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A Gift for Christmas - The Extraordinary Tale of Elizabeth Bridge Armistead by Catherine Curzon

12/17/2016

Before we begin, a word of warning.

This is not a cautionary story.

If you seek an unhappy ending, a morality tale or a fable of a woman punished for transgressing ladylike norms, turn back now. If, however, you’d like to meet a courtesan made very good, a woman whose origins are lost in mystery, who took a name that wasn’t hers and went on to great things in a long and happy life, then read on.

It is my pleasure to introduce the estimable Mrs Elizabeth Armistead. Famed society hostess, celebrated political wife and beloved philanthropist, Mrs Armistead wasn’t always as respectable as she would one day became. Indeed, her journey from a place that might or might not have been Greenwich to respectability and life as “the heroine of St Ann’s Hill”[1] via the bed of a prince and a fair few other mattresses besides, is a story that is uniquely, gloriously Georgian.

Where Elizabeth Bridget Armistead, née Cane, came from and who her parents were is a matter of conjecture. According to the lady herself, she was born on 11th July 1750 but on the other details of her earlier life, Elizabeth was deliberately vague. Greenwich later laid claim to the infamous lady thanks to speculative press reports that emerged as her fame grew, but without any good reason. Instead, she seemed to have come from nowhere, emerging fully formed and wonderfully skilled into the pleasure-filled world of Georgian London where she was known as Mrs Armistead to the clients who flocked to see her in the brothel where she built her reputation.

Of Elizabeth’s parents we know nothing, rumours of preachers, cobblers and market men scattered here and there like seeds in the wind, though none of them took root. Perhaps she had been a servant or a hairdresser’s assistant, perhaps she hadn’t, perhaps in theatre, perhaps not, this woman of mystery leaving every question as to her youth unanswered until the very day she died.

Even the name she became known by, Mrs Armistead, is a mystery. There appeared to be no Mr Armistead or if there was, he was long since departed by the time Elizabeth came to the public eye. In fact, the very first suggestion of her existence comes courtesy of the great Sir Joshua Reynolds, who listed an appointment with Mrs Armistead at Mrs Mitchell’s in Soho.

Mrs Mitchell’s brothel on Upper St John Street was one of the most famous in the city. To be a resident here, and a resident with an appointment with Sir Joshua Reynolds, no less, points to a woman who was going places and for Mrs Armistead, a woman with big ideas, the future looked bright.

Like all enterprising courtesans Elizabeth was determined to land herself a patron, a gentleman who would take her out of the brothel and give her the existence of a lady, making her mistress to one instead of many. She hit the big time when she charmed a succession of dukes, capping them with Frederick St John, 2nd Viscount Bolingbroke, into taking on the role. Famed for his glittering, profligate life, Bolingbroke was a stereotypical bad boy and became notorious for his ruinously expensive lifestyle and acrimonious divorce from his wife, Lady Diana Spencer. In Elizabeth’s company, however, he need not worry about divorce and debt, for she promised only pleasure.

Elizabeth wasn’t about to rest on a viscount with a reputation for trouble, however, but he had plans for his mistress. Bolingbroke arranged for his lover to take a turn on the stage and, in 1774, she strutted her stuff at Covent Garden Playhouse.

The notices were not good.

Still, such exposure does a girl no harm and soon Elizabeth had a residence of her own, financed by Bolingbroke, though she was soon moving onwards and upwards. Now Elizabeth was on a roll and she took up residence in a Bond Street house paid for by General Richard Smith, a leading light in the East India Company. Here she lived a life of leisure and opulence, indulging herself with the occasional acting role in and around appointments with her many, ever-grander patrons.

General Smith was exchanged for John Frederick Sackville, 3rd Duke of Dorset and, for the first time in her glittering career, Elizabeth was about to have her first disappointment. Lord Dorset might have set her up in a rather grand house on Clarges Street, but he also proved a romantic at heart and abandoned Elizabeth in favour of Elizabeth Smith-Stanley, Countess of Derby. That affair would drag Lady Derby’s name into the mud but it also dragged Elizabeth out of her bubble and she looked to her swiftly emptying coffers and quickly began gathering new patrons to plug the financial gap left by the duke. Among those who did, ironically, was none other that Lady Derby’s own husband; never let it be said that Georgian society wasn’t tangled.

