April 1895, New York
‘The diamond-like glitter of her wit was a tangible thing and she wore it like a jewel; it glowed round her like an aura round the moon, pale and phosphorescent, as exhilarating as the cold air of a frosty night.’ – RODERICK CAMERON
The small party who occupied the Buckingham Hotel’s lounge, drinking champagne and exchanging stories, would not have attracted much comment had it not been for the beautiful young lady at the centre of the group. Fellow guests speculated that the pretty blonde was a visitor from out of town, an acquaintance of the Belmonts perhaps, as that well-known couple, fully-fledged members of the Four Hundred, had joined the gathering some time before. They certainly seemed in high spirits, with the young lady the most enamoured with the company. She was particularly attentive to an older gentleman who sat, mesmerised, to her right throughout, hanging off her every word, occasionally scanning the faces of his companions to ensure they were as beguiled as he clearly was.
‘The diamond-like glitter of her wit was a tangible thing and she wore it like a jewel; it glowed round her like an aura round the moon, pale and phosphorescent, as exhilarating as the cold air of a frosty night,’1 her friend Roderick Cameron said of Maud Burke. And as she held court at the Buckingham, it was clear that she had her companions firmly under her spell.
Maud could see the pride in Sir Bache Cunard’s face as she regaled the assembled party with tale after amusing tale. She had seen it many times before in the faces of different men, for she was an expert at knowing how to keep middle-aged men entertained. Her skills had served her well so far, and today she had gained her highest position yet. From now on, she would be known as Lady Maud Cunard.
The ceremony had been arranged for four o’clock in the afternoon on 17 April 1895 in the front drawing room of Mr Horace Carpentier’s fine house at 108 East 37th Street. The Reverend Doctor William S Raynsford had married the effervescent Maud and the eager Cunard in front of around half a dozen guests. Behind her mandatory smile, Maud was a little disappointed with the plain and pedestrian quality of the day. There were no bridesmaids to escort her down the aisle, no ushers to show reams of guests to their places, no cascading flowers, or tuneful hymns sung to the strains of a fashionable orchestra, no exquisite gown and no elaborate wedding breakfast. Instead, she had worn a simple white satin dress trimmed with old Limerick lace, a veil and a single ornament: a jewelled pendant, given to her as a token of the groom’s affection. In lots of ways it was a day to forget and a very different prospect to the occasion she had in mind when she accepted the proposal of the heavy-set English gentleman with the drooping moustache, who had so earnestly asked for her hand in marriage only a few weeks before. Maud must have imagined a June wedding, on a scale of opulence befitting the marriage of one of the most popular and vivacious debutantes San Francisco society had ever seen to a Cunard, heir to the steamship fortune and member of the English aristocracy, but it quickly became apparent that this would not be possible.
Almost immediately after sending out the engagement announcement to a blindsided press, which quickly began making enquiries as to the social pedigree of Miss Maud Burke, Cunard had gently told his ebullient fiancée that his family would not be making the journey to New York for the wedding. The best he could muster was a cousin, Mr Bache McEvers Whitlock, as his best man. Maud had considered the news carefully, swiftly trying to decipher whether his family’s non-attendance was a sign of their hostility and desire to halt the nuptials or simply a question of distance. In any case she decided not to react in the slightest, having already realised that what Cunard admired most about her was her light, breezy temperament, which seemed to balance his tendency for melancholy. He already looked to Maud to quietly solve trifling problems in an uncomplicated manner, and here she was doing it once more. She kindly suggested that a quick wedding would be perfectly acceptable and proper, considering the poor health of her so-called ‘uncle’, Horace Carpentier, a convenient detail that had just come to light. Cunard agreed and, while the New York Herald dutifully explained in their report that the wedding was a small affair, ‘owing to illness in the family of the bride’s guardian’2, the irrepressible Town Topics raised its suspicions that it was Maud’s desire to secure a title that had been the cause of such haste: ‘I hear much comment upon the fact that none of the immediate family of Sir Bache Cunard… came over to his wedding. Miss Burke… elected to be married very quickly and quietly.’3
Maud was all too aware that theirs was not a love story, but she was pragmatic when it came to love; she had had to be. She shared the view of Edith Blackwell, a leading character in the play The Title-Mart, which was a satire of Anglo-American marriages of the period. In Act Three, Edith declares: ‘Love is bourgeois; only the lower classes and fools marry for love. We are learning better in America – nowadays our marriages are arranged.’4 These were Edith’s words but they so easily could have been Maud’s. She had told the press before her marriage, ‘I like Sir Bache better than any man I know,’5 and, given her past record, she had meant it. However, it wasn’t love she felt for her husband, who was twenty years older than twenty-three-year-old Maud, it was affection and nothing more.
