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Royalty Restored or London under Charles II
Chapter VIII
by Molloy, J. Fitzgerald
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The Duke of York's intrigues.--My Lady Chesterfield and his royal
highness--The story of Lady Southesk's love.--Lord Arran plays
the guitar.--Lord Chesterfield is jealous.--The countess is taken
from court.--Mistress Margaret Brooke and the king.--Lady Denham
and the duke.--Sir John goes mad.--My lady is poisoned.
The while his majesty devoted himself to pleasure and intrigue,
neglectful of affairs of state, and heedless of public scandal,
his brother of York, whose disposition was not less amorous,
likewise followed the bent of his inclinations. Soon after her
appearance at court he professed himself in love with the
beautiful Elizabeth Hamilton, whom to behold was to admire. But
the duke being a married man, and she a virtuous woman, he dared
not address her on the subject of his affection, and was
therefore obliged to confine the expression of his feelings to
glances. These she refused to interpret; and he, becoming weary
of a pursuit which promised no happy results, turned his
attentions to the Countess of Chesterfield, who seemed in no way
loath to receive them.
This charming woman had married my Lord Chesterfield in
compliance with a family arrangement; and discovered too soon she
had no place in the heart of him whose life she shared. His
coldness to her was only equalled by his ardour for Lady
Castlemaine, whose lover he continued to remain after his
marriage. The affection his wife had offered and he had
repulsed, in the dawn of their wedded life, changed by degrees to
disdain and hatred.
Now as chamberlain to the queen my Lord Chesterfield had,
apartments in the palace, by reason of which the countess became
an habituee of the court. The moral atmosphere of Whitehall was
not calculated to strengthen her conjugal virtue, but its
perpetual gaiety was destined to dissipate her sense of neglect.
It was not possible for a woman endowed with so much beauty, and
possessed of such engaging manners, to be disregarded, in a court
entirely devoted to love and gallantry; and accordingly she soon
became an object of general admiration. This was by no means
pleasing to my Lord Chesterfield, who, though he had wilfully
repulsed her affections, was selfishly opposed to their bestowal
upon others. Accordingly he became watchful of her conduct, and
jealous of her admirers.
Prominent amongst these were James Hamilton and the Duke of York.
The former was her cousin, and her husband's confidant, in
consequence of which my lord failed to associate him with the
suspicion he entertained towards all other men who approached
her: the latter he regarded with the uttermost distrust. His
royal highness had before now disturbed the happy confidence
which husbands had placed in their wives, as my Lord Carnegy
could testify.
The story which hangs thereby had, a little while before the duke
fell in love with Lady Chesterfield, afforded vast amusement to
the court, and was yet fresh in the recollection of many. It
happened that his royal highness became enamoured of my Lady
Carnegy, daughter of the gallant Duke of Hamilton, and friend of
the gay Lady Castlemaine. Lady Carnegy loved pleasure mightily,
painted her face "devilishly," and drove in the park flauntingly.
She was endowed with considerable beauty of form and great
tenderness of heart, as many gallants acknowledged with
gratitude. Now when the Duke of York made advances to her, she
received them with all the satisfaction he could desire; an
intimacy therefore followed, which she was the better able to
entertain on account of her husband's absence in Scotland.
Whilst my Lord Carnegy was in that country, his father, the Earl
of Southesk, died, and he succeeded to the title and estates. In
due time the new earl returned to London and his wife, and was
greeted by rumours of the friendship which in his absence had
sprung up between my lady and the duke. These, as became a good
husband, he refused to believe, until such time as he was enabled
to prove their veracity. Now, though his royal highness did not
cease to honour my lady with his visits on her husband's return,
yet out of respect to decorum, and in order to silence scandalous
tongues, he from that time invariably called on her accompanied
by a friend.
