Chapter Eighteen: Lord Staines in search of a wife

(Charles Huntingdon has been surprised to hear that his country residence has been visited by his friend Lord Staines)

   I resolved to ask Staines about the purpose of his visit to the Priory when next I saw him, but it was not until a week had passed that I found him seated in his usual place at Brown’s club. The story of his duel was now known throughout the town, and I had been careful not to mention his ungracious conduct afterwards. His courage was consequently praised on all sides, much to his gratification, and he was in good spirits.

    I remarked that it was unusual for him to have been out of London for so long, and that I had been most surprised to have learnt that he had recently visited my humble abode at Bearsclough.

   “And when I needed your company the most, you were not there!” he complained in mock annoyance. “I called at the Priory unannounced, but with every expectation of finding you at home, and I was seriously disappointed! There was no-one to receive me except your housekeeper, the large woman.”

   “Mrs Timmis.”

   “Ah, yes. She conducted me round the house.”

   I asked Staines what he thought of my home.

   “It is in a pleasant enough location,” he conceded, “but the house is old and most of the rooms are too small. It would be good enough, perhaps, for mere parish gentry, but not if you wish to play host to persons of quality. Now that you are a man of some importance, you must be better housed. I would pull it down and build a new home in the best Palladian style. The gardens too must be entirely swept away and replaced."

   I said I would consider this.

   He continued. “But since you were not at home, I continued on my way to meet Sir James Wilbrahim at Stanegate, where I ate the worst meal in the worst company that it has ever been my misfortune to encounter. Staines at Stanegate: what a jest that is!”

   Surprise prevented me from making any remark.

   “I found Wilbrahim, as I expected, to be a country bumpkin, quite beyond parody, and as for that Rector ….! That man is a lecher, if ever I saw one! His lust was open and unrestrained! He leered at Miss Wibrahim behind her back, and at the serving-wench to her face! How can old Wilbrahim have failed to notice? And the slatternly housekeeper is as ugly as a fat toad. Would you believe that, when she discovered I was the son of an Earl, I would swear that the ridiculous woman started to ogle me! As if I could bear to look at her for more than a second without vomiting, especially after the disgusting food! How even such a booby as Wilbrahim tolerates her I cannot imagine. Do you suppose that she might be his mistress? That would be too grotesque even for one of Wycherley’s comedies, would it not?” 

   “But whatever were you doing there, Staines?” I asked, interrupting the flow. Amusing though Staines might be, I felt a slight unease.

   “Ah, there you have it. The excuse for my visit was that my father is intending to purchase some of Sir James’s land.”

   “But surely Jarrett could have dealt with that?”

   “Of course.”

     I could see that Lord Staines was reluctant to reveal more, so I assured him that he could absolutely rely on me, as a gentleman and a friend, not to betray a confidence.

   “Well then. Not that it matters; I imagine that nothing remains secret for long in those rustic villages. My father has determined that I should be married, and the bride he has selected for that privilege is the daughter of Sir James Wilbrahim”.

   Again, I was too astonished to make any comment.

   “I need not tell you that I would regard any marriage with the deepest repugnance,” he continued, “But you are well acquainted with my father, and you must surely also be aware of the footing on which I stand as regards to him. I have large debts. And he has now told me, in the plainest terms, that I must accede to his commands on the issue of this marriage, or he will immediately cut off all funds and evict me from my dwelling! He added some vile comments concerning my choice of servants. What would my friends think of me, to be treated like an errant schoolboy trembling before the head master’s birch! But I am scarcely in a position to defy my father’s wishes, even on a matter that goes so much against my inclinations as to be forced to marry this child!”

  My most immediate thought was that many men would be delighted to take Miss Louisa Wilbrahim as a bride. “She is still very young,” I ventured, trying to conceal my confusion, “but she is pretty, she sings well, and her character is friendly and agreeable.”

