1813
During the first summer of her marriage, Catherine had been blissfully happy and particularly delighted at the prospect of becoming a mother. But the harsh winter that followed was made even bleaker when she suffered a miscarriage and lost her precious baby. Elegant soirées with blazing fires did little to relieve the aching emptiness she felt inside as she shuffled about the house suffocated with sorrow. In this depressed state, she did not notice the first buds of spring until she threw back her curtains one morning to find that the gardens had bloomed overnight. Walking around the pleasure grounds helped her to regain her strength and lift her spirits. One of her favourite spots was the shaded bluebell wood, with its wild natural beauty and tranquillity. Strolling through forests freshly washed with rain, she breathed in the therapeutic, woody scent of pines and sweet chestnuts. Soothed by the whisper of a breeze stirring the rushes, she listened for the gentle ripple of herons landing on the lake. Signs of new life were all around: young lambs frolicked in her fields, birds laid their eggs and fragile blossoms magically appeared on barren trees. Finding hope in this rebirth, she prayed that it would not be too long before she was graced with a child.
William was attentive during this difficult period, devoting time to his wife. Sharing their hopes for the future, he fuelled her desire to travel with stories of his time abroad. They talked about visiting colourful bazaars and balmy beaches or taking in the sights on a Grand Tour of Italy. But, more than anything, the couple longed for an heir and this common purpose brought them closer together. Catherine loved William deeply and she desperately wanted to bear his child.
Another situation troubling Catherine was the fact that a bitter argument had erupted between William and her family over money. The dispute had started early in 1813, after her sisters began to press William for the £15,000 bequeathed to each of them under the terms of their father’s will. As Dora was almost twenty-one, her portion was owed shortly, and Emma had requested her money because she was betrothed to Mr Burke and needed funds to establish a home of her own. First Lady Catherine wrote to William and then, on 7 January 1813, Dora sent another reminder, stating, ‘I shall be very much obliged to you if you will now take measures for the payment of that part of my fortune, £15,000.’1
When William replied four days later, he insisted the delay was not his fault, claiming, ‘I have left it entirely with your professional person [Mr Bicknell] to point out the most eligible mode in which he conceived your portion might be offered you.’2 Clearly affronted by Dora’s tone, William launched into a sanctimonious tirade:
I venture to suggest, that such letters, as those of yours and Lady Catherine never were before written to a man of character. The unfortunate mode in which you have chosen to wage your claim upon me, is one which no person of business, integrity, or knowledge of the world, would ever have resorted to and one which has no parallel in the history of polite society. Your letters have seriously offended your sister.3
Full of bluster, William’s letter was unnecessarily pompous and hostile, stating that Dora had no ‘integrity’ or knowledge of ‘polite society’. William was in the habit of complaining that Catherine’s family were uncouth and, as a result, many people genuinely believed that Dora and Emma were ignorant, insipid creatures. However, Dora’s letters to William refute this and she would later prove to be a formidable adversary. Unfazed by his bullying tactics, her reply was short with a hint of sarcasm:
I am much obliged to you for your letter, but must trouble you once more to observe that Mr Bicknell was fully empowered by me to negotiate the business alluded to with any professional people whom you might appoint. Pray forgive my boring you thus.4
A stalemate developed, with Catherine stuck in the middle. William was withholding Emma’s money because he did not approve of Mr Burke and insisted that he would arrange a more suitable match to a man with better prospects. He was also annoyed that the ladies were griping about money after Catherine had provided them with such generous annuities, paying £2,000 to Dora and £1,500 to Emma. The main excuse that he gave to his wife, however, was that their finances were in such disarray, and Catherine knew this to be true.
During the first year of his marriage, William had worked hard to make sense of the accounts. With hundreds of small tenancies and holdings spread across six counties, it was difficult to keep track. Working his way through estate ledger books, William scrawled comments in the margins: ‘This amount is not very large . . . Where are these accounts? . . . This is all perfectly unacceptable.’5 According to William, a great deal of money remained unaccounted for, causing him to suspect that the trustees had mismanaged the estates, while systematically taking large cuts for themselves. Nothing was ever proven, but it gave William the perfect excuse to get rid of the old advisors and bring in his own people.
