Chapter Thirteen: Maybury

 (It is spring 1761; and Charles Huntingdon is visiting the Earl of Teesdale to discuss his prospects of being elected to Parliament)

   It was a fine and sunny spring day as I approached the Earl of Teesdale’s house at Maybury. My first sight was of two immensely tall wrought iron gates with elaborate traceries of tendrils, flowers and leaves. At either side large stone eagles on pedestals did duty as sentries. The gates were shut, but no sooner had my carriage drawn up than two servants dressed in green emerged from an adjacent lodge cottage, threw open the gates and saluted us smartly when I gave them my name. I then passed along a neatly-gravelled drive that curved through trees until I beheld a splendid mansion of red brick, crowned with a low balustrade of white stone. Robert jumped off the carriage and was assisted by a giant footman and a boy in unloading my boxes and bags.

                                    (The gates at Chirk castle, Wales)

   I was conducted into the entrance hall, which had a remarkable floor squares of white marble alternating with black slate. There were tall cabinets containing fine porcelain. From there an immense staircase, also of marble with a delicate wrought iron balustrade, swept upwards. Here the Earl welcomed me warmly and, after introducing me to other guests, said the Countess would be delighted to see me again, and suggested I should walk out onto the terrace to meet her.

  I passed through the house, and found Lady Teesdale seated under a parasol with a book of poetry in her hand. Beside her was a lady of about my age, who also had a book, though hers lay open and face down on the ground beside her, while she gave her full attention to a small dog on her lap. I hastened to pay my compliments to the Countess and enquire about her health. In return she said she was very pleased to see me again, hoped my journey had been free of trouble, and introduced me to the younger woman, who was Lady Graham, her daughter. That personage, without bothering to raise her eyes, spared a hand from stroking her lapdog and languidly presented it for me to kiss. The dog uttered a feeble little snarl at this unwonted interruption to its mistress’s attention.

    I said that the terrace garden was most beautiful, as indeed it was. Flagstones surrounded a central pool, with a statue of Neptune at its centre, played upon by fountains. There were geometrically shaped flowerbeds with yew bushes trimmed into cones or cubes, and large urns mounted on plinths. At the far side was a low balustrade. The Countess rose and took my arm to show me the view. Her daughter remained seated.

   Beyond the terrace the land fell away into a valley with fields and woodland. Over to the right was a small village with a stream and a little old church. A slight mist, through which distant hills could be perceived indistinctly, would have made the scene charming, but for the fact that as far as the eye could see the fields swarmed with armies of labourers. They were toiling away but they were not cultivating the soil. Some were digging a vast pit, long and serpentine in shape, from which others carted the soil away to pile it some distance off, and yet more workmen led teams of horses or oxen dragging trees to be planted in their new homes. Great scars ran across the land showed where hedges had been grubbed up and buildings demolished, and there were huge piles of stone and brick from demolished buildings. In the midst of this chaos I noticed a group of men unrolling and consulting plans.

   “I must own, Mr Huntingdon”, said Lady Teesdale as she stood at my side viewing the scene, “that I was happy with the gardens as they were. But my lord was insistent on change, so he called in the famous Mr Brown. He surveyed our lands and told us that he saw “capabilities of improvement”. I suspect he says that to everyone, in order to get employment. Those are Brown’s men down below us, all working like so many ants. Where they are digging will be a lake, into which our stream will be diverted. The soil dug out will be formed into a mound, on which will stand a temple in the Corinthian style, surrounded by clumps of trees. The village will have to go, of course, and where it now stands there will be an orangerie in the form of a Roman arcade. The church will remain, but will be allowed to decay into a romantic ruin. A new village and church will be built, well out of sight.”

   I wondered whether I should consult Mr Brown with a view to the improvement of my garden, but reflected that he might dismiss so small a project as beneath his attention.