It therefore came to pass that one day he requested an honest,
foolish Irishman, Dick Talbot, afterwards Duke of Tyrconnel, to
attend him in his visit to the lady. He could scarcely have
selected a man more unfitted to the occasion, inasmuch as Talbot
was wholly devoid of tact, and possessed a mind apt to wander at
large at critical moments. He had but recently returned from
Portugal, and was not aware my Lord Carnegy had in the meantime
become Earl of Southesk, nor had he ever met the lady who shared
that title until introduced to her by the duke. When that
ceremony had been duly performed and a few sentences interchanged
between them, Talbot, acting on instructions previously received,
retired into an ante-room and took his post at a window that he
might divert himself by viewing the street, and observing those
who approached the house.
Here he remained for some time, but the study of mankind which
the view admitted did not afford sufficient interest to prevent
him becoming absorbed in his own thoughts, and indifferent to all
objects surrounding him. From this mental condition he was
presently aroused by seeing a carriage draw up to the door, and
its occupant descend and quickly enter the house. Talbot was so
forgetful of his duty that he omitted apprising the duke of this
fact or making any movement until the door of the ante-room
opened, when he turned round to face the intruder. Then he
started forward and cried out, "Welcome, Carnegy!" for it was
no other than he. "Welcome my good fellow! Where the devil have
you been, that I have never been able to set eyes on you since we
were at Brussels! What business brought you here?" he continued
in the same breath; and then added in a tone of banter, "Do you
likewise wish to see Lady Southesk; if this is your intention, my
poor friend, you may go away again; for I must inform you the
Duke of York is in love with her, and I will tell you in
confidence that at this very time he is in her chamber."
My Lord Southesk was overwhelmed with shame and confusion, and
not knowing how to act, immediately returned to his coach, Talbot
attending him to the door as his friend, and advising him to seek
a mistress elsewhere. He then went back to his post, and with
some impatience awaited the Duke's return, that he might tell him
what had happened. And in due time, when he had narrated the
story, he was much surprised that neither his royal highness nor
the countess saw any humour in the fact of Lord Carnegy's
discomfiture. It served, however, to make the duke break off his
connection with the lady, and likewise to amuse the town.
Remembering this incident, my Lord Chesterfield kept a watchful
eye upon the duke, who he observed made advances towards the
countess, which she, in her generosity, had not the heart to
repulse. But, as his royal highness could see her only in
presence of the court, my lord derived some satisfaction from
knowing he was witness to such civilities as had yet passed
between them. The duke was, however, anxious to have a more
particular occasion of conversing with my lady, and in
accomplishing this desire her brother Lord Arran was willing to
aid him.
It happened about this time an Italian, named Francisco Corbeta,
who played with great perfection on the guitar, arrived at court.
His performances excited the wonder and delight of all who heard
him, and the instrument which produced such melody speedily
became fashionable at court, to such an extent, that a universal
strumming was heard by day and by night: throughout the palace
of Whitehall. The Duke of York, being devoted to music, was
amongst those who strove to rival Signor Francisco's performance;
whilst my Lord Arran, by the delicacy of his execution, almost
equalled the great musician. The while Francisco's popularity
increased, his fame reaching its zenith when he composed a
saraband, to learn which became the ambition of all delighting in
the guitar.
Now one day the duke, not thinking himself perfect in this piece,
requested Lord Arran to play it over for him. My lord being a
courteous man, was anxious to oblige his royal highness, and in
order that the saraband might be heard to greatest advantage, was
desirous of performing it upon the best instrument at court,
which it was unhesitatingly acknowledged belonged to my Lady
Chesterfield. Accordingly, Lord Arran led the duke to his
sister's apartments. Here they found not only the guitar and my
lady, but likewise my lord, who was no less astonished than
disturbed by their visit. Then my Lord Arran commenced the
famous saraband, whilst the duke commenced to ogle my lady, and
she to return his glances in kind, as if both were unconscious of
her husband's presence. So delightful did they find the
saraband, that Lord Arran was obliged to repeat it at least
twenty times, to the great mortification of the earl, who could
scarcely contain his violent rage and jealousy. His torture was
presently increased to an immeasurable degree, by a summons he
received from the queen to attend her in his capacity of lord
chamberlain, during an audience she was about, to give the
Muscovite ambassador.
