Gentleman Jack

by Katy Derbyshire

  Two weeks later, Anne waited for the stagecoach down in the town every day, only to return home disappointed four times in a row. Then Mariana knocked at the door unexpectedly just as dinner was being served, which the Listers took at around half past four. In the meantime, Anne’s love life had become even more complicated. Charles Lawton had intercepted a letter from Anne to Mariana, which was not in his favour certainly;43 in fact it was a catastrophe, as Charles read in it that Anne was hoping for his death so as to live on his money with Mariana. It was now inconceivable for Anne to stay at Lawton Hall again as in the previous year. Mariana hoped at least that she could come once a year to Shibden, on her way to York.44 There was no imagining any more time together than that in the medium term. To continue sharing passionate, incriminating and daring thoughts in writing at least, Mariana learned Anne’s secret alphabet.45 After all, other letters might fall into Charles’ hands. Having spent six days at Shibden Hall, Mariana had to return to her husband.

  These days spent with Mariana rekindled Anne’s love and likewise her torments. She wanted to share her life with this woman and no other, and yet she could hope to do so less than ever. When her uncle one day raised the subject of marrying, Anne took care however to say that I never intended to marry at all. I cannot make up whether he suspects my situation towards Mariana. In the course of conversation I said, ’Well I think I could get on with Perce as well as anybody.’ ‘Perce’ came from Mariana’s middle name of Percy. Yet James did not apparently notice Anne’s insinuation that she could share her life with a woman. Either that or he did not wish to comment on the subject, as Anne complained in the same lines that it is his general custom when you tell him anything never to speak.46

  To prevent herself losing her mind over the hopeless situation with Mariana, Anne plunged into an even stricter study regime. If I was once to give way to idleness I should be wretched. Nothing but keeping my mind so intent upon study can divert the melancholy reflections which would constantly prey upon me on account of M–. Alas! They are even now a source of bitterness & disquiet that words can ill describe.47 Determined, she prescribed herself a rigorous timetable. For the present, I mean to devote my mornings, before breakfast to Greek, & afterwards, till dinner, to divide the time equally between Euclid and arithmetic till I have waded thro’ Walkingham, when I shall recommence my long neglected algebra. I must read a page or 2 French now & then and when I can. The afternoons & evenings are set apart for general reading, for walking, 1⁄2 an hour, or 3⁄4, practice on the flute,48 for which Aunt Anne accompanied her on the harpsichord. The flute was regarded at the time as just as ‘masculine’ as all the other subjects she was studying. Were Anne to come across a subject in her studies that had not yet been worked on, she intended to attempt the work herself. Writing was, after all, one of the few possible ways for women like her to earn money.

  To keep herself under scrutiny, Anne started a new diary, leaving the loose leaves of her youth and the recent exercise books behind her. In March of 1817 she bought a bound book with around 300 blank pages from the bookbinder Mr Whitley. It was almost square, 20 by 24 cm, and about 3 cm thick. She wrapped the marbled covers in thin calfskin. On the flyleaf, she wrote a programmatic quote by the historian Edward Gibbon: I propose from this day, August 24th, 1761, to keep an exact Journal of my actions and studies, both to assist my memory, and to accustom me to set a due value on my time.49 The habit was maintained up to Anne Lister’s death; this diary was followed by another twenty-three volumes of the same type, all of which have been preserved. Shortly before her twenty-sixth birthday, she had found her form as a diarist. Going against her earlier advice to her brother Samuel, however, she did not write down the day’s events every evening. She constantly made notes using pencil and paper and sometimes even chalk on slates, which she then edited as she entered them in the book. In the morning, writing out a rough draft of my journal of last Saturday, Friday, Thursday, Wednesday & Tuesday, she wrote on the following Tuesday, for instance. After tea, wrote the rough draft of my journal of Monday 15 December.50 She kept to this time-consuming two-stage process for the rest of her life. As Anne always had high demands but scant funds, the time and money she invested in her diaries shows how important they were to her. She paid far less attention to the language she used than in her letters, though; she often wrote carelessly, in complex constructions, using redundant formulations, a limited vocabulary and at times rough terms.