   Lady Teesdale then sighed deeply, then said, “I wish my daughter took more interest in the work. It is, after all, only her children who will be able to judge the true results Mr Brown’s labours, and the expenditure of her father’s money in bringing them about. All I can see now is mud, and an outlook resembling a battlefield, and am likely to see but little else before my death”.

   I was shocked by the sad tone in which she spoke these last words, but could only mutter a feeble hope that she still had many years still ahead of her. She did not respond as we walked back to her chair, where we discovered that her daughter had apparently not moved.

   “Maria!” Lady Teesdale commanded with sudden asperity, “Get up and show our guest the house!”

   With evident reluctance the young lady so addressed rose to her feet. She deposited her lapdog on the chair she had occupied, instructed Poppy (for such was the creature’s name) on no account to move, and honoured me with no more than a single hostile glance before she turned to lead the way. Without a word she brought me to a room that was evidently the library, where we found an elderly gentleman in clerical garb.

   “Lunford!” she hailed him, in a voice that was meant to be commanding, but which merely sounded whining and peevish, “My mother requires you to conduct Mr Huntingdon here round our house!” This of course was not truthful, but the young lady clearly considered that she had done everything that duty required, and without bothering to introduce me in a proper fashion she retired back to her chair on the terrace and to Poppy. I recalled that Lord Teesdale had dismissed his daughter and her husband as “fools”. I had already formed my opinion of the daughter, and wondered what I would make of her husband.

   Lunford, by contrast, seemed pleased to meet me when I introduced myself, and said he would be delighted to have the opportunity to show me the principal rooms. So I was taken to the chapel, which had been painted with murals by Thornhill some forty years earlier, and the dining room that was the work of James Gibbs.  The room I most admired was light and airy, furnished with delicate chairs and small tables in the Chinese style, with a patterned wallpaper of pale green and gold. The family portraits were in the dining room with a three-quarter-length portrait of the Earl himself, by Allan Ramsay and a matching one of the Countess. Mr Lunford also drew my attention to great swags of lime-wood, carved into fruit and flowers by what he hailed as “the chisel of the immortal Grinling Gibbons”. I sensed that he took an immense pride in the mansion in which he was employed, almost as great as if it had been his own.

  I looked for paintings of the couple’s children, but none were to be seen, other than a family group with three infants, all dressed, for some reason, in the clothes of the previous century. Instead my attention was directed to a portrait of a man wearing red robes and a full-bottomed wig:  the Earl’s grandfather, a lawyer and Member of Parliament who had become a distinguished judge, founded the family fortunes and was raised to the peerage as a Baron.

   We passed next to a painting by Sir Godfrey Kneller of a man in military uniform with his hand resting on his sword hilt, with behind him a scene of battle, with red-coated soldiers advancing.

   “This is the judge’s son, and the father of the present Earl. He fought in the Duke of Marlborough’s wars, and rose to the rank of colonel. He was gravely wounded at the battle of Ramillies. He then entered Parliament and married an heiress; through her coming into possession of this house. She was descended from an earlier Earl of Teesdale, and the title was revived for him in consequence of his staunch support of Sir Robert Walpole and the Whig party.”

   He continued to talk at some length on the beauties of the house. I began to suspect that Lunford was a tedious fellow; the male equivalent of Mrs Waring, if such a grotesque notion was possible. My attention wandered as I imagined a contest between Lunford and my librarian Mrs Warner as to who could speak longest without stopping. Eventually I contrived to turn the talk on other subjects. I found that he, like me, was a Cambridge man, the son of a vicar in Wiltshire: he had first been employed as a tutor to the Earl’s sons, teaching them the rudiments of Latin and Greek before they were sent away to school, and worked for Lord Teesdale as librarian, keeper of muniments and occasional secretary. He praised the good nature and kindness of the Countess, but was more guarded on the subject of the Earl, and absolutely refused to be drawn when asked about their offspring, beyond saying that Lord Staines seldom visited Maybury. He was most interested when I mentioned my aunt, for he had read her pieces in the “Gentleman’s Magazine”, and had not been aware that they were written by a woman. This led him to lament the current lack of educated females when compared with earlier times. And so we parted on good terms, though I was glad of a period of silence afterwards.

