At home, Lovelace continued to pour money that he could ill afford into the enlargement and enhancement of his country estates. While the handsome house in St James’s Square was reluctantly exchanged in 1846 (at the close of a ten-year lease paid for by Annabella) for smaller lodgings in Belgravia, on Grosvenor Place, William continued to pursue a buying spree of his own. In 1847, he was eyeing up a former King home, the majestic Dunsborough Park, as a real bargain at £4,000. (Annabella’s always-eloquent silence quelled that particular folly.) At Ashley Combe, the new boathouse, grotto and cliffside garden terraces now grandly ascended to a balustraded ‘Philosopher’s Walk’ that Lovelace and Ada had playfully named for Charles Babbage, one of their most frequent visitors. At Horsley Towers, only Ada’s modest request to be provided with a cold ‘plunge bath’ (to improve her sluggish circulation) was rejected by her husband as an unnecessary extravagance.
Ada would always adore Ashley Combe. At Horsley Towers, sandwiched between the virtuous circle of female dependants who inhabited Stephen Lushington’s new home at Ockham Park, and the army of clergymen, doctors and philanthropically minded ladies who surrounded Annabella at her nearby Esher home (the ten-year lease on Moore Place did not expire until 1851), Ada felt trapped as a caged bird. Whenever the door cracked open, she took flight.
Flitting between Somerset, London, Esher and Brighton, Ada was kept informed of the improvements by which her husband hoped to lure her back into captivity at Horsley. In August 1845, Lovelace described the turret chamber in which, perched above her own swan-studded lake, he wished his brilliant wife to renew her mathematical studies. He had, he tempted her, equipped one of the lancet windows with a telescope through which Ada might enjoy a splendid view of the queen’s quarters at Windsor Castle.
Lovelace’s blandishments were resisted. On 15 November 1848, Ada cautiously told her mother about the anticipated pleasure of inhabiting what sounded to be the ‘most delightful’ new tower room at Horsley, so long as it was warm and dry. A year later, however, Lovelace was informed of his delicate wife’s continued reluctance to shiver to death in a dank lakeside chamber.
Ada’s absence could be overlooked by a man who now cared for almost nothing beyond his own grand designs. (The Lovelace children’s letters from this time are filled with references to Papa’s obsession with tunnels, earthworks and brickmaking.) Seated next to the Archdeacon of Westminster (Wordsworth’s nephew) at a London dinner in May 1849 hosted by Lord Rosse, Lovelace paid scant attention to accounts of the scientifically minded Irish peer’s remarkable new telescope, the largest ever yet designed. ‘We talked architecture & monuments all through dinner,’ William boasted to his mother-in-law; the next day, the earl toured the abbey’s roof with the Dean, before setting out for a further round of architectural exchanges with like-minded friends at Trinity, his old Cambridge college. Back in Surrey, Lovelace swapped views about chromatic brickwork with Henry Drummond of Albury, a rich, witty and ardently religious banker for whom Augustus Pugin was embellishing an old manor house with no less than sixty-three differently decorated chimneys. Architectural historians tend to sneer at Albury (just as they do at East Horsley). William worshipped it.
Few aspects of his own most idiosyncratic creation pleased William more than the tall tower in which he aspired to house (or imprison) his wife. By December 1849, a huge window had been opened above Horsley’s new grand staircase. Its sole purpose was to shed a glare of daylight into the entrance to Ada’s ‘Mathematics Room’. A month later, after five years of remodelling – and with thought at last given to the degree of warmth required for such a slender and sickly inhabitant – Ada’s study was complete. Four new paintings of Ashley Combe had been recessed into the panelled and mirrored walls, while a new-fangled speaking tube had been installed, through which Ada might issue commands for her daily needs. As a final touch, a portrait of Lord Lovelace himself, dashingly attired in the scarlet-and-gold dress uniform of his official position as Lord Lieutenant of Surrey, surveyed the room from above the entrance door. ‘You will,’ the artist’s proud sitter promised a once-again absent Ada on 6 January 1850, ‘be very gay.’
