Home of Britain’s bestselling history magazine and award-winning podcast
Could you make it through a London season in the Regency era?
You’ve got a dowry, a ballgown, a dance card, and you’ve spent your life preparing to dazzle on the dancefloor during your first season. But armed with just your wit, your silver tongue and your natural wiles, do you have what it takes to bewitch the ton, or fall flat on your face?
View Riddle on the source website How did you score? Share your result on social media to see how your knowledge compares with other HistoryExtra readers! Don't forget to check back for our next quiz – and in the meantime browse our other history quizzes here
The real story of Bridgerton’s Queen Charlotte: from glittering courts to tragic decline
Queen Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz arrived in Britain as a teenager to marry King George III, and theirs would become a marriage of deep affection and domesticity, with celebrated Georgians flocking to their court. Yet hers was also a life increasingly blighted by tragedy. Following Golda Rosheuvel’s star turn as the queen consort in Netflix drama Bridgerton, Catherine Curzon shares more…
Queen Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz and King George III were married for almost six decades. Following their arranged marriage, no Georgian royals were more devoted to one another, but theirs was a love story that turned into a tragedy. Charlotte was born to the Duke and Duchess of Mecklenburg at the Palace of Mirow, in the small principality of Mecklenburg-Strelitz (now part of Germany), in 1744. Her education was mediocre, and though she learned how to manage a household, she was kept distant from the politics of royal life. Only when her brother succeeded to the dukedom on their father’s death did 12-year-old Charlotte enter court life, but Mecklenburg’s powerplays were nothing compared to the sharkpool of Georgian England. Charlotte’s future was decided in 1760, when the 22-year-old George III succeeded his grandfather on the English throne. This unassuming, diligent bachelor needed a queen – and an heir – as a matter of urgency. Eager to ensure the line of succession, politicians included Princess Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz on a shortlist of eligible and suitable Protestant ladies. She was reported to have no political ambitions and to be in all regards perfectly pleasant and ‘sweet-tempered’, which was exactly what George was looking for. He chose her to be his bride, thrusting the sheltered teenager into the spotlight. Charlotte was about to become queen of a land she had never visited, alongside a man whom she had never met. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2021/01/GettyImages-1198679755-a113a17-e1683106495286.jpg" width="620" height="412" alt="Princess Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz" title="Princess Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz was included on a shortlist of eligible and suitable Protestant ladies who could be a potential bride for George III. (Photo by: Sepia Times/Universal Images Group via Getty Images)" /> The wedding of Princess Charlotte and George III After a proxy wedding ceremony in Mecklenburg, Charlotte arrived at Harwich on the south coast of England in September 1761. Vast crowds lined the route to St James’s Palace, eager to glimpse the new queen, and by the time she arrived in London on 8 September, she was shaking with nerves. She reportedly stumbled from her carriage towards the waiting king but, as she went to throw herself at George’s feet in supplication, he caught her. It was a promising start. Read now | Was the Regency era a good time to be a woman? The truth not seen in Bridgerton That evening was a whirlwind. After dining with the royal family, Charlotte barely had time to rest before she changed into her bridal gown (a dress she would wear again two weeks later for her coronation). But at her wedding she struggled with the acres of fabric and piles of jewels; seasickness on the voyage to England had caused Charlotte to lose so much weight that the gown constantly slipped from her shoulders under the weight of its priceless adornments. On her finger she wore a far simpler piece of jewellery: a diamond ring inscribed with the date, which George had given her on arrival. It was to remain Charlotte’s most precious treasure for the rest of her life. The Regency | A short course from HistoryExtra Academy Member exclusive | Join Dr Lizzie Rodgers for our four-week course on Regency England – from the Georgian kings and Napoleonic Wars to the marriage market and the works of Jane Austen. Explore the course now England was charmed by its young king and queen straight away. The couple quickly settled into a steady domestic routine more akin to the upper middle classes than royalty. Charlotte spent hours studying English every day, with George encouraging her efforts, and the couple entertained courtiers by giving intimate musical concerts. Best of all for King George, when he warned Charlotte that she must never meddle in politics and must be on the lookout for glory-seekers, she was happy to obey. Unlike her mother-in-law and the late Queen Caroline of Ansbach, wife of George II, Charlotte had no interest in running the country. It was the issue of family that most dominated Queen Charlotte’s life as consort; the royal couple took the matter of their heir and spare very seriously indeed. Over the next 22 years (between 1762–83) Charlotte gave birth to 15 children, including their eldest son, the future George IV. All but two of her children lived to adulthood. The youngsters spent hours every day with their parents, whether playing rambunctious games with the king or being quizzed on the content of their daily lessons by the queen, who oversaw their education. Though Charlotte would remain deeply involved in her children’s lives as they grew older, she was not always welcome. Was Queen Charlotte addicted to snuff? Many viewers of Regency drama Bridgerton have been struck by a short scene in which Queen Charlotte snorts a substance during a meeting at her court. This is snuff, a finely-ground smokeless tobacco inhaled through the nostrils; the queen was so fond of it that she earned the nickname ‘Snuffy Charlotte’. By the 1700s snuff was considered a luxury product and mark of refinement, and Queen