Fanny and Stella (17 page)

The household was thrown into a feverish frenzy of expectation and preparation. Though Papa very manfully decreed that Lord Arthur must take them as he found them, Mamma worked herself up into a state of the greatest excitement and the greatest agitation. Within a day or two of their first meeting, she had told anyone and everyone in Peckham Rye about Lord Arthur, and was happily discoursing about the late and dear Duke as if they had been on terms of the most intimate acquaintance.

When, upon Arthur’s first visit, it became clear that Stella was his particular object, all thoughts of Louis Hurt flew the rickety coop of her Mamma’s mind. With a variety of sage nods and winks, knowing looks and sighs, and with many significant shakings of her artificial curls, she gave Stella to understand that she, and therefore her Papa (though Stella had never known him to give an opinion upon any of her beaux), thoroughly approved of her new suitor. Where once ‘dear Louis’ had held sway, now ‘Lord Arthur’ reigned supreme. Though pressed repeatedly to call him Arthur, Mrs Mary Ann Boulton invariably used his title, laying particular and empathic stress upon the word ‘
Lord
’.

There were luncheons, dinners, evening parties and musical parties. Arthur’s public passions were theatrical. He could play and sing and act, and though his talents in these arenas could in no way compare with Stella’s, they were complementary. He would play her accompaniments, sing duets with her, and act the part of the handsome hero to her dazzling heroine in the two-handed drawing-room entertainments that Stella loved to perform.

Lord Arthur was constantly at Peckham Rye. He was shown off, like a prize ox, casually displayed for the delectation and edification of Mrs Mary Ann Boulton’s friends and neighbours, who had, she felt, never fully appreciated her or her family’s true gentility. Quite apart from what he could and would do for Ernest, Lord Arthur, with his social and political connections, would, she thought, be of immense help to Mr Boulton and his business, and no doubt he would be able to put something in Gerard’s way when the time came. At last, she thought to herself, things are finally coming right.

But the path of true love did not always run smoothly. Within weeks of their first meeting, there were those two unfortunate and disagreeable episodes to contend with.

Ernest and Mr Cumming were arrested in the Haymarket. It was all a mistake, a lark. In an excess of youthful zeal, and perhaps even a little in their cups, they had donned their stage costumes and gone out to carouse among the gay ladies. They had meant no harm, and it was of course completely preposterous of those ladies of the night to assume that either Ernest or Mr Cumming was – and here Mrs Mary Ann Boulton shuddered – ‘interfering with their calling’. And then, by a terrible fluke, the same thing had happened again, this time with Ernest’s friend, Mr Campbell, a gentleman with whom she was not acquainted (and frankly with whom she had no wish to be acquainted).

Mr Campbell was apparently ‘a man perfectly well-known to the police’, though of course Ernest could not possibly have been aware of that fact. How the police and the newspapers dared to insinuate what they did was beyond her. They had had the temerity to suggest that Ernest and Mr Campbell were ‘apparently plying for men, so much so that a disturbance ensued’. Thankfully Mr Boulton had arranged matters, and Ernest had been released with a small fine and a stern talking-to. They had decided as a family that it had been much ado about nothing, a comedy of errors – a conclusion which, fortunately and very much to her relief, Lord Arthur Clinton seemed to share.

Mrs Mary Ann Boulton’s ears had pricked up with alarm when, during the early days of the courtship (for surely no other construction could be placed upon it?), Lord Arthur casually made a reference to ‘my fiancée’. And she had bristled defensively a week or so later when she read in
The
Times
that ‘a marriage is arranged to take place between Lord Arthur Clinton, M.P., and Miss Matthews’.

Love or money? It sounded like the title of one of the plays that Ernest and his young friends were so fond of performing. Mrs Mary Ann Boulton knew that in the world of the theatre love would always triumph in the end, but away from the limelight, in the dark and difficult present, she feared that gross Mammon often won the day. She trembled at the thought. All she could do was hope and pray, and double and redouble her efforts to snare Lord Arthur for Ernest. Fortunately, her fears proved groundless when Lord Arthur announced that he had relinquished his engagement to Miss Matthews, or as some of the less savoury newspapers hinted, Miss Matthews had shown him the door.