Until now, Maud’s life had been characterised by a reliance on Horace Carpentier, her protector and guardian, who had indulged her with money and access to the finest cultural experiences, including opera, taking her to her first Wagnerian opera at the Metropolitan in New York when she was just twelve. He also introduced her to Shakespeare’s plays, Balzac, and Greek and Latin poetry and encouraged her musical talents. But at what price did this attention come for Maud? Her introduction to opera clearly made a lasting impression on her, as she later wrote: ‘It was as if a new role had opened out, revealing a race of men and women, very Titans of humanity, endowed with superb gifts…’6
The former Civil War general was a wealthy man, having built up an enviable real-estate portfolio, and was notorious in San Francisco, Maud’s home city, for taking an interest in young women. As Maud’s biographer Daphne Fielding suggests, Carpentier was a ‘collector of young girls… in mint condition’7. Historian Brian Masters agrees that Carpentier’s ‘hobby was to educate and advise pretty adolescent girls, whom he called his “nieces”, the favourite among them was the obviously intelligent Maud Burke.’8 It’s unclear how far this interest in Maud went but Carpentier was the impressionable young woman’s guide and teacher for a number of years and provided her dowry of two million dollars9 that went with her to Nevill Holt, Cunard’s country seat in England.
Carpentier had been introduced to Maud through her mother, whom he had courted after her husband, James Burke, had died during Maud’s childhood. Maud had always brushed off the rumours that she was not Burke’s daughter. Many thought her real father was William O’Brien, the infamous part-owner of a Nevada silver mine, and many years later his ‘family believed he left her a large sum of money’.10 What is clear is that her childhood was chaotic and something she rarely talked about. The San Francisco of the 1880s was a young city that lived at a frenetic pace, morally questionable undesirables rubbing shoulders with affluent newcomers keen to establish a formal society. While Maud’s family were wealthy, easily affording the Chinese servants who had flooded the city, the suitability of their background was in doubt and, seeing that Maud needed help to establish herself socially, Carpentier paid for extended trips to New York, Washington and Europe to enhance her education.
It was during one of these trips to Europe with her mother in June 1894 that she met the English author George Moore. Carpentier, with his large and impressive library back in America, had encouraged Maud’s interest in literature. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Samuel Richardson’s Pamela, the tale of a vulnerable girl skilfully warding off the unwanted advances of her older employer, became her favourite novel. She also ensured she was up to date with new authors of note and was therefore excited to hear that Moore, who was one of the darlings of the London literary scene, was due to attend a large luncheon at the Savoy in London to which Maud had also been invited. Determined to meet Moore, she stole into the restaurant and adjusted the place cards to ensure that he would be sitting next to her. It was to be the beginning of a lifelong relationship that would change Moore’s life forever. Over lunch as the angelic Maud listened entranced to the passionate Moore declare his admiration for the French realist writer Emile Zola, one of own her favourite authors, she couldn’t prevent her hand from reaching forward and clasping his arm. ‘George Moore,’ she declared, ‘you have a soul of fire!’11 From that moment, the hopelessly-in-love Moore was a constant visitor to Maud’s rented house in Park Lane, where they would spend hours debating their most cherished literature or lines of poetry, luxuriating in each other’s company. They would take trips to the country, whiling away hours walking under the hot summer sun. Moore described one such encounter:
‘Her sensuality was so serene and so sure of its divine character that it never seemed to become trivial or foolish. While walking in the woods with one, she would say: “Let us sit here,” and after looking steadily at one for a few seconds, her pale marmoreal eyes glowing, she would say, “You can make love to me now, if you like.”’12
Given the strict rules regarding the chaperoning of young ladies, it at first seems unlikely that George and Maud would be able to find this amount of time alone together. However, Maud’s mother, who was accompanying her on the trip, was a rare breed. She had allowed her daughter to set up house with Carpentier when she was only eighteen and had given her consent for her to travel extensively with him. Therefore it seems perfectly possible that Maud was given the freedom to ensnare the enraptured Moore, ensuring that he was completely in love with the young American.
