But mostly, unless they met in public, their meetings were confined to 73 Harley Street, when always, whether clothed in a walking dress or riding habit, she wore a light veil over her face. This was not regarded as unusual; many fashionable women lowered veils to protect their complexions. Indeed, a lady’s magazine of the day warned its readers that the complexion could be discoloured by moonlight as well as sunlight.
Towards the end of 1828, an observant neighbour glanced across the street into the house opposite and saw the veiled visitor in Prince Schwarzenberg’s arms. A door behind them had been left open, letting in light behind them. How long the neighbour stayed glancing across the street he did not say, but it was long enough to notice that the prince was dressing himself, and subsequently laced up the lady’s stays.33
It would be easy to write off Jane’s behaviour as that of a promiscuous woman deceiving her busy husband. But to sit in judgement one must also take into consideration that her conduct was no better or worse than that of her husband and their closest friends of both sexes. Jane regarded the attachment as more than a casual love affair, which was, for her, sufficient justification. That she did not choose to conceal her relationship with Felix, indeed that she broadcast her feelings so openly that it was almost guaranteed to get back to her husband, was certainly a departure from the norm. But Jane went even further. Her love for Felix had now made sexual intercourse with Edward abhorrent. So, giving as her reason the fact that she did not care to have another child, she told Edward that in future she wished to sleep alone.34
Her poems to ‘F.S.’ passionately denied that her feelings for him were a passing fancy, as he had suggested to her; ‘Oh say not that my love will pass … my love is not the love of one who feels a passion for a day.’35 Felix had already been warned by his ambassador to be more discreet. Prince Esterhazy was visiting Dietrichstein one day when Jane called at 73 Harley Street and, seeing her husband’s friend in the hall, chatted to him ‘without a shade of embarrassment’ before going up to Felix’s rooms.36 After an informal admonishment Felix moved from the house in Harley Street to a similar one in nearby Holles Street, and the meetings between the lovers went on as before.
By this time everyone, except – apparently – Edward, was talking about ‘Ellenboriana’.37 Joseph Jekyll, who took a puckish delight in reporting scandalous gossip to his sister-in-law Lady Sloane Stanley, was a little behind with the news when he wrote, ‘Torrents of scandal afloat! They call Schwarzenberg “Cadlands” because he beat the Colonel out of Lady Ellenborough’s good graces. It is added that she talks openly of her loves.’38 From their correspondence, on the other hand, it seems certain that the Digbys, Cokes and Ansons found the situation between Jane and the prince not amusing at all.39
However, at this point another family matter removed Jane from centre-stage. Earlier that year George Anson’s younger brother Henry, accompanied by his friend John Fox Strangways, had set out on an extended Grand Tour of Europe, the Holy Land and the Near-Middle East. With only three years separating them, Henry was the cousin to whom Jane had been closest in the years growing up at Holkham. She was as anguished as anyone in the family when news came that the two men had perished of the plague in Syria.
In fact Fox Strangways survived. The two young men had entered a mosque in Aleppo disguised as Muslims, but foolishly neglected to remove their shoes. They were set upon and beaten by a mob who deeply resented the intrusion by Christians into their sacred place. The two Englishmen were then flung into a prison, where they languished in appalling conditions before diplomatic persuasion was able to effect their release. Their incarceration in a cell below ground with only a pinprick of light was at least cool during the worst of the day’s heat, but the prisoners were given the barest of rations, and water whose source was dubious. Sanitary arrangements were non-existent, and many of the inmates were ill.
Their eventual release came too late for Henry Anson, who having contracted the plague was already a dying man. Strangways assisted him from the prison and they walked as far as a field on the outskirts of Aleppo, where Anson lay down, unable to move further. Strangways did what he could for his stricken friend, but Anson died before medical aid arrived. The manner of his death was rendered more horrible to all the family by virtue of its being in such a far-off place. Syria might have been on a different planet, so far removed from their lives was that alien country. More than a quarter of a century later Jane would stand at the site of Henry’s death, recalling her childhood friend.
