Society sensations

Contents

CHAPTER

I. THE FICKLE LOVER

II. THE MORDAUNT CASE

Chapter I

In 1846 the twelfth Viscount Mountgarret died, and was succeeded in the title and estates by Henry Edmund, the only son of his younger brother, the Hon. Henry Butler. For eight years the new peer was left undisturbed in his possessions, but he must have been aware that it was rumoured that he had no right to the viscounty and the property and that the common gossip of the county was to the effect that he was illegitimate.

However, as long as his relatives accepted him as the head of the family he did not mind, but in 1854 the gathering storm burst. His cousin, Pierce Somerset Butler, eldest son of Colonel the Hon. Pierce Butler — the latter being the fourth brother of the twelfth viscount — claimed the peerage and the property, alleging that Henry Edmund was the offspring of a bigamous marriage and that according to the law of the land he was not legitimate.

io SOCIETY SENSATIONS

Thus began the most remarkable and sensational trial in the history of the peerage. It put thousands of pounds into the pockets of the lawyers, ruined for a generation a noble family, and exposed to the public gaze the eccentricities of an unscrupulous adventurer, who was the hero and villain, in turns, of love affairs in Ireland, Scotland, and England.

The cause of all the trouble was the Hon. Henry Butler, third son of the eleventh, and brother of the twelfth, Lord Mountgarret. Endowed by nature with a magnificent physique, a fine presence, and a handsome countenance, he combined with these advantages a personality which made him irresistible with the fair sex.

He was, however, far from being effeminate, and his ability as a horseman was only equalled by his skill with the pistol and the sword, and he displayed an alacrity to use either of these weapons which made his critics careful not to speak disrespectfully of him in his presence.

In fact, Henry was a typical devil-may-care Irishman, and if it had not been for the lawsuits which arose out of his behaviour it would be easier to imagine that he was a creation of Charles Lever and not a real person. Henry was involved in several love affairs before he startled his friends and infuriated his father by eloping with the pretty young wife of a neighbour.

Mrs. Barrington had fallen under the sway of the handsome and fascinating friend of her husband, and for his sake she sacrified everything in order

THE FICKLE LOVER n

to share his fortunes in England. But her lover quickly grew tired of her.

He had not sufficient money to meet his own expenses, and he grudged spending any on her, and when he had exhausted his patrimony of forty thousand pounds he promptly deserted her, and left her to die in misery and squalor two years later.

It was a characteristic beginning to a life of many vicissitudes. Henry Butler seems to have believed that the world was made for his pleasure and that no laws were binding on him. He was not disturbed when his father refused to read his letters and his relatives cut him.

Henry had complete faith in himself to overcome all his difficulties, and there was always the — in his opinion — certainty of making a rich marriage when it was time for him to settle down. Some months after he had parted from Mrs. Barrington he found it necessary to leave London for Brighton.

He was not fond of the seaside, but the persistency of a couple of money-lenders compelled him to vanish from the gaming-clubs, and in due course he arrived at a hotel, penniless but animated by an optimism born of confidence in himself as a card-player. Brighton, however, did not provide any pigeons to be plucked, and he was reduced to idleness.

But this apparent misfortune changed his luck, for one evening when he was wishing he was elsewhere, two ladies entered the hotel, one of whom was known to him. She promptly introduced her companion, and thus the whole course of his life was altered by this meeting with Mrs. Colebrook. ,

At the time they met Henry Butler was in the thirties, and there were no outward signs of the life of dissipation he was leading, and Mrs. Amanda Colebrook was charmed by his manner and enchanted by his unique personality.

He did not know anything about her except her name, but he was flatteringly attentive from the first, and when the following morning they met again on the front, she cordially accepted his offer to escort her back to the hotel.