And then there was the question of Lord Arthur’s bankruptcy. Mrs Mary Ann Boulton’s poor fuddled head could not understand the ins and outs of it all, but it appeared from the crumbs that Lord Arthur let drop, and from what was reported in the newspapers, which she could not keep herself from reading avidly, that he had been ill advised – not to say wilfully misled – over money matters by unscrupulous people and had got himself into difficulties. It was so easily done, so very easily done, and she had every sympathy, though debts of £34,134 did seem extraordinarily excessive and beyond her ability to comprehend.

There were some unsavoury details: Lord Arthur, it seemed, had unfortunately availed himself of the services of a pawnbroker, a Mr Attenborough, and pledged a number of items with him, the tickets for which, she had read with incredulity, had been stolen by a servant. It was very much to Lord Arthur’s credit, she reflected, that in the absence of proof, Lord Arthur had not informed the police of the theft nor, indeed, dismissed the man in question.

It appeared that Lord Arthur had a generous nature – Mrs Mary Ann Boulton might even go so far as to say an
over
-generous nature. The sum of £1,694 owed to Messrs Ortner, Houle and Co. for items of jewellery given as presents was very considerably more than what she herself spent annually on keeping house. She was surprised to discover that Lord Arthur had given his intended bride ‘in all, five diamond rings’. She could not help comparing – a little uneasily, it had to be said – the cost of one of these diamond rings, apparently £75, with the huge sum of £210 for ‘a chest containing plate and cutlery’ given as a gift to one Lieutenant Jones, a fellow officer of Lord Arthur, which bespoke a deal of manly friendship and affection existing between them.

It was unfortunate, it had to be said, that Lord Arthur’s generosity, his over-generosity, cast a slight shadow over Ernest’s coming-of-age party in the December of 1867. Mrs Mary Ann Boulton had been planning it for months, if not years. A supper party for family and friends in their house in Dulwich to celebrate her darling boy’s majority. There was to be champagne, a full supper, presents and surprises, and entertainments, both musical and dramatic. Naturally, she wrote to Lord Arthur first as guest of honour, and she received a charming reply: 

My dear Mrs Boulton,

Pray accept my most sincere thanks for your most kind invitation which I accept with the greatest pleasure, especially as it is to celebrate the coming of age of your son, Ernest, for whom I entertain the most sincere regard. Believe me to remain

Sincerely yours,

Arthur Pelham-Clinton 

‘
Your son, Ernest, for whom I entertain the most sincere regard
.’ Mrs Mary Ann Boulton savoured those words over and over again.

Then, at the very last minute, Ernest had informed her that Arthur had ‘said he would be very pleased to send any little thing down to supper if Ernest would like him to do so’. When she finally got to the bottom of things, she was horrified. It seemed that Lord Arthur had ordered and intended to pay for an entire supper from Buck’s the Caterers. Apart from throwing her into complete disarray (and how typical of menfolk to be so oblivious of her existing arrangements), Mr Boulton had put his foot down and decreed that they could not accept such a gift, especially when Lord Arthur had been declared a bankrupt barely a fortnight earlier.

Mrs Mary Ann Boulton asked Ernest to most politely decline Lord Arthur’s offer. ‘My answer to my son when he told me of having received the letter was: “Then write and tell Lord Arthur that it would not do for you to name such a thing to your Mother or she would be offended.” Those were my words,’ Mrs Mary Ann Boulton declared. ‘Everything was provided.’

But matters had not ended there.

‘When I was dressing for the evening on my son’s birthday, two persons arrived from Buck’s and said they had been desired by Lord Clinton to provide a supper and my words were these: “I feel sure that Lord Arthur means this kindly but it is a mistake.”’

