1819
Victory in the Wiltshire elections came at a great price; William admitted that his campaign had cost ‘an expense of not less than between £30,000 and £40,000’, plunging him even further into debt.1 Vast sums had been wasted on food, drink, entertainment, security, transport, posters, livery and brass bands. Conveniently forgetting his promise to become a resident of Wiltshire, the ‘Cock of the Walk’ returned to Wanstead House immediately after the elections, claiming that he was needed in the House of Commons. In reality, he spent several months trying to resolve his credit crisis.
During the election campaign Catherine had heard that her husband was spending copiously. She contacted her administrator, who confirmed that funds were low, and then she sent William a concerned note: ‘I am very anxious to hear that you are well, but fear that you are sadly worried about the accounts.’2 Despite all this, William continued to deceive her about the extent of his liabilities. By now he had reluctantly agreed to settle with the Miss Longs, but because he was already so heavily in debt, nobody would lend him money. Eventually he managed to raise £30,000 from a money-lender, the Earl de la Warr, at the extortionate repayment rate of ten per cent per annum. This additional loan crippled William. When the Miss Longs heard about his dire financial situation, they referred the matter to Lord Shaftesbury, stating that they would wait for their money. It was too late, however, as William had already signed up for the onerous deal. William was not qualified to manage estates or handle vast sums of money and he stumbled from one pecuniary crisis to another. Signing up for a new loan at an exorbitant rate was the latest in a long line of financial blunders. It would prove to be the catalyst for all the trouble that was to come.
William would later blame the Miss Longs for forcing him to take such drastic measures. In truth, however, this loan was probably used to fund his election campaign, and Dora and Emma never received a penny of it.3 By now the Miss Longs were both approaching their late twenties and William’s mean-mindedness had ruined their marriage prospects. Without their portions they could not afford to set themselves up in comfortable homes. Emma’s chance of happiness evaporated when Mr Burke finally gave up and married someone else. His affections had been sincere; he had waited seven years. Naturally, poor Emma was distraught. The whole situation was a dreadful shame because both sisters adored children and longed for families of their own.
William’s father, Mr Pole, was a well-respected politician who excelled in his roles as Cabinet minister and Master of the Mint. In 1816, he had helped to stabilize the economy by introducing a ‘Great Re-coinage’. Currency reform was vital due to a shortage of silver and copper coins, which contributed to the culture of trade based on credit that could not be sustained. Displaying incredible organizational skills, Mr Pole directed the design process, oversaw the operation of the new steam-driven presses at the mint in Tower Hill, and completed distribution of £2,600,000 in new coins across Britain within fourteen days. Sir Joseph Banks proclaimed, ‘The bold manner in which [Mr Pole] devised, and executed one of the most difficult works . . . during the present Reign . . . does honour to the name of Wellesley.’4 The coinage was a lasting legacy that remained in circulation until decimalization in 1971.
With the Wellesleys at the forefront of government, William saw himself as a rising star in the political arena. When Parliament reconvened after the summer break he focused his attention on advancing his career, sitting on select committees and making several speeches in the Commons. In reality, however, William did not command respect among his fellow MPs because they remembered his diplomatic and military indiscretions. Ordinarily, this would not have been an issue; politicians have notoriously short memories. The problem was that William never learned from his mistakes. This was demonstrated when his loose talk at a dinner party came back to haunt him. Hell-bent on revenge, Hobhouse published an anonymous report about the cover-up at the Treasury, where William had been involved in falsifying official documents. This was a serious offence, implicating both William and the former foreign secretary, George Canning. Aside from the ensuing blackened reputations, the Wellesleys were furious with William for the needless betrayal of a close family friend.