There was a reason now, however, for politeness. In the interval between the first and second meeting he had learned a greal deal about Amanda Colebrook, and he was aware that the stylishly-dressed woman with the dainty figure and lovely complexion was the widow of a Scotsman, Colonel Colebrook, an extensive landowner, who had left her fifteen thousand a year and control over another thousand per annum, to be spent on her two young daughters.

Thus Mrs. Colebrook was a rich woman, for in the early part of the nineteenth century an income of two thousand five hundred pounds was equal to six times that amount now, and Henry Butler, impecunious and hunted by his creditors, resolved to cultivate the widow and marry her.

He realised how fortunate he would be if he married both beauty and money, and when Mrs. Colebrook showed that she liked him and did not resent his rather bold courtship of her, he felt that he had victory in sight.

At the first favourable opportunity he proposed to her at the hotel. It was less than a fortnight since his introduction to her, but they seemed to have known each other for ages, and he was confident of what her answer would be. To his amazement, however, she murmured that marriage was out of the question. He pressed her for an explanation, and then she revealed the awkward fact that if she married again she would lose her interest in her first husband's estate.

Butler was staggered by the collapse of his scheme, but the widow, who had a very accommodating disposition, smiled at his stupefaction. She had a solution of the problem and she intimated that she would become his mistress rather than part from him or her fortune. There and then they agreed to live together as man and wife, and, to further their ends, Mrs. Colebrook took her maid, Sarah Stride, into her confidence.

The irregular partnership involved constant changes of lodgings, and when the first child was born the widow very nearly followed the infant to the grave. She effected a marvellous recovery, however, and when a year later she told Butler that she was expecting another child they had a long and serious discussion.

Butler's position was now worse than ever, and he was being haunted by a fear that he would, after all, lose the widow and her money. He had discovered that she was a flirt and easily influenced, and it worried him to know that at any moment she pleased she might throw him over and marry someone else.

It was not unlikely that a rich man would fall in love with her, and, if that happened, Mrs. Colebrook would not mind losing her fortune. It was this latter consideration which caused the Irishman to propose to Amanda that they should solve the problem by journeying to Scotland and getting married there secretly.

Scotland was the best place in the world for a secret ceremony, for they need only accept each other as husband and wife in the presence of their faithful and devoted Sarah Stride and the brief ceremony would constitute a legal marriage.

Mrs. Colebrook agreed to his suggestion, and it was arranged that she was to return to Edinburgh, where she had a house in Northumberland Street, and resume her career as a hostess. Later on Butler was to arrive, and at a suitable time and place the marriage was to be celebrated.

The widow and her two daughters were welcomed by their old friends in the Scottish capital, and she began to entertain on a large scale, and almost every night her house was packed with guests.

After her more or less shady association with Henry Butler in England and her forced avoidance of her respectable acquaintances, her popularity in Edinburgh came as a tonic, and she felt inclined to regret her friendship with Lord Mountgarret's son, a friendship, moreover, which had deprived her of the society of her equals.

Very soon, however, she had another and a stronger reason for wishing to forget Butler, and, strangely enough, the reason was another Irishman, though of a different stamp. John Taaffe was the exact opposite of Henry Butler so far as character and means were concerned.

Fond of literature and science, he had come to Edinburgh to make the acquaintance of several of its most distinguished men, and it was at a reception given by a famous judge that he was presented to Mrs. Colebrook, who, having recently seen Butler, was agreeably surprised to find an Irishman whose manner was quiet and respectful, and who was not given to intoxication.

It was another point in favour of Taaffe that he was rich. She had postponed her marriage with Butler on account of the fact that she had had a miscarriage, and, although she had promised him to become his wife as soon as it was safe to do so without risking the loss of her income, she was quite ready to fall in love with someone else.

She was attracted by Taaffe, and to her pleased astonishment he was so impressed by her that he waited for no encouragement, and declared his passion for her immediately.

Here was a predicament for the pretty widow ! She had lost her infatuation for Henry Butler, and she was in love with Taaffe, and she knew that if Butler discovered the real state of affairs he would probably challenge the younger man to a duel and kill him.