Back in 1838, Annabella Byron had believed that she was doing the right thing when she persuaded Prime Minister Melbourne to upgrade an ill-treated William King to the rank of Earl of Lovelace. She rejoiced when her son-in-law became Lord Lieutenant of Surrey, while his younger brother had to content himself with the less significant role of high sheriff. What Lady Byron had not fully grasped was the damage that might be done by the persistent social rivalry between Locke King and his detested older brother, William Lovelace.
Throughout the 1840s, the mischief-making Lady Hester King continued to fuel hostility between her sons. Stories leaked out that William had unjustifiably held back items of furniture that legally belonged to Locke; that he was destroying the beautiful old woods around Ockham for timber sales; that he was selling off the family house. Every single time, the story was traced back to William’s mother at Woburn Park.
Lady Hester’s mind was clear upon one particular point: William Lovelace was never going to overshadow his sibling in Surrey, the county most closely associated with the King family’s history. If William bought a village near Guildford, then his brother must have one near Weybridge. If William built a fine new house near Ockham, then Locke must have a bigger one near Woburn. (Designed by Sir Arthur Blomfield, the immense Brooklands Park was finally completed in 1862.) There was one crucial difference: money. Locke King, always his mother’s pet, was lavishly subsidised both by the generous legacy left to his mother when Lord King died, and by the considerable personal wealth of Lady Hester’s own West Country family, the Fortescues. William Lovelace, who usually raised money by selling off parcels of his land, was due to receive no more than Ada’s fairly modest wedding dowry until the time of Lady Byron’s death. Locke could afford to be extravagant. His elder brother had been tempted into living far, far beyond his means. As the 1840s drew to a close, William Lovelace was confronting the possibility of financial ruin.
Even before the demands made upon her by John Crosse, Ada herself was struggling to make ends meet on an allowance of merely £300 a year. It’s hard to see how she managed. In London, she was still paying for John Thomas’s musical tuition. At Ashley Combe and East Horsley, she was responsible for the upkeep and maintenance of several horses and six dogs, including a Dalmatian called Sirius, a spaniel called Luna and a large, beloved dog called Nelson. Harps; textbooks; day clothes and shoes; the wages of a maid whom she was once again employing; extra tuition in languages, music and art for the children: these were just a few of the costs for which Ada was responsible.
Had Ada not been involved with John Crosse, it’s possible that she would have taken up a generous offer made by her mother in 1845 of a long, large and interest-free loan. Instead, fearful of discovery (Ada always had difficulty in hiding secrets from the sharp-eyed Lady Byron), she chose to struggle on.
In 1848, a year in which the intensity of Ada’s relationship with the newly married Crosse was matched by his growing demands upon her purse, Lady Lovelace undertook a secret negotiation. Woronzow Greig was asked to approach Henry Currie, the former owner of Horsley Towers, and request a loan of £500. Although puzzled that the countess had not applied for help to her own family, the banker agreed. On 1 May – writing from the house on Cumberland Street into which the Lovelaces had moved after a year’s sojourn at Grosvenor Place – Ada explained that she could not borrow from a husband already burdened by ‘heavy expenses’. Promising that the debt would be paid off, with interest set at 5 per cent, within three years (it took four), her chief concern was that William should remain in the dark. He must not know about this loan.
Greig, like Henry Currie, was puzzled that Ada did not simply apply to her apparently wealthy and affectionate husband for aid. When Ada finally decided to do so in December 1848, William refused. He did, however, promise to cover the cost of his wife’s new ballgowns.
This pledge was less bizarre than it sounds. In December 1848, the elderly Duke of Wellington was being courted and entertained at Brighton, where Ada was visiting her mother. The duke had been an early supporter of the Babbage project for which the Lovelaces were still quietly seeking investment. A beguiling, persuasive and exquisitely dressed Ada might yet help to restore the Lovelace family fortunes.
Two elegant dresses, brought to Brighton by her daughter’s new maid (Mary Wilson, who shared Ada’s passion for dogs, had been caring for Babbage’s mother until the old lady’s recent death), aroused Lady Byron’s suspicion that something was afoot. Struggling to avoid the steely blue stare which had once subdued her father, Ada floundered, evaded and finally stumbled into deceit. Greig was expected to visit Brighton within the month; on 5 January 1849, Ada dashed him off a frantic note of warning. Her request for an increased allowance had been confessed to Lady Byron, as had William’s refusal. All else that she had told him about her debts was secret – and must remain so. Greig kept his word. No trace of these mysterious confidences survives.