As the years passed and Elizabeth became more and more famous in society, she developed a marked interest in politics. Many of her patrons were influential Whigs and Elizabeth opened her house to Whig politicians as a meeting place and salon. In the heart of London she was soon moving in political circles that included the famed Whig statesman, Charles James Fox, the man Elizabeth had first met when he drunkenly pranked Bolingbroke by kicking in the door of the brothel chamber where the couple were enjoying a liaison.

Although she would later fall deeply in love with Fox, for now he was nothing more than a friend. Instead, Elizabeth seemed to settle on Lord George Cavendish and for a time, all was well.

Enter the Prince of Wales, later notorious as the Prince Regent and, of course, King George IV.

Well, not really, enter, more hide in the corner and hope no one notices you.

Elizabeth’s affair with the prince, who met her via their shared Whig circle, was uncovered in a farcical episode by Lord George Cavendish. Whilst paying a late night call to his mistress, Lord George had the distinct feeling that things weren’t quite right. Drunk, rowdy and ready to uncover the truth, he began a search of her house, even as Elizabeth asked him to let things be. Instead he persevered, and uncovered a right royal rival.

“Ld George was returning one night to Mrs Armitstead's, rather drunk. In going into her room he perceiv'd some unaccustomed light in another, and much against her entreatys went in. The room seem'd empty, but willing to examine everywhere he soon found there was a man conceal'd behind the door. He stretched out his arm with the candle in his hand close to the person's face, and to his great surprise found it was the P. of Wales.”

In Elizabeth, the Prince of Wales had more than met his match. He was used to being the man of the moment, the one everyone wanted yet this time, he was the one doing the chasing. She was attacked for the affair, seen as a tool of the Whigs, a honeytrap designed to capture the prince for their cause but, in truth, he was perfectly willing to be trapped by her, by any attractive woman. Far from a scheming political tool in the hands of the opposition, Elizabeth was living life on her own terms and the Prince of Wales didn’t hold any lasting fascination for her. Soon George’s appeal and bank balance wore thin and Elizabeth took a jaunt to the continent in the company of her patrons, correctly guessing that he would soon drown his sorrows with other lovers. When she returned, she established herself in a new Surrey home, St Ann’s Hill, and took her old friend, Fox, as her lover.

“Mr. Fox and Mrs. ARMISTEAD are about to set off on their Tour abroad. They will in all probability remain there for some time.”[2]

The courtesan who had once held all of London in the palm of her hand had, quite unexpectedly, fallen in love with the man who had been her friend for years. The relationship took everyone by surprise, most likely including Fox and Elizabeth, but the couple were inseparable and remained devoted to one another for the rest of their lives. With her patrons gone, Elizabeth’s life changed forever and the lifestyle she had once taken for granted became the source of debt and anxiety. Living a quiet existence at St Ann’s Hill, she sold her properties and belongings to keep their heads above water, experiencing life without a rich lover for the first time in years.

When Fox was offered the opportunity to marry into serious money and Elizabeth offered to step aside to let him do so, he refused to even consider it. He was devoted to his Liz and no other would do. Instead, Fox and Elizabeth married one another instead. Fearing that the scandal of such a marriage would damage her new husband’s political career, the newlywed Elizabeth begged her husband to keep it their union secret and, for seven years, they did.

The truth of the marriage came to light in 1802, when Fox was invited to France to meet Napoleon. He insisted on taking his wife with him and, though London society was whipped into a frenzy by it, the cool Elizabeth negotiated this new territory with grace and dignity. She had known plenty of scandal in her time, after all, so this was nothing to be afraid of. There was little mud that could be thrown at a couple so happy and together, the Foxes were gradually accepted into society as more than mistress and patron, but as husband and wife.

“For some days past it has been confidently reported, that the Hon. CHARLES FOX had rewarded the constancy and other merits of MRS ARMSTEAD [sic] with his hand at the altar. […] The wit and accomplishments of this Lady have long been justly celebrated, and she is as much entitled to every privilege that the event we allude to can confer upon her, as many Ladies who preside over fashion in the present laxity of her manners.”[3]

As a member of one of the great Whig dynasties, however, there were elements of the press that couldn’t help heave a sigh of disappointment. The marriage was childless and would remain so, leading The Times to point the finger at Elizabeth. She might be charming and accomplished and full of wit, but she wasn’t, they reminded readers, completely perfect.

