Lady Almina and the Real Downton Abbey: The Lost Legacy of Highclere Castle

by The Countess of Carnarvon

  It was the sort of situation Almina possessed all the right qualities to handle. Immediately she phoned De Havilland and enquired about chartering a plane and a pilot. Then she threw some clothes in a bag, informed Dr Johnnie that they were leaving for Egypt immediately, and set off for Croydon aerodrome. They flew in a three-seater plane to Paris, took the train to Lyons and picked up a second plane to take them all the way to Cairo. A journey that could still take up to three weeks by boat and train took them three days. Almina rushed to her husband’s bedside and, pausing long enough only to embrace Eve and resume her nurse’s air of patient calm, set about nursing him back to health. She had done it many times before and would not countenance anything less than a complete recovery. Her beloved husband was in the hour of his triumph; he simply must get better.

  On 27 March The Times reported that Lord Carnarvon had rallied. The King sent a message of encouragement. On the 28th it informed its readers that the Earl of Carnarvon had relapsed. There was a press bulletin from Seamore Place on the 30th: ‘patient slightly better; temperature 102; condition still very serious.’ By 3 April the press were reporting every few hours on Lord Carnarvon’s progress. His illness was now the story: on the state of his health depended the next chapter in the Tutankhamun saga that had gripped the entire world.

  On 1 April Alan Gardiner went in to see Carnarvon. ‘He had a terrible crisis just before 6 o’clock … I was quite miserable about it … why am I so fond of him … and that poor little girl, it nearly breaks my heart with her devotion, there she sits day and night tired out and waits. Yesterday he was given up for hopeless but Evelyn and Lady Carnarvon insisted he would pull through. This morning he insisted on being shaved and has been much better.’

  By the time Lord Porchester arrived, Carnarvon had developed pneumonia and was delirious. Almina was losing hope. Henry stared down at the feverish man; the father he hardly knew, who he had only lately begun to realise loved him dearly. The war had separated them at the time when they might have become friends, and now it seemed it was too late to catch up.

  In the early hours of Thursday 5 April, Carnarvon appeared to rally briefly. ‘I have heard the call, I am preparing.’ He died shortly after.

  Almina was kneeling at his side, weeping softly. Gently, she closed his eyes. One of the nurses rushed to fetch Porchester and Lady Evelyn. As they made their way to their father’s rooms, the hotel corridor was plunged into darkness. The lights went out all over Cairo. Back at Highclere, Lord Carnarvon’s beloved terrier Susie howled once, waking the housekeeper in whose room she was sleeping, and died.

  Eve was inconsolable and, having kissed her father’s hands, her brother helped her out of the room. Howard Carter, Alan Gardiner, Dr Johnnie, the Bethells and the Maxwells were all gathered in the sitting room and, as Porchy comforted his sister, Dr Johnnie went in to help Almina.

  Nobody slept much that night. The following morning, the new Earl of Carnarvon found Carter, eyes dull from exhaustion, reading the obituaries of his dear friend and patron. All the Egyptian newspapers were edged in black as a mark of respect. There was a second wave of cables from all around the world, except this time they were of condolence, not congratulation.

  Almina was distraught. Her children worried about her but she reassured them: they should get on and leave Egypt, she would make arrangements to bring Lord Carnarvon’s body home. So Evelyn and Porchester set off for Port Said, where they met Catherine en route from India and made their way back to England. Porchy, who had always disliked Egypt, couldn’t wait to get away. Eve had adored the place; she never went back.

  As Almina arranged for her husband’s body to be embalmed, the press unleashed lavish speculation about the Curse of the Pharaohs. The biggest story in the world just kept growing. The Times reported more soberly, ‘Millions who do not ordinarily take much thought … of antiquities have watched the progress of [Lord Carnarvon’s] great adventure with deep and growing interest.’ The question was, what would happen next?

