The Covent Garden Ladies: The Extraordinary Story of Harris's List

by Rubenhold, Hallie

  That Charlotte landed in debtor’s prison for the trifling sum of £50 was an alarming indication of the state of affairs. The author of O’Kelly’s Memoirs writes that Dennis too, notwithstanding the prodigious influx of money derived from racing and horse breeding, was yet again ‘streightened in his circumstances’, forced ‘to borrow money on his diamond ring’ simply to meet ‘the enormous expenses of his stud, his house and his donations of friendship’. Charlotte would have been approaching fifty, and having reached such an age would have been in no state of mind to suffer the indignation of returning to the pit of poverty she had clawed her way out of nearly twenty years earlier. For all of her acquired gentility, for all of what male chroniclers called her ‘delicate and agreeable’ conversation, ‘conciliating’ manners and her overall ‘gentleness and modesty’, Charlotte was no soft touch. Whatever horrors her return visit to a prison may have conjured in her memory, it was nothing she had not seen or contended with before. If anything, the untimely incident convinced her of the need to become more enterprising and more competitive in the face of her rivals.

  By 1779, the Nocturnal Revels commented that every house on King’s Place had been converted into a brothel, making the entire street appear as ‘a constellation of nunneries’. Elizabeth Mitchell’s ‘bevy of beauties’ next door boasted of girls just as glamorous as Charlotte’s. Harriott Lewis, a former East Indian slave, specialised in exotics, while Sarah Prendergast, Sarah Dubery and Catherine Windsor were constantly vying to outdo one another, playing host to Covent Garden’s most famous actresses and staging eye-poppingly lewd events guaranteed to reel in London’s lechers. One of the most memorable of these was conceived of by Mrs Prendergast. She entitled it her Grand Ball d’Amour. Not to be outdone by Theresa Cornelys in Soho Square, who was beginning to siphon off business through her frequently held masquerades, where the demi-monde and respectable classes could scandalously meet and mingle, Sarah Prendergast offered an even more exciting entertainment. Invitations were sent to her most devoted patrons boasting that ‘the finest women in all Europe would appear in puris naturalibis’, and included a list of those whose unclothed bodies promised to be on view. In addition to notable courtesans and actresses like Charlotte Spencer, Gertrude Mahon and Isabella Wilkinson, there were also aristocratic ladies of ill repute. Guests arrived by carriage and sedan chair in revealing costumes like those sported by Lady Henrietta Grosvenor and Lady Margaret Lucan, who both came ‘disguised as Mother Eve’, covering their faces with fig leaves and leaving their more shameful parts exposed. After the initial excitement of ogling had worn off, the assembled naked guests danced, dined and copulated to their heart’s content, leaving Mrs Prendergast at the end of the evening nearly £1,000 richer. The Grand Ball d’Amour had been a King’s Place coup like none other, that is until Charlotte decided to throw her hat into the ring.

  When the worst of their financial storm had cleared, Charlotte resolved that she would bid a farewell to King’s Place at the end of 1778 and turn her attention exclusively to life at Clay Hill. In a last attempt to increase business and to provide some of her most loyal clientele with an unforgettable grand finale, Charlotte planned a ‘Tahitian Feast of Venus’. Captain Cook’s recent voyages to the South Pacific had captured the imagination of the public, who had read the details of his excursions to far-flung islands with keen interest. Of the many discoveries made during Cook’s travels, none fascinated the male population so much as the lurid tales of sex among the ‘noble savagery’. Dr Hawkesworth, who documented the experiences of those who sailed on the Endeavour, recorded one occasion where a young girl underwent a rite of sexual initiation. Hawkesworth was pleased to report that the ceremony, which involved a gratuitous amount of nudity and fornication, was completed without so much as a hint of embarrassment on the part of the participants. Greatly inspired by these discoveries, Santa Charlotta decided to capitalise upon them by recreating the scene in her King’s Place salon. Like Sarah Prendergast, she too had formal invitations printed:

  Mrs Hayes presents her most respectful compliments to Lord – and takes liberty to acquaint him that to-morrow evening, precisely at seven, a dozen beautiful nymphs, unsullied and untainted, and who breathe health and nature will perform the celebrated rites of Venus, as practised at Otaheite, under the instruction and tution of Queen Oberea in which character Mrs. Hayes will appear upon this occasion.