 

   The dinners at Maybury were lavish. The table was of mahogany, and long enough to seat all the prominent gentlemen of the county and their ladies. There was plentiful venison and wildfowl, along with hams and pies of all kinds, and Lord Teesdale, like Sir James Wilbrahim, proudly told me how much of the food had been produced on his own estates. I doubted, however, whether Sir James would have approved of preparation of the food, for Lord Teesdale had brought his French chef from London to supervise the kitchen.

  Other guests continued to arrive over the next few days. I was introduced to the two Members of Parliament for the county, together with their ladies. Sir Anthony Pardington and Richard Braithwaite were of opposite parties: the one was a Whig, the other a Tory. Indeed, they were different from each other in every way. Sir Anthony was in his forties, and had his estates in the south of the county, whereas Mr Braithwaite was much older, and his lands extended into Lancashire, and even into Cumberland and Westmorland, though he lived part of the year in Surrey. Again, Sir Anthony was short and energetic and spoke freely on all subjects, never failing to amuse and entertain his listeners: Mr Braithwaite was tall, dark and generally silent, but when he did speak his experience and wisdom were always respected. The ladies resembled their husbands, for Lady Pardington was small and lively, dressed very smartly in blue and gold and perpetually bubbling with amusing chatter, but Mrs Braithwaite maintained an atmosphere of immense dignity, ate sparingly and seldom if ever spoke.

   Both these gentlemen valued their independence from any Party obligations. It was known that Sir Anthony had twice rejected the offer of ministerial office. Despite their political differences they had an arrangement to co-operate with each other in elections: in consequence of which they had together been returned unopposed at the last contest, and looked to do the same again.

   Both spoke to me with great politeness. They were optimistic about my prospects in Bereton in the forthcoming election and promised me that any influence they might have in the borough would be used on my behalf. When in return I assured each of them of any support I could give them in their campaigns, I felt myself a person of importance!

  Sir Anthony pressed me to visit his favourite summer residence, which he said could be reached in an easy day’s ride from Bearsclough. He was a great sportsman, with a particular love of prize-fighting and shooting, and I was forced to admit I was wholly without knowledge of either of these. Mr Braithwaite’s passion was for cricket. He maintained a team at his Surrey home, and promised that if I ever wanted a game, he would include me for one of his matches against other gentlemen’s teams.

   Among the younger guests was Lord Teesdale’s son-in-law: Sir Headley Graham, a Baronet: the heir to vast estates in the north-east on either side of the Scottish border, though he spent most of his time at his house in Berkshire. I had already perceived the justice of the Earl’s opinion of his daughter, and I now quickly came to a similar verdict on the son-in-law. His talk was mostly of horse-racing, to which conversation I could contribute nothing. On one occasion our discourse turned to art, but once he established that not only had I not visited Florence or Venice, but had never even set foot out of England, he treated me in the most supercilious manner, as if my opinions on this or any other subject could not possibly be of any value. When I mentioned that I hoped to be elected to Parliament, he replied that he would shortly be elected too, but he feared that it would be “a deuced bore”. After being obliged to listen to his conversation I decided that I much preferred the company of the two Members of Parliament.

   When the gentlemen sat together after dinner, the talk continued long into the night: of country affairs and the problems of their estates, but also of politics. Our host was the only person present who had met and talked with the new young King, though all of us had heard different rumours and we were all eager to learn the truth.

    Graham’s contribution was to say at this point, “I’ve heard it said that he is remarkably stupid!” I thought that this was a most ludicrous comment coming from him, and I found that his father-in-law was in agreement with me, for Lord Teesdale turned on him.