  Howard Carter remained in Cairo with Almina until she departed with Lord Carnarvon’s body for England on the P&O steamship Malova, on Saturday 14 April. Carter returned to Luxor the following day, very low in spirit. There are no entries in his diary for the next week. He was an intensely private person with few close friends and was lost without the one he had worked alongside for fifteen years, with whom he had made the greatest archaeological discovery of all time. They should have been planning the opening of Tutankhamun’s sarcophagus together. But Carnarvon would not, after all, ever lay eyes on the innermost secrets of the tomb. It was for Howard Carter to come face to face with Tutankhamun’s extraordinary funeral mask, without the man who had made that possible by his side.

  Almina and Dr Johnnie made the long, slow voyage back. Lord Carnarvon had stipulated in his will that he wished to be buried in a simple grave at the top of Beacon Hill, alongside the remains of the Iron Age fort and looking out over the Highclere estate. They would land at Plymouth, to be met by Lady Evelyn, and take Lord Carnarvon’s body on a special train to Highclere. All the fight had gone out of Almina; this homecoming was an agonising crawl compared to their hope-fuelled dash just weeks ago.

  It was a lovely fresh morning on 30 April two days after their return when the mourners gathered in the family chapel. The tall doors to the vaulted flint and brick building stood wide open. The green and cream tiled floor and beautifully carved pews could be glimpsed through the entrance as black-coated undertakers carefully carried the coffin out and loaded it into an Army field ambulance. A young soldier watched them and then climbed up to accompany the casket. Two undertakers climbed up after him and secured the coffin for the final leg of its journey.

  The family had asked to be left in peace at this event, but it didn’t seem likely, given the enormous amount of coverage they had received ever since the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb.

  The ambulance pulled away up the hill, past the dairy yard, the greenhouses and tenants’ cottages. Passing in front of the Castle, it was joined by three long black cars bearing Evelyn, Catherine, Lord Carnarvon’s three beloved sisters: Winifred, Margaret and Vera, and his brother Mervyn. Lord Burghclere was there but Aubrey had been staying at his villa in Portofino and was too ill to make the journey, plagued by more problems with his failing sight. Dr Johnnie was there, as was Major Rutherford, the agent. Almina had set off alone in a car fifteen minutes earlier. The procession wound its way down Lime Avenue, a magnificent parade of pale-leaved trees, with rolling parkland stretching away on both sides, passed under the arch at Winchester Lodge and stopped by the golf course that Lord Carnarvon had laid out twenty years earlier along the lower stretches of Beacon Hill.

  The new Earl of Carnarvon climbed down from the ambulance; Major Rutherford and Dr Johnnie got down from the cars. They were joined by a group of loyal servants already waiting at the foot of the hill including Mr Streatfield, Mr Fearnside, Mr Blake, Mr Storie and Mr Maber. Accompanied by the rectors of Highclere and Burghclere, the men began the climb to the grave, which had been dug and consecrated the previous day. It was a steep scramble between ancient juniper and thorn bushes.

  The ambulance and cars continued to the edge of the golf course where the slope was gentlest and they could just about struggle up the shoulder of the hill. The cars stood out against the skyline as they arrived at the windswept summit, 900 feet above sea level, a grey lookout over the lush wooded landscape below. The ambulance followed behind, attached to a tractor for the last few feet of its journey.

  Almina stood, all in black, at the graveside, and greeted the mourners as they arrived. They paused to survey the spectacular view. The whole of the late Earl’s adored Highclere was laid out before them, from the stud to the farm, the lakes to the drives and woods. Nestled at the heart of it all was the Victorian Castle, the parkland around it dotted with follies built by his forebears. It provided such a contrast to the dust and deserts of Egypt. The 5th Earl had chosen a majestic, isolated burial
site, awe-inspiring in a very different way to that of the barren sand mountains and jagged cliffs of the Egyptian Pharaoh Tutankhamun.

  Eight men from the estate bore the coffin from the ambulance and laid it on the wooden bearers over the grave. The casket had been made from an oak tree in the park and was draped in the late Earl’s purple, ermine-trimmed coronation robe; his coronet lay on top. At 11.00 a.m., Rev. Mr Jephson and Rev. Mr Best led the simple burial service that Lord Carnarvon had requested. Once it was concluded, the robe and coronet were handed to George Fearnside, the late Earl’s faithful valet. The plaque on the coffin was inscribed ‘George Edward Stanhope Molyneux Herbert, 5th Earl of Carnarvon, born 26 June 1866, died 5 April 1923’.