Charlotte had an entire room at Windsor Castle dedicated to her snuff collection. Inside Queen Charlotte’s court At Queen Charlotte’s court, protocol was everything. She loved tradition and clung to it rigidly, insisting that her female courtiers wear increasingly outdated court dress, and that the rules of her Drawing Rooms be observed at all times. Although the king and queen were young, they soon developed a reputation for stuffiness. But behind the scenes things couldn’t have been more different. At home Charlotte strove to recreate her loving childhood and oversaw the creation of gardens, cottages and even exotic menageries, turning her palaces, including those at Windsor and Kew, into centres of family life as well as ceremony. Entry to her inner circle (which included novelist Frances Burney and other intellectual women of the day) wasn’t won easily, but she treated her most trusted ladies-in-waiting as old friends, creating devoted bonds that lasted for decades. Queen Charlotte’s private circle was always one of domesticity, rather than politics. Read more | Royal enlightenment: the intellectual life of Queen Charlotte Despite their dislike of show, Charlotte and George’s court glittered. The most celebrated Georgians flocked to see them and amid the rustle of silk court dresses and the flash of the most fashionable jewellery, courtiers sought to make a splash. Whether at St James’s or Buckingham House, the king and queen performed weekly musical concerts and gave entertainments, whilst official levées were held twice a week, with a third day added later. On Thursdays and Sundays, the king and queen received courtiers at Drawing Rooms, where they showed off their family. On one such occasion Charlotte dressed her infant sons in their robes of state and her little daughter in a Roman toga and had them host the Drawing Room instead. Though loyal courtiers professed to be charmed, caricaturists savaged the event. Charlotte would never repeat her playful experiment. Read more | Strange and surprising pastimes of the Regency Ton Queen Charlotte’s heritage Not only was Charlotte an unpolitical queen, but it has been suggested that she may also have been England’s first (and so far, only) queen of African heritage. Historian Mario De Valdes y Cocom claims that he can trace Charlotte’s genealogy back through nine generations to Margarita de Castro y Sousa, a 15th-century Portuguese noblewoman, whom he posits was black. He notes that Charlotte’s doctors occasionally used racially pejorative terms to describe her features, illustrating his claims with portraits in which her skin tone is notably darker than that usually seen in 18th-century portraiture. Valdes’s research has been disputed by some historians, who argue that the nine generations that divide Margarita and Charlotte render such connections moot. Some also suggest that Valdes has misinterpreted the historical evidence regarding Margarita’s ethnicity, which has implications for his theories regarding Charlotte’s heritage too. Nevertheless, it’s a subject that will no doubt continue to fascinate. Charlotte was recently played by Golda Rosheuvel, a Guyanese-British actress, in Regency drama Bridgerton. Read more | Bridgerton: the real history explained More from us HistoryExtra members can explore this topic further with exclusive content from our archives How to survive a Regency marriage Regency timeline: the key dates you need to know Regency inequality: the gap between rich and poor in Georgian Britain The two sides of George IV: is his wretched reputation deserved? Not a HistoryExtra member? Explore our latest membership offers Queen Charlotte and the illness of George III The happy status quo of the royal marriage was violently shaken in 1788, when George experienced his first bout of mental illness. Sleepless and often violent, he made lurid accusations of adultery against Charlotte and lascivious comments about her attendants. Charlotte’s ladies-in-waiting watched in horror as their queen stopped eating and slept only a few hours a night. She tore at her hair, which began to grey prematurely, and paced back and forth for hours on end, desperately wondering what would become of her. For the first time she locked her bedroom door against the king and kept her youngest children in her chambers at night, afraid for their safety after George physically assaulted his adult son, the Prince of Wales. With court physicians apparently powerless to help, a desperate Charlotte called in the doctor Francis Willis, who had been credited with curing the madness of a courtier. It was a fateful decision. Read more | George III: why his reputation as the mad king who lost America needs to be re-evaluated Willis’s treatment of the king has been well documented, but Charlotte was suffering too. George was her best friend and without him, her nerves frayed to breaking. With the king straightjacketed at Kew, Charlotte was dragged into parliamentary arguments over who should rule as Regent during his illness. Her resistance to the appointment of the dissolute Prince of Wales led to an estrangement between mother and son that would last for years. Once an unpolitical queen, she suddenly found herself the target of accusations that “the Queen is really King”. Though George experienced a recovery, his illness left a permanent blot on the marriage. Once placid and loving, Charlotte’s demeanour had been forever changed. She began to suffer from depression and developed a furious temper, often directed against the daughters. At the merest hint of George becoming unwell she moved into a locked bedroom and declined any opportunity to see him without another person present. Yet she still protected and loved the king as much as she ever had. When his final mental breakdown occurred in 1810, and the Prince of Wales came to power as Prince Regent in 1811 at the head of a glittering, glamorous court, Queen Charlotte became her husband’s devoted guardian. Yet she never visited him alone again. