To Marry an English Lord

by gail maccoll

  The servants at Hinchingbrooke, home of the Earl of Sandwich, a year after Alberta Sturges married his heir. Twenty-one people was not a large indoor staff.

  Servants’ quarters, with fourposter designed to fit under the eaves.

  The servants’ sector mirrored the front of the house, but with complications. There were more rooms for special purposes, separate cells for brushing boots and pressing coats, cleaning knives and decanting wine, storing china and polishing silver. Extra twists and turns were built into the warren of narrow, low-ceilinged corridors to prevent food smells from drifting out to the front of the house. And the whole backstage area was a swarm of activity, a carefully regulated and intricately structured machine.

  Just as the servants’ area was a baroque variation on the family’s living quarters, so was the servants’ hierarchy a more complex version of the family structure. It had to be more complex, since there were usually three or four servants for each family member. Thirty or forty indoor servants would be usual in a grand house, with as many more working outdoors.

  * * *

  The chef at Blenheim, whenever he wanted to show his displeasure with Consuelo, would serve ortolans to her quests for breakfast because he knew she considered this mortifyingly nouveau riche.

  * * *

  UPSTAIRS, DOWNSTAIRS

  One of the shocks for the new American bride was having to deal with English servants. She must always be aware of the hierarchy—and of its principal members.

  THE BUTLER

  In charge of the front of the house. Too elevated for menial tasks (decanting wine was the most physical he got), the butler oversaw the men-servants and the silver.

  THE HOUSEKEEPER

  In charge of the bedrooms and the servants’ quarters. Matters of cleaning and household maintenance (linens, inventories) and the housemaids’ morals were the housekeeper’s bailiwick, a huge ring of keys her badge of office.

  THE CHEF

  In pretentious houses, always French and paid outrageously. He was often locked in a vendetta with the housekeeper.

  FOOTMEN

  Responsible for all the actual lifting and carrying in the front of the house: calling cards on silver salvers, a tray of tea, newspapers for the gentlemen. Footmen also waited at table, accompanied Milady on errands to carry her packages, and stood around wearing livery and looking decorative on formal occasions. The best ones were easy to look at.

  A lady’s beast of burden.

  The master interviews his housekeeper, in an 1882 cartoon.

  MILADY’S MAID

  Entrusted with washing and arranging Milady’s hair, mending and refurbishing and cleaning her clothes, and helping her in and out of them. She also took care of the jewels and accompanied Milady on visits.

  THE HOUSEMAIDS

  Numberless faceless creatures who did all the cleaning and dusting in the front of the house (at the crack of dawn before the gentry were awake) and in the bedrooms (when their occupants were down at meals).

  THE VALET

  Responsible for keeping Milady’s husband neat. Besides laying out and caring for his clothes, the valet made travel arrangements, loaded his guns at shoots and boasted about him in the servants’ quarters.

  As a group, they were an alien race to Americans. Nobody could provide silent, self-effacing comfort like the English servant, it was true. Service was, in England, a perfectly respectable profession, and the largest single occupation in the country. In America, an Irish maid might be energetic, pert, and gone in a week in search of greener pastures; waiting on somebody else, in a democracy, was strictly an interim occupation. But in England one’s footman might be the son of a butler, had probably begun service as a hall-boy at the age of twelve, and confidently looked forward to being a butler himself someday. As American observer Price Collier put it, English servants “have their pride, their Riles of precedence, their code; they are fixed, immovable, unconcerned about other careers, undisturbed by hazy ambitions, and insistent upon their privileges, as are all other Englishmen.”

  * * *

  “I am not enjoying myself as I have spent the entire week answering advertisements and looking for nurses and I haven’t found one, and I am awfully cross.”

  BELLE WILSON HERBERT. to her sister Grace Wilson

  * * *

  When cars became fashionable, the coachman (in top hat) had to learn to drive. Next to him is Mrs. Bradley Martin. Behind them, in uniform, is the Earl of Craven with his wife Cornelia.

  Left: Helene Beckwith, as Lady Leigh, was a discreet châtelaine who made only those changes she felt utterly necessary.