  As the mourners peeled away, clutching handkerchiefs to their eyes, they left Almina kneeling by her husband’s grave. A bi-plane hired by the Daily Express buzzed overhead; from within a photographer snapped shots of the widow that appeared the following day. Then, as now, the press could not resist pursuing every story to its limit.

  The rumours continued to swirl around the Earl’s death. It was said that the ground on Beacon Hill was so difficult to dig that the coffin had to be laid vertically, and then that his faithful terrier was buried alongside him. Over the years the rumours and the fascination with the ‘Curse of the Pharaohs’ grew to support wild theories. Much was made of some coincidences that linked the Earl to Tutankhamun: Lord Carnarvon had suffered from a troublesome knee and CT scans suggest one of Tutankhamun’s was fractured. A mosquito bite probably contributed to the death of each man: when Lord Carnarvon nicked the bite on his face it became infected, eventually killing him as the consequent blood poisoning overcame him. Experts later discovered that Tutankhamun had probably contracted malaria, which is transmitted by mosquitoes. Even the shape of Lord Carnarvon’s head proved of interest to the theorists. He often joked that he never lost his hats to anyone because they would only fit him: his head was slightly domed. Later on, experts would spend much time assessing the shape of Tutankhamun’s head, because there seemed to be a congenital domed shape to his skull. The idea that he had been struck on the head has now been dismissed – the indentation marks were probably due to carelessness in carrying out the mummification procedure rather than any skulduggery.

  But for the 5th Earl’s family, the significance of his death was much more visceral, though it was not exactly simple. Aubrey wrote of his brother’s death, ‘One never knows how much one cares for a person until it is too late.’ The two men had always been close, but nonetheless this truism haunted Aubrey. Evelyn was bereft without her adored father; Almina likewise was devastated. And then there was Porchy, who had perhaps the heaviest burden. He had never been close to his father and now he had to succeed him. As he walked down the hill and surveyed the estate that was now his to uphold, he contemplated the great change that was coming to his life.

  Almina felt it too, but for now she concentrated on ensuring that her husband was given the send-off appropriate to a man whose discovery of the Pharaoh’s tomb had turned him into a national hero. He had received the intimate funeral he wanted, but now it was time to mark the passing of a celebrity. Almina arranged a memorial service at Highclere church for personal friends and estate employees and tenantry two days later. A further service was held by the Mayor and Corporation of Newbury at St Nicholas’s Church. Then she travelled back to London and held a larger memorial service, open to all, at St Margaret’s, Westminster, where her son had married the year before and she had married the Earl in 1895. The service was attended by hundreds of people, including Elsie, Lord Carnarvon’s loyal stepmother, and Mr Brograve Beauchamp, who had become a friend of Lady Evelyn’s and wanted to lend his support.

  On the same day a further service of commemoration was held at All Saints’ Cathedral in Cairo. The Egyptian papers had reported every detail of the Earl’s illness and his funeral on Beacon Hill. Now there were many friends and colleagues who wanted to pay their respects to the big-hearted English gentleman who loved Egypt and whose discovery brought the country incalculable recognition and prestige. Abbas Hilmy el-Masri, a distinguished Egyptian poet, paid a beautifully worded tribute to Lord Carnarvon, saying he had contributed to Egypt’s glory in a manner which ‘Sahban the greatest Arabic orator, could not have equalled.’

  Lord Carnarvon was just fifty-seven when he died, but the old way of doing things, in the Valley of the Kings and at Highclere, died with him. From now on the Egyptian government would lay first claim to the Pharaoh’s legacy and, back at Highclere, the family was dealing with the first succession to the title and estate of the twentieth century. The modern world, with its dismantling of privilege for some and extension of freedom for others, had overtaken everyone.

  21

  Inheritance

  Everything changed for Almina when her husband died in May 1923. All her life she had been supported by men who had loved and spoilt her. Firstly through her beloved father, Alfred de Rothschild, and then her husband, she had effortless access to beautiful houses and distinguished people, the finest lifestyle that Imperial Britain had to offer. She could throw parties, create hospitals, shower everyone around her with presents, and be gifted a sense of community, and her exalted position within it, in return.