  Just how ‘unsullied and untainted’ Charlotte’s uninitiated girls were is highly suspect. She claimed to have sought out a variety of new recruits specifically for this event, but it is more likely that those already on-hand ‘restored’ themselves with the usual Oeconomy of Love concoction. To enliven the show further, the Abbess spiced up the sex with some assistance from Aretino’s Postures, a well-thumbed sex manual which, like the Kama Sutra, explained the joys of penetration from a number of different angles. In the days leading up to the performance, suspense grew among the select group of invited guests. Charlotte put it about that she had spent the past fortnight, twice every day, putting her recruits ‘through their exercises’ and training them ‘for a new species of amusement’. To partner her nymphs, she had also ‘engaged a dozen of the most athelectic and best proportioned young men that could be procured’. This included life models plundered from the studios of the newly founded Royal Academy of Art, as well as a handful of strapping lads considered ‘well qualified for the sport’.

  On the night of this ‘salacious olympic’, her efforts had managed to attract the highest ranking in the land. ‘She had’, as the Revels reported, ‘no less than three and twenty visitors, consisting chiefly of the first nobility’, in addition to ‘some Baronets, and but five Commoners.’ In the largest room of her establishment, chairs and sofas had been arranged for the audience facing a large carpet where ‘all the apparatus for the various attitudes in which the votaries of Venus were to appear, according to the Aretin system’ was laid. As the clock struck eleven, the festivities began:

  The males had presented each of their mistresses with a Nail of at least twelve inches in length, in imitation of the presents received by the Ladies of Otaheite upon this occasion, giving the preference to a long nail before any other compliment, they entered upon their devotions, and went through all the various evolutions, according to the word and the command of Santa Charlotta, with the greatest dexterity, keeping the most regular time, to the no small gratification of the lascivious spectators, some of whom could scarce refrain till the end of the spectacle, before they were impetuous to perform a part in this Cyprian game, which lasted near two hours and met with the highest applause from all present.

  Following the main event, the male audience, now piqued to the extreme of sexual arousal, selected female devotees to repeat ‘the part they had so skilfully performed’. In addition to the champagne which ‘briskly circulated’ in post-coital celebration, Charlotte ensured that her revellers were touched for contributions while spirits were remained high. As a result of a good evening’s work, ‘a handsome purse was subscribed upon the occasion’ for the benefit of her Thaises.

  In the months that followed Charlotte’s success, the author of the Nocturnal Revels draws the curtain down on Santa Charlotta’s career. As planned, by the end of the year she had begun to wind down her business, putting on the market a number of the implements of her profession, including Dennis’s specially designed ‘elastic beds’, for which there was a great scramble among the Abbesses of King’s Place. Catherine Matthews, Charlotte’s number two who ran her annexe across the street, also inherited the larger premises. By 1779, having sold up and moved on, Charlotte at last found herself the resident mistress of Clay Hill. However, in many respects, the fabric of her daily life was not significantly altered by her departure from King’s Place. Although no longer on the front line of nunnery management, Charlotte maintained a number of smaller brothels scattered throughout St James’s and Piccadilly, which she entrusted to her appointed assistants. The profits of her enterpri
ses were then employed in funding the entertainment enjoyed by her patrons at Clay Hill. During the racing season, she and Dennis threw themselves into hosting an unrelenting round of parties, dinners and gatherings at their home. It was remarked that ‘Keeping company was one of O’Kelly’s chief delights, and with the help of the faithful Charlotte Hayes he made Clay Hill at Epsom renowned for its hospitality’.