   “Yes; she is the pattern of all feminine virtues, or so I am told. That is what my mother has learned from you, it would appear. Maybe my dear mother believes she could reform my conduct.” He broke off to give a sarcastic laugh. “But whatever praises you and my mother may heap on her, she is only an insipid country girl who has never left her home village and knows nothing of London, nothing of polite society. She has never attended a theatre, the only songs she knows are old country airs, and her clothes are such as her grandmother might have worn. How could I live with her, even for a single day? How could I introduce her to my friends?  But to my father she is an heiress to wide lands adjacent to ours, and he thinks mostly of that; though of course he also considers it my duty to beget a son and heir, in order that the family title and wealth should remain in the male line. You have met my stupid sister and her equally stupid husband, of course? They are well suited to each other. How my father ever consented to that absurd marriage I shall never know! I can at least comprehend why he does not wish them to inherit Maybury!”

   He gave another short ironical laugh, then suddenly he grabbed my arm and exclaimed, “My father compels me to chain myself into this ridiculous connexion with the Wilbrahims, and all for the sake of a few acres of land! He only considers his own interest! He never considers mine! He has never loved me! When my brother died, I knew he wished that it could have been me who died instead!” There was anguish in his voice, and he gazed into my eyes with an expression of great pain and distress.

   This was so unlike his normal behaviour that I was greatly startled. He continued to hold my arm tightly and look at me unblinking. To conceal my confusion, I asked him what would happen now. It was not long before he recovered.

   “We did not, of course, discuss the marriage in the girl’s presence. She herself scarcely opened her mouth at the dinner table, and appeared in awe of me. I contrived to speak a few polite and respectful words with her in the library afterwards. Now my father will be writing to Wilbrahim on my behalf, requesting his daughter’s hand in marriage to me. No doubt he will expect a substantial dowry. I too will write to Wilbrahim, and will also write privately to Miss Wilbrahim, expressing my undying love for her – or rather, my mother will compose a letter suitable for a young maiden to receive, and I shall copy it out.

  “All may yet turn out well. Perhaps my father will change his mind and find another bride for me. Or if I am obliged to marry the girl, when I have fulfilled my duty of begetting a son and heir I can leave wife and child in the care of my mother and once again live my own life. But in the meantime I must request your help.”

   “My help?”

   “Yes. I sensed that the girl was somewhat in awe of me, and her father was suspicious. You know the family well. You can speak to old Wilbrahim and to his daughter, praising my virtues. Between us, we can at least convince my father that I am exerting myself to carry out his wishes, and he will then extend my credit a little further. Besides, I hold you partially responsible for my troubles, since you praised Miss Wilbrahim fulsomely to my dear mother! So you will do this for me?”

 

   When I reflected on this conversation, I realised that, however fond I was of Louisa, I had not seriously thought of her as being anyone’s wife. But what should I do now? I remembered Elizabeth Newstead’s warning that Sir James must soon find a husband for his daughter, lest she fall prey to the guiles of some plausible fortune-hunter. I had found Staines’s manner disgusting, though I had had not told him so; and I doubted whether he was capable of loving any woman, with the possible exception of his mother the Countess; but I thought he would be unlikely to ill-treat Louisa in any way beyond simply ignoring her. He should have no fears of introducing Louisa to his friends, for those whom I knew best; Robertson, Darnwell, even George Davies; would quickly be won over by her sweetness and charm. Louisa herself would be thrilled by the prospect of the marriage, for she could then fulfil her dream of attending  theatres and concerts in London; and in time she would herself become a Countess, the very pinnacle of society, received at court by His Majesty himself! And who knows: perhaps the Countess could be right, and Louisa might in the end effect a reformation of her husband’s character!

   But what of Sir James Wilbrahim? How would he respond to a marriage proposal for his daughter? He surely hated and despised Lord Teesdale and his family! 

   I was so perplexed that in the end I took no action of any kind whilst we awaited Sir James’s response. I would have to make up my mind before I next visited Bereton, but until then there was no-one I could turn to for advice, for I had promised not to reveal Staines’s secret to anyone.