  During the war she had used her position and her personal attributes and gifts at Highclere and in Bryanston Square in an extraordinarily positive way. Now she was on her own, widowed at forty-seven. On some days she felt exhausted and quite overwhelmed by grief and loneliness. For the first time in her life, she was unsure of herself. And there was a great deal to think about and to resolve.

  Almina started with a few crucial details. What was she going to be called now that she was no longer the Countess of Carnarvon? There was already a Dowager Countess, the indefatigable Elsie, who – though now in her sixties – was definitely not slowing down. She lived mostly at her house in London so that she could be busy with her work for the Vocal Therapy Association and numerous other societies and charities. With that option closed to her, Almina announced in The Times that she would like to be known as Almina, Countess of Carnarvon.

  Then there was the matter of moving out of Highclere. Tradition dictated that when a new incumbent succeeded, the former holders of the title and inhabitants of the estate retired gracefully from the scene. Naturally the older generations were not exactly put out on the street and, in any case, Almina had her own house at Seamore Place, but even so, she was facing the definitive moment of displacement. Highclere was now the new Earl and Countess of Carnarvon’s home, not hers.

  Porchy was utterly devoted to the welfare of Highclere, but he was also just twenty-four years old and had never lived there in his adult life. He had had no opportunity to observe how it functioned in detail, and his wife, who had grown up in a very different environment in the States, was going to have to learn alongside him.

  In addition to all the adjustments at home, there was also the international dimension to consider. The man to whom Almina had been devoted had died at the pinnacle of his efforts and fame. There was an enormous unfinished task currently stalled in Egypt that needed her input to resume, and its repercussions in terms of negotiations with the Egyptian State, various museums and the media had barely begun.

  Almina had some significant problems. The 5th Earl had died without mentioning the Valley of the Kings concession in his will. Almina knew she wanted to carry on the work in Tutankhamun’s tomb in her husband’s memory. As far as she was concerned, that meant extending financial help to Howard Carter so that he could press on with the project. She told Carter that she would continue to fund the excavation and that he should make plans for the forthcoming season. On 12 July she also signed an agreement with Monsieur Lacau of the Department of Antiquities that granted her the right to spend a further year clearing the tomb, from November. The rest of the Valley of the Kings no longer formed part of the concession.

  Howard Carter was in England for most of the summer and ma
de several visits to Highclere, where he helped Almina to pack the Earl’s priceless collection of antiquities safely. It was utterly unique, with many items worth more than £20,000 each. Lord Carnarvon had made various bequests to the British Museum and the Metropolitan Museum of New York, but both Carter and Almina hoped that, if the collection were to be absorbed into a museum, the bulk of it would remain a single unit.

  Carter was of course hugely relieved that his work was not in jeopardy, and very grateful to Almina, but he missed his old friend’s company and collaboration terribly. He was incapable of idleness and he spent most of his time preparing a book. The Tomb of Tutankhamun was published later that year. Carter dedicated it to his ‘beloved friend and colleague Lord Carnarvon, who died in the hour of his triumph. But for his untiring generosity and constant encouragement our labours would never have been crowned with success. His judgement in art has rarely been equalled. His efforts, which have done so much to extend our knowledge of Egyptology, will forever be honoured in history and, by me, his memory will always be cherished.’

  Poor Carter was permanently downcast after Lord Carnarvon’s death. His dedication never wavered and he eventually completed his task, but it was a struggle. He and Almina ended up in a dispute with the Department of Antiquities that ran until the end of the following year. It began when Carter resumed work in the November of 1923. He couldn’t cope with the constant interruptions and eventually closed the tomb completely. The Egyptian government promptly banned him from both the site and his laboratory. For a nation exploring its new-found independence, it was an ideal opportunity to try to bring the excavation back under an Egyptian aegis. Exhausting wrangles with Egyptian officialdom, legal arguments over rights and obligations and much petty squabbling caused Carter to sink further into depression.