife, Elizabeth, to go to her sister and tell her of the plan. But Lady Mary was terrified by such an extreme course of action, and one that she thought was bound to fail. Her nerves in tatters, she ‘fell into a rage’ and was so loud in her objections to the plan that her sister was afraid they would be overheard. James was exasperated when he learned of this, and told Henrietta: ‘I shall wash my hands of the affair; for I can be of no farther service to her.’
Meanwhile, Lady Mary’s intemperate reaction to her sister’s message had indeed been overheard and was soon relayed back to Lord Coke. Furious at his wife’s betrayal, he placed her under virtual house arrest at Holkham, taking away her keys and forbidding her to write to family or friends. Only months later did he relent sufficiently to allow her to exchange letters with her sisters, but even then under ‘severe restrictions’. She had some time to regret her indiscretion. Cut off from any hope of assistance, she was forced to resign herself to a marriage that would bring her nothing but misery and humiliation. Only death – either her own or her husband’s – could now release her.17
In the event, Lady Mary only had to suffer her husband’s behaviour for a few more years, because he died in 1753. She made the most of her freedom by embarking upon a vibrant social life, travelling regularly in Europe and frequenting the most fashionable gatherings back in England. She never remarried. As with Dorothy Hobart’s elopement, Henrietta’s involvement in Lady Mary Coke’s marital difficulties was omitted by both J.W. Croker and Louis Melville. They were clearly anxious to disassociate their heroine from any more scandal than had already been visited upon her by her liaison with George II. The result was a rather more sanitised version of Henrietta’s character than emerges from studying her original letters and papers.
Controversies such as Lady Mary Coke’s marital difficulties and Lady Dorothy Hobart’s elopement preoccupied much of Lady Suffolk’s time during the 1750s, along with the more routine course of her relationships with friends and family. Her attention was also absorbed by some improvements that she was planning to make at Marble Hill. She had managed to secure more land surrounding the property in the late 1740s, and at the turn of the decade she commissioned a number of alterations to the house itself. With Lord Pembroke and Roger Morris both dead, she had to find a new architect to carry out these works. Her brother John recommended Matthew Brettingham, who had recently completed a commission at Blickling, and he began work at Marble Hill in 1750. This included both repairs to the original fabric and some new touches to bring the house up to date. The dining room was fitted with a new floor and ceiling, and was decorated with Chinese wallpaper, which was then high in fashion.18 Mahogany shelves were installed in the library to house Lady Suffolk’s ever-expanding collection of books, and improvements were also carried out to the servants’ quarters.
Henrietta was glad of the diversion that these works created. Unfortunately, however, her attention was soon absorbed by a rather less agreeable domestic matter. Marble Hill had been a source of great comfort since her husband’s death, and she was fiercely protective of the privacy and tranquillity that it offered. In 1748, Mrs Elizabeth Gray, who lived on Montpellier Row, a smart line of houses adjoining Lady Suffolk’s estate, had written to ask her agreement to the removal of some walnut trees which shielded Marble Hill from the avenue. She had claimed that they were ‘not only a very great obstruction, to ye Prospect, but a continual annoyence’ because passers-by would throw stones at the walnuts to dislodge them, ‘by which some of ye neighbours have had their Windows broke, as indeed wee are all liable to, by yt constant Pernicious Practice’. Henrietta, though, had been more concerned by the prospect of losing the privacy that the offending trees afforded than by the likely damage to her neighbours’ windows, and had therefore refused the request.19
The loss of some walnut trees seemed a minor inconvenience compared with the intrusion on her privacy that was caused by the arrival of a new, troublesome neighbour a few years later. John Fridenberg, a wealthy merchant, had rented two cottages close to the Thames on the east side of Marble Hill. The only means of access to these cottages was an old right of way that cut across Henrietta’s estate. Fridenberg did not just traverse this on foot, but drove carriages and loaded carts across it – an action that contravened the law and infuriated Lady Suffolk. When he showed no repentance for such acts ‘Committed with an unparalleled Insolence’, she decided to retaliate. With her brother’s assistance, she brought a suit of law against Fridenberg, and a protracted legal battle followed.