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2021/01/GettyImages-1206250645-06fe742-e1683106632253.jpg" width="413" height="562" alt="Queen Charlotte. Replica by Gainsborough of a portrait of the queen (Royal Collection) which he painted at Windsor Castle in September 1782. (Image by Heritage Art/Heritage Images via Getty Images)" title="Queen Charlotte. Replica by Gainsborough of a portrait of the queen (Royal Collection) which he painted at Windsor Castle in September 1782. (Image by Heritage Art/Heritage Images via Getty Images)" /> The wide-eyed bride of years earlier was gone, worn down by decades of trauma. Charlotte had grown hard, forcing all but one of her six daughters to remain at home to act as her unwilling companions and coming to rely on only a few very close confidantes. She was left distraught by visits to George, who railed at her for having appointed the unyielding Dr Willis, spitting that he loved her dogs more than he had ever loved her. Quiz | Could you make it through a London season in the Regency era? For the last decade of his life the king was secluded at Windsor, where Charlotte oversaw his care and watched him fade away until he no longer recognised her. The queen’s last public appearance was in London in April 1818, after which she was set on travelling to Windsor to join her spouse. Instead ill health confined her to Kew. Robbed of the ability to walk, Charlotte could merely lay in bed and gaze out at her beloved gardens. On 17 November 1818, as the Prince Regent and her children gathered around her, Queen Charlotte died. Only now did she make her longed-for journey to Windsor, where she was interred in St George’s Chapel. She was reunited with her beloved husband little more than a year later, when George III was laid to rest beside her. Explore the world of Bridgerton The real history behind Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story Where is Bridgerton filmed? 5 places to visit for fans of the popular Netflix period drama Inspiring Bridgerton: the real South Asian women in Regency-era England From balls to Bridgerton: a brief history of debutantes and the social season The scandals that rocked Queen Charlotte's court
Was the Regency era a good time to be a woman? The truth not seen in Bridgerton
Conforming to strict rules in order to find a husband, who then had control over her property and lifestyle; risking the loss of reputation for any societal indiscretion; and enduring painful pregnancies and childbirths: life for a Regency woman came with supreme challenges. Catherine Curzon explores the real world of Bridgerton
“Single women have a dreadful propensity for being poor – which is one very strong argument in favour of matrimony.” So wrote the author Jane Austen, whose visions of Regency life have come to define the era, in a letter to her niece Fanny Knight, dated 13 March 1817. Austen was not wrong. Being a woman in the Regency era was far more than the balls, dresses and dashing gentlemen seen in her works, and a far cry from the world of Bridgerton. The intrigue, romance and glamour of the Netflix series has bewitched viewers across the globe with its Regency fantasia. There, two women deftly hold sway in different ways, one at court and one in society. Read more | Was there a real Lady Whistledown? The true stories of Mrs Crackenthorpe, Bridgerton’s scandal sheets and the golden age of gossip At the top sits Queen Charlotte, resplendent in wig and panniers as she presides over the ladies of the upper class, deciding their fate at court and the world of the elite with the merest of words. Lady Whistledown, however, exists as an anonymous writer whose must-read pamphlets sate the hunger for gossip among the ton. It has made for compelling viewing, but just what was it like for a woman at this time? What was the ton in the Regency era? The ton was the pinnacle of Regency society. The term was used to refer to the refined world of the upper classes, which was governed by a bewildering and unwritten collection of rules. Here, women had specific roles: to marry, become a mother and establish themselves as successful society wives, to whom no scandal or gossip could possibly attach itself. On the podcast | Bridgerton: ripping up the rulebook on Regency romance Of course, there are examples of women who kicked against these expectations, but they were the exception, and regarded by the ton as oddities. For the rest, from the moment of their birth little girls found themselves on a path that they would be expected to follow for their whole lives. What were upper-class women taught? Whilst education for boys was intended to create gentleman who might inherit the family estates or go into a respectable profession, girls were trained in ‘appropriate’ female skills. When it came to the humanities and sciences, they generally learned just enough to ensure they would be a sparkling and lively hostess or conversational partner, while never being one who questioned her husband’s judgement and opinions. There was a practical aspect to the education of young ladies, which hinted at what her life would become once she was a wife. Lessons in household management ensured that she understood the domestic accounts just as well as she knew how to sparkle at the society dinner table. Read more | How did people learn to dance in the Regency era? The emphasis was placed on more artistic pursuits, such as music and art, to show how accomplished a woman could be. Equally vital to a young lady’s education were her dance lessons. The dancefloor at a ball offered a place to be seen and, hopefully, enchant a good marriage prospect; it was also one of the few places where she might be able to snatch a few private words with a man. How did women join high society? <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2023/04/QUEENCHARLOTTE103Unit00808RC-13959be-e1682501196940.jpg" width="620" height="414" alt="Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story. (L to R) India Amarteifio as Young Queen Charlotte, Corey Mylchreest as Young King George in episode 103 of Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story." title="Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story. (L to R) India Amarteifio as Young Queen Charlotte, Corey Mylchreest as Young King George in episode 103 of Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story." /> The skills and mannerisms that had been diligently learned would be put to the test once a young woman made her debut in society at the annual Queen Charlotte’s Ball. Debutantes would be presented to the queen in front of an audience of eligible bachelors and their families. She then embarked on her first season: a round of balls, parties and glamourous events, a time that was her