   “That, sir, is entirely untrue!” he replied with some asperity, “I have had the honour of speaking with His Majesty, and I can assure you he knows far more than certain other young men of his age. Where he is deficient, if I may say so, is in political understanding, and for that I must blame his grandfather’s neglect. Since boyhood, the Prince was surrounded by men from the Opposition, and in consequence he has been led to believe that our whole system of government is entirely corrupt …”

   “Which of course it is”, Mr Braithwaite commented. Lord Teesdale ignored this intervention, and continued, 

   “… and he desires to bring about a total reformation. The consequences of such a prejudice cannot yet be foreseen, but the election now about to take place will be organised by the Duke of Newcastle, as every election has been for the past thirty years or more, and I am sure he will be satisfied with the results.” 

   I told the company of the letter I had received from the Duke, and how surprised I was that he should think my campaign at Bereton a matter of importance to him. Mr Braithwaite answered me, with contempt in his voice that he made no attempt to conceal, that the Duke had always been a fool, but that now he was an old fool. He held forth on the Duke’s ineptitude in office, saying, “He was for thirty years a Secretary of State without the least trace of intelligence. Future generations, I am sure, will be astonished that such a person should have remained in power for so long. It was wholly due to his foolishness that we fell into the present war in such a disastrous condition.”

   Most of those present nodded their heads in agreement, and an elderly gentleman, whose name I forget, intervened to inform us, “Lord Wilmington once said that the Duke of Newcastle always loses half an hour in the morning, which he is running after the rest of the day without being able to overtake it”.

   Everyone laughed, after which Mr Braithwaite resumed his Philippic. “In 1756, after the disastrous start to the war, the Duke retired to his house at Claremont, where for about a fortnight, at the age of past sixty, he played at being a country gentleman and a sportsman! But, getting wet in his feet, he hurried back to London in a fright, and the country was once again blessed with his assistance.”

   Sir Anthony interposed. “None would dispute Mr Pitt’s genius in his conduct of the war”, he said, “But Pitt was to a large extent imposed on the King by the clamour of the people, and Pitt did not command the numbers in Parliament; nor did he have any grasp of the finances. So it was arranged that he and the Duke would work together to save the country. Pitt would provide the magnificent war strategies, and leave the Duke to find the equally magnificent means required to carry them out. And this grand coalition has served the country well; for we are victorious on all fronts, and for the past four years there has been no formed opposition in Parliament.”   

   The Earl then summed up the discussion most judiciously, saying that, as things stood, he thought it best that the existing ministers should continue in office, with some place being found for the Earl of Bute, as the particular friend of our new King; and that, speaking for himself he did not expect to see any resignations or dismissals as long as Pitt and the Duke were able to work together.

    The Earl was a strong supporter of the ministry’s policy of concentrating its war strategy across the Atlantic. He told us:   “Thanks to the energy of Mr Pitt, and the heroism of our sailors, the position in the Americas should now be secure. Sugar from the West Indies and tobacco from Georgia and Virginia: that is where money is to be made. I have plantations in Jamaica, with ships coming from there into Bristol and Liverpool, to the great benefit of the country. Yet I am greeted with abuse! 

   “The last time I was in London I was visited in my home by two pestiferous Quakers, a man and a woman, who prated at length, and in the most wearisome fashion, about the evils of slavery. Having listened to them patiently, I told them that my slaves, so long as they worked honestly and did not rise in revolt, would receive food and fair treatment, for I had instructed my overseers accordingly, and indeed, what more could the poor heathen savages expect? They asked whether I had ever ventured there to find whether my orders were being obeyed? I told them, of course not; but my information was that deaths on my plantations were considerably lower than on neighbouring ones. After that they departed, and I instructed my butler that on no account should such persons in future be admitted.”

   I wondered whether I myself had any investments in the West Indies or in the sugar trade: I could not recall whether Clifford had told me anything on the subject, and I vowed to research among my aunt’s papers to see if I could discover more.

