JULY 1824
William was amazed by how much his wife had managed to accomplish in just one week. She had laid down terms for a temporary separation, organized travel arrangements and returned to England with her three children. Nevertheless, he too was heartened by the fact that they had parted on conciliatory terms and he fully expected to be back with his family at the end of September. As a gesture of goodwill, William had allowed Catherine to take the children with her, but there were stipulations. First, she had promised not to consult solicitors about a legal separation as this would jeopardize his creditors’ agreement. She had also agreed to his terms regarding the upbringing and education of the children, who were to remain at Draycot at all times under the strict supervision of Mr Pitman. But money was the main inducement – William only agreed that the children could go home with Catherine after she offered him payment in the form of an alimony settlement. He would receive £4,000 a year, paid in quarterly instalments of £1,000.
William was a man of many contrasts with remarkable charisma. Aside from the many women that had fallen for him, the fact that he inspired great loyalty in men such as Bulkeley, Meara and Pitman paid testament to his considerable charm. Despite everything they had witnessed, all three of these men would continue to protect him at considerable cost to their own peace of mind. Going above and beyond the call of duty, they always had his best interests at heart and now they would work together to try to help him reconcile with his family. At his most beguiling, William was irresistible. Trying to make amends for his recent behaviour, a remorseful William apologized to his parents and even sent a contrite note to Bulkeley saying, ‘You must forget all that has passed, excepting my regard for you: like Hamlet in the play, “I am somewhat choleric and rash.”’1
After escorting Catherine to her boat, Lord and Lady Maryborough returned to Paris to counsel their son, making it clear that he needed to dispose of his mistress before he returned to England. William spun them convoluted yarns describing his previous attempts to escape from her. He told them that he had travelled hundreds of miles across the continent, stopping at many places with the express intention of losing her along the way. Despite his best endeavours, Helena was like a bloodhound, always managing to track him down. Constant suicide threats made it difficult for him to send her away. In fact, he believed she was so dangerously unstable that he had attempted to have her committed into a lunatic asylum just outside Paris, but she had managed to escape.2
Eventually Lord Maryborough enlisted the help of faithful Bulkeley, who agreed to accompany William on a tour of North America. This was a considerable undertaking for the doctor, but he believed that it would be the most effective way for William to become permanently detached from Mrs Bligh, while also convincing Catherine that he had commenced a line of reformation. The following day, William set off for The Hague while his parents stayed behind hoping they could persuade Helena to return to England with them. Instead they had to witness a terrible scene – Helena attempted suicide by taking laudanum, and she then slashed her wrists in front of them using sharp scissors. Horrified by what they had witnessed, Lord and Lady Maryborough called Dr Hyde to attend to her wounds. Lord Maryborough would later report to William, ‘Doctor Hyde brought the Paris Mad Doctor to her, and, after staying two hours with her, he determined she was of sound mind, and would not take charge of her. In my own mind, I have no doubt but that all her attempts upon her life were pretended.’3
Although Lord and Lady Maryborough were unable to convince Helena to travel with them, they went home pleased with everything they had achieved: Catherine was home safely, and plans were well under way for William to sail to North America accompanied by trustworthy Bulkeley. They felt confident that within the space of a few months, William would be a reformed character ready to be reunited with his family at Draycot.
In order to make his escape, William made Helena various promises, feeding her another string of lies about his travelling arrangements. This was a regular occurrence and in the past she had always tracked him down. Just four months previously he had tried to lose her on the journey between Florence and Paris. From Genoa she had sent him a note in her childish handwriting:
I am quite astonished to find that you have not yet made your appearance in this place. What am I to conjecture? I met a party on the road who had left Schneiderffs [the hotel in Florence] on Monday, and they told me you were still there. I cannot and will not believe this, as I am quite sure you would not deceive me, or break your word. It would indeed be cruel!4
Emotional blackmail was Helena’s speciality (very different from the forthright Catherine).
On this occasion, when William left Paris, it took Helena a few days to locate him at a hotel in The Hague. Showing him her slashed wrists, Helena threatened to open up her veins again. William had been determined to separate from her, but all his resolve evaporated. He was capable of being a complete brute, but somehow Helena had genuinely touched his heart. She infuriated him, but she also moved him in a way no other woman ever had. William could not turn her away.
Poor Meara could not suffer any more drama or intrigue. When the valet saw that Mrs Bligh was back in residence, he sent William an emotional letter of resignation:
Honoured Sir, I am sorry from my heart and soul, to leave you. The return of Mrs Bligh has made me so unhappy that I am, with tears in my eyes, driven to take this step both for the safety of my health and future tranquillity of my mind.5
Meara was uncommonly loyal; he had only stayed on this long through genuine affection for his master. He continued:
Never, Sir, has a person of my sphere of life taken such a lively interest, or suffered more than I have, since this unfortunate affair has occurred. Never was a man more circumspect in his conduct than I have been on all occasions.
