June 1895, Kimbolton, Cambridgeshire
‘So many Americans of means pursue her in London for introductions to her titled acquaintances that it simplifies matters for her to make it a business.’ – NEW YORK WORLD
As she looked around the drawing room of Kimbolton, Consuelo Manchester noticed for the first time how worn it looked. The grand old house that had played host to the Manchesters for generations had lost its lustre: the deep, rich colour of its sumptuous furnishings now looked faded in the harsh daylight of the summer sun. Perhaps her surroundings had always been what they were in this moment, their luminous brilliance previously an illusion created by the warm envelope of family life. The stale air permeated her senses; everything seemed older now, lifeless somehow.
Consuelo had arrived back at Kimbolton after an extended stay at Compton Place, Eastbourne, a seaside retreat, loaned to her by the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire. It was a kind gesture from Lottie, the ‘Double Duchess’, who had instantly known that her daughter-in-law would need a place to grieve and gather her thoughts, away from the memories of Kimbolton. Consuelo’s remaining children, Little Kim and Lady Alice, had accompanied her to Eastbourne after she had brought Lady Mary back to England. Away from the prying eyes of society, she had been given time to think, time to plan her next move.
For the first time in many years she felt unsure of her place, and her daughter’s death had shaken the very foundations of her life further. After Kim’s death, she had ceased to be the Duchess of Manchester. She was, at only thirty-nine, a dowager duchess and, although the title was still recognised and respected, she knew it would only be a matter of time before she was expected to fade into the background, making way for a younger, more beautiful successor to take her place. To maintain her place in society, a place that she had fought for, won and paid for with streams of tears, she must continue to prove enticing, entertaining and useful to the rest of the aristocracy, and that is what she had affirmed to do. For the past three years, she had diligently worked all of her contacts, proving herself to be the perfect conduit for the parvenus striving for acceptance in England. This turn of events wasn’t new to Consuelo Manchester: it was an arrangement she had been cultivating with the wealthy but unrefined for many years and she had come to an agreement with her old friend Minnie Paget, who also partook in a little social manoeuvring, to share their schemes and help each other where possible.
The question they had both been trying to answer for years was one of money. How was it possible to live among the aristocracy and convince them of the worth of an interloper, an American at that, without ready access to the one thing they needed? Their ostensible wealth was what had bought them their seat at countless aristocratic tables across the country, but the truth was that after financial mishaps, the fortune promised never materialised, their dowries a mere smokescreen swept away amidst the constant flow of champagne that characterised their first years in England. When Consuelo and Minnie had married, English law decreed that all of their money and property should automatically transfer to their husband. For Consuelo it meant witnessing a modest dowry and allowance being burned through at terrifying speed by a husband fond of gambling and heir to a family estate that was almost bankrupt. The agricultural depression had a devastating effect on the Manchester estates, seeing income drop from £95,0001 a year to a deficit of £2,0002. However, the figures didn’t seem to galvanise Kim into amending his spendthrift ways: he persistently pursued his extravagant lifestyle until the creditors finally caught up with him.
In 1888, the St Louis Post reported on rumours of Consuelo Manchester’s financial limitations: ‘Her entertainments are of a very modest kind because she has no money to make them otherwise. But Americans who have called on her in London say that her small out-of-the-way house is crowded by a more distinguished company than is to be found in any other house in the English metropolis. They take her cold bouillon and other unpretentious refections without any criticism whatever.’3
News of the gossip that had travelled across the Atlantic to her compatriots reached Consuelo and, although she was flattered by the kind comments on her abilities to attract the smartest set, she bitterly resented the humiliation that the questionable calibre of her hospitality attracted. After the Married Women’s Property Act of 1882 offered a lifeline to women like her by allowing them to keep the money they earned, some embarked on their own money-making schemes and Consuelo chose one that used her amiable talents to their fullest.
‘Lady Mandeville’s [Consuelo Manchester’s] plans were for Americans to provide themselves with letters of introduction from her ladyship’s agents in the United States to present them in London and then be introduced to her Ladyship’s bankers, modistes and circle of acquaintances. The Mandeville balance at the banks would be increased by gifts from the visitors and her bills at the milliner’s regularly paid by her protégés,’4 the San Francisco Chronicle told its readers in 1890 when writing about her activities in the introductions market. Whether Consuelo had failed to be discreet enough when making connections or reporters had discovered her profession from a careless acquaintance or servant isn’t clear, but the scandal took pride of place in the society papers. The New York World reported: ‘… so many Americans of means pursue her in London for introductions to her titled acquaintances that it simplifies matters for her to make it a business.’5
Consuelo’s venture was successful enough to be talked about widely in the newspapers and in society circles on both sides of the Atlantic; along with Minnie, she was gaining a reputation for being able to place American heiresses with titled husbands. The practice did not go unnoticed by the aristocracy, with many fearing that it destabilised the careful balance between historic tradition and cultural refinement, and vulgar and seemingly limitless wealth. Lady Dorothy Nevill commented, ‘Society to-day and society as I formerly knew it are two entirely different things… wealth has usurped the place formerly held by wit and learning.’
