This lady was a jewel amidst the radiant Moncreiffe
sisters, celebrated beauties of their era who graced the grand salons of the 1880s.
Contrary to what some might assume,
her title of “Lady” did not derive from the lineage of earls, marquesses,
or dukes.
Instead, she was the fourth radiant star in a constellation
of eight “beautiful” Moncreiffe daughters, all destined for illustrious marriages.
Her sister, affectionately known as “Georgy”
within their circle, became the renowned Countess of Dudley,
bound in marriage to the man jestingly dubbed “frizzle wig” by Lady Mordaunt.
Sir Thomas Moncreiffe, their father, wore multiple hats:
a proud captain of the Atholl Highlanders, a stalwart of the Grenadier Guards,
and he even held the esteemed position of leader at The Royal and Ancient Golf Club
of St Andrews.
An ambience of spirited freedom prevailed under the family's roof at Moncreiffe.
Yet one daughter would turn out very different from what was expected.
So join me now as we look back on the tumultuous life of Harriette Mordaunt.
From a young age, Harriet's life was brushed with royalty;
she danced and dined with Albert Edward, the Prince of Wales.
She was a familiar face at informal soirees,
even at the Prince's Highland haven, Abergeldie Castle.
When Lady Mordaunt reached her prime, she was celebrated for her beauty
and vivacity and became known for her fiery spirit and unpredictable nature.
Her dalliances and escapades painted her as a tantalizing enigma and a force
to be reckoned with.
At the tender age of 18,
on a winter day in December 1866, Harriet Moncreiffe stepped into a new chapter
of her life. Amidst the hallowed walls of St.
John's Episcopal Church in Perth, she exchanged vows with Sir
Charles Mordaunt, the distinguished 10th baronet.
Not just a titled gentleman,
Sir Charles wielded political power as a Conservative M.P. for South Warwickshire.
The newlyweds took residence in the grand Walton Hall in Warwickshire.
An architectural marvel,
the hall was a testament to Sir Charles's taste,
crafted in the Gothic Revival style by the eminent architect George Gilbert
Scott, the visionary behind London's iconic St Pancras railway station.
The sprawling mansion, with a staggering 72 bedrooms,
was complemented by their sophisticated London abode in Belgrave Square.
The Mordaunts, with their charm and stature, seamlessly
fit into the elite circles of the “Marlborough House set”,
often rubbing shoulders with the Prince and Princess of Wales.
The early days of their marriage were painted with mutual admiration
and warmth, with Sir Charles bestowing a lavish settlement upon his bride.
Yet, as time wove its tale,
whispers began circulating about Lady Mordaunt’s
solitary soirees with male acquaintances,
especially during Sir Charles's frequent absences
due to his political and sporting commitments.
In the early chapters of their matrimony,
the Mordaunts indulged in a Swiss break away, a testament to their love.
However, as Sir Charles planned their recurring annual
fishing expedition to Norway in June 1868, Lady Mordaunt's insistence
that he embark alone raised many an eyebrow.
Her solitude at Walton Hall, supposed to be
in the sophisticated company of her sister and a lady friend,
became a matter of hushed gossip.
when Sir Charles returned unannounced to find her solitary.
The estate’s whispers grew louder with a maid's revelation.
During Sir Charles's absence, the dashing Viscount Cole,
the soon-to-be 4th Earl of Enniskillen,
was frequently seen in Lady Mordaunt's company.
Their shared moments sparked further scandal,
sometimes stretching deep into the night and private train rides.
As the political tides shifted with the Liberal Party's
rise to power in 1868, Sir Charles withdrew from the political theatre.
Amidst this backdrop, Lady Mordaunt's condition became evident –
she was with child.
The birth of young Violet Caroline in February 1869 only deepened the intrigue.
Given Sir Charles’s vacation
the previous year, doubts regarding the child's paternity began to loom large.
The crisis escalated when the infant Violet showed symptoms
that might have hinted at blindness, driving Lady Mordaunt to the brink.
Whispers linked Freddy Johnstone, a close associate of the Prince of Wales
and rumoured lover of Lady Mordaunt,
with a hereditary malaise, fueling Lady Mordaunt's fears.
While Violet's ailment proved treatable
and no illness was detected in either the mother or the child,
the emotional upheaval reached its crescendo
when Lady Mordaunt, in a moment of sheer vulnerability,
confessed her infidelity to her husband, implicating not just Lord Cole
but other distinguished names, including the Prince of Wales himself.
The unfurled scandal was nothing short of seismic,
sending ripples through the highest echelons of society.
In a bold and desperate move, Sir Charles cracked open Lady Mordaunt's
writing desk, revealing a trove of letters the Prince of Wales himself penned.
The Prince had a penchant for engaging
in written dalliances with women who caught his fancy,
a weakness that often landed him in tricky situations.
Despite their intimate and familiar tone,
the letters, upon scrutiny, were found to be relatively benign.
Echoing the sentiments of letters,
he would later send to his mistress, Alice Keppel.