The tragic news at least effected a reunion between Jane and George when she went to pay a duty call on her Aunt Anson, who was staying at Holkham. The cousins had seen little of each other during the past months, for Felix was jealous of George.40 He had no cause for jealousy, as Jane’s final poem to George Anson shows; it was written while she and her parents stayed at Holkham over Christmas, and he at his parents’ home in the neighbouring county.
I’ll meet thee at sunset, but not by the bower
Where with thee I’ve gathered love’s gory, torn flower,
Since that would be only recalling to mind
Bright visions of pleasures now left far behind.
What tho’ the cold stoic proclaim it as mystery
The feelings of youth are as lasting as history
And the rays with which love has once lit up the heart
May fade for a while but they cannot depart.
Then come, but come not with the accent of love,
I would not its echo reply from the groves
Oh! Come as if all, save old friendships, were o’er
And, – I’ll meet thee at sunset once more.41
They were bound to each other now more by grief for Henry than by their child. For Arthur was undoubtedly George’s son and not Edward’s. Jane openly said so, as a friend wrote to a correspondent in the country:
The other day Belfast was riding with Lady Ellenborough and said to her ‘Do you see much of your child?’ ‘No,’ was her answer. ‘It would grieve Felix if I was to see much of George’s child …!!! ‘42
Nine-month-old Arthur had been poorly with a respiratory complaint. In November he had been sent off to Brighton with his nursemaid and nanny for three months’ convalescence. His parents visited him in January and a month later, having been advised that her son was doing well, Jane decided to drive down and spend a night there before bringing the little boy home to Roehampton.
She reserved a suite at the Norfolk Hotel, where she and Edward always stayed when in Brighton. Felix also reserved a room there. The opportunity to spend a night together was irresistible. The date was carefully chosen; Ellenborough’s day was fully committed to a parliamentary debate, and furthermore he had a dinner engagement that evening.
On 6 February 1829, Jane travelled down to Brighton in a closed chaise, accompanied by her maid Anna Gove; Felix was only a short distance behind. The going was heavy on the unmade-up road because of the seasonal heavy rains, so it took longer than usual. By prior arrangement, the horses were changed at the halfway point and left at a livery stable for collection on the return journey.43 Every mile of that journey took Jane inexorably closer to ultimate disaster.
5
Assignation in Brighton
1829–1830
Jane arrived at the Norfolk Hotel just as the winter light was fading at about five o’clock. She was shown to the suite of apartments in the east wing which she and her husband often used. Entrance from the main part of the hotel was by a private staircase which led nowhere else other than to some staff quarters. Arthur was brought to her and, as babies will, having not seen his mother for some weeks threw a tantrum. A little later Jane dashed off a quick note to Ellenborough at Roehampton:
Brighton, Friday night
[postmarked 7 February 1829]
To Lord Ellenborough
Connaught Place, London
Dearest Oussey,
I am just arrived, and will only write you one line as I am tired
to death with my journey, the roads were so very heavy. I found Arthur looking really pretty – you may believe it if I say so – and appears to me much improved in strength, but he greeted me with such a howl!! We shall improve upon acquaintance.
If you go to Mrs Hope’s tonight, have the thought to make my ’scuses to save me the trouble of writing them.
The post is ringing –
Good night, dearest
Janet1
Felix arrived at the hotel between six and seven o’clock in a hired yellow-bodied chariot driven by a post-boy. He alighted from the coach carrying his cloak and a carpet-bag which bore his coat of arms and initials, and was shown to a room in the west wing. This room was approached by the centre stairway from the main hall of the hotel. Having settled in and had his luggage unpacked by a member of the hotel staff, he took dinner in his private sitting-room and as the waiter was clearing away he asked casually who else was staying in the hotel at this unseasonal time of year. He was told that Lady Ellenborough was in residence. ‘Is that the dowager Lady Ellenborough?’ the prince enquired. ‘No,’ was the answer. ‘It is the young Lady Ellenborough.’2 The prince asked the waiter to take his card to the lady with his compliments.