  Although the O’Kellys were now landowners and enjoyed the company of some of the most influential men in England, they were by no means unaware of their tenuous standing within the social hierarchy. Any influence they had managed to corner was by virtue of Dennis’s success on the turf and Charlotte’s precedence in King’s Place, and not through noble birth or any praiseworthy activity. In order to maintain their position at the centre of the Epsom arena, they had to lay on an exceptional show. This was hard work, as the author of Dennis’s Memoirs records. Not only did they maintain ‘an open house during the time of every public meeting’, but O’Kelly established himself as a mediator of disputes between those of the racing fraternity. Accordingly, he cultivated a talent in ‘reconciling apparent opposites, contriving to entertain the Peer and the Black Leg at the same table’. Due to Charlotte’s finesse and experience with such matters, ‘The Duke of Cumberland and Dick England, the Prince of Wales and Jack Tetherington; Lord Egremont and Ned Bishop; Lord Grosvenor and Monsieur Champreaux; the Duke of Orleans and Jack Stacie’ were not only able to lay aside their differences but ‘were frequently seen at the same table, and circulating the same bottle with equal familiarity and merriment’.

  It is unlikely such a gathering of names would have been seen at Clay Hill at all were it not for the added attraction of the nymphs that Charlotte shipped in to attend the needs of these gentlemen. Contrary to the nature of such occasions, Dennis insisted that ‘play or bets of any kind’ were not ‘to be made at his table or in his house’. More than likely this was to prevent the eruption of trouble between hardened gamblers. With gaming banned, the rakish gathering would have required something else equally thrilling to divert them after dinner. Sex with Santa Charlotta’s beautiful nuns satisfactorily filled this void and helped to sustain the couple’s popularity. Their reputation for ‘hospitality and good living’ preceded them. ‘Who keeps the best house in England? was the frequent question. – O! Kelly, by much – Who the best wines? O! Kelly, by many degrees. – Who the best horses? O! Kelly’s beat the world. – Who the pleasantest fellow? Who? O! Kelly’, their acquaintances were said to have proclaimed. The question, ‘who keeps the best whores?’ might also have been added.

  While the racing season would have kept Charlotte occupied, the winter period, when the turf was frozen or too muddied to support contests, would have been an exceptionally dull time. Aside from the days that she spent alone with her daughter, she would not have acted as the hostess to any other virtuous guest. The O’Kellys’ home, which would have been recognised for its licentious activities, was hardly a suitable place for those not of the demi-monde to visit. In an era when the company of others, and particularly same-sex friendships, was the very bread and butter of landed class life, the sudden absence of companionship would be felt most acutely. In London, amidst the bustle of King’s Place, Charlotte would never have been at a loss for company, whether male or female. A constant tide of visitors would have moved in and out of her drawing rooms bringing gossip, news and amusement throughout the course of her day. Although she would have retained a close circle of female servants and ‘companions’ from King’s Place, in Epsom there would have been comparatively few callers. As a mistress and a procuress, she would be excluded from genteel social circles and shunned by her female neighbours. While Dennis would have been granted passage to socialise with whoever he chose, Charlotte would have spent many days and evenings with little company.

  In order to alleviate lengthy periods of loneliness when Dennis travelled, as he did regularly for race meetings and as an officer in the Middlesex Militia, Charlotte and her ‘female attendants’ chose to accompany him. The Westminster regiment to which Dennis belonged spent most of their time engaged in a circuit of marches, which, rather than prepare them for active service, allowed them to parade in their uniforms. As they moved ‘from London to Gosport; from Gosport to Plymouth; from Plymouth to the extremities of Cornwall; from thence to Chatham, from Chatham to Lancaster, and from Lancaster to London again’, Dennis could be seen ‘attended by an expensive retinue’, followed by Charlotte, ‘who travelled in the rear of his company, with her separate suite.’ She also accompanied him more frequently to various races, where together they became ‘the life and spirit of every principle race meeting in England’. However, in spite of appearances, Charlotte was becoming increasingly unhappy.