They were more casual chatter than passionate declarations.
When their content saw daylight in regional newspapers
and even The Times, they were brushed off as “gossipy, everyday letters”,
hardly befitting a scandal.
Some even remarked that they bore the tone of affectionate notes
from a doting uncle.
Yet, a particular tale persisted in hushed
whispers and was etched into high society lore:
Sir Charles, upon arriving at Walton Hall, was met with the sight of his wife,
the Prince of Wales, and two snowy-white ponies.
In a fit of rage, after showing the Prince the door,
he reportedly ordered the ponies to be shot right before the horrified eyes
of his wife.
However, despite the swirling rumours and bitterness
Sir Charles harboured against the Prince, he took a measured approach.
While he might have had his grievances,
he refrained from dragging the Prince into any formal legal
quarrels, and thus, many of these alleged transgressions
faded into mere murmurs, seldom addressed in official accounts
of Lady Mordaunt's life.
On 20 April 1869, Sir Charles took the decisive step of filing for divorce.
The tumultuous events after the birth of Violet
had cast a shadow over Lady Mordaunt's mental state.
Her erratic behaviour,
described in meticulous detail by those who served in their household,
fueled claims from her family that she was not of sound mind
and thus incapable of standing trial. However, the narrative was more complex
than all matters involving the aristocracy.
There were whispers, grown louder by Sir Charles's camp,
that Lady Mordaunt was merely putting on an act,
feigning insanity to escape the consequences of her actions.
By the end of July, Sir Thomas Moncreiffe, stepping in as the protective guardian
for his beleaguered daughter, formally stated
that Lady Mordaunt was mentally unsound at the time of the legal summons.
In the backdrop of these proceedings,
Princess Alexandra, in a diary entry dated 6 August,
made a sobering note: a commission was set to ascertain
the truth of Lady Mordaunt's mental health.
The stage was set for an inquiry
determining the fate of one of society's most talked-about ladies.
The courtroom drama unfurled over seven intense days,
culminating in a stunning verdict.
The jury concluded after absorbing testimonies from numerous sources,
including the insightful observations of renowned psychiatrist Dr.
Thomas Harrington Tuke.
When the summons came, Lady Mordaunt was afflicted by “puerperal mania”,
rendering her incapable of guiding a legal defence.
As a result, Sir Charles's impassioned plea for a divorce
was cast aside, and Lady Mordaunt's fate took another unforeseen turn: confinement
to an asylum.
This startling verdict, where
the gilded walls of insanity shielded Lady Mordaunt
from the shackles of a scandalous divorce,
did not settle comfortably in the public’s psyche.
Whispers of a conspiracy to mute Lady
Mordaunt began to permeate society's echelons.
Reynold’s News, ever the provocateur,
pointedly questioned the propriety of the Prince's actions.
Why would “a young married man”
feel compelled to engage in weekly rendezvous
with a similarly bound woman during her husband's absence?
Was everything truly as innocent as it seemed on the surface?
The questions lingered, tantalizing and unresolved.
The fog of mystery envelops much of Lady Mordaunt's life
post-1871 until her eventual passing in 1906.
Despite the cloud of scandal and legal entanglements that once surrounded her,
the following years faded into obscurity.
After a series of complex legal manoeuvres, culminating in an appeal
to the House of Lords – which then possessed judicial authority
– Sir Charles Mordaunt’s quest for divorce found its resolution.
In 1875, the courts finally granted him his sought-after separation,
anchored on Lady Mordaunt's indiscretions with Lord Cole,
who chose not to challenge the allegations.
A few years later, in 1878, Sir Charles embarked on a new chapter,
the wedding of Mary Louisa Cholmondeley, a clergyman's daughter.
The shadow of Lady Mordaunt's post-divorce life reveal a woman bound by mental strife.
By 1877, she had been transferred from Chiswick
to the Hayes Park Private Asylum in Hillingdon under the vigilant care of Dr.
Edwards Benbow.
The narrative of the 1881 Census paints a picture of Harriett Mordaunt
as one of several titled boarders at Hayes Park.
Yet, a decade later, in 1891,
she is found in the serene “Hampton Lea” environs in Sutton, Surrey.
Here, records curiously abbreviate her identity to “HSM”,
a common practice for those deemed mentally afflicted.
In a twist, her birthplace is mistakenly noted as West Sussex.
By the onset of the 20th century, the 1901 Census captures
her still at “Hampton Lea”, but her identity is altered.
Now recorded as Harriett “Morgan”
and misidentified with the exact erroneous birthplace,
she's described as a widow –
likely alluding to the death of Sir Charles in 1897.
Her mental state, though
no longer classified under the Lunacy Act, is poignantly termed “feeble-minded”.
The curtain finally fell on Lady Mordaunt's tumultuous life in May 1906.
Her resting place, a silent witness to her
storied existence, lies within the grounds of Brompton Cemetery.
A peaceful ending to a turbulent and stormy existence.