Lady Astor wasn’t too good with umbrellas, particularly in later life. She would meet a friend in the street, start chatting and hang her brolly on an iron railing if there was one nearby so that she could use her hands for gestures. When the conversation was over she’d often walk off and leave it there. Many’s the journey of hers I’ve had to retrace looking for one.
Another accessory that was in constant use when I first joined her was fans. She had a beautiful collection from many countries. The feathers that looked so gorgeous with their tortoiseshell handles needed great care to keep them fresh and clean. It seemed a shame when they went out of fashion. I think her ladyship missed them because she used them to great theatrical effect when she was talking to visitors and friends. Eventually, I’m glad to say, she gave them to Miss Joyce Grenfell, the actress, who is a niece and a friend as well. Yet another accessory of that time which also followed fans into retirement was lace. Lady Astor had a most beautiful collection which I was able to learn from. It was eventually all boxed up and put away though I did keep some to use on her black velvet dresses, coffee-coloured collars and turned-back cuffs, rather as they were worn in King Charles’s time. Lace had to be cleaned most carefully and ours was always sent to a specialist cleaner.
Of all the things committed to my charge the jewellery caused me the most concern. When I first joined her ladyship I was given a list of all that she owned and I had to sign for it. It ran to about five pages of foolscap; I’ve got it to this day and nothing will make me part with it. It now shows where every piece went to and to whom it went. It has proved very useful even since her ladyship’s death and it will always serve to give me a clean bill of health. It really is extraordinary when you think that I, a servant earning £75 a year, should be given the care of jewels whose value ran into hundreds of thousands of pounds. I alone knew the combination number of the safe. I expect there was a copy of it kept in the office but her ladyship could never remember it, which was fortunate for me since she couldn’t take anything without my knowing about it, and although she wouldn’t thank me for saying so she had a very poor memory over certain things. The very valuable pieces were of course kept in the bank in St James’s Square; this was a condition imposed by the insurance people, but I was sent to collect anything as it was required, and again had to sign for it. What would have happened if I had lost anything I don’t know, it’s something I don’t like to think about, but it would have been a long time before they could have got its worth back out of my wages; I should have had to have lived to be as old as Methuselah!
Perhaps the most valuable of all her ladyship’s jewellery was the Sancy diamond. Its history fascinated me as much as the diamond itself. It was bought in Constantinople in 1570 by the Seigneur de Sancy, French Ambassador to Turkey; an almond-shaped beauty faceted Indian fashion on both sides. When Sancy became French Ambassador in Britain, King Henry IV of Navarre asked to borrow it. Sancy agreed and sent a messenger with it. He never arrived. His body was found, but not the diamond. Sancy, believing in the boy’s loyalty, explored further, and it was discovered that he had swallowed the jewel. It was later sold to James I of England, then to Cardinal Mazarin and then to Louis XIV. After the French Revolution it went to Russia and finally William Waldorf Astor bought it for her ladyship. When I used to handle it I thought of all the places it had been, particularly the messenger’s stomach. Talk about Jonah and the whale! It caused a bit of excitement while it was with the Astors, and me a few anxious moments. When war was declared in 1939 his lordship decided that everything of value should be moved from London to Maidenhead. Mr Lee came to me and said, ‘I’ve just had a message from Lord Astor saying would you take the Sancy diamond to Cliveden when you next go.’
‘It’s in the bank,’ I said.
‘No it isn’t. His lordship’s cleared the bank and he says you must have it.’
Well, I was nearly out of my mind with fright, yet I knew I was right. After all I wasn’t likely to forget whether I’d got a few hundred thousand pounds’ worth of diamond in my possession, was I? I phoned Miss Jones, Lord Astor’s secretary. ‘Oh, he’s just spoken to me about it, Rose,’ she said. ‘He put it in his pocket and forgot that it was there.’