   I asked about the prospects for a peace. I was told that envoys had been sent to Paris to explore whether a treaty could be negotiated soon, but Lord Teesdale doubted whether it would meet with any success.

  “For”, he said, “Pitt wishes to destroy the French empire so completely and utterly that it will never threaten this again. He will never make any concessions over the West Indies, or anywhere else. Then there is the question of Frederick of Prussia, whose situation is most perilous. Pitt will never abandon him. Therefore I do not expect any peace agreement this year”.

    Mr Braithwaite shook his head sadly, and asked whether the war would then continue until our nation was wholly bankrupt? He did not receive an answer.

   Afterwards I asked Sir Anthony Pardington why Mr Braithwaite had been invited to Maybury, since it appeared that on all questions he differed absolutely from Lord Teesdale. He laughed and replied that Lord Teesdale always wished to have friends in all parties in case there should be changes in the ministry. Mr Braithwaite, he assured me, was an honest old Tory but certainly never a Jacobite.

 

    The Countess presided at the dinner table with her husband, but said very little; and in the afternoons the ladies formed their own society, where they sipped tea from delicate Meissen bowls. On more than one occasion she graciously invited me to attend their gatherings, where I was the only man present. I did my best to follow Elizabeth’s advice on how to conduct myself. I mentioned my hope of being elected to Parliament, but quickly sensed that none of these ladies were greatly interested in political matters. Instead they discussed the works of various novelists and poets; few of whom I had read, though thanks to Elizabeth’s guidance I had at least heard of them and knew something of their work and reputations.

   Lady Pardington chattered merrily away whatever the subject, but it was Mrs Braithwaite who was treated as the ultimate oracular authority on all matters of taste. Maria attended only once, presumably at the command of her mother, and without Poppy. She plainly considered the discussions a great bore: she contributed nothing and yawned quite openly. Finally the Countess relented and permitted her to withdraw. The errant daughter then left hastily and with ill grace but greatly to the relief of the company.  

    The ladies asked me many questions about my history and my new home. I recounted a few tales of the small doings of Bearsclough and Bereton, and of my meetings with Miss Louisa Wilbrahim. They requested more information about her, and from my description unanimously proclaimed that she must be without doubt a most charming girl, and that they would be delighted to meet her. Lady Teesdale was of the opinion that she would make someone an excellent wife, but added, sentimentally, that it was a pity that she could not remain at her present innocent age for ever. No-one ever made any reference to the Countess’s son who had died, and I was careful not to broach the subject myself.

 

   I had an important discussion on the political situation in Bereton with Oswald Jarrett, Lord Teesdale’s attorney, man of business, election agent and general factotum. Mr Lunford assisted him by producing relevant documents, and together they sought to provide me with full details of my prospects of success in the election. Lunford began the instruction by recounting what he announced would be a very brief history of the borough, since Henry VIII first granted it the right to elect two Members to the House of Commons. This would no doubt have been greatly interesting to an historian, though “brief” was perhaps not the adjective I would have chosen for his discourse.

  Jarrett then gave a survey of the voters of Bereton, who would shortly be determining my future. They were the freemen of the borough; landowners, officeholders, the better-off tradesmen and others, each man having two votes. By his reckoning there were about fifty of them, though several resided a distance away, and might recently have died. He enquired whether I had been sworn in as a freeman, and on hearing I had not, advised me to do this immediately.

   I was then provided with a survey of many of those freemen: this man would always follow the lead of Sir James Wilbrahim, that man was my tenant and would vote according to my instructions; a third man held a post in the Excise and so would vote for any candidate supported by the ministry; a certain man was rich and independent, whereas another was utterly venal and would sell his vote to whoever paid highest; and so on and so forth until my mind was quite bewildered. I hoped that Clifford would already be familiar with much of this information.

