The Covent Garden Ladies: The Extraordinary Story of Harris's List (30 page)

Neither Hickey nor any of the other well-to-do or influential patrons of Charlotte’s establishment were willing to pass judgement on the methods she employed to acquire these young women. That poor girls (and they were
girls
in the majority of cases) found their way into prostitution was simply a fact of life. Hickey regarded Charlotte Hayes’s actions in saving pitiful creatures such as Betsy Coxe and Emily Warren from a life of destitution and brutality on the streets as being commendable. The daughter of a blind beggar would have otherwise had no access to a life of comfort and splendour, had she not been pulled from obscurity, dressed like a lady and served up as a dish for a rich gentleman. But it should be remembered that Charlotte was not in the business of running a charitable organisation for the rescue of young women. Whatever side benefits a life of high-class prostitution might have offered for those from
impoverished
backgrounds was incidental to Madam Hayes’s main objectives. Charlotte was a businesswoman whose very life depended upon her success. As age crept over her, her prospects became less and less certain. If she could not bring herself to sacrifice others to the lusts of men and the scorn of respectable society, then her life would surely end in the same state of impoverished obscurity from which she drew her innocent victims. Her work was selling sex. It was the only occupation for which she had ever been trained and the only reality she had ever known. Society offered no other means by which she might derive an income.

As Charlotte’s King’s Place establishment grew in reputation, so did the complexity of the methods she found herself having to employ in order to bring ‘fresh faces’ into her grasp. While Charlotte and other procuresses drew their stock largely from the vast reserves of very poor, young girls who worked on the streets of the metropolis, some were lured into the web by other means. The author of the
Nocturnal Revels
claims that Madam Hayes had two primary techniques for recruitment: ‘the first was by attending the Register Offices; the second by advertisement.’ Lurking about the Register Offices was perhaps the oldest and most tried method available to bawds and pimps. It was at such locations that Charlotte, ‘dressed … in a plain, simple manner, resembling the wife of a decent tradesman’, would go about inquiring ‘for a young, healthful-looking woman, about twenty’ to act as a lady’s maid for an infirm old woman. The
Revels
then claims that ‘In order to carry this scheme into execution, she took a variety of lodgings in different parts of the town, and sometimes small houses ready furnished’, in order to decoy an unsuspecting girl. There is evidence to suggest this scheme was not just a fanciful tale concocted by the author of the
Nocturnal Revels
, as in both 1769 and 1775, Charlotte used the alias of ‘Charlotte Flammingham’ to rent properties on King Street. Entrapment stories that begin with an unsuspecting girl being plied with a dram of alcohol and lured into a set of ill-lit private rooms were not merely the preserve of fiction, but a reality recognised by the era’s law enforcement. The end result, howver, would have mirrored that which appeared in eighteenth-century novels. Invariably, once compromised in such circumstances, a girl ‘is set upon by her assailant – Lord C—n, Lord B—ke, or Colonel L—e’. Sadly, ‘her outcries bring no one to her relief, and
probably
she yields to her fate, finding it inevitable; and solaces herself in the morning with a few guineas, and the perspective view of having a new gown, a pair of silver buckles, and a black silk cloak’. The author of the
Revels
then glibly concludes, ‘Being once broke in, there is no great difficulty in persuading her to remove her quarters and repair to the Nunnery in King’s Place, in order to make room for another victim, who is sacrificed in a like manner.’

If the pickings at the Register Offices seemed a bit meagre, Charlotte had other tricks up her sleeve. She found that: ‘Advertisements in the Daily Papers often had the desired effect, and brought in numbers of pretty candidates (though unknowingly) for prostitution’. The applicants who approached Charlotte were seduced in the same manner as those found in the Register Offices, by the promise of a position as a household servant. The composition of these wittily created blurbs Charlotte left to some of her literary friends who, in a manner reminiscent of Choderlos de Laclos’s Vicomte de Valmont, savoured the titillating challenge of enticing the virtuous to their ruin. The celebrated misogynist George Selwyn was credited with penning one of the more memorable of these:

Wanted: a young woman, under twenty who has had the small-pox, and has not been long in town, as a maid-servant of all work, in a genteel family. She must turn her hand to everything, as it is proposed putting her under a Man-cook of skill and eminence. She must get up small things, and even large ones occasionally, understanding clear-starching without clapping, and know something of pastry, at least to make standing crust; and also preserving fruit. Good wages and proper encouragement will be given, if she proves handy, and can easily conceive, according to the instructions given her.

