SEPTEMBER 1824
After all her trials on the continent, Catherine relished the tranquillity of Draycot, comforted with childhood memories of the years spent quietly with her mother and sisters. Lady Catherine had never been seduced by glamour; her priorities were always her charities and her children. Realizing that her mother’s simple lifestyle had probably been much more rewarding than her own, Catherine found great solace in the company of her children. The terrible gripping pains in her chest had stopped; she felt relaxed and relieved to be home.
Driving out every day, Catherine renewed acquaintances with neighbours and tenants on her estate. Evidence of Lord Maryborough’s endeavours could be seen everywhere in the prosperous new leaseholders, well-stocked farms and increased productivity throughout Draycot. Catherine soon discovered, however, that the growth in her income had come at a high price because some of her old friends had been evicted through non-payment of rents. Many working families had ended up in the workhouse where men, women and children lived apart. This meant that families could only meet up once a week on Sundays, which was their day off. Facing the prospect of being parted from her own children, Catherine felt great empathy and was sorry that she was no longer in a position to help them. She wrote to her aunt, Lady Sarah de Crespigny, ‘Many sad changes have taken place, since I was last at dear Draycot. You will easily imagine what were my feelings upon reaching this place. It required all my fortitude to struggle against them.’1
Some of Catherine’s old favourites were still at Draycot and they were pleased to see her. Receiving a warm welcome wherever she went, Catherine found the society of country folk refreshing, comforting and undemanding. Farmer Smyth gave her a bag of partridges to take home, and Farmer Lane let the boys taste his home-brewed ale.2 The children also flourished in their new environment; they had more freedom in the country to go out riding or fishing on the estate. Separated from her husband, Catherine was not inclined to go out in the evenings, but her sisters provided all the society she desired. Supper at Draycot was an informal affair and the children were often permitted to eat in the dining room with the adults. Afterwards, Dora and Emma organized treasure hunts, card games, charades and blind man’s buff; little Victoria would later recall that she had never been happier.
Now that she was back in Wiltshire, Catherine became actively involved in the running of her estates, writing letters and attending to business. She consulted with Merrick Shawe, who was a frequent visitor to Draycot, as he was responsible for calling on the farms to offer advice and ensure that everything was running smoothly. Lord Maryborough had also asked him to keep an eye on Catherine and the children. Although Shawe had always been a close associate of William, helping to fix his problems, he was not particularly well acquainted with his wife. After just a few afternoons in Catherine’s company, Shawe was completely enchanted by the sad, sweet lady. Just as Dr Bulkeley and Mr Pitman before him, Shawe had fallen under her spell.
Catherine still did not have legal custody of the children – by law they were entirely under the control of their father. William had entrusted them to the care of Mr Pitman, strictly on the understanding that his orders were carried out rigidly, warning the tutor, ‘I will never forgive you if you allow anyone but myself to interfere about them.’3 He left strict instructions with Pitman regarding the education of his children. In order to prepare the boys for Eton, Pitman concentrated on Latin and classic literature. They were also taught French, arithmetic and how to write a good letter. Contemporary books advised that ‘letter-writing is so manifestly the main object and design of all education . . . a truly important art’.4 To demonstrate their progress, it was Pitman’s duty to ensure that Will and James wrote to their father every Friday.