“Mrs. ARMISTEAD’s marriage to Mr Fox is now mentioned as a certainty; which for ever destroys the hope of a legitimate successor to our great orator’s personal and mental estates; the lady having passed that climacteric of life, which shuts out the possibility of children - What a pity!!!”[4]

Tragically, the happiness of Elizabeth and Fox was to be all too short-lived and in 1806 Fox died, his body exhausted by years of hard living. The last word the Whig grandee spoke was his wife’s name, murmuring of his “dearest Liz”.

And what of Elizabeth?

If this were a cautionary tale, things would now go very badly indeed and penury, exile and an early death would no doubt be on the cards. Happily, this is a true story and Elizabeth was not an innocent abroad, but a woman of intelligence, resources and popularity. She was’t about to fade away.

Heartbroken for the loss of the man she adored, Elizabeth maintained the home they had shared and continued to mix in the Whig circles where she had once glittered so brightly. The pension she received of £1200 per year on Fox’s death was later joined by a £500 annuity courtesy of her former lover, George IV, and these sums allowed her to live the quiet, settled life that she had come to so love. She was noted for the sweetness of her temperament and many of her former patrons now rode to her financial aid, saving her from the penury that might otherwise threaten her dotage.

As she grew older, Elizabeth became ever more devoted to her philanthropic activities and her charity made her a beloved figure in the nearby village of Chertsey. The woman who had once been so notorious, a beacon of scandal and opulence, was now an elder stateswoman of the Whigs and held in respect as such. She lived to the grand old age of ninety two (despite what The Times claimed), and passed away on 8th July 1842, having spanned the Georgian era, the regency and the dawn of the Victorian age.

“We regret to announce the death of Mrs. Fox, the widow of the Right Hon. Charles James Fox. This venerable lady expired on Friday morning, at her sear at St. Anne’s Hill, near Chertsey, in the 97th year of her age.”[5]

Elizabeth’s funeral was intended to be private but her friends and supporters had other ideas. The service at All Saints church in Chertsey was overwhelmed with not only friends but those who wanted to pay their respects to the woman whose kindness, charity and grace had endeared her to people from all classes and all walks of life.

References
Black, Jeremy. The Hanoverians: The History of a Dynasty. Hambledon and London, 2007.
David, Saul. Prince of Pleasure. Grove Press, 2000.
Davis, I.M. The Harlot and the Statesman. The Kendall Press, 1986.
Derry, John W. Charles James Fox. St. Martin's Press, 1972.
Hickman, Katie. Courtesans. Harper Collins, 2003.
Hicks, Carola. Improper Pursuits. Macmillan, 2001.
Linnane, Fergus. Madams, Bawds and Brothel Keepers of London. Sutton Publishing, 2005.
Smith, EA. George IV. Yale University Press, 1999.

Catherine Curzon is a royal historian who writes on all matters 18th century at. Her work has been featured on HistoryExtra.com, the official website of BBC History Magazine and in publications such as Explore History, All About History, History of Royals and Jane Austen’s Regency World. She has provided additional research for An Evening with Jane Austen at the V&A and spoken at venues including the Royal Pavilion in Brighton, Lichfield Guildhall and Dr Johnson’s House.

Catherine holds a Master’s degree in Film and when not dodging the furies of the guillotine, writes fiction set deep in the underbelly of Georgian London.
Web Site: www.madamegilflurt.com

Her books, Life in the Georgian Court, and The Crown Spire, are available at the links below and at retailers worldwide.

She lives in Yorkshire atop a ludicrously steep hill.

Life in the Georgian Court
Amazon UK - Amazon US

The Crown Spire
Amazon UK - Amazon US

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[1] True Briton (1793) (London, England), Tuesday, June 14, 1796; Issue 1082.

[2] World (1787) (London, England), Friday, August 8, 1788; Issue 503.

[3] The Times (London, England), Friday, Aug 13, 1802; Issue 5488.

[4] The Times (London, England), Friday, January 23, 1789; Issue 1229.

[5] The Times (London, England), Monday, Jul 11, 1842; Issue 18032.