Another problem William encountered was the fact that Catherine’s inheritance was not as large as he had expected. Although Sir Josiah Child had been fabulously wealthy, his son, the first Earl Tylney, had lost a fortune in the South Sea Bubble, while the bachelor Earl Tylney had depleted funds further by spending lavishly. Added to this, rents were in arrears because tenants were struggling to turn over profits. Nevertheless, William’s rent roll was in the region of £40,000 – a vast sum. But before any money was paid to him, the trustees settled the various annuities: £7,500 to Catherine, £2,500 to Dora, £1,500 to Emma and around £5,000 to Lady Catherine. After these deductions William was entitled to draw the balance, which left him with a personal income of around £25,000. When he had paid off the huge backlog of debts accumulated since Sir James’s death, William barely broke even in his first year.6
Cajoling his wife, William explained that there had been many one-off expenses since their marriage, which meant that he would not be able to settle with her sisters until the following year. Dora and Emma accepted the situation for the time being.
However, financial pressures did not stop William spending copiously on himself. Shortly after their first wedding anniversary, he presented Catherine with a novel trinket: a brooch in the design of a bee, intricately worked and made up entirely of precious stones. Newspapers were impressed by the ingenuity: ‘The wings of the bee are extended, and upon touching a spring they open, and discover one of the smallest watches that was perhaps ever seen.’7 With her huge hoard of jewels, another expensive bauble was the last thing that Catherine needed, but the brooch became a talking point just as William intended, bolstering the image he wanted to create.
In return, Catherine presented William with a gift even more precious. Much to everyone’s delight, she was pregnant again. However, because Catherine was so dainty, there were concerns that she would never be able to carry a baby full-term and so the joy was somewhat subdued. Added to this was the sobering statistic that around one in twelve women died through childbirth.8 William was well aware that if his wife expired without producing an heir, her share in the estates would automatically pass to her sister Dora. Naturally, it was a stressful time for everyone concerned.
Catherine had planned to deliver her child in London, under top medical supervision, but she was caught unawares when she went into labour much earlier than expected. Riding out from Wanstead to fetch assistance, William was in a dreadful panic because his wife had become violently ill and it promised to be a difficult birth.9 So much could go wrong. In an age without pain relief, antiseptic, antibiotics or the efficient use of forceps or caesarean section, labour was a protracted, excruciating ordeal. Even if the child was safely delivered, unsanitary practices meant that mother and baby were at risk of dying of a fever or infection in childbed. Given her diminutive size, Catherine was susceptible to one of the most common and agonizing problems, the unborn child becoming obstructed by the head. She knew that if this happened a choice would have to be made to save either the mother or the child. Even then there were no guarantees. Furthermore, if the baby became trapped and died it was possible that it would have to be ‘torn apart within her and removed in pieces’.10 Not surprisingly, Catherine was terrified as she wondered what the next forty-eight hours would bring.
The press always held Catherine in great esteem. Breathing a sigh of relief, newspapers proudly announced, ‘Mrs Long Wellesley was safely delivered of a son and heir, at Wanstead House, on Thursday (7 October), at a quarter past three o’clock. Mrs Wellesley and the child are both doing extremely well.’11
In stark contrast, the same report lampooned William by stating, ‘Wellesley Long Pole, on riding to town for the accoucheur to attend his Lady, was so overjoyed at finding him at home, that he forgot where he left his horse.’12 William did not receive deference in the press and satirists could not resist referring to him as Mr Long Pole. This nickname had many connotations: it questioned his ability to stay loyal to Catherine, while suggesting that he was cocky, and also a ‘big dick’ (or dickhead). Perhaps they had a point, because some of his comments were decidedly inappropriate, as indicated by a letter he sent announcing the birth of his first child. ‘My dearest Mother,’ he wrote, ‘the younger gentleman has my eyes and nose but Mrs Wellesley’s mouth, and that he has a lock of black hair . . . For my part I think it an ugly little wretch, but Mrs Wellesley makes a great to-do about it.’13
William Richard Arthur was born on 6 October 1813. Catherine’s life changed completely when her son was born and she spent hours sitting beside his crib just watching him, marvelling at the perfection of his tiny toes and fingers, stroking his soft skin, breathing in the sweet milky scent of him. She was amazed by how much her sleeping child looked like her beloved William; soft dark curls tousled on his forehead, thick eyelashes curling on perfect creamy cheeks and sweet rosebud lips. Wealthy women often relinquished care to wet-nurses, but Catherine stayed heavily involved. On visiting Wanstead two weeks after the birth, William’s sister Emily commented that Catherine was ‘looking as well as possible and walking about the room with her baby in her arms’.14 Catherine had longed for a baby, but nothing had prepared her for the intense, overwhelming love she felt for her child.