However, William’s apparent interest in the boys’ education was not entirely altruistic and he used their innocent snippets of information to undermine Catherine’s authority at home by issuing unreasonable orders and demands. When he discovered that the boys often visited friends, he banned them from leaving Draycot or mixing with children of their own rank. William instructed Pitman:
Do not allow the boys to ride in the towns, or junket about to the neighbours . . . I have a very great dread of their making acquaintances, especially with little masters; I would much rather they mixed with farmers’ sons and peasantry.5
Two weeks later, William wrote to Pitman:
If you can obtain a gentleman of the fancy . . . engage him to give [the boys] lessons in boxing; their amusements ought to consist now of cricket, bat and ball, quoits, &c. I hope they have entirely got rid of their nursery dress, and undress themselves, and are completely out of the control of female servants.6
A stalemate had developed between the couple. William wanted to return to the family home, but on his own terms. He was wielding his power, demonstrating that he was the master of the house and could do as he pleased. The constant badgering was typical of his methods; he was trying to make life as difficult as possible for his wife in the hope that she would concede. Catherine was equally resolute that she would only take him back on the condition that he left his mistress and showed some remorse for the hurt he had caused. Naturally, she needed assurances for the future. Growing to dread his weekly commandments, she complained that his letters contained ‘matter calculated to annoy and distress me and to make my children as much as possible independent of me’.7 Before long even this amount of control did not satisfy William; he sent two of his stooges to work at Draycot and spy on Catherine. Ostensibly Mr Langdon and Mr Wright were employed to take the boys out hunting and teach them other manly sports, but in reality their main purpose was to report back to William.8
Money was also a problem for Catherine – after paying William his alimony she was left with just £1,625 a quarter to pay staff, run a household, and support and educate her children. Knowing this, William made demands about boxing lessons and other expensive activities. The following month he wrote to Will:
I am very much dissatisfied to find that my orders have not been attended, by procuring for yourself and brother a brace of greyhounds each. My intention was, and is, that you and your brother should each keep a brace of greyhounds [and a pack of harriers], which Mr Wright must procure for you.9
Blissfully happy at the prospect of coursing hares, the children were completely unaware of the part they were playing in undermining their mother. Young Will wrote an excited note to his aunt Dora:
I hope you like Cheltenham but . . . we are very dull without you. We have had no blind man’s buff since you left us, nor shall we until you return. What do you think, Aunt Dora, I have just received a letter from Papa who gives us permission to keep two grey hounds each, and when we get them we shall have good sport coursing, and there will be plenty of hares for your dinner when you return.
William’s strategy to drive a wedge between mother and children was working. When Catherine tried to explain why the boys could not keep greyhounds, they grew angry with her.
The rumours about William incarcerating his wife in the Grotto were probably untrue, but the strategies he now employed were almost as effective as lock and key. Catherine became a prisoner in her own home because the children were not permitted to leave Draycot. This meant that she had to stay behind when Dora and Emma visited Cheltenham. Even though he was in another country hundreds of miles away, William found ways to manipulate his wife; he continued to undermine her and control her. Isolated from all society, even from the company of her sisters, Catherine was forlorn. The bad weather did not help as the boys were stuck indoors for much of October, running riot through the house and bringing back bittersweet memories of her own little brother. She wrote to her aunt Lady de Crespigny, ‘The hall and passages have been (as in older times) very much resorted to during the wet weather.’ Describing the monotony of her life at Draycot, she finished the letter on a gloomy note: ‘I see nobody and hear no news, therefore mine must be a sad dull letter, and in charity to you I will end it.’10
Catherine also stayed in close contact with her loyal friend Bulkeley, writing regularly with news of the children and informing him proudly:
Victoria reads French and English nearly as well as Will, and already takes an interest in geography and history . . . Will has conquered a great deal of that irritability of temper . . . James is in high good looks; he has become a much more courageous rider; they have been out once or twice with the Duke of Beaufort’s hounds.11
With regards to her husband she confided sorrowfully:
There is nothing like the smallest spark of good or proper feeling towards me expressed in any of his letters. Everything (even his own mother tells me) is going on in the most deplorable way at Dieppe . . . I have endeavoured to bring back my husband . . . given him every possible opportunity of redeeming his character, but all, alas! has failed.
Despite everything that had happened, Catherine still cared deeply for her husband, even remarking to Bulkeley, ‘I am sorry to hear a bad account of Mr Long Wellesley’s eye.’ Hoping for reassurances, yearning for William to come to his senses, Catherine scoured his letters for just one glimmer of hope, but she found ‘nothing but defiance’. She justly reasoned, ‘How can I expect to receive courtesy and attention from him in future when he does not express one spark of kindness towards me, or even in the least regret for the many miseries which he has heaped upon me?’
Catherine had devoted most of her adult life to William. Some of her best memories were of times spent with him, as were many of her worst. She had probably laughed a thousand times in his company, but she had shed twice as many tears. It had reached a point where the pain far outweighed the pleasure. Having been a dutiful, virtuous wife Catherine felt deeply hurt by the fact that her husband preferred the ‘vile witch’ Helena. In the cold light of day she stood by her beliefs, assuring Bulkeley, ‘There is no fear of my relaxing – I am firm; I feel it a duty which I owe to myself, and my children.’