Within a short time the waiter returned to the prince with the message that the lady would be delighted if, after the prince had dined, he would take tea with her in her room. The waiter personally served tea to Lady Ellenborough and her guest and noted that they remained together until half-past ten, when the prince left to return to his sitting-room. Requesting the waiter to fetch a bedroom candle and light it, Felix said goodnight and went up to his bedroom.
At about midnight the hall porter, Robert Hepple, who was sitting in his pantry awaiting the late return of a family who had gone out for the evening, heard someone coming down the main stairs. He walked across the hall foyer, which was illuminated by gas lighting, and saw the prince descending the stairs. As soon as the prince saw the porter, he retreated back up the stairs.
Hepple was ‘anxious to know what a person at that time of night was wishing to do … and kept out of sight’ for a while. To ensure that he was not seen, he put out the light in his pantry. His vigil was not long. Within ten or fifteen minutes the prince, still wearing the ‘frock coat, trowsers and boots’ in which he had dined, softly descended the stairs, crossed the hall and went along the passage leading to the east wing’s private stairway. Mr Hepple followed him and watched as the prince entered Lady Ellenborough’s bedroom without knocking. The door was closed and the key turned in the lock. After peering through the keyhole and listening for some fifteen minutes at the door, Mr Hepple formed his own opinion of what was happening within. He returned to his pantry. When he retired at 3 a.m., the prince had not yet reappeared. Next morning Hepple was summoned to the prince’s room and asked to press some clothes.
At about 9.30 a.m. the prince descended to the hotel sitting-room, where he joined Lady Ellenborough for breakfast. Although it is not possible to say for certain what Jane and Felix spoke of over breakfast, it is possible to guess that one subject under discussion was an unpleasant incident which had occurred in Jane’s bedroom earlier that morning. Mr William Walton, the proprietor’s brother, who was responsible for waiting on the suite of rooms in the east wing, took it upon himself to tell her ladyship that his colleague, Mr Robert Hepple, had confided in him what he had seen and heard the previous night. Mr Hepple felt that the information ought to be communicated to Lord Ellenborough, a frequent guest in the hotel.
Jane was taken by surprise but did not panic, relying upon her ability to charm the opposite sex. She admitted ‘that what she had done was wrong’ and said she did not wish anyone to learn about what had transpired. Begging Walton not to repeat what he had told her to anyone, especially not to her maid, she then gave him ‘a present’ of £20. Not surprisingly, Walton promised his silence in response to such generosity. It was not often that he received a tip that equalled half a year’s wages, even though he subsequently gave Hepple £5 of it.
The prince watched Jane depart at eleven o’clock with her small retinue before he also left at about noon in the hired chariot to post back to London.
Within weeks Jane discovered she was pregnant. There was no doubting the paternity of her second child, since, although she had a bed in the marital bedchamber, she and Edward had not enjoyed sexual relations for some months at her own request. A miniature, painted by James Holmes at this time, shows Jane reclining in gipsy-style déshabillé on a couch draped with an Eastern rug. She has lost the wide-eyed innocence of earlier portraits and despite the slimness of her hips appears voluptuous. The diarist Thomas Creevey met her in the same month at a party held by Lady Sefton. Present were ‘Mrs Fox Lane, Princess Esterhazy, Lady Cowper … Lady Ellenborough and the Pole, or Prussian or Austrian or whatever he is … anything as imprudent as she or as barefaced as the whole affair I never beheld … in short by far the most notorious and profligate women in London.’3
Meanwhile, reports of Jane’s flagrant behaviour had finally begun to make an impression on Edward, especially when his brother Henry related gossip which reflected unfavourably upon her. Too late, Ellenborough accepted the sense of Margaret Steele’s warnings and the letter he had received from Lady Anson strongly urging he spend more time with his young wife. At first his concern showed itself in requests for Jane not to visit those very people to whom he had introduced her.4 At length he received a letter from one Robert Hepple, a former employee of the Norfolk Hotel in Brighton. Unfortunately £5 had not seemed sufficient reason for Mr Hepple to keep his lordship uninformed about Lady Ellenborough’s delinquency; he felt his knowledge might be worth more to her husband. The letter contained information which, though he was reluctant to believe it, Lord Ellenborough could not ignore.