It was this latter reason which determined her to keep her second lover hidden from her first, and it looked as though she would have an easy task, for Butler had friends in the garrison, and he failed to visit her house for weeks at a time, preferring to spend his nights with his boon companions, drinking and gambling.

Meanwhile, Taaffe was a daily visitor at Mrs. Colebrook's, and when he proposed she refused him, but added that if he liked she would be his mistress. Her offer was accepted, and the partnership had scarcely begun when Butler, who had probably had an inkling of the existence of a rival, called at Mrs. Colebrook's at midnight.

He was intoxicated and in one of his most pugnacious moods, and when the butler refused him admission he made a ferocious attack on the door which roused the street. To prevent a scandal Mrs. Colebrook ordered her servants to allow him to enter, and a moment or so later he was rushing up the stairs screaming threats of vengeance.

When he arrived on the second landing he found the widow in her nightdress, standing with her back against the door of her bedroom. " What is it you want ? " she demanded, concealing her terror under a countenance of simulated anger. " The fulfilment of your promise to marry me," he answered, or, at least, counsel for the claimant to the title alleged that that was what he said.

What exactly ensued^ formed the crux of the great trial. The Attorney-General for Ireland, who appeared on behalf of Pierce Somerset Butler, was positive that there and then three servants — one of whom was Sarah Stride — were sent for and made to listen while Henry Butler and Amanda Colebrook in their hearing declared themselves husband and wife.

Counsel for the twelfth Viscount Mountgarret, the son of Henry Butler, was equally positive that no such scene took place, but the only means we have of forming an independent judgment is a study of the sequel to that noisy visit of the nobleman's son to the house in Northumberland Street, Edinburgh, at midnight.

One thing is certain, Amanda somehow succeeded in pacifying Butler and persuading him to leave quietly, for he did not demand admission to the locked bedroom, and for this, no doubt, the widow was grateful, seeing that it contained the trembling John Taaffe.

Mrs. Colebrook and the Hon. Henry Butler came together again for a few weeks, and Taaffe was banished by the lady, but she soon regretted her decision, for scenes with Butler were frequent. It is probable that he ill-treated and threatened her, for she wrote to Taaffe and implored him to save her from the bully. He arranged to meet her, and it was settled between them that she was to disguise herself and go to Berwick, where the young Irishman was to join her. She fully expected to be pursued by Henry, but he made no

B attempt to detain her, and her elaborate disguise and the melodramatic dash on board the fishingsmack at Berwick, which carried them to Whitby in Yorkshire, were all quite unnecessary.

The Hon. Henry Butler had, as a matter of fact, grown tired of the widow, and he was already on his travels again with the object of finding a girl with a fortune and making her his wife. That Butler still retained his power to fascinate was shown when he arrived at Harrogate, then, as now, a fashionable resort.

As the son of a peer he attracted attention, and his personality did the rest, but he would never have become known to Anne Harrison, daughter of a Yorkshire landowner, if a Kilkenny clergyman had not happened to be in the town at the same time.

He was a friend of the Harrisons, and he presented his noble friend to them, and Butler promptly laid siege to the heart and hand of the heiress. Again he had an easy victory, for Anne fell in love with him and joyfully accepted him when he proposed.

Her parents approved of the match, for if the Irishman had no money it was more than likely that he would succeed to the viscounty, and Anne was socially ambitious. In the circumstances her lover's suggestion of an early marriage was approved of, and less than a month after parting from Mrs. Colebrook, the Hon. Henry Butler was married to Anne Harrison at Harrogate.

He made no attempt at concealment, and the news was printed in the papers, and that was a strong point in favour of his son by Anne when he defended the action brought by his cousin. With his marriage Henry Butler ceased to be notorious. He seems to have become reformed and to have settled down with his wife and children, but he never visited Ireland again, and his relations were not invited to his English home.

