Grasp at a shadow – William’s words rang true. Despite all her good fortune, true happiness was something Catherine had never quite attained; it was always lurking just beyond her reach. Her moments of joy had been fleeting. Her early years had been tainted by the loss of her father and brother, and the years of constant battle with William had taken their toll. Her life had been agonizingly stripped away bit by bit, and now she was in danger of losing her children. Living in constant fear, the terrifying pains that gripped her chest became more frequent and she believed that she would not survive another seizure. Forced into hiding, flitting from house to house, she wrote to Bulkeley, deeply distressed, ‘[Mr Long Wellesley] is following me with the most cruel persecution.’1
Before the debacle at Clarges Street, Catherine had endeavoured to make her children Wards of Chancery pending a custody trial, although Hutchinson had advised that this was unlikely to be granted.2 On 28 August, she instructed her solicitor to approach the Lord Chancellor once again. Catherine insisted:
Mr Long Wellesley declared to Colonel Shawe, in Boulogne, that if he could not obtain custody of the children by legal measures, he would resort to stratagem . . . [He] will likely make the attempt during the present recess . . . Would not this threat justify my application to the Lord Chancellor, without further delay?3
Catherine would not rest until she found a way to safeguard her children. Despite all her worries, she was always thinking about others and she made the time to send thoughtful gifts and messages to friends. ‘My dear Lady Maryborough,’ she wrote, ‘I was sincerely grieved to hear of your illness . . . I have since made frequent enquiries [of Colonel Shawe] and was happy to find you were recovering.’4
Bartholomew Bouverie wrote to Catherine: ‘I hope your sisters have already conveyed you my best thanks for the venison, of which we began to partake on Thursday.’5
‘My dear Mrs Wellesley,’ wrote Lady Clarendon, ‘I cannot let your note pass unacknowledged without thanking you for your kind attention in writing it; at a time when I am sure you might well be excused for not thinking of others.’6
With her nerves in shreds, Catherine was barely sleeping and she could not return to Clarges Street because she was terrified that William would reappear to snatch her children at gunpoint. With her health deteriorating rapidly, she suffered severe spasms in her chest and her stomach churned constantly. Unable to keep down food, her weight plunged dramatically and purple crescents hollowed her eyes as she drifted about the house like a ghost.
Dora and Emma were towers of strength, deciding that it would be prudent to go into hiding. The family left London on 7 September, and moved to a tranquil house overlooking the river at No. 2 The Paragon, Richmond. But Catherine could not find peace in sleepy Surrey; just one day after she arrived there, she received a note from Henry Windsor enclosing a missive from William. The instant she received the letter, she ran to her sisters worried that it contained more threats to remove the children from her care. Catherine was seized by a severe attack that gripped her chest and squeezed all the breath from her body. Doubled over in pain, she felt too weak to encounter any agitating news.
Handing the unopened letter to Dora, Catherine said, ‘Would you take charge of this for me? If it contains any threats respecting the children, I authorize you to communicate with my solicitor . . . Please send for Plank the police officer, to resist any attempt to remove the children and to take all the necessary steps for their security.’7
Assuring her that they would manage the task and accede to all her wishes, Catherine’s sisters helped her upstairs and settled her into bed. Before they left, Catherine pleaded, ‘Please avoid mentioning this distressing subject to me at present, as I feel persuaded that, if I were to attempt reading the letter, my spasms would return, and I might be dead in a few hours.’
Shortly afterwards, Dora and Emma sent word to Bartholomew Bouverie, who replied by return, ‘I fear your sister’s illness must be increased by reflecting into what wretched hands her poor children must fall.’ The sisters also summoned Dr Julius, who stayed with Catherine all night as her fever increased and produced delirium. Details of her illness had been sent to Henry Windsor and the news somehow reached Wellington. The duke immediately dispatched his own physician, Sir Henry Halford, to attend at Catherine’s sickbed.
Arriving the following morning, Halford was pleased to discover that Catherine’s fever had subsided and both doctors felt sure that she would make a full recovery. Feeling completely wretched, however, Catherine truly believed that she would be dead within days. Unable to rest until she had settled her affairs, she told her sisters about the will she had signed in 1815, under duress from William, while she was heavily pregnant with James. Although she did not recollect the particulars, she suspected that it was detrimental to the interests of her children.8
Determined to rescind the will, Catherine prepared a brief document, which she executed in the presence of two independent witnesses, John Pitman and Henry Bicknell. Catherine wrote simply, ‘I hereby revoke any former will I may have made. In this act I am not influenced by any hostility towards Mr Long Wellesley; but I consider it my first duty to secure the interests of my dear children.’9
Having taken care of legal matters, Catherine told her physicians that she wanted to see her children one last time. They thought she was being overdramatic, but she could feel a spasm building up inside her chest and knew it would not be much longer. Summoning all her remaining strength, Catherine called for her maid to help her dress and disguise her ravaged appearance – she did not want her children to see her looking like this. After pinning up Catherine’s hair, the maid skilfully painted her face, casting off the dark shadows under her eyes and creating a rosy glow on her cheeks.
Catherine was sitting serenely in the garden when the children were sent out to her. Despite her heartache, she put on her bravest smile as she tried to reassure them. There are no records of what was said, but she hugged them tightly in turn, knowing that she would not be there to watch them as they grew, nor to offer reassurance in times of trouble or to celebrate their marriages. Thoroughly drained, struggling with the intensity of her emotions, she called for the doctors to help her back to bed.
The following morning Catherine suffered another terrible seizure that squeezed the life out of her. She had never been one to succumb to hysteria, but in those final agonizing minutes she wailed and wept pitifully. She was not grieving for herself – despite all the heartbreak she had endured. Her agony was for her children and the realization that she would not be there to protect them or watch over them. She cried out, begging God to spare her. Despite the efforts of the best doctors in England, Catherine died at eleven o’clock, on 12 September 1825, just one month short of her thirty-sixth birthday. Sir Henry Halford, who attended on her to the end, pronounced, ‘Mrs Long Wellesley died entirely of a broken heart.’10