prime chance to make a match. All the dancing lessons and good looks counted for little, however, if they weren’t accompanied by a dowry and great family connections. The promise of a large pay out and the opportunity to join the Regency upper crust could make a lady immensely desirable. While not all marriages were for money and cash, love was far from the main ingredient to make a match. It could be anything but a fairy-tale beginning. Even the imperious Queen Charlotte was a mere teenage orphan when brought to England to marry a man she had never met. Read more| How to succeed in Regency courtship For those who did not find a husband in her debut year, each season that passed without a proposal diminished a lady’s appeal and attractions in the eyes of the ton. In this well-dressed cattle market, reputation was everything and, once lost, could never be regained. Despite the heroines of Bridgerton dashing away to tryst in the moonlight, the real price for such an act could be immeasurably high. A stolen kiss was enough to ruin a woman and her chances of marriage; her beau, meanwhile, would return to normal life with his reputation unsullied. What was marriage like for Regency women? Once a woman had married, everything she owned became the property of her husband, with the exception of any spending money that had been agreed in the marriage contract. In the case of things not working out, the man would keep whatever the woman had brought into the marriage. Not that she had recourse for divorce. A husband could divorce his wife with impunity, sure in the knowledge that only her reputation would be ruined. In this way, even the most celebrated ladies of the ton could find themselves marked as pariahs. Read more | From balls to Bridgerton: a brief history of debutantes and the social season Regardless of the happiness of the marriage, a woman’s job was to manage her home. Every day, she met with her housekeeper to discuss the running of the household and its staff, before she went through the accounts ahead of a day of calls and visits to make sure that the wheels of society kept turning. It goes without saying that all of her responsibilities would have been more bearable with a loving husband with whom to share the gossip of each day during that evening. Should a woman be widowed, she had better hope that a jointure was part of the discussions in the marriage settlement. This was a ringfenced income for a bride in the advent of their husband’s death to ensure that she would be still be supported. Yet even these settlements were administered by male relatives, meaning that a widow would rarely be in control of her own fate. She could remarry, of course, but then what small measure of independence widowhood had given her would, once again, be surrendered. The Regency | A short course from HistoryExtra Academy Member exclusive | Join Dr Lizzie Rodgers for our four-week course on Regency England – from the Georgian kings and Napoleonic Wars to the marriage market and the works of Jane Austen. Explore the course now What was childbirth and pregnancy like in the Regency era? For a wife in the Regency era – as with many eras in history – there was one requirement above all others: to keep the bloodline going. Queen Charlotte bore her husband an eyewatering 15 children. And this was no easy feat. Even for the wealthiest, who had access to the best medical care, pregnancy and childbirth came with great risks. The rates of mortality for mothers and babies were high. Read more | Midwifery and childbirth: a historical A–Z guide Matters were not helped by the fact that pregnant women were subjected to a regime that modern women rightly rejected. Once the pregnancy had been confirmed, the woman underwent a lying-in period, in which they were sent to bed, fires were lit, windows and doors closed, and every possible source of fresh air blocked up. This was so they would not be subject to the perils of so-called miasmas (foul air believed to carry all manner of diseases). Instead, they were constantly breathing in stuffy, sooty air. With exercise and any activities believed to cause excitement forbidden, many women understandably found the experience of pregnancy miserable, worsened by a meagre diet of bland foods and bouts of bloodletting for every minor ailment. Though the birth itself is often considered the most dangerous time for Regency women, merely getting to the point of labour could be an ordeal on its own. During childbirth, the expectant mother would be overseen by a midwife and doctor, but that did not guarantee that everything would go smoothly. Princess Charlotte of Wales, daughter and heir of George IV, died soon after delivering a stillborn baby boy. Months later, her doctor, unable to forgive himself, took his own life in what became known as the “triple obstetric tragedy”. Did single women have it better off? Although the prospect of an unhappy marriage would hardly have appealed, staying single offered precious little comfort either. Spinsterhood was deemed an unnatural state. Even worse, an upper-class lady could not get a job to support herself, so unless she could find a respectable role as a governess or companion, or perhaps give painting or music lessons, an unmarried woman was entirely at the mercy of her, sometimes reluctant, family. It is a sobering thought to realise that most genteel women never even lived alone. And families would grow resentful at the burden of an ageing relative. Once in a while, an heiress might be able to break the mould, but even then she had to employ a female companion to prevent any whispers of irresectability. Read more | Regency inequality: the gap between rich and poor in Georgian Britain Far from the romance and glamour of pretty dresses and trysts with smouldering dukes seen in Bridgerton, the life of a woman in Regency England came with crushing pressures and harsh treatment if not done properly. It was spent under the eye of others – whether family or spouse – and subject to rigid social rules and protocols that carried immense cost should they be broken. That does not mean that no Regency women lived happy and fulfilled lives. For many others, however, even those with every privilege that money could buy, circumstances could be miserable and inescapable. Worse still, there was no Lady Whistledown waiting in the wings to guide you to a happy ending.
