Fifty-One Years of Victorian Life. Countess of Margaret Elizabeth Leigh Child-Villiers Jersey
do not know when—by Mr. Alfred Morrison. When my grandfather Westminster died in the autumn of 1869 he left the reversion of Fonthill Abbey to Uncle Michael. Perhaps he thought that the Shaw-Stewarts should have an English as well as a Scottish home. However that might have been, Fonthill is a delightful place—and I benefited by their residence there at this time. I think that they were only to come into actual possession after my grandmother’s death—but that she lent it to them on this occasion as my aunt was delicate and it was considered that she would be the better for southern air.
The modern house was a comfortable one with good rooms, but had a peculiarity that no room opened into another, as my grandfather objected to that arrangement—dressing-rooms, for instance, though they might open into the same lobbies, might not have doors into the bedrooms.
Part of Beckford’s old house higher up the hill was preserved as a sort of museum. The story was that he insisted on continuous building, Sundays and weekdays alike. The house had a very high tower which could be seen from a hill overlooking Bath, where he ultimately went to live. Every day he used to go up the hill to look at his tower, but one morning when he ascended as usual he saw it no longer—it had fallen down. It used to be implied that this was a judgment on the Sunday labour. Also we were told that he made the still-existing avenues and drove about them at night, which gave him an uncanny reputation. Probably his authorship of that weird tale Vathek added to the mystery which surrounded him. He had accumulated among many other treasures a number of great oriental jars from the Palace of the King of Portugal, and when these were sold after his death my grandfather, to the best of my recollection, purchased three.
Mr. Morrison had secured a good many of the others, which I saw in after years when I stayed at the other Fonthill House which he had built on his part of the property. Many of the other treasures passed, as is well known, into the possession of Beckford’s daughter who married the 10th Duke of Hamilton. Alas—most of them must have been dispersed ere now!
Mr. Alfred Morrison, when I was at Fonthill with my uncle and aunt, was a subject of much interest, as it was rumoured that he wanted to emulate Beckford. I do not quite know in what way beyond trying to collect the oriental jars. He was a distinctly literary man, and was reported to have married his wife because he found her reading a Greek grammar in the train. Whether or no that was the original attraction I cannot say, but she proved a delightful and amusing person when I met her in after years. Meantime we used to hear of the beautiful horses which he sent to the meets of the local hounds, though he did not ride, and other proofs of his wealth and supposed eccentricity.
My uncle as well as my aunt being far from strong, we led a quiet though pleasant life. Hughie and I shared a taste for drawing and painting of very amateur description and Hughie used to help me with Latin verses, in which I then liked to dabble.
After my return to Stoneleigh I had yet another treat. My Uncle James and his new wife “Aunt Fanny” were kind enough to ask me to share in the spring their first trip abroad after their marriage. We went via Harwich to Rotterdam and thence for a short tour in Holland and Belgium with which I was highly delighted. The quaint canals, the cows with table-cloths on their backs, the queer Jewish quarter in Amsterdam, and still more the cathedrals and picture galleries in Belgium gave me infinite pleasure, but are too well known to describe.
Even the copyist in the Antwerp Gallery who, being armless, painted with his toes was an amusement, as much to my uncle, who loved freaks, as to myself. Ghent and Bruges were a revelation; and I was much entertained by the guide who took us up the Belfry of St. Nicholas (I think it was) at the former city and pointed triumphantly to the scenery as “bien beau, tout plat, pas de montagnes.” He shared the old Anglo-Saxon conception of Paradise.
“Nor hills nor mountains there
Stand steep, nor strong cliffs
Tower high, as here with us; nor dells nor dales,
Nor mountain-caves, risings, nor hilly chains;
Nor thereon rests aught unsmooth,
But the noble field flourishes under the skies
With delights blooming.”
In the Cathedral of St. Nicholas, over the high altar, was an image of the saint with three children in a tub. My uncle asked a priest what he was doing with the children, but all the good man could say was that “St. Nicolas aimait beaucoup les enfants,” quite ignorant of the miracle attributed to his own saint, namely, that he revived three martyred boys by putting them into a barrel of salt.
Shortly after our return to England we moved to Portman Square for the season. At a dinner-party—I believe at Lord Camperdown’s—I again met Lord Jersey, but fancied that he would have forgotten me, and subsequently ascertained that he had the same idea of my memory. So we did not speak to each other. Later on, however, my father told my mother that he had met Lord Jersey and would like him asked to dinner. The families had been friends in years gone by, but had drifted apart. My mother agreed, sent the invitation, which was accepted. In arranging how the guests were to sit I innocently remarked to my mother that it was no good counting Lord Jersey as a young man—or words to that effect—as “he would never speak to a girl”—and I was rather surprised when in the drawing-room after he came across to me and made a few remarks before the party broke up.
After this events moved rapidly for me. Jersey, unexpectedly to many people, appeared at balls at Montagu House, Northumberland House (then still existing), and Grosvenor House. Also he came to luncheon once or twice in Portman Square. He did not dance at balls, but though “sitting-out” was not then the fashion we somehow found a pretext—such as looking at illuminations—for little walks. Then Lord Tollemache drove my mother and me to a garden-party at Syon, where I well recollect returning from another “little walk” across a lawn where my mother was sitting with what appeared to me to be a gallery of aunts.
ENGAGEMENT
We went to a last ball at the Howards of Glossop in Rutland Gate, and discovering that we were about to leave London Jersey took his courage in two hands and came to Portman Square, July 18th, and all was happily settled.
I went next morning—it may have been the same evening—to tell Aunt Fanny, who was then laid up at a house not far from ours. I had been in the habit of paying her constant visits, so she had an idea of what might happen, and I found her mother, Mrs. Fanny Kemble, with her. One word was enough to enlighten my aunt, who then said, “May I tell my mother?” I assented, and she said, “This child has come to tell me of her engagement.” Whereupon Mrs. Kemble demanded, with a tragical air worthy of her aunt Mrs. Siddons, “And are you very happy, young lady?” I cheerfully answered, “Oh yes”—and she looked as if she were going to cry. My aunt said afterwards that any marriage reminded her of her own unfortunate venture. Aunt Fanny was much amused when I confided to her that finding immediate slumber difficult the first night of my engagement I secured it by attempting the longest sum which I could find in Colenso’s arithmetic. My brothers and sisters accepted the news with mixed feelings—but poor little Cordelia, who had been left at Stoneleigh, was quite upset. I wrote her a letter in which I said that Lord Jersey should be her brother and she should be bridesmaid. The nurse told me that she burst into tears on receiving it and said that he should not be her brother, and not take away Markie. She quite relented when she saw him, because she said that he had nice smooth light hair like Rowly—and as time went on, she suggested that if Aggy would only “marry or die” she should be “head girl and hear the boys their lessons.” As the youngest “boy” was seven years older than herself this may be regarded as an exceptional claim for woman’s supremacy in her family.
My future mother-in-law, Jersey’s mother, and his brothers welcomed me most kindly. As for his sisters, Lady Julia Wombwell and Lady Caroline Jenkins, I cannot say enough of their unvarying friendship and affection.
MARRIED TO LORD JERSEY
I was engaged about the middle of July, and shortly we returned to Stoneleigh. My mother was terribly busy afterwards, as my brother Gilbert came of age on the first of September and the occasion was celebrated with great festivities, including a Tenants’ Ball, when the old gateway was illuminated as it had