  Right: Today Stoneleigh contains a red velvet sofa reputedly given to Helene Leigh by Louis Napoleon, whom she had met as a débutante at the Imperial Court in Paris.

  A WOMAN’S HOME IS HER CASTLE

  The American châtelaine had to accustom herself to this powerful backstairs culture. Efficiency must be jettisoned in favor of convention—the usual American concession in England. But she no longer had to resign herself to discomfort. The moment she got the chance, she tackled bringing the family seat up to American standards. Helene Beckwith, a New Yorker married to the third Lord Leigh at the advanced age of forty-three, had a large closet at Stoneleigh Abbey converted to hold a bathtub so she wouldn’t have to traipse down the hall to her bath, clad only in a wrapper, under the servants’ gaze. Mrs. Bradley Martin, mother of the young Countess of Craven, was responsible for installing bathrooms at Hamstead Marshall, while Flora Sharon’s alterations at Easton Neston included new plumbing. (Her great-grandson has had some of the taps gilded, which would surely have pleased Flora.) The Honourable Mrs. Charles Coventry, while renting Lord Camoys’ Stonor Park (as Lily Whitehouse of Newport, she had been a childhood friend of his wife, Mildred Sherman), reportedly installed an oil heater from a steamship. Lady Camoys, exhibiting the usual American concern about hygiene, later had all the posts cut off Stonor’s fourposter beds and the hangings removed because she thought they were germy.

  Once the plumbing had been improved, the American châtelaine could do some cosmetic work. Occasionally, this fell into the category of wishful thinking, as in the case of Flora Sharon’s medievalization of Easton Neston. Lady Camoys put a porch on red-brick, medieval and Elizabethan Stonor. Having grown up in the multi-porched Newport house that H.H. Richardson designed for her father, William Watts Sherman, she may have had visions of long, sunny afternoons spent drinking lemonade in the beech-bound valley of the Chiltern hills near Oxford. The family took meals on the porch when the weather permitted, but there was little to remind anyone of Newport. Vivien Gould’s husband, Lord Decies, bought the medieval (with eighteenth-century modifications) Leixlip Castle after their marriage; Vivien installed Tudor mullions in place of the Georgian Gothic windows and paneled several rooms in oak. Women who had married “the tone of time” wanted their homes to look properly old.

  A bill to Sir Thomas Fermor-Hesketh for, among other items, a “best real crocodile suitcase made to order lined best real pigskin.” The bill, dated October 1893, includes items carried over from December of 1892. Gentry seldom paid promptly.

  In some cases, this return to the old style took place outdoors, and with no small sophistication. At Blenheim, for instance, the formal setting planned by the architect Vanbrugh had been swept away by Capability Brown in the eighteenth century. Though Brown’s landscaping (including the celebated “drowned bridge”) was lovely, taste had changed by 1895 and his destruction of the formal gardens seemed tragic. After replanting a grande allée of elms to the north of the palace, Sunny set about restoring the gardens. With French architect Achille Duchêne, he planned an Italian garden with symmetrical beds of dwarf box on the east side of the palace. The supreme labor, however, was the water garden constructed on the west front, where the land sloped steeply to the lake. Two terraces, each with pools and statuary, led the eye gently down to the lake below in a logical and beautiful sequence. While the look of the altera
tions at Blenheim depended in large part on Sunny’s aesthetic judgment, which was unusually refined, Cornelia Craven relied rather on her subconscious in planning her “Dream Garden” at Hamstead Marshall. It literally came to her in her sleep. The next morning she gathered her gardeners together and had them follow her, marking her steps in whitewash to outline the beds she had dreamed of.

  A PLACE FOR EVERYONE

  Not belonging to any class could be an advantage in England—unless the English chose to rub one’s nose in it, which they did every day when they lined up in order of rank to go in to dinner. Precedence, in England, was a legal right, and violation of this right was actionable. Of course, it never came to that, but tales abounded of huffy peeresses elbowing each other at doorways. The highest-ranking man went first, matched with the highest-ranking lady who wasn’t his wife, and so on down from duke to baronet’s younger son.