Asking for a good reference, Meara concluded, ‘Sir, all my hopes are placed in your generous heart . . . I have the honour to be your faithful servant.’
When William received the resignation he sent for Meara in a great rage and asked, ‘Are you mad, would you leave me without a soul!’ Making it clear that he would not provide a good reference, he insisted that the valet should stay for one more month, until he left for North America. The devoted valet reluctantly agreed. At the end of July they travelled to Ostend, where Bulkeley was waiting to take William away on his trip. On seeing the doctor, Meara’s eyes filled with tears of relief, because he believed that his master would be saved from his adulterous life and restored to his wife and children. Patting the valet on the back, Bulkeley said, ‘Cheer up, Meara, something will be done now.’
‘You must stay out of sight,’ warned the valet. ‘If Mrs Bligh sees you, she will know instantly that a scheme has been formed against her.’ The dreaded Mrs Bligh had taken to carrying a knife to slash her own wrists, but Meara worried that she could just as easily thrust the blade between his ribs.
The situation had become completely untenable for William. When he left for Paris early that evening, accompanied by Bulkeley, he intended to sever all ties with Helena. Poor Meara was left to cope with the murderous Mrs Bligh on his own. The valet was given the unenviable task of duping her into believing that William had received a challenge from her father, and had set off immediately for Calais. Meara assured her that they would follow on in a few days. When they set off on the journey, Mrs Bligh abused him so savagely that he was obliged to sit outside the carriage. Deeply regretting his promise to stay on for one month, the valet’s only inducement was the knowledge that Dr Gladstone was waiting at Calais to take Helena back to England. Somehow she discovered the scheme and took out all her fury on Meara, screaming and pummelling him with her fists. Then she turned round and headed straight for Paris.
Reaching William’s hotel before Helena, Meara told his master what had happened. Sitting down heavily on a chair, William put his head in his hands, rubbed his temples and said, ‘God help me!’ Arriving shortly afterwards, Mrs Bligh blamed Meara for everything, accusing him of duping her and treating her roughly. Worn out by her theatrics, William became run-down and developed a high fever brought on by his recurring eye infection. This caused his doctors much concern. While he was delirious in bed, Mrs Bligh moved back into his hotel room to take care of him. William’s chance to get away from her had evaporated and he did not have the energy for another theatrical escape.
Bulkeley realized it was pointless to continue hoping that William would reform his conduct. Prior to returning to his practice in Naples, he presented William with a bill for £467 for his medical attendance on the Long Wellesley family. Declining to pay the demand, William refused to have anything more to do with the good doctor.6
Bulkeley wrote to Lord Maryborough with news that William was back with the dreaded Mrs Bligh. An exchange of correspondence ensued and William’s letters revealed his astonishing level of self-delusion. He had the audacity to tell his father that Catherine had caused the rift in their marriage – by making a fuss over nothing. Appalled at his son’s mulishness, Lord Maryborough voiced his displeasure in a brutally candid letter. He lamented, ‘Your greatest misfortune is, the vain self-delusion of supposing, that you are brought into your present melancholy . . . by others; and not by your own conduct.’7 Talking of Catherine, he stated, ‘Your wife is admired by all . . . her only fault has been bearing with your intolerable conduct for too long.’ His assessment of Helena was particularly ferocious: ‘That most horrible monster Mrs Bligh . . . is entirely void of every principle of morality . . . which civilised human beings have . . . She would be a monster amongst savages . . . If you do not separate yourself from this scandalous profligate witch, you must share her fate.’ Finishing on a conciliatory note, Maryborough stated, ‘My heart bleeds at what I have written. I call you to witness I have written it for your own good.’
In writing to William in such strong terms, Maryborough was following the conventions of the time – it was considered to be a father’s duty to counsel his son and to show him the error of his ways. Now that William was on the verge of catastrophe, Maryborough tried his hardest to make him see sense by pointing out, ‘The whole world approves of your wife’s separating from you and were you now to come to England, and it were possible for you to remain out of jail, you would be driven out of society.’ On seeing a copy of the letter, Catherine said that she hoped it would show her husband ‘the true colours of his situation and make the deepest impression on his heart and mind’.8
For much of his life William had strived for recognition and approval in the highest echelons of society. His father was correct to say that if he did not rein himself in, he would be ostracized by the very people he had tried to impress. Scandal followed William wherever he went and his entire adult life had been a series of self-inflicted disasters. It seemed that he would never learn his lesson or redeem himself in any way. On this occasion he might have prevented absolute ruin if he had found the resolve to end his affair with Helena. But he chose to play with fire, and the worst tragedy of all was yet to come.