This caused Henrietta a good deal more stress and anxiety than her new neighbour’s original transgression had done, and it was only the constant support of John Hobart, ‘the best of Brothers’, that kept her spirits up. ‘Nothing can give me more uneasiness than to be sensible of what you must feel upon account of the dilatory proceedings against that rascal Fredenberg,’ he wrote to her in May 1755, ‘and of the uncertainty of what may, after all this plague and expence, be the consequence.’ The dispute was to drag on for seven long years, after which time Fridenberg was finally defeated, but the victory had cost Lady Suffolk dear.20
Lord Hobart did not live to see the conclusion of the affair. He died in September 1756, aged sixty-two, leaving his sister as the only surviving sibling. His son John inherited the title and estate at Blickling. John had remained close to his aunt. From an early age, it was apparent that he had inherited her keen intellect and wit – although the latter was rather more irreverent than hers. Henrietta had scolded him for being a ‘Saucy whelp’ as a teenager, to which he had promptly replied: ‘I am sorry to say yt your behaviour has convinc’d me yt when people have once got ye Character of being wellbred (by eating with their fingers, never drinking to any body, never taking leave when they go out of an Assembly . . .) they think they have a patent for being impertinent with impunity, & yt every thing they doe is polite because they are esteem’d so, by yt insignificant sect of people who stile themselves fashionable.’ For all his jesting, though, it was clear that he adored his ageing aunt. ‘You are the only person to whom I fully open my heart & the only one who loves me in the manner I most wish to be lov’d,’ he once told her.21
John was anxious to ensure Lady Suffolk’s wellbeing after the death of his father, and a short time later invited her to stay with him at Blickling. She enjoyed the visit to her childhood home, and was delighted by her nephew’s continuing attentions when she returned to Marble Hill. Shortly afterwards, he sent a partridge pie made by the cook at Blickling as a reminder of her stay, and enclosed a note chiding her that although she had told him of her safe arrival, she had made no mention of her health. He comforted himself with the fact that ‘there is a cheerfulness in the stile of it which induces me to flatter myself that you are very well’.22
Henrietta’s nephew provided one of the few links that now rema
ined between her and the court. His rank and status gained him admittance to the formal receptions there, and his ready wit and charming manners provided a further recommendation. He attended his first levée at Kensington Palace in 1756, before which he had sought his aunt’s guidance on the proper codes of etiquette and behaviour. The occasion proved a success. He wrote to tell Lady Suffolk that he had done exactly as she had advised, and that as a result the King had been pleased to notice him. Upon hearing that the 2nd Earl of Buckinghamshire was due to attend his levée, George II had enquired into his affairs, aware that he was related to his former mistress. This connection evidently did nothing to prejudice him, though, for both he and Madame Walmoden (now Countess of Yarmouth) treated the Earl with ‘the greatest politeness’.23
Lady Suffolk also counselled Miss Power, a more distant relative, on the behaviours and duties expected at court. She had helped to secure her the place of lady-in-waiting to Princess Augusta, widow of Frederick, Prince of Wales.24 ‘May the Fair Flower that you have Carefully and Prudently planted at Leicester House Live & Bloom,’ wrote Lady Vere to her friend, ‘ever Remembring that ’tis to you she owes the every thing she enjoys in this Life of Happyness, and it will be her own Fault if she does not take care to secure Happyness in the next.’ Miss Power’s accounts of life at Leicester House must have brought back memories for Henrietta. The daily round of duties, receptions and scandal that she described (and that allowed her barely a moment’s peace) was reminiscent of the life that George II’s former mistress had led there more than thirty years before.25
A few members of Lady Suffolk’s old acquaintance, such as Lord Chesterfield and Anne Pitt, continued to attend court, but she herself chose to experience it through the accounts she received from others. It was not incapacity that prevented her. Although she was now approaching sixty and still suffered from bouts of ill health, she was remarkably alert in both mind and body, and continued to make the trip up to Savile Street every winter. Her vitality was such, indeed, that Horace Walpole declared: ‘Tis very wholesome to be a sovereign’s mistress!’26 In fact, it was a lack of inclination that kept her from court. She had been overjoyed to quit the onerous life that she had led there, and even the curiosity she may have felt about her old lover and the woman who had succeeded her as mistress was not sufficient to make her undergo what would surely have been an awkward and embarrassing experience.