7 weird and wonderful Georgian beauty treatments
In the 21st century, beauty is big business: thousands of column inches are devoted daily to discussing the latest beauty trends, from the simple to the absurd. But, as historical writer Catherine Curzon reveals, the beauty regimes of the Georgian era could put even the most bizarre modern fads to shame
From porcelain white skin to huge hair, the Georgians cared greatly about their appearance. Indeed, the lure of a pretty face in make-up became so strong in the Georgian period, and was considered so irresistible, that parliament (seemingly) considered passing a law to protect men from being duped by painted ladies with designs on their purse: “An Act to protect men from being beguiled into marriage by false adornments. All women, of whatever rank, age, profession or degree, whether virgins, maids or widows, that shall, from and after such Act, impose upon, seduce or betray into matrimony, any of His Majesty's subjects, by the scents, paints, cosmetic washes, artificial teeth, false hair, Spanish wool, iron stays, hoops, high-heeled shoes and bolstered hips, shall incur the penalty of the law in force against witch-craft and like misdemeanours and that the marriage upon conviction shall stand null and void.” Put forward in 1770 likely as a wry jab at fashion rather than a serious law, this amendment to the Witchcraft Act was never passed, nor did it make it into the debating chamber. Nevertheless, beauty treatments were abundant in Georgian Britain. Here we consider seven of the most weird and wonderful… White, white, white! Our obsession with acquiring the perfect sun-kissed tan would have utterly perplexed the Georgians. In the 18th century a suntan was a sure sign that one worked outdoors, whereas the polite, wealthy classes remained indoors and out of the sun’s glare. The most basic and perhaps famous Georgian fashion was porcelain white skin, for both men and women. Alongside horse manure and vinegar, the main ingredient in skin-whitening creams and powders was lead. Daubed liberally on the face and neck, these creams and powders helped to achieve that all-important ‘never been outdoors’ look. Whiteness was accentuated by using blue colouring to highlight veins, while lips and cheeks were tinted with yet more lead – this time coloured with carmine [a bright-red pigment obtained from the aluminium salt of carminic acid] or even with mixes containing highly toxic mercury. With the widespread use of lead, it was hardly surprising that fashionable sorts began to suffer serious reactions to their make-up. From eye disorders to digestive problems and even, in extreme cases, death, the price of following the fashion for blanc was high. The prized porcelain skin tone so beloved of Georgian fashionistas wasn’t financially easy to achieve either. Deadly or not, skin creams were an expensive addition to a lady’s make-up bag and for those seeking beauty on a budget the options were limited: for both hair and face a light dusting of wheat flour might have to suffice. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2018/01/Kitty20Fisher_1-d6ce8c9.jpg" width="1968" height="2356" alt="A portrait of Kitty Fisher by Sir Joshua Reynolds, painted between 1723 and 1792 is pictured at Sothebys auction house, in London, 16 November 2007. The painting is expected to fetch between 2,000,000 and 3,000,000 pounds (2,793,496.24 and 4,190,362.13 Euros). AFP PHOTO / CARL DE SOUZA (Photo credit should read CARL DE SOUZA/AFP/Getty Images)" title="A portrait of Kitty Fisher by Sir Joshua" /> The language of patches Also known as mouches, beauty patches were small clippings of black velvet, silk or satin that were attached to the face to cover blemishes, including smallpox scars and damage wrought by white lead, or just as a bit of decoration. Often kept in highly decorative containers, these patches enjoyed many years of popularity. Just as fans could be used to communicate a secret message, the position of these skin patches eventually came to be associated with coded meanings. For example, if one wished to show political allegiance, a patch on the right-hand-side of the face denoted a Tory while a Whig wore a patch on the left. On a more intimate note, a patch in the corner of the eye might be an invitation to a would-be paramour. Unlike face creams, patches weren’t only the preserve of the rich. If you couldn’t afford finely shaped silk and velvet then a little bit of clipped mouse skin would do just as well. Patches appear in many pieces of Georgian art; perhaps most famously in William Hogarth’s A Harlot’s Progress, a series of paintings and engravings in which heroine Moll Hackabout’s face – once fresh and pretty – takes on more and more patches until she resembles the haggard brothel madame who initiated her into London brothel life. For Moll, the patches no doubt covered the telltale signs of diseases such as syphilis – a world away from the fashionable ballrooms of France where a patch might mean flirtation, seduction and intrigue. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2018/01/GettyImages-90729825-8b9718c.jpg" width="800" height="800" alt="UNITED KINGDOM - JANUARY 03: Cylindrical box made in Birmingham, possibly by Joseph Taylor. It would have contained pills, cachous (lozenges to sweeten the breath), or patches to cover smallpox scars. In the 18th century the area around Birmingham became famous for its metalwork shops, producing all kinds of decorative metal goods. (Photo by SSPL/Getty Images)" title="Silver cachou box, 1797." /> Huge hair The popular image of the later 18th century is one in which enormous and flamboyant wigs teetered precariously atop the heads of fashionable ladies, but this isn’t actually accurate. There was plenty of teetering hair but it was often real, with wigs generally worn only by 18th-century men. Ladies and gents alike achieved their fashionable pale hair colour by applying hair powder, which was made from flour or starch and puffed onto the head with a pair of bellows [a device constructed to furnish a strong blast of air]. For that typically Georgian ‘big haired’ look the wealthy employed an army of stylists who built elaborate structures atop their heads around wooden frames padded with extra sections often made from horse hair. Curling tongs were also developed: these resembled a pair of blunt scissors, with two metal prongs and wooden handles. When the prongs were heated in the fire the hair could then be wrapped around them and held in place until the curl had set. Alternatively, clay rollers were heated in an oven and then applied to the hair or wig. Read more about the history of hairstyles Heads would often be adorned with wax fruit and other decorations such as flowers or even model sailing ships, and the most