He had from the first suspected the visit, with which he was
honoured, to have been preconcerted by his wife and the duke; and
he now began to think her majesty was likewise connected with a
plot destined to rob him of his peace and blight his honour.
However, he was obliged to obey the queen's summons and depart.
Nor had he been many minutes absent when Lord Arran entered the
presence-chamber where the audience was being held, unaccompanied
by the duke, at which Lord Chesterfield's jealous fears were
strengthened a thousandfold. Before night came he was satisfied
he held sufficient proof of his wife's infidelity.
This conviction caused him intense anxiety and pain; he walked
about his apartments abstracted and brooding on the wrongs from
which he suffered; avoided all who came in his way; and
maintained strict silence as to that which disturbed his peace,
until next day, when he met James Hamilton. To him he confided
an account of the troubles which beset him. After speaking of
the visit paid by his royal highness, and the part enacted by my
Lord Arran, whom he described as "one of the silliest creatures
in England, with his guitar, and his other whims and follies," he
went on to say that when Hamilton had heard him out, he would be
enabled to judge whether the visit ended in perfect innocence or
not. "Lady Chesterfield is amiable, it must be acknowledged,"
said he, "but she is far from being such a miracle of beauty as
she supposes herself: you know she has ugly feet; but perhaps
you are not acquainted that she has still worse legs. They are
short and thick, and to remedy these defects as much as possible,
she seldom wears any other than green stockings. I went
yesterday to Miss Stuart's after the audience of those damned
Muscovites: the king arrived there just before me; and as if the
duke had sworn to pursue me wherever I went that day, he came in
just after me. The conversation turned upon the extraordinary
appearance of the ambassadors. I know not where that fool Crofts
had heard that all these Muscovites had handsome wives; and that
all their wives had handsome legs. Upon this the king
maintained, that no woman ever had such handsome legs as Miss
Stuart; and she to prove the truth of his majesty's assertion,
with the greatest imaginable ease, immediately showed her leg
above the knee. Some were ready to prostrate themselves in order
to adore its beauty, for indeed none can be handsomer; but the
duke alone began to criticize upon it. He contended that it was
too slender, and that as for himself he would give nothing for a
leg that was not thicker and shorter, and concluded by saying
that no leg was worth anything without green stockings; now this
in my opinion was a sufficient demonstration that he had just
seen green stockings, and had them fresh in his remembrance."
At hearing this story, Hamilton, being deeply in love with Lady
Chesterfield, was scarcely less agitated or less jealous than her
lord; but he was obliged to conceal his feelings. Therefore,
assuming the tone of an impartial hearer, he shrugged his
shoulders, declared appearances were often deceitful, and
maintained that even if she had given herself airs to encourage
the duke, there were no grounds to show she had been culpable of
improprieties. My lord expressed himself much obliged to his
friend for the interest he had shown in his troubles, and after
exchanging a few compliments they parted. Hamilton, full of
wrath, returned home, and wrote a letter replete with violent
expostulations and tender reproaches to the woman he loved. This
he delivered to her secretly at the next opportunity. She
received it from him with a smile, which scared all doubts of her
frailty from his mind, and with a pressure of his hand which
awoke the tenderest feelings in his heart.
He was now convinced her husband had allowed jealousy to blind
him, and had magnified his unworthy suspicions to assurances of
guilt. Is this view Hamilton was fully confirmed by a letter he
received from her the following day in answer to his own. "Are
you not," said she, "ashamed to give any credit to the visions of
a jealous fellow, who brought nothing else with him from Italy?