When Maud announced that she was returning to America, Moore was heartbroken. Maud was resolute in her course of action. She was twenty-two years old and her experiences with Moore had confirmed that her feminine charms were at their peak. It was time to find a husband and Maud was aiming high. Of course there was that unfortunate business with Prince André Poniatowski to contend with, but she was confident that it had been handled correctly. In fact it had probably only made her more determined to attract a better calibre of gentleman than a third-rate Polish prince and everyone knew that, therefore, her future husband would have to be English.
In Maud’s eyes, Prince Poniatowski had pursued her. On his first visit to San Francisco, she did what she did best, flirting outrageously with the Prince, impressing him with her keen intelligence and vast cultural knowledge and bonding over their shared experiences touring the capitals of Europe. When Poniatowski wrote to her on his return to Europe she was convinced her strategy had been a success and when he told her of his plans to return to America in early 1894, she felt confident that it was to propose marriage. She confided in her friends about their imminent engagement and may have even surreptitiously informed the press, as the newspapers began to report the story. Indeed, Poniatowski’s intentions did include marriage but, unfortunately for Maud, his intended was not her. The object of his affection was one of San Francisco’s most coveted belles. Miss Beth Sperry was the sister of Mrs Harry Crocker, one of the leaders of San Francisco society, who regarded Maud Burke as a social upstart of questionable character. Therefore, when the rumours reached Poniatowski of his ‘engagement’ to Maud he was quick to confront her and demand a public denial. Maud had made a disastrous miscalculation and now turned to her mother and stockbroker stepfather, James Tichenor, to help smooth things over. Tichenor quickly made it known that he had forbidden Maud to accept Poniatowski, saving Maud’s reputation and thereby removing all barriers for Poniatowski and Miss Sperry. For the betrothed it wasn’t an ideal situation for, as their engagement was announced, Maud was still front and centre of the story and ‘the rumour had already gone about that Miss Burke’s mamma and stepfather had interposed their parental authority, and entirely disapproved of her alliance with the Prince’.13
However, Maud would not be around to see if she could withstand the indignity of it all. She had already moved on to her next project and had fled to Europe in search of a husband better suited to her ambitions, someone who would surpass Miss Sperry’s efforts. Maud’s flirtation with Moore in 1894 was a tantalising diversion, an intellectually stimulating flirtation, but it was not love. Maud was very fond of Moore and would remain so for many years, despite his increasingly obsessive attempts to garner her attention in the future. She viewed him as a harmless practice ground for her talents, a study to observe the idiosyncrasies and expectations of an English gentleman. For she had decided, after long years of travelling the world with Carpentier, that England was where she wanted to be. England presented an opportunity that did not exist in San Francisco, New York or any of the other large cities in America. While America was an exciting and energetic place to make money if you were a gentleman on the rise, as a lady, trying to establish herself among the smart set, Maud had observed, it offered very little of the lively repartee and genuine influence that was readily available in London society. Even if Maud was able to capture the heart of a wealthy plutocrat and climb the social ranks despite her new-money background, what did she have to look forward to? Days and nights spent in the stagnant drawing rooms and dreary dining rooms of The Four Hundred, instructed by her husband to restrict her comments to acceptable subjects such as philanthropy and social engagements. In New York, the political intrigues and the pace of Wall Street were the domain of men and men alone, whereas she had seen in London that married women were much more visible in the corridors of power. Women like Jennie Churchill, who had influenced her husband Randolph’s career by hosting political salons and quietly nudging the status quo while moving from country houses to court to her grand town house in London. Granted, after his death in January 1895, it was unclear what would become of Jennie, but her undoubtable influence had convinced Maud of what was possible in Britain; as a woman it was all there for the taking.
