CHAPTER X

VISITS IN CUMBERLAND AND LEICESTERSHIRE[27] ACCESSION OF WILLIAM IV.

Footnote 27:

I have made some endeavours, but without success, to fix the date of this visit. It was after 1826, and must have been before 1829, in which year Isabella Howard, one of the four sisters, married Lord Suffolk. Lord Henry Howard had died in 1824, so his widow was living in the house of her son Henry, on whom Greystoke had been entailed by Charles, tenth Duke of Norfolk. Mr Crackenthorpe was born in either 1788 or 1789, for he told my sister-in-law, Lady Rachel Howard, that his first recollection of a political event was the French Revolution, when he was four years old. He lived to nominate Mr Stafford Howard twice for Parliament, and died in 1886. Mr Howard of Corby was descended from a second son of Lord Carlisle. Adela, or Adeliza, was his youngest daughter, and, as are all her family, a Roman Catholic.

The visit must have been after 1826, for in February of that year Charles, third Lord Southampton, married Harriet, daughter of the Hon. Fitzroy Stanhope, and my aunt, in describing her visit to his house, makes no reference to a recent marriage. The brother-in-law must have been Captain Robert Stanhope, who married, in 1830, Miss Ward.

There were few happier beings than myself, the morning I started with my mother, my brother and sister, for Greystoke Castle in Cumberland—Cumberland, which appeared in those days a journey of delightful adventure, not unattended by that vague sense of peril which enhanced the charm of so long and wild an expedition. If our destination had been the Rocky Mountains, or even the Steppes of Tartary, I do not think my anticipations could have been of a wilder and more romantic nature. Was I not going to the far away and scarcely civilised district of the Borderland, so near to Walter Scott’s own country, along the great North road, with its recollections of Meg Merrilies and Jeannie Deans, and the names of the different towns at which we were to sleep, suggesting well-known events in history and fiction? I am speaking of a journey which is now accomplished between breakfast and dinner.

[Sidenote: GREYSTOKE CASTLE]

Our destination, as I said before, was the picturesque domain of Greystoke, where Lady Henry Howard,[28] my mother’s fast friend, lived with her son Henry, and her four daughters.[29] Happy family, genial companions! Every day spent in that enchanting spot seemed to me like a page torn out of some favourite romance; and when I look back upon those past years, I feel my beloved friend Lady Suffolk will agree with me, in the new-fashioned language of the day, that that time was one of the very best of good times. We were a happy band, with the same pleasures, the same tastes, the same pursuits. As for me, my spirit was armed and ready for adventures of all kinds, though occasionally I was disappointed in my Quixotic anticipations.

Footnote 28:

Elizabeth Long married Mr, afterwards Lord, Henry Howard, brother of Bernard, twelfth Duke of Norfolk.

Footnote 29:

Henrietta Anna married Henry, third Earl of Carnarvon; Isabella Catharine married Charles, seventeenth Earl of Suffolk; Charlotte married James Buller, father of Sir Redvers Buller; Juliene married Sir John Ogilvay.

[Sidenote: NAME OF CRACKENTHORPE]

Soon after my arrival, I had gone out alone into the wild park of Gobarrow, on a small mountain pony rejoicing in the classic name of “Pacolet,” and very diminutive. Like Mazeppa, I “urged on my wild career,” and naturally, the ground being quite new to me, lost my way: so far so good, just what a heroine of romance ought to do; so on I went, snatching a fearful joy, until I came to a large grip, which Pacolet prudently refused. I was trying to persuade him to clear the obstacle, when I perceived a man approaching, who promptly came to my rescue, a gentleman, not remarkable for youth or beauty, but at least chivalrous in his offer of assistance. I told him I was anxious to find my way back to Greystoke Castle. My new acquaintance offered to escort me, being bound for the same hospitable dwelling; this offer I gratefully declined, as it would have entailed a foot’s pace, and I preferred a hand-gallop. Pacolet was comforted when he found the grip might be dispensed with, for I was turning my back on home; so following the directions given me, and with the help of a few landmarks, I reached Greystoke in safety, and on coming down to dinner, after a hurried toilette, encountered my friend. Our recognition occasioned much chaffing and bantering, and no small curiosity was manifested as to how I could have possibly made his acquaintance. He was a middle-aged, respectable-looking man, but for all that, the incident of our meeting seemed invested with interest, and when dinner was over, I enquired the name of the stranger, with the secret hope that he might be something in the belted Will Howard line. I hope I shall be forgiven for having been disappointed when I learned that he bore the time-honoured name of Crackenthorpe.