elaborate hairstyles would remain in place for days or weeks at a time. Within these monumental headpieces our fashionable gentleman and ladies acquired the occasional lice, but the Georgians had an answer for that too: specially designed rods were sold that could be slid between the layers of hair and used to scratch the lice bites, while ensuring that their fashionable hairstyles stayed perfect. If the lice became really itchy there was always the possibility of treating them with mercury, but given that this was known to potentially cause madness or death, a scratching rod was usually the preferred option. Mouse-brows With lead liberally applied to the face as a matter of routine, it is hardly surprising that people’s eyebrows often fell out. Georgian fashionistas therefore adopted a new approach and began to pluck out or shave what eyebrow hair remained before pencilling on a new brow or using lead or burnt cork to colour one in. As black brows became a popular look, occasional mentions of a rather strange new fashion began to emerge: in 1718, celebrated poet Matthew Prior wrote a satirical poem about Helen and Jane, who wear eyebrows made of mouse skin. Evidence for mouse skin brows remains scant, but mention of them does appear in satire throughout the early 18th century. Padding in all the right places Many 21st-century celebrity careers have been established upon (or at least bolstered by) the strength of a shapely bottom. Yet this is nothing new: fashionable Georgian men were no strangers to a bit of strategic padding. Skintight breeches designed to show off the well-formed legs of their wearer became all the rage – but what if one didn’t have well-formed legs? For those who were too skinny to fill the garment, padding was the natural answer. Just like a modern padded bra enhances the bosom, pads of fabric or horsehair could be inserted to breeches that would give the impression of muscled calves. These pads could also be inserted anywhere else the male wearer might like a boost! These pads were the preserve of the most fashion-conscious of Georgian and Regency men. They found popularity among the highly fashionable, flamboyant chaps known as dandies who wore corsetry and pads to create the perfect male shape. A gleaming smile With the upper classes indulging in all manner of sugary treats, it’s hardly surprising that the teeth of our Georgian beauties were far from perfect. Tooth powders (also known as dentifrice) were therefore used to whiten teeth: among their ingredients of cuttlefish and bicarbonate of soda was often the mysteriously named spirit of vitriol. Better-known today as sulphuric acid, this mineral (which we now know to be highly corrosive) certainly whitened the teeth, but primarily because it stripped them of their enamel completely. Unsurprisingly, many Georgians required dental surgery and, without anaesthetic, such procedures were a skin-crawling affair. Once the troublesome tooth was removed, the richest patients could opt for a replacement live tooth to be purchased from a donor and threaded directly into the socket. Some of these live teeth had actually come from the mouths of corpses, bringing with them whatever disease and infections their original owner had been subject to. A bite-sized history of dentistry If a pricey live tooth was beyond your means and a gap simply wouldn’t do, there were alternatives on offer: anything from a single tooth to a complete set of dentures could be constructed from materials including porcelain, ivory, or even the teeth of soldiers who died at the battle of Waterloo. Known as ‘Waterloo teeth’, these were gathered from the mouths of dead soldiers and became highly sought after. After all, a client knew that a Waterloo tooth had come not from a man who died of disease or a corpse dug up by grave robbers, but a young and (hopefully) healthy soldier who died honourably on the battlefield. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2018/01/GettyImages-72093623-bb748ad.jpg" width="1741" height="1066" alt="LONDON - OCTOBER 05: A set of 18th century dentures are prepared to go on public display for the first time at the Museum of London October 5, 2006 in London, England. The 200-year old set of false teeth belonged to Arthur Richard Dillon (1721-1806), Archbishop of Narbonne in France. Archaeologists discovered them, still in his mouth, when they opened his coffin in London's St Pancras graveyard during excavations in advance of construction work at the Channel Tunnel Rail Link's new London terminus. (Photo by Scott Barbour/Getty Images)" title="200 Year Old Dentures Displayed For World Smile Day" /> A face pack Less well-known than white Georgian faces and huge hair is ‘fard’, a regency face mask used to soothe sunburn and “cutaneous eruptions” [spots]. Fard was a mix of sweet almond oil, spermaceti [a waxy substance found in the head of a sperm whale] and honey that was dissolved over heat and, once cooled, applied to the face and left on overnight. The recipe, which was first published in 1811, was being reprinted and, one assumes used, decades later.
From Nell to Meghan: 10 romances between actors and royals
On 19 May 2018, the American actress Meghan Markle married into British royalty when she wed Prince Harry in a ceremony at St George's Chapel at Windsor Castle. The wedding was the latest in a long tradition of romances between members of royal family and the acting profession. There are 10 such relationships from the 17th century to today, from all across the world – though not all of them ended happily…
Writing for History Extra, Catherine Curzon examines 10 famous relationships between actors and royals… Margaret ‘Peg’ Hughes (c1630–1719) Better known as Peg, Margaret Hughes holds the distinction of being one of the first recorded actresses to grace the London stage, appearing as Desdemona in Shakespeare’s Othello on 8 December 1660 at the Vere Street Theatre. Up until this point, women had been forbidden to act on stage at all, and it wasn’t until King Charles II issued a royal warrant declaring that female roles must be played by women in 1662 that actresses became a common sight, as opposed to young men dressed up to look like them. Peg was no young man though, and she not only bewitched her audience, but managed to steal the heart of Rupert of the Rhine, cousin to Charles II. Read more Royal wedding traditions through history: etiquette, menus and the dress code When royals marry 'commoners': a brief history <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2018/05/Elizabeth-II-wedding-2-5136340.jpg" width="1200" height="730" alt="The future Queen Elizabeth II and her husband, Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, at Buckingham Palace following their wedding, 20 November 