 

   It was a relief from my dilemma to meet John Wilkes again. I told him how much I had enjoyed reading his paper, the “North Briton”; at which, however, he shook his head and denied all knowledge of the authorship. I could not resist then turning the conversation to the Hell-fire Club and its meetings at Sir Francis Dashwood’s home at West Wycombe. I had heard said that guests dressed up as monks and held blasphemous rituals.

                                                    (An attack on Sir Francis Dashwood)

   Wilkes laughed, and replied that the report was true only in part. “Friends did gather there, for West Wycombe is a fine house with the most charming grounds. Sir Francis is a whimsical man, and it amuses him to adopt the habit of a Franciscan friar, and to dress his friends in similar garb, with vising maidens playing the part of nuns. But I can assure you that the gods worshipped by the brethren are Venus and Bacchus rather than Beelzebub. And indeed Athene is worshipped too, for many of the brethren are true cognoscenti: they have visited Italy (a privilege sadly denied to you and me) and returned laden with paintings by the old masters and broken carvings from antiquity – or so they were assured by those offering such items for sale. Sir Francis himself once ventured as far as Russia, where by his own account he essayed to impersonate the King of Sweden in order to seduce the Tsarina; though not, I understand, with any success.

    “A young man of your happy and open nature would greatly enjoy a visit there. I understand you have had the honour to replace the esteemed Mr Elijah Bailey as representative for Bereton?”

   I replied that that this was correct, though I had never met Mr Bailey.

   “Ah, that is a pity, because Bailey, despite age, his Puritan ancestry and his extreme corpulence, did visit West Wycombe, and I am sure he would have been most pleased to introduce you to the fraternity. I well recall one delightful occasion when he attempted to participate in the revelries but found that his ardour was dimmed in body if not in spirit. Having an assignation with a certain young lady but finding his fires had burnt low, he endeavoured to avoid the conjuncture by exclaiming, ‘Oh, if I had you alone in a wood!’ to which the fair maid replied, ‘Why, what would you do there that you can’t do here? Rob me?’ I fear his attempts to become a figure of importance in the House of Commons were no more successful. But many gentlemen who are now prominent in the ministry were also visitors, including our great Scotch dictator himself.”

   Wilkes smiled as he contemplated his memories, but then continued, in a more serious mood,

   “I would still wish to count Sir Francis a friend, but he has committed himself to the party of Lord Bute and arbitrary government, and has been rewarded with the post of Chancellor of the Exchequer! He, a man who was wholly unacquainted with any finance above the settling of a tavern bill! He told us on his appointment that he would be the worst Chancellor in our history, and he has been as good as his word.

   “But this is no matter for a jest. No, sir: I sincerely believe that under the present ministry our laws and our liberties are threatened, and for Sir Francis to acquiesce in this I see as a sad betrayal, not just of us, his friends, but of our entire country. I am deeply disappointed with his conduct.

   “Furthermore,” he added, “If he, or Bute, or any others of that crew dare to attack me, I shall not hesitate to publish stories in detail of their misdeeds at the Hell-fire Club, and the public, I am certain, will fully believe everything I have to tell!”  

   That, as the world was to find out later, was to prove no idle threat. Within a few years the whole kingdom was laughing at accounts of the supposed conduct at the home of Sir Francis Dashwood of the lords and gentlemen now prominent in public life. Even worse things, it was hinted, took place in the caves under the nearby hill. Lord Sandwich, an ally of Bute, was described celebrating a Satanic parody of the popish Mass. As Wilkes had predicted, all these tales were believed by all, and greatly enjoyed.

   

   Although I never saw West Wycombe, not long afterwards I was able to visit another of Sir Francis Dashwood’s properties at Medmenham Abbey; a delightful situation on the bank of the Thames near the town of Marlowe. Mr Wilkes was not present, and I was taken there by none other than Sir Headley Graham, Lord Staines’s despised brother-in-law, following a conversation in the lobby at Westminster. He had treated me with disdain when we first met at Maybury, but I did not remind him of that. Perhaps he had genuinely forgotten it.