“Oh those merry days when we were young”—those happy days at Greystoke! What rides, what stag hunts by beautiful Ulleswater, on foot, on horseback, in boat, up the fells, and on the lake. Untiring, strong, in all the pride of youth and joyous spirits, with those beloved friends, what wonder that I described myself to a distant correspondent on one occasion as having “the courage of a lion, the strength of an elephant, and the appetite of a wolf.” Our feats of horsemanship would have done no discredit to a circus, and our palfreys were so well trained, that we used to dance quadrilles, or waltz in the most approved fashion, and I stoutly maintained that my chestnut, named Montilla, after the Cid’s renowned steed, bore away the palm.

The castle contained, among many delights, a nice little theatre, and our performances were frequent. The dramas were for the most part home-made, but we thought them very fine, and, at all events, the comedies were “genteel.” The Howards were all good actresses, and enjoyed acting, and I was in my element. I have a small sketch, done by one of the guests, of myself in the character of “Daffodil the Dandy,” in a pea-green surtout, with a grand Brutus wig and waxed moustaches, a youth who was much taken up with his own charms and accomplishments.

One of the Howards as a stiff-starched old maid, and another as a bachelor of the same sort, renewing a bygone flirtation, were deservedly admired. Sometimes our performances took a tragic turn, and one evening when I was kneeling before a cruel tyrant, who menaced my life with up-lifted sword, a growl of thunder was heard, and our Scotch terrier, “Boch Dhu,” who was in the audience, darted over the footlights, and flew at the murderer’s throat, gaining for herself the honours of the evening.

I quitted Greystoke with a heavy heart, but before leaving Cumberland we paid a visit to Corby Castle, a beautiful spot, the house situated on an eminence overhanging the rushing river Eden, which was owned by another member of the noble family of Howard. The house had an especial interest for me (possessed as I have always been with a passion for ghost stories) on account of being haunted. To sleep in the celebrated chamber was the object of my ardent desire, and I gained rather an unwilling consent from Mrs Howard and my mother; the latter indeed insisted that my sister should be my bedfellow, lest I might become alarmed in the lone watches of the night. I laughed this idea to scorn, as the apparition, if it were visible, was that of the “radiant boy,” the murdered Lord Thomas Howard, a lovely child in glistening white garments, his golden hair crowned with flowers and surmounted by a brilliant light.

[Sidenote: GHOST OF LORD THOMAS HOWARD]

No sooner were Caddy and I in the haunted chamber, than a knock came at the door. Who could it be? We thought every body else had retired for the night. The door opened—lo! it was Adela, the daughter of the house, who came to confess that for long she had been devoured by the wish to sleep in that room, and the bed was of such enormous dimensions, that she should not inconvenience us, if we would admit her. I, for my part did not like the idea. I felt I was too much acquainted with the exclusive and retiring nature of the brotherhood of ghosts to entertain the faintest hope of a successful apparition to a trio of friends. We conversed, I think, most of the night, which was out of character with the whole proceedings; but as the clock struck the witching hour of midnight, there was a dead silence for a few moments, only broken by Adela’s prayer, which her Church enjoins at the striking of each hour: “Lord, make me to love Thee in time and eternity!” an ejaculation that so took my fancy, that ever since that long, long ago I have always repeated those words in the watches of the night, and thereby often scared away many a sad and gloomy thought.

Alas, for the failure, which I had anticipated! Little Lord Thomas Howard disdained to make his appearance, and no one else, on practical joke intent, disturbed the sleepers, or rather watchers. (To be sure we had announced beforehand that the sword of Fergus M’Ivor, which was a relic in the family, was to lie unsheathed by the bedside). This was a great disappointment, and I had to wait for many years afterwards, in another country, and under other circumstances, to behold a ghost.

On leaving Cumberland, we paid a visit of quite another character, namely, to the Master of the Quorn Hounds, whose wife had been a school-fellow and contemporary of my sister. Here, too, we enjoyed ourselves much, being splendidly mounted, a beautiful little snow-white pony falling to my share. “Billy” was very fast and well trained, and would answer like a dog to his name. It was a great delight to Lord Southampton to gallop on in front for some distance as hard as he could, and then to turn round and call, “Billy, Billy,” and off would set the little snowball at furious speed until he rejoined his beloved master. I must here recall an incident which impressed itself deeply on my memory.

There was a large party in the house, chiefly composed of hunting men, and one evening we were playing a round game, and making merry over it, when the conversation turned on Fanny Kemble, who had lately made her _début_ in London, and was at the moment the centre of attraction and the theme of conversation.

“What a pity we are not nearer London” (we were in Leicester at the time, and no railroads then, be it remembered), said the lady of the house; “I would give anything in the world to see her. I hear she is perfectly wonderful!” Her sentiments were echoed by many, especially my brother and sister; I listened in breathless awe.

“Well, why should you not go?” said the brother-in-law; “I see no reason against it. There will be no hunting for some days, not a chance—the frost is a great deal too hard; we might go up for a couple of days, sleep at a hotel, writing beforehand for a box.”