  Literally everything in the world interested her; her diary knew no bounds in terms of subject matter: from Prussia’s political standing in Europe to the care of her toenails, she considered everything worth writing down – conversations, books read, smallpox immunisations, the conditions on a slave ship, her own feelings, departure times of stagecoaches or the clear span of bridges. Her daily notes on the weather, including exact temperatures, could be used to draw up climate graphs for Yorkshire. Thanks to her marked need to measure the time, many of her days can be reconstructed down to fifteen-minute intervals. Alas! My watch stood again at 11. Je ne sais quoi faire! To be without a well-going watch is terrible to me, who measure all by time.51 Over the years, the extent of her diaries increased to the brink of unusability, as Anne realised. Details she might want to look up later were under threat of being lost in a tangled haystack of information. Anne therefore drew up several indices, for letters ‘from’ and ‘to’, for books and essays read and for their subjects. Although she found this task very tedious,52 she continued to make these indices while writing. Every volume of her diary ends with a register in which she indexed her life. She also used her diary to help her understand herself better. What a comfort [are] my journals, how I can write in crypt all as it really is, & throw it off my mind & console myself – thank God for it.53 About a sixth of the content of her diaries is encrypted. Anne spoke, very unusually, of her ‘crypt hand’. She used it to write everything that was actually un-writeable, and at the same time most sacred to her, concealed in the ‘crypt’ of her secret code. It was always about three taboo subjects: sex, money and clothes.

  The decision about what to wear tormented Anne every morning and at every opportunity. Her clothing was shabby and she had to keep repairing it. Her diaries contain plentiful entries such as mending my black silk legs,54 always encrypted. Above all, however, the ladies’ clothing of the time did not appeal to her, the whalebone stays and stiffened petticoats limiting women’s radius to the household. Anne, however, needed her daily marches; she covered the six-mile walk from Ripponden to Halifax in two hours. She much preferred a pair of strong shoes55 to an evening dress. Her hunger for exercise gave her the thin, wiry body of a long-distance runner. I, taking off only my heavy cloak and with about a ½ lb weight in my pocket, 8st 4 ½ lbs and 5ft 4 ½ ins tall.56 It is a very difficult thing to make a bad figure look like a good one,57 she pronounced, and padded her small breasts with old white waists & contriving to make them do instead of handkerchiefs to wear under an evening waist.58

  Anne longed for practical clothing that also expressed her personality. I have almost made up my mind always to wear black,59 she wrote on the first warm day of 1817, when she exchanged her woollen spencer jacket for a black silk one. Black was not a common fashion; it was worn only by gentlemen when making a journey on horseback. Nonetheless, Anne made an initial attempt when invited to tea with the Misses Walker of Cliffe Hill. Went in black silk, the 1st time to an evening visit. I have entered upon my plan of always wearing black.60 In a happy coincidence, Anne was visiting the woman who fifteen years later was to become her last partner.

  As black caused something of a stir, Anne Lister took great care that her clothing otherwise met expectations and was always in pristine condition. She wore her hair in a conventional style with a middle parting, adding false ringlets, as was the fashion, at her temples or pinned on each side of my hat.61 Still not a fan of bonnets as an adult, she experimented with small round hats, which were not the fashion for women or men, but entirely singular.
Her generally conventional but black women’s clothing was a style that suited Anne’s personality. Along with her deep-toned voice,62 it made her look androgynous in a way that was both provocative and attractive. My manners are certainly peculiar, not all masculine but rather softly gentleman-like. I know how to please girls.63

  9 Anne Lister, 1817 or later. The heart-shaped locket may have contained pubic hair. Joshua Horner used this watercolour by an unknown artist as the basis for his oil portrait (page 298).