  The proceedings there were, as Wilkes had said, whimsical; for we all dressed in the habits of monks and took appropriate names. I was transformed into a Black-friar, and was styled “Brother Dominic”. The convention was that we should pretend we did not recognise any of the other brothers, even when they were well-known nobles and gentlemen. Sir Francis himself wore a Grey-friar’s garb. Fine wine and viands were in profusion, and there was much discussion of art and other matters: the merits of Claude and Poussin were compared, and also the newly-discovered Roman copies of the work of the great Athenian sculptors; Phidias, Praxiteles and Lysippus. Graham was loud in his opinions, but I quickly came to the conclusion that the others regarded him as a buffoon.

   Girls appeared, all dressed as nuns, and it was clear that they had not been brought for the discussion of fine art. Graham was very ardent in his pursuit of them, grabbing one and taking her into the bushes and then very soon afterwards returning to find another. Some of them affected to flee from him, laughing, but did not run very fast. I dallied with a pretty little wench who called herself Sister Antonia, who wore a white Augustinian habit with, I soon discovered, absolutely nothing underneath it. Her voice indicated that she was from London, and she was utterly wanton in her behaviour.

   The nearest approach to blasphemy I observed was the spectacle of our host reverencing a small picture of Aphrodite with great and ostentatious piety as if it was a holy relic, and then quaffing a draught from an antique bejewelled chalice as a parody of Romish practices. In the chapel, instead of an altar, there was a splendid statue of the Three Graces in all their naked beauty; a copy, I supposed, of a Greek or Roman original. In front of this an older brother in the garb of an abbot, who might have been Lord Sandwich, solemnly forgave us our sins before we departed.

  Sister Antonia and I had been guilty only of sins of the flesh. After this delightful day in her company, I never saw her again. I hope her later life was a happy one. I guessed she was probably an apprentice milliner or mantua-maker, and had come to Medmenham, surely not for the first time, to escape briefly from her ill-paid servitude; and who could blame her? Although stern moralists might be inclined to denounce her conduct, I would not do so. I had rewarded her generously, and my only regret was that I had not given her more. As we returned to London in Graham’s coach, I reflected that the way of life Antonia had chosen was surely in every way preferable to the prospects of the ragged little brat I had confronted when I was robbed at Danielle’s lodgings. If that child were to find herself selected for a visit to Medmenham, she should consider herself fortunate, for otherwise her only prospects would have been either starvation or the coach to the Tyburn gallows. Later, my views on such matters were to change entirely, as will be seen.  

                                                       (Medmenham Abbey today)

   While the peace talks were being held in Paris, at home there was much discussion of what effect the new victories over Spain should have on the negotiations. Should we raise our demands, or indeed wait until our foes came begging to us? I found my friends were divided: Lord Staines continued to be open in his hostility to Pitt, and Robertson favoured making concessions in order to bring an end to the war, whilst Darnwell was strongly for the nation upping its demands. Mr Braithwaite wanted an immediate peace, and I was certain that Sir James Wilbrahim would have agreed. Sir Anthony Pardington was waiting for the Duke of Newcastle to provide a lead for his followers, but sadly observed that none was as yet forthcoming.

   Mr Walpole affected to despise all the main players in the drama, with the possible exception of Pitt. He naturally approached the question from his own satirical nature. Meeting me one afternoon, he asked, “Have you heard the delightful story of how the old Duke asked the King how the negotiations were progressing? Our respected young monarch replied that they were progressing very well, especially in the Americas, for the French had agreed to dismantle all their forts on the Mississippi – or, as the Duke later explained to his friends, “I believe the Mississippi was meant: His Majesty was pleased to say the Ganges, but I think he mistook the Ganges for the other river.”

    “Such is the quality of the men who control our destinies!” Walpole concluded, shaking his head in mock sorrow.