[Sidenote: MIDNIGHT CONSPIRACY]

The idea smiled on our adventurous hostess, some of the company thought the scheme a mad one, and my dear mother tried to argue that it would never do, for if the master of the house, who was absent, came back the next day, and found his wife and guests flown without a word, he would be much displeased. But imprudence had the upper hand. The brother-in-law rang the bell, ordered a post-chaise and four, went to put on his warm travelling garments, and proceeded then and there on his road to London. The rest of the party were to start early next morning, and they would find relays of posters ordered at all the different stages, so as to avoid delay.

Then came the burning question, Was I to go? No!—for once my mother was inflexible, and I prayed and supplicated in vain. My brother and sister, happy beings! were to be of the party, and poor Mary left crying at home. I really do consider that of all the tributes paid to the talent of my dear friend Fanny Kemble, or rather I should say the combined talents of her and her incomparable father, few could be greater than that midnight conspiracy, and the manner in which it was carried out. Fortune favoured the travellers, for their return preceded that of the master of the house, and my mother was saved the task of mediation, which had been imposed upon her. Indeed I think, on the whole, Lord Southampton rather admired the spirit of adventure which had animated his wife and her guests, for he listened laughingly, and I disconsolately, to the rapturous praises and enthusiastic encomiums bestowed on the young _débutante_ by the playgoers.

Although I have already complained of a bad memory for dates, yet there are some which are of sufficient importance to be remembered, such as the accession of William IV. in 1830. The news caused great excitement in our little household, and was indeed calculated in a great measure to change the tenor of our lives. My sister had for a long time been the chosen friend and associate of the Duke of Clarence’s beautiful daughters—I mean by Mrs Jordan the celebrated actress—and I must pause in my narrative to give some description of them.

The eldest, Lady de Lisle, had undoubted claims to good looks, but much less so than her sisters. Eliza, Countess of Erroll, was remarkable for her unusual colouring; she had auburn hair, with eyes of hazel brown to match. Augusta Kennedy Erskine, afterwards Lady Frederick Gordon, was a blonde, very graceful in demeanour, and playful in manner. On one occasion when, as a young girl, Augusta came into the room hastily, and made a little curtsey (for curtsies were not then obsolete), my governess, Miss Richardson, told me that she was a perfect likeness of her mother. Lady Mary Fox was more comely than strictly beautiful, but she had a captivating smile, and a voice whose tones were sufficiently musical, I should conjecture, to rival those of Mrs Jordan herself. The youngest was my sister’s greatest friend, Amelia, afterwards Lady Falkland, who might have passed for a Spaniard, for her hair was indeed raven black, an epithet so often misapplied; but Amelia’s dancing ringlets had a shade over them like the bloom on the feathers of that bird, and her eyes were soft liquid black. I remember seeing her in her wedding-dress (my sister was her bridesmaid), crowned with flowering myrtle, placed there by Queen Adelaide’s own hand—the bridal chaplet in Germany. But I have made a long digression, and must return to the first days of the reign of King William IV.

[Sidenote: “CADDY” MAID OF HONOUR]

Amelia Fitzclarence went to the Queen and asked her as a favour to appoint Caroline, or as she was always called, “Caddy” Boyle to be one of her maids of honour, upon which her Majesty replied, with a kiss, that she had already determined on that appointment, and that she had caused Caddy to be informed that she was the first chosen on the list.

It may easily be believed that this appointment occasioned great excitement in our family, and the salary of the maid of honour appeared in my eyes as a sum of fabulous riches, and my sister to have become suddenly a personage of great importance, for she had now a limited “Household” of her own.

About this time my mother hired a small house in Curzon Street, and I began to go out into society in good earnest, which I enjoyed very much, especially the Court balls, which lasted longer, and were, if I may be allowed to say so, in many respects less formal than those of a later period. I was an inveterate dancer, and the interval which elapsed between my stepping out of the carriage, getting off my cloak, and reaching the ball-room, appeared to me interminable.

Respecting the latter part of this year, 1830, the year 1831, and the early portion of 1832, I have nothing very remarkable to record; our time was chiefly spent between Hampton Court and London, with occasional visits to friends and relations in the country. We suffered great alarm indeed at one time, on account of the serious illness of my dear father, an incident which I should not mention, seeing his life was mercifully spared, but for one circumstance which made a great impression on my mind. The invalid was attended by two eminent physicians, who left the house, saying it was not in their power to do any more for him, and that there was not the faintest hope of his recovery; yet, by the devoted and affectionate skill of a naval surgeon, Dr Mitchell, who was much attached to him, my father’s life was saved, and of the two other doctors, he survived the one eleven, and the other fourteen years. My sister was in constant attendance at Court, yet in the autumn of 1832 she gained leave of absence, and was allowed to accompany her mother on a foreign tour.