When Ellenborough confronted his wife with the contents of the letter Jane confessed, but only partially. She admitted her attachment to Felix, though not the full extent of it, and she denied the act of adultery at Brighton. This was foolishness taken to an absurd degree, for she could not have hoped to hide her condition indefinitely; and at the date of this discussion she must at least have suspected her pregnancy. Probably because of Ellenborough’s political commitments the matter was left hanging bitterly between them.
Jane’s first thought was to rush to Felix and lay her problems upon his broad shoulders; but she got little comfort from him. Apparently realising for the first time the predicament in which he was now placed, the prince was appalled. He saw clearly that the matter could cause a major diplomatic incident and the end of his promising career. He immediately reported the matter to his ambassador and was given forty-eight hours to put his affairs in order, pack and leave for home, pending an imminent transfer to the Paris embassy. Ambassador Esterhazy knew that here was a man marked out by destiny for greater things than a life spent as secretary to the Ambassador at the Court of King James; the great Metternich himself took a keen interest in Schwarzenberg’s progress. Esterhazy decided to place the young man out of harm’s way and ride out any resulting unpleasantness.
On 11 May 1829 Felix left for Europe, telling Jane he had no alternative but to accept his new posting and suggesting that, since she could not confess her pregnancy, she should attempt to obtain Ellenborough’s permission to go abroad to be confined in secret.5 He would, of course, do all in his power to assist her in this delicate matter. His suggestion was not made coldly; he was, according to his letters, still very much in love with Jane. Yet, whatever protestations of love Felix made to her, the fact remains that he rode off leaving his pregnant young mistress to face public condemnation and the wrath of her husband, for the sake of his career. Jane blamed the Esterhazys for transferring Felix and quarrelled with them, and also with Princess Lieven, who was furious that Jane had endangered the prince’s career.
With no alternative, Jane did as Felix suggested, choosing the evening of 22 May to make her request to Edward. But Edward refused to allow her to g
o abroad to ‘reflect on her feelings’ for Schwarzenberg. The entire matter seems to have culminated in a quarrel in which Jane said she could not live without Felix. The outcome was that Edward proposed a formal separation in which they would each go their separate ways, but leaving little Arthur in his custody. Edward would, he said, make adequate provision for Jane’s future needs, and before leaving for an important dinner party with Lord Hill to discuss a military matter he arranged for her departure for Roehampton with her personal servants. The following morning, before attending a Cabinet meeting, he found time to write to his mother-in-law, Lady Andover, suggesting she join her daughter immediately at Roehampton.
All her life Jane hated to quarrel with anyone, and the fracas with Edward unnerved her. However, the thing was done. Naively, she thought the worst was now behind her, and her sole ambition was to leave immediately and join Felix. The explanatory note she wrote to her Aunt Anson must have come as a relief to Lady Anson, for Jane’s former relationship with George remained the subject of gossip. Since Jane made no mention of her pregnancy, Lady Anson was inclined at first to think the matter was a storm in a teacup, an affair that, with careful management of Ellenborough’s natural anger, might be smoothed over and the couple brought together again. She called on Ellenborough later that day as a peacemaker and later wrote to her niece, no doubt pointing out the impossibility of her travelling abroad without her husband’s permission. The following letter from Jane was the result:
A Scandalous Life: The Biography of Jane Digby (Text only) Page 7