  Should there be two guests of the same rank at dinner, the one whose title was older (say, an earldom from 1630 as opposed to 1765) would go first, or “take precedence.” The same was true of their wives. Thus American heiress Beatrice Mills, married to the 8th Earl of Granard, would take precedence of fellow American Eloise Breese, whose husand was only the 2nd Earl of Ancaster. But Eloise would go before her sister Anna, Lady Alastair Innes-Ker, whose husband was only the younger brother of a duke.

  It seemed odd to Consuelo Marlborough that she, a mere girl of nineteen, should precede older, wiser and more beautiful women. But the strict rules of precedence produced much odder situations: fathers taking their daughters in to dinner since the girls were the highest-ranking women there; young boys called down from the schoolroom to sit at the head of the table; a general yielding place to his aide-de-camp because the latter was a lord. At a country-house party, one had the same dinner partners for the duration of the stay, no matter how dull or odious they might be. Only new arrivals with new ranks would cause a musical-chairs shift at the dinner table. Unfortunately, Americans had no rank unless it was diplomatic or acquired through marriage. No matter what their position at home (in the States, seating usually went according to “consequence,” which tended to mean income), they would go at the end of the line and sit at the bottom of the table.

  A party going down to dinner, two by two.

  The most typical alterations by the American heiress châtelaine involved transporting the Louis fixation to the English countryside. Appalled by the dinginess and dilapidation of her new home, many an heiress spent thousands of dollars to make it splendid. Poor, unhappy Florence Gordon-Cumming tried to console herself by tarting up the two Gordon-Cumming houses: the vast, gloomy Gordonstoun (which, according to Florence’s elder daughter, was full of oubliettes and dungeons, and which has now been turned into a school whose most famous alumni are Prince Philip and Prince Charles) and the far more cheerful Altyre. In the former, she installed electric light, the requisite bathrooms, an Italian garden, new paneling and, since she was very religious, a reredos in the chapel. Altyre she rebuilt and redecorated almost completely—twice. New gunrooms, nurseries and schoolrooms were constructed, as well as an elevator, a chapel, and stables so large that later one barn was turned into a squash court. The bathrooms and corridors were paved with mosaic, her bedroom filled with Florentine furniture, all cherubs and putti. The dining room had parquet floors, red walls and a white scrolled ceiling. Sir William’s sister was so horrified by these changes that she never went back to Altyre. And, as pointed out by Florence’s daughter, the redecoration, done “in the richest style . . . has all lasted.”

  All the American money in the world couldn’t make Gordonstoun cheerful.

  * * *

  When he finally inherited Kedleston in 1916, George Curzon embarked on a renovation program that included installing bathrooms. With characteristic attention to detail, he lay down in all the bathtubs (first lining them with newspaper) to make sure they were long enough.

  * * *

  Below: Duchess of Roxburghe May Goelet, painted by Edward Hughes.

  Above: Floors Castle, the Innes-Ker family seat, where some of May’s coroneted Red and table linens are still in use.

  The same is true at Floors Castle, which the Duchess of Roxburghe, May Goelet, completely transformed. The red damask with which she covered the walls of the Needle Room, the pale pink brocade upholstery’ in the main salon, the gilding, paneling and, most important, Brussels tapestries that her mother had carted to Ochre Court every summer—these remain as luxurious-looking as ever.

  Sometimes the decorating techniques employed by the American aristocrats—scavenging from the Old World to furnish the New—were put to good use by American heiress châtelaines. Mary Smith, niece and heiress of the famous financier “Chicago” Smith, married, in 1887, a solicitor from Scotland named George Cooper and lived quietly enough in Elgin until she inherited £4 million. The Coopers then bought a town house in Grosvenor Square and Hursley Park in Hampshire, which they proceeded to enlarge and renovate. In the ballroom, the boiseries (French wall carvings) came from art dealer Joseph Duveen and framed the inevitable set of Boucher tapestries. The Inner Hall was paneled with woodwork from the chapel at Winchester College (since returned to Winchester), while the boudoir paneling came from a house in Yorkshire. The drawing room was all white and gold, with cornices and columns and pilasters, mirrored doors and brocade armchairs, chandeliers and a few pieces of priceless porcelain. It could have been the drawing room of any nouveau riche in the United States or in England. In the end, the American heiress with sufficient worldly goods was able to refashion her surroundings. She could achieve a truce with the servants and physical comfort, perhaps even elegance in the family home. But all the piped-in hot water in the world might not make her happy as an English noblewoman. That, the most important adjustment, depended entirely on her inner resources.