Meanwhile, Amanda Colebrook was enduring a variety of experiences which had disastrous results for her. When she and John Taaffe arrived in England the young Irishman wrote to his father requesting permission to marry her, but the elder Taaffe replied with a threat to cut John off with a shilling unless he parted from the Scottish siren.

But this John would not do. Mrs. Colebrook lived in daily terror of being claimed by Butler, and she implored Taaffe not to desert her. He was unwilling to lose the large estate to which he was heir, and yet he did not wish to act ungenerously by the woman, and for a time they travelled about together until they arrived at Preston.

It was here that John Taaffe decided to risk the consequences and marry her, and at his request a local Roman Catholic priest celebrated the ceremony, which was really illegal, because, as the law stood, no marriage could take place between a Protestant and a Roman Catholic, to which religion the Irishman belonged.

However, he regarded the ceremony as binding, and for a few months they lived happily together. Then Mrs. Colebrook began to exhibit signs of insanity, and he took her to Edinburgh to consult a specialist there. Fortunately the doctor was able to assure him that the malady was only temporary, and that his wife would be all right soon, but something occurred in Edinburgh which terminated Taaffe's relations with her.

Having plenty of time on his hands, John Taaffe spent some of it examining his wife's writing-desk in her drawing-room, and one night he found a letter from Henry Butler which plainly stated the details of the alleged marriage outside her bedroom door some months previously. The shock to Taaffe's feelings was profound, and without a word to Mrs. Colebrook he walked out of the house and never saw her again.

Shortly afterwards he exiled himself to Italy, where he died in 1862, but the reason for his conduct had to be made known to his father, who promptly disinherited him and left the family estate to John's younger brother.

For four years Mrs. Colebrook lived by herself, and she did not trouble either Butler or Taaffe. Her means were unequal to the demands she made on them, however, and she was soon in difficulties.

When her finances were at their worst, news of her misconduct with the two Irishmen came to the knowledge of the Lord President of the Court, and he held an enquiry, with the result that he deprived the widow of the guardianship of her two children, thus taking from under her control a thousand pounds a year.

Her creditors thereupon seized the rest of her property, and the widow was left with scarcely sufficient to provide the necessaries of life. In her despair and distress she brought a suit in the Scottish courts, asking that John Taaffe might be ordered to support her on the ground that she was his wife.

In support of her claim she induced Sarah Stride, her devoted maid, to swear an affidavit to the effect that she had witnessed a marriage between Amanda Colebrook and John Taaffe on a date previous to the scene on the landing with the Hon. Henry Butler.

The case duly came on trial — John's father having accepted service on behalf of his son, and entering an appearance for him — and the decision of their lordships was that Mrs. Colebrook was not the wife of Taaffe. Defeated in one direction, she now turned in another, and employed a shady solicitor to try and extract some money from Butler.

She intimated her willingness to accept one thousand four hundred pounds in settlement of all her claims on Lord Mountgarret's son, but he refused to admit liability, and the contest between them ended after an exchange of letters, and the rest was silence until many years later the whole subject was revived in an Irish court.

It might be supposed that, with such clear and unmistakable evidence at the disposal of those who maintained that the son of the Hon. Henry Butler by Anne Harrison was not legitimate, there would be scarcely any defence, but Mr. Butt, Q.C., who represented the defending viscount, delivered a particularly brilliant and striking speech on his behalf.

He said that even if Mrs. Colebrook and Butler had been married on the landing of the house in Northumberland Street, Edinburgh, as described, the ceremony was not legal and binding and that the lady had never intended it should be.

The widow had been a party to it only because she was terrified of the Irishman, and the Scottish law on the subject of marriage laid it down as an axiom that both parties must consent of their own free will and must not be coerced into subscribing to a declaration of willingness to marry and acceptance of marriage.