As well as being untrustworthy, William was also hopelessly out of touch. The Peterloo Massacre, on 16 August 1819, had stunned the nation. A crowd of 60–80,000 men, women and children had gathered at St Peter’s Fields in Manchester to rally for parliamentary reform. They carried garlands and banners calling for ‘Vote by Ballot’ and ‘Suffrage Universal’. Troops with muskets and bayonets were sent in to break up the peaceful protest, storming through the crowd indiscriminately. In just ten minutes the battle was over. Eleven innocents were slaughtered; many had stab wounds from sabres, while others were crushed or trampled under horses’ hooves. Over 500 wounded bodies lay strewn in the field, children included – a carnage that resembled the aftermath of Waterloo. Peterloo was one of the defining events of the era. It was the moment when the ruling elite was forced to acknowledge that repression of the masses could not continue for much longer. After years of biting hardship and periods of famine, the lower classes were dangerously close to rebellion and the government was in constant fear of a French-style revolution. It was clear that major issues needed to be addressed. Astute politicians searched for measures to ease poverty and pressed for parliamentary reform.
During debates in the Commons, William professed to sympathize with the poor, stating that adequate employment should be found for the whole labouring class.5 Regarding Peterloo, however, he sided firmly with the government, stating that no ‘advantage would be gained by carrying out a public enquiry’,6 while also defending the Sheriff of Wiltshire in suppressing protests in the county.7 In response, his old rival John Benett declared, ‘When men are in a state of want, and almost of starvation, their complaints ought surely to be heard.’8
A class war was raging but, typically, William was only interested in promoting his own concerns and gratification. Completely misjudging the mood of the nation, and dumbfounding the Commons, he started campaigning for amendments to the Game Laws. Poaching was one of William’s pet hates, but it was a ridiculous topic to debate at a time when repression of the lower classes was being called into question. Amendments to the Game Laws would only inflame the situation, as it highlighted the divisions and inequality. Oblivious to his own folly, William spoke with zeal about the evils of poaching, advocating the severest penalties for people caught stealing from the estates of landed gentry. He pontificated so frequently on the subject, the whole House groaned whenever he stood up, heckling with cries of ‘Spoke, spoke!’ until he sat down.9
Aside from his torturous speeches about poachers, William was part of a select committee appointed to investigate the amount of money being paid to the Duke of York. With funds in such short supply, Parliament was clamouring for a reduction in payments set aside for the royal household. Considering his own extravagance, William was surprisingly severe about everyone else’s spending. On 5 February 1819, The Times recorded that William was firmly in favour of cutting the duke’s allowances. Preaching to the Commons, he moralized, ‘I cannot refrain from expressing the need for urgent economy in every branch of government expenditure.’ He went on to say, ‘I have brought with me to this House, a little stock of common sense, but a large stock of common honesty.’ On hearing this, everybody in the House fell about laughing and the hilarity did not die down for some considerable time.10 Blind to his own shortcomings, William was so self-deluded and out of touch, he became an object of ridicule in Parliament.
During the season of 1819, entertainment at Wanstead House was constrained by the lack of finances. Catherine hosted a few select gatherings to impress William’s political cronies, but there were no fetes or other major events. William stayed in town several evenings a week to conduct business or talk politics, and Catherine joined him occasionally to attend functions or visit the Drury Lane Theatre and Vauxhall Gardens. She continued to reside mainly at Wanstead, however, an arrangement that suited her well, as she could devote time to her children. Young Will and James were dark-haired like the Wellesleys, but one-year-old Victoria was more like Catherine with a halo of blonde curls, an angelic face and infectious giggle. Catherine was pleased when William agreed that her mother and sisters could visit over the summer. Lady Catherine, Dora and Emma accepted gratefully, delighted at the opportunity to spend time with the children. The spinster aunts spent an idyllic few weeks, chasing about on the lawns, playing blind man’s bluff, enjoying treasure hunts, fishing in the streams or sailing in the pleasure boats.
When Parliament resumed after the summer break, William slipped back into his routine of living in London during the week. Catherine was perfectly happy with this arrangement, going out and about with her friends and spending time with her children. Whenever William returned to Wanstead at the weekend, he was the ideal husband, lavishing time on Catherine. He was so tender and attentive that she had no cause to suspect a single thing. Undoubtedly, she would have been devastated to discover that William was still leading a double life.