Is it possible that the story of the green stockings, upon which
he has founded his suspicions, should have imposed upon you,
accompanied as it is with such pitiful circumstances? Since he
has made you his confidant, why did not he boast of breaking in
pieces my poor harmless guitar? This exploit, perhaps, might
have convinced you more than all the rest; recollect yourself,
and if you are really in love with me, thank fortune for a
groundless jealousy, which diverts to another quarter the
attention he might pay to my attachment for the most amiable and
the most dangerous man at court."
Anointed by this flattering unction, such wounds as Hamilton had
experienced were quickly healed; alas, only to bleed afresh at
the certain knowledge that this charming woman had been making
him her dupe! For soon after, in a moment of indiscretion, and
whilst the whole court, including her majesty, was assembled in
the card-room, my lady there permitted the duke a liberty which
confirmed her husband in his suspicions of their intimacy.
Hamilton at hearing this was wild with fury, and advised Lord
Chesterfield to carry her away from the allurements of the court,
and seclude her in one of his country mansions. This was an
advice to which the earl listened with complaisance, and carried
out with despatch, to her intense mortification.
The whole court was amused by the story, but dismayed at the
punishment my lord inflicted upon his lady. Anthony Hamilton
declares that in England "they looked with astonishment upon a
man who could be so uncivil as to be jealous of his wife; and in
the city of London it was a prodigy, till that time unknown, to
see a husband have recourse to violent means to prevent what
jealousy fears, and what it always deserves." He adds, they
endeavoured to excuse my lord by laying all the blame on his bad
education, which made "all the mothers vow to God that none of
their sons should ever set a foot in Italy, lest they should
bring back with them that infamous custom of laying restraint
upon their wives."
By the departure of Lady Chesterfield the court lost one of its
most brilliant ornaments forever, for the unhappy countess never
again returned to the gay scene of her adventures. For three
long years she endured banishment at Bretby in Derbyshire, and
then died, it was believed, from the effects of poison. For my
lord, never having his suspicions of her intrigue cleared,
insisted on her taking the sacrament by way of pledging her
innocence; on which occasion he, in league with his chaplain,
mixed poison in the sacred wine, as result of which she died.
This shocking story gained credence not only with the public, but
with members of his own family; inasmuch as his daughter-in-law,
Lady Gertrude Stanhope, after she had quarrelled with him, would,
when she sat at his table, drink only of such wine and water as a
trusty servant of hers procured.
This intrigue of the duke had given much uneasiness to his
duchess, who had complained to the king and to her father, and
had, moreover, set a watch upon the movements of his royal
highness. But such measures did not avail to make him a faithful
husband, and no sooner was Lady Chesterfield removed from his
sight, than Lady Denham took her place in his affections. This
latter mentioned gentlewoman was daughter of a valiant baronet,
Sir William Brooke, and niece to a worthless peer, the Earl of
Bristol. The earl had, on the king's restoration, cherished
ambitious schemes to obtain the merry monarch's favour; for which
purpose he sought to commend himself by ministering to the royal
pleasures.
Accordingly he entertained the king as became a loyal gentleman,
giving him luxurious banquets and agreeable suppers, to which, by
way of adding to his majesty's greater satisfaction, the noble
host invited his nieces, Mistress Brooke and her sister. The
wily earl had, indeed, conceived a plan the better to forward his
interests with the king, and was desirous one of these
gentlewomen should subdue his majesty's heart, and become his
mistress. Margaret Brooke, the elder of the maidens, was at this
time in her eighteenth year, and was in the full flower of such
loveliness as was presented by a fair complexion, light brown
hair, and dark grey eyes. The merry monarch's susceptible heart
was soon won by her beauty; the charming lady's amorous
disposition was speedily conquered by his gallantry, and nothing
prevented her becoming his mistress save Lady Castlemaine's
jealousy.
This, however, proved an insurmountable obstacle; for the
countess, hearing rumours of the pleasures which were enjoyed at
my Lord Bristol's table, insisted on attending the king thither,
and soon gave his gracious majesty an intimation he dared not
disregard--that she would not suffer Miss Brooke as a rival.