As ludicrous as this advert was acknowledged to be, according to the
Revels
it managed to ‘inveigle the innocent and unguarded’. Such was the ease with which Charlotte led her clients to believe she could procure new talent for them.

In truth, locating suitable candidates for her nunnery, as well as managing to keep them once they had been brought into the fold, was more complicated than most patrons knew. The majority of the better
brothels
and bagnios in London were, like any other trade, run as family businesses. Parents passed on their expertise to their children, and husbands and wives manned joint ventures, much like Charlotte and Dennis. Where the management of her enterprise was concerned, Charlotte was very much her mother’s daughter. Having been ‘initiated into all the mysteries of the Tally-woman’ by Mrs Ward, Charlotte employed the same tactics in her own business as she had witnessed in her mother’s house. When it came to maintaining a lucrative trade and keeping her ladies in line, Charlotte found that she was a natural. She had learned through observation ‘how to fix a price upon a gown, a saque, a trollopee, a watch, a pair of buckles, or any other trinket’. Like her mother, Charlotte too ‘charged them in proportion for their board, washing and lodging; and by keeping her nuns constantly in her debt, she secured them’. Elizabeth Ward did not suffer fools or their escape attempts. The Old Bailey Sessions Papers record her name as one who wasn’t afraid to prosecute ‘when any one dared to elope’ while in possession of what the bawd called ‘prerequisites and presents’. Part matron, part landlady and part gaoler, the role of the bawd was one that routinely guarded and subjugated those under her care. Charlotte was no different. She could neither afford to trust her charges nor indulge them with sympathy. What affection she might have felt for these young women who lived with her and formed part of her household had to have been well hidden and revealed only with the greatest caution. For her to have displayed either favouritism or too much affection would have left Charlotte vulnerable to their whims. Theirs was strictly a business arrangement – she clothed, housed and fed her girls and introduced them into the highest circles of society; they in turn provided her with an income.

Charlotte, more than any other brothel-keeper, was able to make a success of her enterprise, and those who visited her house praised it for its efficient and reliable practices. It was Chase Price, George Selwyn’s partner in crime, who first bestowed the title of Abbess on Charlotte, and christened her business a ‘nunnery’, for its apparent order and regimentation. He also insinuates that Charlotte’s ‘nuns’ provided the entertainment for Sir Francis Dashwood’s Hell-Fire ‘friars’ in the caves of West Wycombe Park, the venue for his notorious orgies. In 1769 he
published
a satirical yet insightful article entitled ‘A Genuine Account of the Monastery of Santa Charlotta’, which unveiled Mother Hayes’s effective management techniques. If Santa Charlotta’s ‘laws, constitutions, regulations and manners’ for her seminary are to be believed, the situation that prevailed at her establishment was a less than favourable one for her charges. ‘Sisters’ in the nunnery were not permitted to ‘have any favourite lover’ and any ‘tender attachments’ were to be broken off immediately. Any man of such description who attempted to ‘seduce or inveigle any sister out of the convent’ was not permitted to visit again. Any ‘presents, gifts or possessions’ held by or made to members of the sisterhood were confiscated by Santa Charlotta and then ‘appropriated’, given as, when and to whom she saw fit, according to merit. The ‘Worthy Patroness’, to avoid mischief, forbade her charges from pursuing friendships ‘with the sisterhood of any other seminary’, and additionally prevented them from having ‘non-initiated’ female visitors to call. Whether a fellow prostitute or an unsullied woman of virtue, the sisters were permitted little contact with other females. For the most part, Charlotte saw that their daily existences were structured and extremely contained. Irrespective of their varying appointments with clients, she insisted that ‘they associate all together at meals’, that they make frequent group visits to the theatre, that they take walks together in public and ‘when the weather will not admit these perambulations, they take the air in an elegant equipage belonging to the convent’. Presumably these measures not only allowed her to keep a closer eye on her girls but fostered a sense of camaraderie that prevented feelings of isolation from taking root.