The previous year, Catherine had been very businesslike in her dealings with the mother of William’s illegitimate son. The child should have been William’s responsibility, but it was Catherine who undertook support from her own pin money. This was not entirely due to benevolence; she had agreed to provide Maria Kinnaird with an annuity strictly on the understanding that she stayed away from William. But Maria had returned from France and moved into a house in Seymour Terrace, Edgware Road, where William paid the bills and rent. Resuming their relationship, the couple hosted intimate dinner parties where Maria was the only woman present and she held court in exactly the same manner as when she had been living with Douglas Kinnaird.11 William carefully conducted the affair behind closed doors for fear of Catherine’s reprisals. Some evenings his coachman took him to Seymour Terrace straight from the House of Commons, but if he had another engagement he arrived at about midnight and remained there until the next morning. Every night the coachman and the butler Bicknell waited outside the house for him, ostensibly to guard the carriage and horses while he made a brief visit. But they had instructions to leave without him at around 2 a.m., so that anyone watching the house would believe that William had gone home.12
Despite his pecuniary embarrassments, William ran two separate establishments with his customary extravagance. Skilfully dividing his time between his wife and his mistress, he grew accomplished at juggling two women and keeping both of them happy. Unsurprisingly, unpaid bills mounted up as William’s financial crisis deepened. The prospect of debtors’ prison did not worry him because MPs were exempt from prosecution for debts. He remained desperate to borrow money, however, because nobody would advance him any more credit, not even the tallow chandler supplying his candles.13 He was in such a sorry financial state he could no longer afford to light his house. Naturally, his old friend Douglas Kinnaird refused to help, teaching William another valuable lesson – when facing fiscal difficulties the last woman on earth you should seduce is your banker’s mistress!
Early the following year, events overtook William. On 29 January 1820, George III died and the Prince Regent was pronounced George IV. A general election was legally required due to the death of the old king, and a constitutional crisis seemed inevitable with the nation in a state of panic following Peterloo. Still in real fear of a French-style revolution, the governing classes became even more anxious when secret agents uncovered a plot to overthrow the establishment. The Cato Street Conspirators were planning an uprising, supported by various trade societies spread throughout England. But first they intended to burst in on a Cabinet dinner, murder everybody present and carry away their heads on pikes. At the time, both Wellington and Mr Pole were in the Cabinet. When Wellington heard about the plot, he proposed that all guests at the dinner should be armed with pistols, so that they could ambush the would-be assassins. This was a high-risk strategy and, needless to say, his colleagues were unwilling, even though Wellington reassured them that he would draft in reinforcements, in the form of soldiers disguised as servants. Fortunately, a gunfight involving Cabinet ministers was not necessary as the conspiracy was exposed well in advance and the plotters were captured, though not without a skirmish in which a Bow Street Runner was stabbed to death. Although the ringleaders of the gang were subsequently tried and hanged, the feeling of unease persisted.
The Cato Street Conspiracy should have struck a chord with William, particularly as members of his close family were prime targets. However, he was more interested in his own affairs than the state of the nation. In order to remain immune from prosecution for debt, he needed to retain his seat in Parliament. Paul Methuen had stepped down as Knight of the Shire of Wiltshire, but when Mr Astley and Mr Benett came forward to stand for the county, William realized that he could not afford the cost of another election campaign. On 7 March 1820, he reluctantly tendered his resignation, citing his reason as ‘indefinite expense’. Addressing the freeholders of Wiltshire, he declared, ‘In these difficult times, the duty I owe to my tenantry and family will not permit me to risk the injury of their interests.’14 Following William’s withdrawal, Astley and Benett gained automatic election as MPs for Wiltshire because they were the only two candidates remaining.15
Catherine was aware that her husband owed money all over town because tradesmen had been calling at Wanstead House demanding payment. As she was not a party to any of these transactions, she had no way of knowing just how much he had spent. William continued to reassure her because he felt confident that another parliamentary seat could be acquired for him relatively easily. But in the meantime, the moment he relinquished his seat in the House of Commons he was at risk of being sent to debtors’ prison. Within two weeks of resigning as MP for Wiltshire, William received a reliable tip-off that he would be arrested within the hour. Forced to flee abroad in great haste, he did not have time to pack a bag, or even send a note to his wife. Instead, he hopped aboard the first available vessel sailing to France and cruised swiftly away down the Thames. As one review recorded, ‘He was compelled to escape from his unsatisfied creditors in an open boat down the Thames, thereby adding one stain more to his already tarnished name by leaving his poor wife and three children to shift for themselves as best they might.’16