  Although the 8th Duke of Roxburghe had been portrayed to New York’s press as a wealthy man, his home required considerable sprucing up.

  “The Triumphs of the Gods”: kite seventeenth-century tapestries at Floors, where Bacchus, Flora, Neptune, Venus and Apollo gambol all over the walls.

  A hefty percentage of much of this home-improvement expenditure found its way into the pockets of art dealer Joseph Duveen.

  COSTUME CHANGES

  Bearing in mind the exigencies of one costume change, the fact that three or more were required daily accounts in one swoop for what Victorian ladies did with their time. A lady of high fashion might dress as follows during the London season.

  EARLY MORNING

  Skin-tight riding habit (black, navy blue, dark green) from Busvine; gloves, boots, hat, veil, riding crop, knot of flowers in buttonhole.

  LATE MORNING

  “Modest”dress for interviewing housekeeper, shopping, writing letters. Relatively plain, merino or serge, subdued color, neat but not gaudy; sleeves always long, to emphasize that one is above household chores.

  LUNCHEON

  Visiting dress. Silk, grosgrain, sometimes brocade; trimmings more elaborate than for morning dresses, from upholstery-look bobbles and chenille of the ‘80s to delicate chiffon ruffles fashionable twenty years later. Bonnet or hat, skewered to elaborate coiffure often augmented by someone else’s hair. Parasol, reticule, mantle, gloves, etc.

  Jennie Churchill, stunning in a riding costume.

  Flora Fermor-Hesketh, in sporting attire.

  Daisy Warwick, with son Maynard, in a simple morning dress.

  Cornelia Craven, shortly after her marriage, in an afternoon dress.

  AFTERNOON

  For paying calls, visiting dress as above; same for strolling in Hyde Park. For garden parties, Henley, Ascot, cricket at Lord’s, polo at Ranelagh, lighter fabrics (silk, chiffon, the famous Edwardian laces), more frivolous bonnet trimming. For yachting, the strictest of tailor-mades, with ornament limited to buttons and braid.

  DINNER

  Neckline cut down but still modest (known as a “half-high bodice”); sleeves at
least to the elbow. Fabrics dressy (satin, chiffon) but not grand.

  RECEPTIONS

  High-necked, long-sleeved but formal dress, possibly with a train; luxurious fabrics. A Worth reception dress from 1892 was bright blue with black stripes, trimmed with lace and jet. Dignity the keynote.

  THEATER

  Demure attire. Black or dark blue, with high neck and long sleeves, to discourage attention from the public at large. If a ball was on the evening’s schedule, so was a change of clothes.

  OPERA

  Velvets and brocades, pearl trimmings, antique lace, and (in the 1900s) glittery appliqués. Safe in their boxes, society women pulled out all stops. Décolletage, often dramatic (“commence trop lard” was a censorious phrase used of necklines in the ‘90s). Long gloves. Jewels for matrons. Flowers in hair. Fur wraps.

  BALLS

  As above, but fuller skirt and perhaps showier lining to train (which one picked up for dancing). Gold lace rather than white; metallic threads and jewel trimmings; richer colors such as imperial purple. If royalty were to be present, a married lady wore her tiara. (One’s maid waited in the dressing room to reposition one’s headdress or tend to a torn frill.) The splendor reached its apogee at court balls, where women had to compete with men in uniform (all that gold braid). They managed.

  Lady Grey-Egerton, née May Cuyler, ready for a ball with gloves, fan and train.