With the licentious London set singing her praises, Charlotte took every precaution to maintain the high standards of her house. So much as a whiff of venereal disease could be the ruin of her reputation. In order to vouch for the medical viability of her girls, she employed a physician, Dr Chidwick, to carry out regular medical examinations. It seems that Chidwick was well known among the elite disorderly houses in the area and cultivated a specialist practice in prostitutes’ reproductive health. For his services, it also appears that Dr Chidwick received payment in kind from his patients, as he is noted for taking ‘neither fees nor salary’. As William Hickey records, Chidwick’s consultations may
have
been responsible for preserving his health along with that of most of Charlotte’s clientele. Despite his avid womanising and fondness for whores, Hickey was never touched by venereal disease, ‘although’, he claims, ‘I took no particular care of myself, nor ever hesitated taking any woman that was offered as a bedfellow at [Mrs] Kelly’s …’. Similarly, Charlotte also prided herself on the accomplishments of her nuns and, unlike other, more downmarket bawds, invested in their education. The Abbess’s programme of tutelage was considered second to none. Teaching her recruits, particularly those who had come straight from the streets, how to behave like ladies was foremost. Not only were her girls taught deportment and elocution in the attempt to erase the ungainly reminders of their origins, but both music and dancing masters were hired to give them a further polishing. According to Hickey, Charlotte was very good at teaching her girls to walk, ‘a qualification that Madam Hayes considered of importance’, but other skills, such as literacy, were deemed superfluous. Nevertheless, he commented, Charlotte’s nymphs were always very well spoken. For example, irrespective of her inability to read or write, Emily Warren was ‘by no means deficient or awkward in conversation; nor do I recollect ever to have heard her make use of a vulgarism or a phrase that could mark her illiterateness’.

Charlotte’s move to No.2 King’s Place in 1767 signified a turning point in the realisation of her ambitions. Her presence in St James’s was to initiate a new era for London’s bawdy houses; indeed her operation maintained such an aura of elegance and sophistication that it could hardly be classed with those spit-and-sawdust sister establishments in Covent Garden like Weatherby’s and Haddock’s. Invariably, other entrepreneurs of the flesh market were to follow her lead and open rival houses on King’s Place and the streets around St James’s Palace gates. Charlotte, however, remained the reigning doyenne throughout the 1760s and early 1770s. By 1771, trade was so bountiful that she launched a second nunnery in larger premises across the road at No.5, while No.2 remained as an annexe in the care of a trusted assistant, Miss Ellison. Although business was booming, Charlotte’s primary aim was not to remain in her line of work forever. From the early days of their relationship, she and Dennis had set out to earn their collective fortune, which by their terms did not simply mean an ample subsistence. Charlotte and
Dennis
desired riches. By the era’s definition, this would also include the acquisition of land, as it was only through the ownership of land that a family name might be established and wealth solidified. Land conferred status and status bestowed respect, even onto those with shady pasts. With a large enough fortune and substantial enough property, even some of the grossest breaches of society’s laws could be forgiven.

It would not be Charlotte’s successes alone that accounted for their steadily swelling coffers. Dennis, as a professional gambler ‘whose whole time was, without interruption, devoted to play and chance’, was able to contribute significantly to their collective wealth when the takings were good. But unfortunately, even his quick hands and mathematical mind could not guarantee a win every time he took his seat at the gaming tables. There were losses as well, sometimes on a level so great that the funds Charlotte had saved for that parcel of land intended to support her in retirement were skimmed to secure Dennis from the bailiffs. O’Kelly was an adventurer: winning and losing, spending, pawning and borrowing in constant shifts. What was taken from him in a game of hazard one night, although it may have been more than half of his assets, he was certain of gaining back within a short space of time. Herein lay the problem, for as much of a wagerer as Dennis was, Charlotte was ‘but a shallow mistress of speculation’ and ‘thought the old proverb, of a bird in the hand, the best guide of her conduct’. The lessons of her youth had taught her never again to take abundance for granted. Dennis, however, did not adhere to this code and at times the unreliability of her lover’s actions drove their relationship close to its breaking point. She worried that Dennis, like Sam Derrick, was only capable of promising a future that would never be delivered. But Charlotte was bound more closely to Dennis than to Derrick, not only through deeper ties of affection but through his involvement in her King’s Place business. Referred to facetiously as ‘the Prior’ of Santa Charlotta’s Protestant nunnery, Dennis’s stake in his mistress’s enterprise was as great as hers; it had been a joint endeavour from the start and one that rested on the investment of both of their earnings.