Lord Arthur wrote her a very pretty letter of apology: ‘I fear I offended and caused annoyance to you on Friday last – if so pray let me offer my sincerest apologies &c &c.’ And so the matter was forgotten, and the perfectly smooth surface of their relations polished back to full lustre. When she reflected upon the incident, there was, she concluded, more to delight than to dismay. It had all sprung from Lord Arthur’s ‘most sincere regard’ for Ernest, from an ebullition, from an excess, of those manly feelings of affection towards her darling boy.

And really, what on earth could be wrong with that?

13

Lord Arthur’s Wife

MARRY! If you are for pleasure, marry; if you prize rosy health, marry; and even if money be your object, marry. A good wife is Heaven’s last, best gift to man, his angel and minister of graces innumerable, his gem of many virtues, his casket of jewels. Her voice, the sweetest music; her smiles, his brightest day; her kiss, the guardian of his safety, the balsam of his life; her industry, his surest wealth; her economy, his safest steward; her lips, his faithful councillors; her bosom, the softest pillow of his cares; and her prayers, the ablest advocates of Heaven’s blessings on his head.

The Ladies’ Treasury
, March 1867

F 
anny could not give two hoots for the law, for Chelmsford, or for the firm of Gepp and Sons. But her allowance from Papa depended on her sticking her articles out. Fortunately Mr Gepp Senior was not a harsh taskmaster. Indeed, it sometimes struck her rather forcibly that Mr Gepp Senior was as eager to see the back of her as she was to see the back of him. Fanny’s absences from the firm multiplied. Her recent and severe bout of scarlet fever had meant blessed months away from Gepp and Sons, and even then she was still as weak as a kitten and would often feel unwell and unable to face her duties. Weekends were stretched and stretched until they almost joined up. Then there were holidays to be taken, and of course rehearsals. Endless rehearsals. Mr Gepp rarely questioned her absences, and her pleas to be excused – so she could rehearse or perform or have a costume fitted for such worthy causes as the Benefit for the Infirmary – were greeted with a combination of bewilderment, resignation and, truth be told, sighs of relief.

Fanny ended up spending rather more time in London than she did in Chelmsford. She was in London almost every weekend, and when Stella fell in love with Lord Arthur Pelham-Clinton and they moved into Mrs Peck’s establishment in Southampton Street, Fanny was a regular and welcome visitor. She slept in the little dressing room which opened off Stella and Arthur’s bedroom. It was not an entirely satisfactory solution from either of their points of view. It was perfectly understandable that a young married couple in the first flush of passion needed privacy, and Fanny had no perverse wish to listen to Stella squealing like a stuck pig every time she brought a steamer home or Arthur chose to exercise his conjugal rights. It was all
most
unladylike.

Equally, the same problems arose on those rather less frequent occasions when Fanny wished to entertain a gentleman overnight, or just for an hour or two. Indeed, there were times when Mrs Peck’s first-floor front bore a passable resemblance to a cheap knocking shop, and come the morning Fanny was never sure who she would find there in various and interesting states of
déshabille
and disarray, and it would require all her reserves of skill and cunning to smuggle out these waifs and strays without either Sharp-eyed Maria or Slow Eliza from Norfolk spotting them.

There were other difficulties to contend with. As the older, unmarried and – she was not ashamed to admit it – plainer sister, living with her quite exceptionally beautiful younger sister and her sister’s aristocratic husband in the cramped surroundings of Mrs Peck’s first-floor front, Fanny sometimes felt that she was playing gooseberry to Stella and Arthur, that she was in the way, that she was under their feet. But when she voiced these nagging concerns, Stella would fly into a fit of hysterics and declare that she could not, she would not, do without her dearest Fanny; that they could never, would never, be parted.

T 
here was much muttering and much speculation in the servants’ hall of 36 Southampton Street about the new tenants on the drawing-room floor. By common consent, it was felt the
he
was all right. At least he was polite and nearly always said please and thank you and the like. And even if he didn’t have two farthings to rub together, it was still something to have a
real
Lord, the son of a Duke, in the house after so many to-ings and fro-ings of plain and ordinary Misters.