‘Put it in his pocket and then said that I’d got it,’ I shouted down the phone. ‘Wait till I see him, I’ll give him a piece of my mind!’
‘You can do it now, Rose,’ came the reply in his lordship’s voice. He’d taken the phone from Miss Jones. ‘It was very naughty of me.’
‘Naughty, my lord?’ I said, ‘it was criminal. You nearly murdered me, I was just about to have heart failure.’ I must say that for the next few days whenever he saw me he put his head in his hands and turned away.
I wasn’t the only one to have suffered through that diamond, Mr Lee informed me. ‘It happened,’ he said, ‘some years before you joined, Miss Harrison; there was a ball at St James’s Square and Lady Astor had lent the diamond to her sister, Mrs Nora Phipps, to wear on a gold chain. In the early hours of the morning her ladyship came up to me and whispered, “Mr Lee, the Sancy diamond is missing.”
‘“Missing, my lady, do you mean Mrs Phipps has lost it?”
‘“Yes,” she said. “Who do you think has taken it?”
‘“If you mean do I know who the thief is, my lady, it’s a question I can’t answer, but aren’t you jumping to conclusions?” She was.
‘“What about your men?” she said, knowing I’d hired some additional staff for the evening. “Do you think they’re honest?”
‘I looked hard at her. “Be reasonable,” I said, “What would the likes of us do with the Sancy diamond? The moment we tried to get rid of it we’d be arrested.”
‘“What about the band?” she said.
‘“The band has nothing to do with me, my lady, it was booked by your secretary.” It was Ambrose and his orchestra who were so popular at that time that they were engaged for all the big society balls; hardly likely to have wanted to combine rhythm and crime. “If it’s a question of theft, my lady, it would more likely be one of your guests; they would be in a better position to dispose of the diamond. If you believe it to have been stolen I suggest you ring Scotland Yard.”
‘She went to his lordship but he wouldn’t hear about calling in the police. It was just as well. I informed all the staff that it was missing and the next morning at seven one of the under-housemaids came to my room with the Sancy diamond in her hand. “Mr Lee,” she said, “is this the thing there’s all the fuss about?” She’d found it under a carpet. It had probably been swept under by the ladies’ long dresses. And that, Miss Harrison,’ said Mr Lee, ‘was the mystery of the Sancy diamond.’
Mr Lee always spun his stories delightfully, and I must say I liked the housemaid’s reference to the famous diamond as a ‘thing’. It seemed to put it in its place. Once Mr Lee got into his stride he was a hard man to stop. He went on to tell me about the time her ladyship’s pearls were missing. ‘It was in 1919, Miss Harrison, just about the time society was getting into gear again after the First World War, and when her ladyship had won her seat in the Commons, for Plymouth. There’d been a party at the house in Elliot Terrace and the morning following Lady Astor sent for me and said, “Lee, my pearls have been stolen.”
‘“I’m sorry to hear that, my lady,” I said. “When and by whom?”
‘“It must have been last night,” she said, “and I don’t know who took them.”
‘“Then you mean they’re missing, my lady.”
‘“I’ve searched everywhere and so has Miss Samson.” Miss Samson was her lady’s maid though she’d only been with her a short time. “They must have been stolen. Ring the police.”
‘“Very well, my lady.” I tried to convey that she was being a little hasty, but I had to do as she said. The sergeant came round and true to form he started off with, “What’s her maid like?” It was always the staff that came under suspicion. I tried to explain that it was unlikely that she could hav
e taken them because she’d have no means of getting rid of them, but he still wasn’t convinced.