1947. (Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)" title="The future Queen Elizabeth II and her husband, Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, at Buckingham Palace following their wedding, 20 November 1947. (Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)" /> After Rupert’s death in 1682, Peg gambled away much of his bequest to her and sold off many valuables, including a necklace which was bought by the infamous Nell Gwynne. Peg died in 1719, having never regained the lifestyle she once enjoyed. Nell Gwynne (1650–1687) Perhaps the most famous of all England’s royal mistresses, Nell Gwynne began her career selling oranges to the patrons of a theatre on London’s Brydges Street, Charles II’s royal playhouse. By the time she was 14 years old, Nell was treading the boards as an actress and she found her niche as a leading light of Restoration comedy, soon becoming one of London’s most celebrated comediennes. George Villiers, 2nd Duke of Buckingham, was unofficially appointed to arrange suitably impressive lovers for Nell. Seeing a chance to increase his own influence as well as her caché, he attempted to install her as the king’s mistress. Though Charles was married to Catherine of Braganza, the queen had long since learned to put up with his many mistresses, recognising them as a fact of royal life. Nell was amenable to duke’s scheme, but informed him that she expected a retainer of £500 a year for the privilege. However, the role of king’s mistress was a privileged one, filled with luxury and opulence, and Charles had plenty of willing candidates to choose from – even without paying them £500. When he heard the figure Nell was demanding, Charles rejected the idea, but when he met her in 1668, he was smitten. Despite plenty of rivals and other mistresses snapping at her heels, Nell bore two children by the king. The actress and the monarch were a couple until his death in 1685, often sharing Nell’s silver bed, upon which the couple’s images were engraved. On his deathbed, the king begged “let not poor Nelly starve”, and she certainly didn’t. Awarded a fat payment, she lived on for two more years before she succumbed to a stroke, possibly the result of syphilis. Mary ‘Perdita’ Robinson (1757-1800) Mary Robinson knew all about reinvention. When her father abandoned his family in 1764, Mary’s privileged childhood ended with a bump. Married in her teens, she survived a spell in debtor’s prison thanks to her dissolute husband and took to the stage in a need for cash. Mary became known for her so-called ‘breeches roles’, in which she played men and flashed her famed legs, a part of the female anatomy that weren’t often on display in the Georgian era. It was as Perdita in Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale that she caught the eye of the young and capricious George, Prince of Wales, the future King George IV. The prince offered Mary a huge payment if she gave up the stage to become his official mistress and she accepted. However, the money was not forthcoming and soon he had moved on to new lovers, leaving Mary high and dry. With her reputation in tatters, Mary took up her pen and began a new career as a poet and novelist, earning herself the nickname ‘the English Sappho’. Partially paralysed by a later illness, Mary died in 1800 aged just 43. Dorothea Jordan (1761-1816) While Prince George was romancing Mary, his younger brother William made a play for Dora Jordan, a celebrated Anglo-Irish comedienne with a long list of lovers in her past. William and Dora lived together as man and wife for 20 years and had ten children. However, the couple never married and – with Princess Charlotte of Wales likely to remain the only child of his elder brother and his bitterly estranged wife – William found himself closer to the throne than he had ever expected to be. Perhaps more importantly, William was desperately in need of money to settle his debts and knew that an official marriage might do wonders for his allowance. He dropped Dora with a bump and promised her an annuity and custody of their daughters on the understanding that she wouldn’t go back to the stage. Unfortunately, when her financial situation led Dora to return to the theatre, William kept his word. He took the girls from her care and slashed her allowance accordingly. Dora died in poverty in 1816 and left a heartbroken William to rue his decision. Ironically, even when he later made an official marriage, he and his wife, Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen, failed to produce any surviving heirs. Marguerite Bellanger (1838-1886) Marguerite Bellanger was born into abject poverty but thanks to a modicum of acting talent and a whole lot of charm, she wouldn’t stay there. She started her performance career as an acrobat and equestrienne and soon progressed onto acting, while establishing herself as one of the most popular courtesans in Paris. Marguerite’s most famous patron was undoubtedly Napoleon III (the nephew and heir of Napoleon I), whom she met whilst sheltering from the rain in Paris’s Parc de Saint-Cloud in 1863. From that romantic beginning, the couple were together for a decade until his death and they had a son. Though Marguerite still had other lovers, Napoleon awarded her a generous pension and even a castle in which she and his son could live. After Napoleon’s death in 1873, Marguerite moved to England and married an army officer. The couple eventually settled in France and it was there, in 1886, that she died. Lillie Langtry (1853-1929) Anglo-American music hall star Lillie Langtry was a bona fide megastar of the Victorian and Edwardian era,and she had a love life that would keep any modern tabloid in material for years. As one of many mistresses to the Prince of Wales (later King Edward VII), Lillie was even presented to his mother Queen Victoria. During their three-year relationship, Lillie was happy to share her lover with both his wife and his other mistresses, seeming to enjoy not being tied exclusively to the prince. Though the couple separated amicably, Edward wasn’t Lillie’s last royal fling. While still in a relationship with the Prince of Wales, she fell pregnant by Prince Louis of Battenberg(1854-1921). He was the son of Prince Alexander of Hesse and had been naturalised as a Briton, eventually changing his name to Mountbatten. Louis was a member of the Royal Navy, so when news of the pregnancy came out, the horrified Prince Alexander had his son sent to sea aboard the HMS Inconstant. The Prince of Wales, meanwhile, paid for Lillie to spend her pregnancy in Paris, where she gave birth to a daughter. Lillie died in 1929 and to this day her name remains synonymous with the glory days of the British music hall. Rita Hayworth (1918-1987) In 1948 Rita Hayworth, one of Hollywood’s