Margaret Brooke was grievously disappointed; but the Duke of York
beginning his attentions at the point where his majesty
discontinued them, she was soon consoled for loss of the
monarch's affection by the ardour of his brother's love. But a
short time after, probably foreseeing the ambiguous position in
which she stood, she forsook her lover, and accepted a husband in
the person of Sir John Denham.
This worthy knight was a man of parts; inasmuch as he was a
soldier, a poet, and a gamester. At the time of his marriage he
had passed his fiftieth year; moreover, he limped painfully and
carried a crutch. His appearance, indeed, was far from imposing.
According to Aubrey, he was tall, had long legs, and was
"incurvelting at his shoulders; his hair was but thin and flaxen,
with a moist curl; his gait slow and rather astalking; his eye
was a kind of light goose-grey, not big, but it had a strange
piercingness, not as to shining and glory, but when he conversed
he looked into your very thoughts." His personal defects,
however, were to a great degree compensated for by his great
wealth. Moreover he was surveyor-general of his majesty's works,
had a town house in Scotland Yard, and a country residence at
Waltham Cross in Essex. But there are some deficiencies for
which wealth does not atone, as no doubt Lady Denham promptly
discovered; for, before a year of her married life had passed,
she renewed her intrigue with the Duke of York. His love for her
seemed to have increased a thousandfold since fate had given her
to the possession of another. At royal drawing-rooms he took
her aside and talked to her "in the sight of all the world," and
whenever she moved away from him he followed her like a dog.
Indeed, he made no effort to screen his passion, for not only did
he make love to her in presence of the court, but he visited her
at noonday, attended by his gentlemen, before all the town. Nor
did Lady Denham desire to conceal the honour with which, she
considered, this amour covered her, but openly declared she would
"not be his mistress, as Mrs. Price, to go up and down the privy
stairs, but will be owned publicly;" and in this respect she
obtained her desire. Meanwhile Sir John was rendered miserable;
and, indeed, his desperation soon overthrew his reason, and
rendered him a lunatic. This affection first appeared during a
journey he made to the famous free-stone quarries near Portland
in Dorset. When he came within a mile of his destination, he
suddenly turned back, and proceeded to Hounslow, where he
demanded rents for lands he had disposed of years before; and
then hastening to town sought out the king and informed him he
was the Holy Ghost.
This madness lasted but a short time; and the first use he made
of his recovered senses was to plot vengeance on his wife. Now
there was one honour which she coveted above all others, that of
being appointed a lady of the bedchamber to the Duchess of York.
This her royal lover, following the example of his majesty,
sought to obtain for her; but the duchess, who had already
suffered many indignities by reason of her husband's
improprieties, refused him this request, which would render her
liable to continual insult in her own court. The duke, however,
had a strong will, and the duchess was on the point of yielding
to his demand, when rumour announced that Lady Denham had been
taken suddenly ill, and scandal declared she had been poisoned.
The wildest sensation followed. His royal highness, stricken
with remorse and terror, hastened to Scotland Yard and sought his
beloved mistress, who told him she believed herself poisoned, and
felt she was now dying. The most eminent physicians were
speedily summoned, but their skill proved of no avail, for she
gradually became worse, and finally died, leaving instructions
that her body should be opened after death, in order that search
might be made for the fatal drug.
The surgeons followed these directions, as we learn from the
Orrery state papers, but no trace of poison was discovered. For
all that the public had no doubt her husband had destroyed her
life, and Hamilton tells us the populace "had a design of tearing
Sir John in pieces as soon as he should come abroad; but he shut
himself up to bewail her death, until their fury was appeased by
a magnificent funeral, at which he distributed four times more
burnt wine than had ever been drunk at any burial in England."
As for the duke, he was sorely troubled for her loss, and
declared he should never have a public mistress again.
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