‘“She’s the one most likely to have done it; I’ll question her first.” He interviewed her in the library. Poor Miss Samson, she came out blazing with fury and with tears running down her cheeks, just in time to hear her ladyship say, “We’ve found them.” Apparently her secretary, Miss Jenkins, had turned out the wastepaper basket in her room, and discovered that the pearls had dropped in there. When I next saw Miss Samson I thought it only right to express my sympathy for what had happened, and she told me her story. Apparently, that bullying sergeant had written out a statement for her to sign admitting that she’d stolen the pearls. When she wouldn’t he insisted on searching her.’ Then Mr Lee’s voice dropped to a horrified whisper: ‘Do you know, Miss Harrison, she told me that he had even put his hand inside her breeches.’ I must say I found it hard to keep a straight face, not at what the sergeant had done to Miss Samson, but because Mr Lee found it impossible to refer to her undergarment by its familiar name of ‘knickers’.
We did have a real burglary at Cliveden while I was there. It was during the summer; a painter had left a ladder at one of the bedroom windows and the thief managed to get into my lady’s room and take some small pieces of jewellery which were lying around. I think he must have been disturbed because there were a number of valuables left behind and none of her drawers had been opened. The police and the insurance people came and investigated but they weren’t able to find whoever had done it. A few days later his lordship called me in to see him. ‘We think it would be a good thing if we changed the safe, Rose. Instead of a combination we shall have an ordinary type of lock, and there will be two small keys, one for Lady Astor and one for you. They’ll be a gold colour and we’ll buy you a gold bracelet and you can carry it on that.’
I had to think very fast. ‘That won’t do for me at all, my lord,’ I said.
‘Why, what do you mean, Rose?’ He wasn’t used to having his decisions challenged and it was the first time I’d done it.
I said, ‘I’m the only person who knows the combination of the safe at present, but only you and her ladyship know that I’m the only one. If I’m seen carrying a key on my wrist everybody will realize what it’s for, and if a wrong ‘un finds out I may end up with my wrist cut off. Oh no, my lord, that won’t do for me at all.’ He laughed a bit but I could see that what I’d said had gone home.
‘All right, Rose, we’ll leave things as they are for the time being.’ He had to allow himself a loophole as regards time, but nothing further was ever mentioned about it after that. Now I don’t want you to think that I was a coward and that I was really afraid about my wrist, but I knew that if her ladyship had access to the safe I would never be able to keep track of where her jewellery was, and my life would have been made a misery. But I couldn’t very well tell his lordship that, could I?
Apart from the Sancy diamond and the pearls, the other special pieces of jewellery were the tiaras. Her ladyship had five. The most beautiful and valuable was the Astor heirloom, the second was a bandeau of diamonds and pearls, the third aquamarines and diamonds, the fourth she bought herself – it was of spiky diamonds – and the fifth was an imitation of the first. It was used by her for the less important occasions and she also often lent it to her friends. All her most precious jewellery was expensive to wear because from the moment it left the bank until its return there was a special insurance premium in operation. Not that she ever stopped to think about that. She loved wearing it and she often used too much for my taste. She’d turn round to me and say, ‘How do I look, Rose?’ and I’d reply, ‘Haven’t you forgotten the kitchen stove, my lady?’ earning myself the customary, ‘Shut up, Rose!’
Then she had a big sapphire and diamond chain which she’d separate and wear as bracelets, one on each wrist, and two large diamond earrings, as large as cobnuts they were. One of these she lost one night at some ‘do’ at the Café Royal. There was the usual hullabaloo about thieves. I was round there first thing in the morning and collected it straight away. A cleaner had found it and handed it in; just another example of how honest staff were at that time. One of her favourite pieces was a sapphire and diamond tee that she had won as a prize at golf when she was partnering the Prince of Wales, later Edward VIII. She wore it as a scarf pin when she went out golfing. It was lost and found, lost and found, trampled on, repaired and finally replaced. Rood’s, the jewellers, must have made a lot of money from that piece alone.