Henry Currie’s loan of £500 did not go far towards meeting John Crosse’s financial requirements and Ada’s own debts. In March 1849, the countess made a second urgent application for financial help to her husband from Moore Place, where Ralph and Annabella were living under the care of Lady Byron. While William’s response was cool, he promised to drive over to Moore Place from East Horsley, to discuss what could be done. The meeting was unsatisfactory; shortly afterwards, Ada borrowed an additional £300 from Wharton and Ford, the solicitors who had always looked after Milbanke and Noel affairs. Neither William nor her mother was informed of the loan.
It remains unclear to what degree Lady Byron was aware of the Lovelaces’ financial problems. (Two years later, Annabella would bitterly reproach Ada for not having come to her with a direct appeal for help.) In 1849, however, Lady Byron sensed enough to propose lavishly underwriting the purchase for her daughter and son-in-law of a new London home in the crescent of Great Cumberland Place. Little Lady Annabella was thrilled by the fact that their new home had speaking tubes and a comfortable schoolroom (there were many complaints about the spartan one at Horsley Towers). William’s delighted response (Such spacious rooms! Such elegance! Such health-giving air!) suggests that the Lovelaces’ previous accommodations must have been of a very inferior quality. It’s unlikely, however, that Lady Byron understood why the possession of a grand London address was considered to be of such significance.
A handsome home in the capital was immensely helpful to the commercial and diplomatic strategy upon which both Ada and Lovelace were already embarked. In 1843, Ada had put forward a business proposal to raise investment for Babbage’s unbuilt machine. That project was one that – despite Babbage’s initial refusal – the Lovelaces had never abandoned.
Simply stated, the earl and his wife wanted to loan Babbage their name and social influence in exchange for control of the finished machine and a satisfactory return from its future use. By 1846, an attentive Babbage was being promised an introduction to the banker-owner of Albury. (Ada repeatedly emphasised Henry Drummond’s great wealth.) The following May, Babbage dined privately at Grosvenor Place, for the sole purpose of conducting a business talk with Lord Lovelace. A month later, Ada described a second and similar discussion as having been of ‘real importance’. On 6 February 1849, as Ada prepared to array herself in her new silk ballgown for the purpose of charming the Iron Duke into supporting their scheme, Lovelace cautioned her that they owed it to Babbage ‘not to promote his cause by inferior means’. Sadly, there is no sign that Ada’s persuasive skills bore fruit.
Ada loved the ingenious and unexpected mind of Charles Babbage, the fatherly friend to whom she now often playfully signed her letters ‘yours filially’. While the project for the unbuilt Analytical Engine’s future proceeded with frustrating slowness, other and slightly less respectable plans for raising funds were being hatched. A pet one was discussed in 1847, when Babbage visited the Lovelaces at the same time that William Nightingale first brought his daughter Florence to stay.
Florence Nightingale’s visit was a bit of a coup for Ada, who knew how much the younger woman idolised Lady Byron.* She had already heard about Florence’s own mathematical skills from Lovelace, a regular guest of the Nicholson family at Waverley Abbey, the Surrey estate at which, in the summer of 1843, a convalescing Florence had secretly coached a young Nicholson cousin in maths. (Ada herself was then hard at work at nearby Ockham on her Menabrea ‘Notes’.) Florence provided the inspiration for a wistful poem that suggests the younger woman remained an enigma to Ada (‘But still her spirit’s history / From light and curious gaze concealing’), but it was Florence’s father who interested Charles Babbage.
William Nightingale, like Babbage and Ada, was fascinated by mathematical games and puzzles. It is fair to guess that it was this member of the Nightingale clan to whom Ada frequently referred within the private correspondence that she now embarked upon with Charles Babbage.