Like Minnie, Consuelo had a unique insight into the motivations of the American heiresses and their families, and the practical obstacles that faced them if they were to assimilate themselves into the aristocracy. She had walked in their handcrafted shoes just a few years before and now used her experience to mentor others, as historian Marian Fowler notes in her book In a Gilded Cage:
‘For a hefty fee, an American girl would be groomed and schooled by Consuelo, taught how to curtsy and comport herself in English society, presented at court and – if she measured up – invited to a select party where the Prince would be a guest. After that it was up to her to charm him… If she was looking for a peer, Consuelo would cast about for suitable ones and introduce her.’6
Bertie, as always, was the key to Consuelo Manchester’s success. There were rumours that she was his one-time mistress, following the end of his relations with Lillie Langtry and before the start of his affair with Daisy, Countess of Warwick. It was Daisy who came between the long-time friends after Consuelo rather inadvisably circulated a satirical poem, ‘Lady River’, based on Daisy, whose nickname was ‘Babbling Brooke’ due to her inability to be discreet. Her actions caused Bertie to surmise that Consuelo may have been the author. She wasn’t, but the damage had been done. Bertie, who hated disloyalty of any kind, made it known that Consuelo was not welcome at Marlborough House. It seems Minnie became embroiled in the quarrel too, although there is no evidence that she circulated the poem. Bertie wrote to his private secretary, Francis Knollys, in 1892, commenting, ‘These American ladies talk too much… and their indiscretions and inaccuracies are most annoying. Those who profess to [be] Lady B’s best friends have shown their friendship in a very doubtful manner.’7 Bertie ostracised Consuelo from his guest lists, yet his brief irritation with Minnie did not seem to last. She retained her position within the Marlborough House Set and continued to wield influence with the Prince.
The stand-off between Consuelo and Bertie continued for some years and would only be resolved when Little Kim had a chance meeting with Bertie and begged him on bended knee to forgive his mother. Fortuitously, the ongoing tension between the two didn’t seem to affect Consuelo’s ability to introduce clients to the British nobility. Thanks to her success among the aristocracy, her sister Natica was by now married to Sir John Lister Kaye, and still enjoyed Bertie’s favour. She ‘was able to provide the second step in the royal conquest’,8 ensuring that any heiresses whom Consuelo was parading around town secured a pivotal encounter with Bertie.
Consuelo’s talent for introductions was largely the result of her perceptive observations of British society. The novelist Robert Hichens wrote that he found her ‘a mine of information about the London society of that time’ and that she ‘had a very shrewd judgment of both women and men’9. Throughout her troubled marriage to Kim, one of her only pleasures was to use her unique Southern charms to entertain large swathes of the aristocracy. Her effervescent and playful nature was something that placed her apart from many society hostesses, including Minnie, whose personality favoured intellectual stimulation. Consuelo Manchester’s appeal was the easy brand of originality and practical jokes that made her deep brown eyes sparkle with mischief and brought laughter to Mayfair’s drawing rooms. ‘Looking back, I can still see everyone crowded round her at tea-time, all happily laughing at her continual flow of witty and amusing stories delivered in a charming soft Southern voice,’10 recalled the Duke of Portland.
Her force of personality was so original that Edith Wharton immortalised her in her novel The Buccaneers, basing the character of Conchita Closson on Consuelo. The almost exotic allure of Conchita is palpable when she is described by Wharton: ‘A warm fruity fragrance, as of peaches in golden sawdust, breathed from her soft plumpness, the tawny spirals of her hair, the smile which had a way of flickering between her lashes without descending to her lips.’11
Consuelo’s ample attractions, which had first entranced Kim and then captivated London society, had served her well over the years. She had seen the quality and frequency of her introduction service increase, with ever more enticing compensations. So much so that in March 1895, before taking the fateful voyage to Italy, she had felt financially secure enough to purchase 17 Charles Street in Mayfair, where she had been living, renting from its owners. The house represented a new chapter, one in which she would establish a new role for herself in society, casting off the shackles of the Dowager Duchess and reinventing herself as a social doyenne, working with her network of friends and contacts to ensure she would never again be forced to endure the indignity of providing inferior dinner parties in an unfashionable part of town. Consuelo Manchester had been confident that 1895 brimmed with exciting opportunities.
At Kimbolton there was a sense of those possibilities slowly ebbing away. On a normal bright summer’s day such as this, Consuelo would have rushed to open the tall windows that were swathed in long, sumptuous curtains, consumed with a desire to invite the warm breeze into the castle. Now she wanted nothing more than to draw them together, rejecting the day ahead. She knew that in London the Season was in full swing, but who would wish to host her without the effervescent mask of vitality she was expected to assume for every occasion? For now she would remain at Kimbolton, secluded in the darkness, beyond the reach of them all.