I wonder how widely the kind of relationship jewellers had with their clients is known. It wasn’t just making a sale and that’s that. It was as if you had your jewellery on loan from them. They cared for it in every way: cleaning; repairing and resetting. Pieces were photographed and detailed and if lost, replaced, so that you couldn’t tell the difference. Jewellers were all courtesy and kindness towards ladies’ maids and were prepared to teach you how to clean things and keep them looking their best. I take my own small bits to Cartier’s or Rood’s from time to time and I’m always greeted as one of the family, even though I can now be of no value whatsoever to them. It’s just one of those things that makes a lifetime spent in service worthwhile.
I remember once how useful Cartier’s were. It was one of her ladyship’s stormy days when nothing went right or was right. She was getting at me and finding fault with everything. She picked up a bracelet and said, ‘Look at this, Rose, it’s absolutely filthy; don’t you ever clean my jewellery?’
I gave her a bright smile and said, ‘Filthy, my lady? Then what a good thing you noticed it. You see it came back from being cleaned at Cartier’s this morning. I’ll pack it up and return it to them, and perhaps you’ll enclose a note saying how badly they’ve done it.’
There was no ‘Shut up, Rose,’ this time; it would have been ‘Shut up, my lady,’ only I didn’t have to say it.
The restringing of the pearls was a regular event and it developed into a ritual. Miss Grace from Hopkin Jones, the Warwick Street jewellers, did them. We would ring up and make an appointment, I would get the pearls from the bank and together we’d climb to my bedroom and on a table there she would restring them with me supposed to be watching her like a hawk, to make sure she didn’t replace any; she couldn’t have stolen them without doing this because when they were finished I had to count them – they were strung 42, 46, 49 and 54. I still carry the numbers about in my head. Well, I knew it was all a charade really, so did Miss Grace, and so I expect did Queen Mary’s maid, because Miss Grace used to restring her Majesty’s necklaces. Still it had to be gone through. It was at the jeweller’s insistence. You see it covered them against any later accusation, and their good name was their stock-in-trade. I don’t think I have ever seen a more beautiful clasp than those pearls had; it was an emerald snap with six diamonds on either side – whoppers they were.
Although we had occasional dramas with the expensive jewellery, these pieces more or less looked after themselves because their appearances were not everyday affairs. It was the smaller pieces that caused me the most concern. These her ladyship treated casually, lending them here and there, and sometimes even giving them away, without telling anybody. I needed eyes in the back of my head to keep tabs on them. Her furs sometimes caused me similar worries. When I first went there these were not officially made over to my charge. By that I mean I wasn’t given a list and made to sign for them. Nevertheless in fact I was held responsible and after an altercation with the office over one that went missing it was decided that they would from then on as it were be my property. This suited me. It was no good being half responsible, all or nothing was what I wanted, and I got it. A list of furs will I think show the scale of things in those days. Lady Astor had a long sable cape (for the opening of Parliament and state occasions), a mink, a nutria, a black broadtail and a Persian lamb; she had a short mink jacket and a short mink cape, short and long sable stoles, a chinchilla cape, a sable tie (made from three skins she brought back fr
om a visit to Russia), a black velvet evening coat lined with white ermine and some of her hats were decorated with expensive furs.
Bradley’s of Bayswater were responsible for cleaning, repairing and remodelling. I don’t think I shall give offence if I say that they were the leading house for furs at that time, though Bayswater seemed a bit provincial for such a company. The altercation to which I referred earlier was over the Russian sable tie. I had sent some of her ladyship’s furs, including that one, to Bradley’s for cleaning, and when I unpacked them on their return I found it was missing. Bradley’s swore it had been sent. After her ladyship cross-examined me it seemed apparent that she believed what Bradley’s had said. As I said to her in no uncertain terms, that meant that I must have stolen it, as I was the only person to have handled the furs on their return.
‘No, I believe you, Rose. I know it’s out of the question that you would do such a thing.’
‘But you still think Bradley’s sent it; that doesn’t make sense to me,’ I said. ‘The only right thing for you to do, my lady, is to call in Scotland Yard and I won’t rest until you have.’
Rose: My Life in Service to Lady Astor Page 8