Writing his memoirs after the deaths of both Ada and her mother, Babbage recalled a project he had developed during the 1840s for an automaton that might be able to play intellectual games of skill. (Tic-tac-toe, along with chess and draughts, were offered as examples.) If he could produce such an ingenious and entertaining machine, might it be sold to the public at large, thus raising money for the Analytical Engine to be built without all the burden entailed by outside investment? ‘A friend, to whom I had early communicated the idea, entertained great hopes of its pecuniary success.’ Just who could this hopeful friend of Babbage’s have been, if not the entrepreneurial Ada Lovelace?
On 30 September 1848, Ada made her first known reference to ongoing discussions with Babbage about ‘Games, and notations for them’. The inventor had just been staying at Ashley Combe and Ada sweetly told him in this same letter that even the rain-filled skies ‘are weeping unceasingly over yr. departure’. At the end of an especially affectionate letter, almost as an afterthought, she urged Babbage to get in touch with the Nightingales, who had apparently begged him to write to them. Three weeks later, Ada wrote again, this time with reference to a favourable article that had just appeared in the Athenaeum about Babbage’s engines. (‘Let the Government answer it, if they can!’) This time, Lady Lovelace alluded not only to letters from ‘the Birds’, who threatened to be ‘angry’ and fail to ‘sing’ if he did not respond, but to the potentially lucrative system upon which Babbage and she were now at work.
You say nothing of Tic-tac-toe – in yr last. I am alarmed lest it should never be accomplished. I want you to complete something; especially if the something is likely to produce silver & golden somethings . . .
The hope of financial gain could hardly have been more clear.
It was towards the end of 1848, on 19 December, that Ada first mentioned sending Babbage ‘a book which I think will interest you’. On 11 February 1849, she promised to send him ‘the book’ (always underlined) to keep during the three days that she would be spending with her mother. On 27 February, Ada wrote again, hoping that Babbage had understood something she had written out very clearly, for his particular interest. On 20 September, while urging him to come and spend an entire month on their beautiful Somersetshire estate, Ada reminded her friend of the need for ‘the new cover’ (underlined) for the book. If she came straight up to London from Surrey, would he like to travel to Somerset with her, by the new express train?
There is a great deal I want to explain to you, which can’t be by letter. I can’t decipher satisfactorily some indications in the work in question.
Seven days later, Ada expressed relief that Babbage had turned up, however unexpectedly, while the Lovelaces were entertaining at their London home. He was just back from Paris, which she considered ‘a most excellent step’. She had been ‘particularly glad’ to see him, whatever the circumstances; it was ‘a very good thing as regarded the book’.
Many theories have bee
n produced about that mysterious book, as well as about the role that was being played as a messenger by Mary Wilson, Babbage’s former servant. But the fact that this very same book was shown at a later date to Sir David Brewster, an eminently respectable Scottish scientist who took a keen interest in the Analytical Engine, suggests that there was nothing especially sinister afoot. That said, it seems reasonable to assume that a plan for making money was being discussed, and that it involved the use of a mathematical system – to which both Ada and Babbage were contributing ideas – in a book that they shunted back and forth (with Mary Wilson as its carrier). Probably, Lovelace knew what was afoot. Lady Byron, known for her aversion to any form of gambling or speculation, was kept in the dark.
Back in 1846, Lovelace’s sister Hester Crauford had written to Lady Byron from her marital home near Pisa, to hope that Ada had recovered well enough ‘to let her quicksilver loose again’. The Craufords’ own worries about health had always been focused upon Sir George (it was for this reason that the couple had gone abroad), but the news that reached the Lovelaces in the spring of 1848 was of Hester. Already the mother of a little boy called Charles, Hester had died while giving birth to her second son. Characteristically, Lady Hester King wasted no time in informing the heartbroken widower that she herself had never recovered from the shock of her daughter’s heartless defection. Replying with as civil a letter as he could muster, Sir George explained how greatly he had adored his wife. ‘A heart like Hester’s, I never did find, and never shall find again upon earth,’ he wrote on 12 April, while asking his mother-in-law to believe that Hester had never hated her, as the bitter old woman now claimed. ‘It was from the house that she was estranged,’ Crauford vainly pleaded. He received no response.
In Byron's Wake Page 35