Mr. Butt was not troubled by Sarah Stride's admission that she had committed perjury when she had sworn an affidavit describing an earlier marriage between her mistress and John Taaffe. At the trial of the case, Sarah, the only survivor of the midnight ceremony in the Northumberland Street house, stated that she had made the affidavit at the suggestion of Mrs. Colebrook, and that it was a tissue of falsehoods.

He declared that for more than forty years Henry Edmund had been regarded as his father's legitimate son, and he demanded a verdict from the jury in his favour. The jury, however, found against Lord Mountgarret, therefore brandestates to Pierce Somerset, his cousin.

But the defendant promptly appealed, and the second jury returned a verdict for him, finding that there had been no legal marriage between his father and Mrs. Amanda Colebrook.

From this decision there was another appeal, but the result of the second trial was confirmed by the court, and Anne Harrison's son kept his viscount's coronet and the estates. At his death in 1900 he was succeeded by his son, who died in 1912.

Chapter II

When Sir Charles Mordaunt, Bart., M.P., of Walton Hall, Warwickshire, married Harriet, daughter of Sir Thomas Moncrieffe, Bart., at the Episcopal Church, Perth, on December 6, 1866, two of the most ancient families in Great Britain were united. The bridegroom could trace his descent from one of William the Conqueror's companions in arms, and the bride's lineage was equally historic. She was a very pretty girl in her twentieth year, and her social standing was such that she numbered amongst her friends the Prince and Princess of Wales (afterwards King Edward and Queen Alexandra) and other near relations of Queen Victoria.

For nearly two years Sir Charles and Lady Mordaunt lived happily together. They had hosts of friends, possessed ample means and were popular in political and social circles. The baronet became acquainted with the Prince of Wales and was invited to functions attended by his royal highness, who was then the leader of a fashionable coterie of young men who were " seeing life " where life was most alluringly seen.

The prince soon got into the habit of dropping in at the Mordaunts' house in Chesham Place where he would never allow himself to be treated with any ceremony. The young wife, an acknowledged beauty, was accustomed to the homage of men, and it was her popularity with the male sex that was responsible for the first tiff with Sir Charles. He took himself seriously, for he had political ambitions and he could not forget that his family had been ultra-respectable for eight hundred years, and he was annoyed that his wife should monopolise the attentions of their exalted friends, who made no secret of the fact that it was on her account that they cultivated his acquaintance.

" I don't approve of your friendship with the prince," he said on one occasion when Lady Mordaunt was reading a letter from his royal highness.

For answer she tossed it across the table to him, and the baronet had the satisfaction of reading a dozen lines which might have been published in every paper in the kingdom, for in it the prince merely enquired after her health, mentioned a number of guests he was entertaining for the shooting in Scotland, and wound up by expressing a wish to see her and Sir Charles on his return to town.

This was his first display of jealousy, but it was not the last, and from time to time he objected to half a dozen men of their acquaintance. One was a famous racing baronet, another an heir to an earldom, two were earls, and the remaining two were elderly noblemen whom she had known ever since she had been able to talk. Lady Mordaunt, however, never took her husband seriously, and his outbursts did not last long. He was genuinely devoted to her and proud of her popularity, and in 1868 when he decided to go for a yachting cruise to Norway he was sincerely grieved because she preferred to remain at home. It was, as events proved, a most unfortunate decision, for when Lady Mordaunt needed her husband's care and attention most he was away from her side and she was too young to take entire charge of her own life. She was expecting an heir and, restless and depressed, she wandered from one place to another, behaving oddly everywhere and arousing the suspicions of her servants and friends as to her sanity.

However, she survived the separation without creating any public scandal, and she and Sir Charles were living together at the house in Chesham Place when on Sunday, February 28, 1869, she gave birth to a daughter. If he was disappointed because the child was not a boy the baronet did not show it, and he was tenderness itself to her. His kindness appeared to affect her profoundly, and the child was only a few days old when Lady Mordaunt clutched her husband by the hand as he was turning away from her bedside.