  Though she often sighed over her skirts in her diaries, she never tried trousers. Dressed as a ‘man’ she would have been ridiculed in Halifax. She felt no desire to wear trousers while travelling where nobody knew her; she did not want to be an anonymous ‘boy,’ but to be regarded and respected as a member of a longstanding family. The only liberties she allowed herself were in the ultimate privacy of her room. Began this morning to sit, before breakfast, in my drawers put on with gentlemen’s braces.64

  With her diary and her clothing, Anne Lister had found key forms of personal expression. All she lacked now – as the potential inheritor of Shibden Hall, taking more and more pressure off her uncle – was a woman by her side. It was becoming increasingly unlikely that that woman would be Mariana. Charles Lawton was giving his wife restorative tonics and cold back rubs every morning, taking her to the sea every two months, all this in hopes of a son & heir.65 He was still terribly jealous of me. M– thinks we had better be cautious lest he should forbid her writing to me.66 At the end of May 1817, fourteen months after Mariana’s marriage, Anne first began to despair that Mariana and I will ever get together, besides I sometimes think she will be worn out in the don’s service and perhaps I may do better.67 By early June, even her favourite study subject could no longer distract her. Finding I could not attend to arithmetic, my mind being so entirely engrossed with Mariana, I began my epistle to her [...]. We have no chance of seeing much of each other so long as the don lives and may probably not meet for some years to come. [...] The thought made me so low that I cried and wrote alternately the whole morning. I do not doubt Mariana’s affection but tis sad to live upon love so hard as this and many are the hours when I am wretched.68 The thought of Mariana’s marital sex life was no less depressing: I begin to fancy I shall not like another man’s leavings.69

  Little by little, Anne withdrew. She complained about Mariana – I am generally disappointed with her letters70 – and wrote to her without any encrypted additions, not including anything Charles could not have read. Having ended a letter with the words my heart is yours and well as ever, she hesitated. This is the first time in my life I ever felt any remorse in saying anything affectionate to Mariana. I do not feel to have written truth, I do not think of her much.71 A year and a half after the wedding, she noted: Alas, how changed. She has married a blackguard for the sake of his money. We are debarred all intercourse. I am not always satisfied with her. I am often miserable & often wish to try to wean my heart from her & fix more propitiously.72

  Anne’s relationship with Isabella Norcliffe had been of much greater social benefit, but the Norcliffe family were currently on a long tour around Europe. Like Eliza, Isabella had never received a farewell letter from Anne and had to put two and two together. Since Mariana had married Charles Lawton, Isabella had got her hopes up again; Miss Norcliffe had joked me and said she thought I should have been caught but I was now set at liberty again.73 And she did indeed come into Anne’s sights once more. As I was getting into bed I began thinking how little confidence I had in M– and how little likely it was that we should ever get together. I was very low. I felt that my happiness depended on having some female companion whom I could love & depend upon & my thoughts naturally turned to Isabella. I got out her picture & looked at it for ten minutes with considerable emotion. I almost wished to persuade myself I could manage her temper as to be happy with her.74 Isabella had never doubted in that, and kept reminding Anne of her existence with letters and presents. She sent her an alabaster cupid on a bed of roses from Florence. Poor Isabel, she never forgets me. Her thoughts & affections are constant and my heart keeps a faithful register. In spite of all, I think we shall get together at last.75

  Anne had not really managed to keep to her resolutions of that spring, too often distracted by the dissatisfying situation in which she found herself due to her love for Mariana. This idleness makes me unhappy, and yet my mind is so unhinged I do not feel as if I could do much this morning,76 she lamented regularly in her diary. She was often annoyed with herself for not having lately got up in a morning as early as I ought. It grieves me that I am ever in bed after 5.77 To keep up her discipline, she returned to her tutorials in mathematics and Classics, the subjects which she had let slide the least, with Mr Knight at the end of October 1817. I can now read the Iliad pretty easily and have gone through it with great pleasure.78 After several preliminary examinations, she agreed a syllabus with Mr Knight and felt happy at the idea of getting into a proper train again.79

  This regular activity helped her to get things tidied up in her private life as well. She went through her papers: as I have never had my things fairly set to rights as they ought to be, ’tis high time to begin if I mean to get it done in my lifetime.80 She began by sorting all the letters she had ever received from Isabella, then looking over poor Eliza Raine’s letters. My heart bled at the remembrance of the past, poor girl! She did indeed love me truly. Finally, she asked Mariana to make a parcel of all the letters she has had of mine up to the present time and send them;81 in the wrong hands, these letters might be explosive. And she wanted to cut herself loose from Mariana. She hoped to be able to file her love away as she had done with her feelings for Eliza.