  Charlotte would not have grieved over respectable society’s refusal to admit her into its charmed circles. In fact, as one who was born the daughter of a harlot, it is unlikely that she would have ever imagined or even desired such a situation. Certainly, in her eyes, the debauched company she kept was far more varied and interesting. What would have plagued her, however, was the unanticipated isolation of retirement. In London, there were few public places out of bounds to her; she could enjoy the theatre, the pleasure gardens, promenades in St James’s Park, assemblies and balls. The rules of rural life were different and, aside from her own lands, there were no open spaces where she might comfortably roam, unscrutinised by disapproving eyes. As Charlotte had known no other existence than that of high-class whoredom, there would never be an environment more suitable for her than London. While in the country, due to the restrictive conventions of propriety, her interactions would also be limited to a male-only sphere. These would be the associates of Dennis, the boorish, drunken black legs, who droned on about races and stakes and horses and stables and jockeys … or the officers of Dennis’s band of toy soldiers, whose company might prove only marginally more interesting. In her capacity as Duenna of a King’s Place establishment, and even in her youth, regaled as a toast of the town, Charlotte’s sphere of friends would have been a broad one. Her confidantes had included some of the most outrageous, eccentric and brilliant men and women of her era: actors and writers, courtiers, politicians, scientists, clergymen and members of the Royal family. She had no shortage of suitable female acquaintances from her world either. To then be left alone, trailing behind Dennis at race meets, following him from one encampment to the next, unable to attend gatherings where virtuous wives and daughters might be present, and to hear little news of her friends, took an exacting toll on her spirit. After nearly eighteen months of such an existence, Charlotte decided to move back to London.

  At some point during the late 1770s, Dennis had been advised to sink some of his winnings into Mayfair property, thereby assuring the security of his fortune. Among these purchases was the freehold of an elegant new house, conspicuously situated on the corner of Half Moon Street and Piccadilly and facing onto Green Park. The strategic positioning enabled all of fashionable society to admire his grand townhouse while taking their constitutionals. The O’Kellys equally enjoyed the opportunity of observing the painted faces and tailored torsos of the bon ton by simply looking down from their drawing room windows. Where indications of status were concerned, there were none that announced wealth quite like this. While Dennis had intended that the Half Moon Street house should become their primary London residence, he had also made the purchase with the inheritance of his nephew, Andrew Dennis O’Kelly, in mind. In her late forties, it had become apparent that Charlotte would not have any further children. Since she and Dennis had never legally married, any children that Charlotte had borne were rendered illegitimate. As it was rare for girls, and particularly those produced out of wedlock, to inherit estates, all of Dennis and Charlotte’s land and possessions would one day be passed to the son of his brother. Through a series of Dennis’s judicious purchases, by the early 1780s Andrew looked set to inherit a large portion of Mayfair. In addition to Clay Hill, Half M
oon Street, and the properties they retained on Great Marlborough Street, shortly after Dennis’s death his possessions also included numerous freeholds and leaseholds on houses in Clarges Street, Chesterfield Street, Berkeley Square, Charles Street and Manchester Square.

  Upon her return to Mayfair, Charlotte chose to take up residence at the house on Half Moon Street, where she might observe the world as it wandered by her window. Here, at the heart of the fashionable universe, so inextricable from that of the vice-ridden one, she need never feel alone or confined. Her reappearance, however, did present a problem. Although ‘retired’, Charlotte’s return signalled an active resumption of her trade, a situation that she had preferred to avoid. By basing herself in Half Moon Street, she had hoped to keep the affairs of her collection of small brothels at an arm’s length. Now, without her nunnery on King’s Place at which to congregate, her friends and devoted clientele came calling at Half Moon Street, and their visits were not exclusively of a social nature. They came as they always had, in the hope of finding a suitable keeper or a cyprian with whom to share their bed. When they sat in her drawing room or sipped her champagne they did so in the anticipation that Santa Charlotta would provide them with access to a sexual encounter. As Charlotte would have come to realise, there would be no true retirement, no escape from her role as a procuress, whether she passed her days at Clay Hill or on Half Moon Street. Wherever she went, the demi-monde dragged at her heels, pulling her relentlessly back into its embrace.