" Charlie," she whispered hoarsely, " I have deceived you — the child is not yours. It is Lord Cole's."

For a moment he was startled, but a glance at the pallid cheeks and the eyes that seemed to be on fire convinced him that she was talking at random.

" There, there, dear," he said in a soothing voice, " you must not upset yourself. You'll be all right soon."

In repeating this conversation in court Sir Charles swore that at the time of the first confession he paid no attention to it whatever. It had struck him as being too wildfy improbable to be credited, and he would have banished it from his memory had not Lad}' Mordaunt persisted in repeating it.

She did not content herself with admitting misconduct with the viscount, but she declared in the most positive terms that there were other men with whom she had been guilty ; in fact, she seemed determined to brand herself as the vilest of women. And she was only twenty-tV o.

Now, the very wholesale nature of the second and subsequent confessions carried with them their own refutation, yet the matter was too serious for the baronet to ignore. He was placed in a very delicate position, for amongst the men named by her was the Prince of Wales. But it is only fair to mention here that there was not a word of truth in the accusation against the prince — who was the victim of the delusions of a mad woman — and reviewing the notorious Mordaunt affair after nearly fifty years one can only marvel that Sir Charles did suceed after several trials in obtaining a divorce against one of the men implicated by his wife. But when the girl- wife persisted in proclaiming her guilt, her husband felt that he must in justice to himself obtain his freedom, and, accordingly, he started divorce proceedings at the earliest opportunity.

The sensation that resulted cannot be described. It pulverised society and hypnotised the public. The plaintiff in his petition named " Lord Cole, Sir Frederick Johnstone, and others " as co-respondents, and everybody understood that " others " included the Prince of Wales.

Poor Queen Victoria — whose rigid moral code did not permit her to receive even the injured party to a divorce suit — was horrified when she was informed that her eldest son had written love-letters to Harriet Mordaunt and that they would be read in open court.

The old lady, with that readiness to believe the worst which distinguishes the plaster-saint school of respectability, was certain that the divine right of kings was about to receive its death-blow, and she dwelt in stricter seclusion than ever. For several months the prince suffered unjustly, but his final triumph was all the more complete because of the delay.

Before the Divorce Court was troubled, however, a great deal happened. Sir Thomas Moncrieffe, shocked and amazed by his daughter's astounding confession, rushed to her assistance, and, when she did not deny her guilt, he came to the conclusion that she was insane. He brought several famous doctors to examine her, and they all agreed that she was not responsible for her actions. One of these, the celebrated Sir James Simpson, of Edinburgh, declared positively that she was out of her mind.

Armed with these testimonies Sir Thomas appealed to a judge to rule that Lady Mordaunt could not be sued because she was of unsound mind, and his lordship stayed the proceedings which Sir Charles had started, appointed Moncrieffe guardian of his daughter pending litigation, and ordered the question of her sanity to be investigated by a special jury.

Counsel for the Warwickshire baronet maintained that her ladyship was feigning madness to save herself from public disgrace, but the judge decided in favour of Sir Thomas, and thus the second trial was not to settle her guilt or innocence, but to determine whether she was sane or insane.

The interest in the trial was phenomenal, and for weeks previous to February 16th, 1870, when it began, there was the keenest competition to secure a seat in court.

There were, naturally, many representatives of Mayfair present when the case commenced before Lord Penzance and a special jury, for it had been persistently rumoured for weeks that it was going to be the most sensational trial of the century. Busybodies, who claimed to be in the confidence of members of the royal family had imparted as " a great secret " to their dearest friends the information that the Prince of Wales had been subpoenaed and that he was to be sharply cross-examined by Mr. Sergeant Ballatine, who had been briefed with Dr. Spinks, Q.C., and Mr. Inderwick, on behalf of Sir Charles Mordaunt.