   Above all, Jarrett advised, I must stay close to Sir James Wilbrahim, who carried much weight in the borough.  I mentioned the letter from the Duke of Newcastle, but was told that it would be best, at this stage, to mention the letter only to those who might support the present ministry. For myself, I should write to the Duke with fulsome promises of support, and hint that some money forthcoming from him would be much appreciated. Otherwise it was up to me to spend my money freely but wisely. If all went well, Jarrett thought, I might be returned without the trouble and expense of a poll.

   A broad hint was given that, should I find the cost of the campaign to be beyond my means, Lord Teesdale would be happy to lend me the necessary funds, provided I would promise to vote according to his wishes when requested. I returned a suitably conciliatory answer, hoping that the necessity would not arise.

 

    When the time came for me to quit Maybury, I found a positive Praetorian guard of servants lining the hall, but instead of protecting my presence their intention was to threaten my purse, for all extended a hand with the expectation of receiving payment. This included many on whom I had not set eyes during my stay. Having little choice in the matter, I paid with reluctance.

    The Earl’s parting words to me were, “Should you be successful in your attempt to enter Parliament, l would hope that you follow my guidance in any question that directly affects my interests; but otherwise you may pursue your own course as you see fit. And let me give you a word to remember: canals! They are the future! If you have money, invest it there! I expect to see Bills on the building of canals debated in the new Parliament. If you are indeed elected, vote for them! You will assuredly not regret it!”

   Well then: I would vote for any Enclosure Bill or Canal Bill that emanated from his lordship, but otherwise I would pilot my own course.

 

  Robert the valet had not exchanged a word with me, beyond those required when helping me dress, during our stay at Maybury, and he remained silent during our return journey. Eventually I broke this silence by thanking him for his flawless service and producing half a guinea from my purse and holding it just above his hand as I encouraged him to speak freely on what he had learned at Lord Teesdale’s home. There was a pause while Robert wrestled with his conscience, but the struggle did not last long. Soon he took the proffered gold and spoke.

   “His lordship keeps a very fine establishment”, he began, cautiously, “And her ladyship the Countess is deeply loved by all: they worship the ground she walks on, they do. They all say as how they couldn’t wish for a kinder mistress. Many a story they’ve told me of her generosity and help to those in distress. And she likes you, sir. George, he’s one of the footmen, heard her say she wished you was her son!”

   “And Lord Staines? What of him?”

  “Ah: the young master comes to the house but seldom, and when he does, then it’s bad times. There’s always angry disputes between him and his father, and he takes it out on the servants. Everyone is greatly relieved when he returns to London”. 

   “And what about the Earl himself? What did you learn about him?”

  Robert was reluctant to speak any further, but after a while he continued.

   “Well, sir, I didn’t hear nothing against his lordship himself. He leaves much of the business of the estate in the hands of his agent, that Mr Jarrett, and he’s not well liked. He’s a hard taskmaster, they all say, and not regular with giving the servants their wages. They may go months or even years without pay, but none don’t dare complain for fear of dismissal, because his lordship always takes Mr Jarrett’s advice on such things. It’s a rich household, sir, but not a happy one; that it’s not”.

   This made me glad that I had paid all the servants their vails (as these were named) when I left, since perhaps they were dependent on these for their livelihood, with their wages so much in arrears. At least it might assure me good service should I return. But then Robert, after furtively glancing around as if he feared someone might be listening, whispered, “Some of them do say that Mr Jarrett is pocketing his lordship’s money for himself. But I don’t know nothing about that!”

   I was careful to show no reaction to all this of information, but I filed it away in my mind. Silence then resumed for the rest of our journey, for I was thinking of my campaign for election; turning over and over in my mind an address I would deliver:

   “To the free and independent voters of Bereton – or should that be “citizens”? – To the free etc etc of the ancient and loyal borough of Bereton – or would this resurrect the Jacobite question?” and so on endlessly.

   I would soon discover whether my words had the desired effect.