  Once again, though, her hard-won mental equilibrium was tipped off-balance by death. Anne’s Uncle Joseph and her mother Rebecca both died within the space of a week. The uncle at Northgate House down in Halifax had been ill for some time. Anne had paid frequent visits to him and her distraught Aunt Mary, describing his decline in minute detail in her diary. On 7 November Anne received the news from her sister Marian in Market Weighton that their mother had a very bad cold, had the cramp in her stomach and a bad pain in her right side.82 Uncle Joseph died the next day. As the head of the family, Uncle James and Joseph’s widow proved incapable of mastering the ensuing tasks, so Anne had to muster all the fortitude & presence of mind I can command.83 She informed friends and relatives, ordered the coffin and mourning fabric for the family and staff, and wrote a death notice for the newspapers. She told her father in Market Weighton to come as fast as possible if he could leave her mother, as the burial should not be delayed too long. Jeremy made haste and arrived in Halifax on Monday, 10 November. By that point, Rebecca’s cold had worsened to pneumonia. On the Tuesday, Marian alarmed Jeremy with the news that ‘My mother in great danger yesterday, she is still however very ill.’ The letter shocked and surprised Anne enormously. She did not understand why her father had come when her mother was in such a bad condition, and felt for Rebecca, who might indeed have felt herself neglected being left at such a time and having a child here who never went over to see her. To all this he answered not a word but as soon as he had drank his wine went to Northgate.84

  Anne had not seen her mother for two years. She had her reasons to avoid her, above all Rebecca’s drinking, but now she was plagued by guilt. Uncle Joseph being dead, the burial could take place without them, and Anne urged her father to set out for Market Weighton with her at once – but they came too late. Reached here about 4 this morning. Rebecca had died two hours previously. Not [...] seeing my mother ere she closed her eyes for ever, has indeed been a shock to me which no language can describe, Anne wrote to her Uncle James later that morning. She was insensible, Marian says, for a couple of hours before her death which was so easy, that the spirit seemed to flit away imperceptibly. This is indeed a great comfort, and we are thankful for it. Anne felt a calmness, a support, a strength within that is the mercy of heaven. My father seems co
mposed and Marian more than I should have dared to anticipate. As on Uncle Joseph’s death, Anne took care of all that was necessary for her mother. She wanted to have Rebecca taken to Halifax to put her where she is most likely to rest with her children85 in the family crypt, but her mother was buried in Market Weighton on 20 November 1817.

  Anne did not write in her diary between the date of her hurried departure from Halifax on 13 November and 21 November 1817. There were other times, too, when she had no time for writing; she would reserve empty pages and almost always add the entries at a later date. For the death of her mother, however, she found no words.

  Anne stayed with her father and sister until 7 December and then went to York, where she wanted to mend her relationship with Mr Duffin. He had fallen out with her because of Eliza Raine, whose life had taken a dramatic turn over the past three years. Having already lost Anne, Eliza was hit hard by Samuel Lister’s tragic accident in 1813. With no prospect of ever being tied to the Lister family, she wanted to get her sister Jane out of the London asylum and live with her, but her foster father had prevented her from doing so. Eliza must have accused Mr Duffin and his mistress Miss Marsh of hypocrisy in an angry argument; while they were cheating on Mrs Duffin and lying to the world, they denied innocent Jane, the victim of a cheat, a life of dignity in the bosom of her family. That truth was a step too far. William Duffin now declared Eliza insane as well and handed her over to his colleague Dr Belcombe, Mariana’s father, who also treated ailments of the mind and ran a private asylum in Clifton on the edge of York.