She had followed avidly the movements of the original American heiresses who had married into the English aristocracy and now turned to them for advice on how to secure her own successful passage into British society. Marietta Stevens had spent some time in San Francisco and, as Cunard was a close friend of the Manchesters, having been an usher at their wedding in 1876, it seems likely that Consuelo Manchester, Minnie and Marietta may have had a hand in their courtship. Maud certainly visited London and New York frequently in the years leading up to her marriage and, as an enterprising and ambitious young heiress, was keen to place herself at all the right social occasions in both countries. Although little is documented about Maud’s previous life, it’s clear that after her marriage she was considered good friends with both Minnie Paget and Consuelo Manchester. In a letter to Maud, George Moore thanks her for introducing him to Minnie, a sign of their growing closeness: ‘Minnie Paget I saw once again, she sent for me. I am obliged to you for the introduction, for I think I shall always see her with pleasure; she is of our kin and one must keep to one’s kin.’14
The man on whom she settled, Bache Cunard, was well known among the country set for being an excellent horseman and had been credited as one of the first to bring polo to England. He was a simple, uncomplicated man, who had spent most of his life ensconced in his stately home, pursuing his sporting passions. His mother had been American and the family had spent several years living in Staten Island, which meant that Cunard made regular journeys back to New York. His trusting nature was to become his biggest downfall, as an American cousin, Charles Francklyn, whom he had charged with overseeing his investments in the United States, appears to have mismanaged the fund or pocketed the proceeds: in 1887, Cunard alleged in court documents that Franklin owed him some three million dollars and had ruined him. It began a long period of litigation that was to lay bare Cunard’s dwindling fortune as he battled to restore what was rightfully his. Maud presented an opportunity not only to install a young and lively woman as mistress of Nevill Holt but also to rejuvenate the Cunard fortune with her substantial dowry.
Although the swiftness of Maud’s engagement to Cunard surprised many in society, the New York Herald countered that it had been well known within Maud’s circle for a number of weeks. ‘The formal announcement of the engagement, which has just been made, will scarcely be news to some of the friends of Miss Burke, who were some time ago informed by the young woman herself that she was soon to become the wife of the titled and wealthy Englishman.’
However, society insiders could see how ill-suited the quiet, middle-aged Cunard and the perky, glamorous Maud were. Maud herself was fully aware of their differences and there were even rumours that some of Cunard’s relatives had pleaded with the bride to break off the engagement. Perhaps they saw what Cunard did not, that this modern woman would never suit his English sensibilities and wouldn’t be happy living a life filled with country pursuits in Leicestershire, the life that the confirmed bachelor had been living for many years. Frederick Martin encapsulated Maud’s attributes when he wrote about American heiresses in his memoir, Things I Remember.
‘The American woman… takes people as she finds them – not on the valuation of their ancestors; she is a person of spirit, she has her own ideas, and she is worldly to the tips of her fingers. She realises her own value; she knows what she wants in exchange of it, and she makes up her mind that once she has obtained her ambition she will play her part to perfection. The heiress makes no secret of her admiration for a title; she knows that her money will work wonders… they spend their money lavishly… and if their manner of doing so is occasionally a little blatant surely, as the saying has it, much can be forgiven those who give much.’15
Despite their differences, Cunard, blinded by the possibilities that the high-spirited, flirtatious and wealthy Maud represented, proceeded, undeterred, and confident that once he brought his bride back to Nevill Holt he could integrate her into his life in the countryside. Little did he know that as the assembled group toasted the future happiness of the newlyweds, Maud had a very different idea of the life that lay before her. Marriage meant a title and freedom, and that freedom started in London.