most popular and celebrated actresses, gave up the silver screen for life as the wife of Prince Aly Khan. The prince was the son of Sultan Mahommed Shah, Aga Khan III, the Pakistani ruler of the Nizari Ismalis, one of the largest Shia Muslim communities in the world. Sadly for Rita, her new husband had a weakness for actresses and two years later he was back in the very club where he and his princess first met, this time romancing Hollywood star Joan Fontaine. Rita took their daughter, Yasmin, and filed for divorce, convinced that Aly Khan would abduct the little girl if she wasn’t kept under guard. The couple’s divorce was a tabloid favourite: as lawyers argued over whether Yasmin should be raised as a Christian or a Muslim, she played in the courtroom and even settled on the judge’s lap. Ultimately the court found in Rita’s favour and she was awarded custody of her daughter. Grace Kelly (1929-1982) <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2018/05/GettyImages-51613536-2570f82.jpg" width="4686" height="3154" alt="Prince Rainier of Monaco and American actress Grace Kelly (1929 - 1982) sit before the altar during their wedding ceremony at the Cathedral of Saint Nicholas, Monte Carlo, Monaco, April 19, 1956. Kelly's gown was designed by costume designer Helen Rose. (Photo by Thomas McAvoy/The LIFE Picture Collection/Getty Images)" title="Wedding Of Prince Rainier & Grace Kelly" /> As Hollywood royalty, Grace Kelly was beloved by cinema-goers across the world. Having earned an Academy Award for her performance in The Country Girl (1954), and starred in hits from High Noon (1952) to Rear Window (1954), it seemed the perfect fairy-tale ending when she married Prince Rainier III of Monaco in 1956. In fact, Princess Grace’s life was anything but a fairy tale. Her marriage at the age of 26 marked the end of her Hollywood career. She was forced to turn down the title role in Alfred Hitchcock’s psychological thriller Marnie (1964) when the people of Monaco reacted with outrage to the idea of their princess playing a criminal. Further rumoured returns to the screen were similarly rejected as a result of Rainier’s wish for his wife to remain in professional retirement. Instead, Grace dedicated herself to philanthropy and her three children. She also struck up a friendship with Diana, Princess of Wales. Sadly, Grace died at the age of 52 as a result of a car accident in 1982. Koo Stark (1956-present) <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2018/05/GettyImages-104171057-9b8a68a.jpg" width="3008" height="1960" alt="UNITED KINGDOM - JANUARY 27: Prince Andrew & Koo Stark, Hong Kong Fanancier Andy Wong And His Wife Pattie Throw Their Annual Chinese New Year Party. In Fancy Dress The Dress Code Was Mystery Vamp And Seduction And Most Of Londons Society Turned Up To A Mysterious Event In The Same Theme As 'Eyes Wide Shut' With Masked Young Women With Very Little On, As Prince Andrew Found Out.! (Photo by Dave Benett/Getty Images)" title="Andy Wong Annual Chinese New Year Party" /> Before he married Sarah, Duchess of York, Queen Elizabeth II’s second son Prince Andrew was known to date American photographer and actress Koo Stark. The prince and the actress met in 1981 and were together for two years. Their relationship came under intense public and press scrutiny, and the pressure of this ultimately caused the couple to go their separate ways. More recently, Prince Andrew became godfather to Koo’s daughter and the couple remain friends today. Clotilde Courau (1969-present) <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2018/05/GettyImages-2535601-b1092eb.jpg" width="3000" height="1954" alt="ROME, ITALY - SEPTEMBER 25: French actress Clotilde Courau looks over the shoulder of her new husband Emanuele Filiberto, the head of the Royal House of Savoy leave their wedding held at Rome's elite Santa Maria degli Angeli church September 25, 2003 in Rome, Italy. (Photo by Franco Origlia/Getty Images)" title="Johnny Halliday" /> In 2003, Vittorio Emanuele, Prince of Naples, had to swallow his pride according to Italian royal gossip, when his son, Emanuele Filiberto of Savoy, Prince of Venice, married politically outspoken left-wing French actress Clotilde Courau, a woman who had once been described by Rome’s La Repubblicanewspaper as “a militant anarcho-Communist". Unlike many of the other actresses in this list, Clotilde refused to give up her career but continued to act, while using her official title of Clotilde of Savoy to pursue charitable activities. Though the couple declared that they didn’t want to be treated as royalty but hoped to lead normal lives, Clotilde’s marriage to the grandson of Italy’s last reigning king continued the long history of relationships between members of the acting profession and royal houses. It is a tradition that will continue in Windsor this spring.
The Duke of Cumberland and his valet: a bloody tale of attempted murder
In the early hours of a May morning in 1810, blood-curdling cries came from the darkened bedchamber of the Duke of Cumberland. The duke – who was the fifth son of King George III – would be at the centre of many lurid scandals that captured public imagination in Britain, though none would haunt him more than the mysterious, bloody death of his valet, Joseph Sellis. Writing for History Extra, historian Catherine Curzon shares the remarkable tale…
Every family has its villain, the rotten old branch on the family tree, a ‘black sheep’. The royal House of Hanover certainly wasn’t short of questionable uncles and eccentric aunts, but in the early 19th century, one figure towered above them all in the public consciousness. As far as the people of Great Britain were concerned, the thoroughly bad lot at the heart of the ruling house was Prince Ernest Augustus, Duke of Cumberland (1771-1851). The fifth son of King George III [r1760–1820] and Charlotte of Mecklenburg, Cumberland became known for his frightful visage, which were the result of battle injuries, and his torrid affairs. One day destined to wear the crown of Hanover [a German kingdom that existed between 1814-66, and which Ernest Augustus would rule between 1837-1851], Cumberland’s road to the throne was paved with scandal. Of all of the scandals that he weathered, however, one in particular would haunt him for decades. It was a supposed tangle of murder and sex, and it all began in the early hours of 31 May 1810. As St James’s Palace slumbered, a blood-curdling, agonised cry of “Neale! Neale! I am murdered!” was heard from the darkened bedchamber of the Duke of Cumberland. Yet what exactly had happened in the hours leading up to that cry? A mysterious attack Deep in the darkest hours of the night, sometime between 2am and 3am, an assailant crept into Cumberland’s opulent bedroom. Lit by a dark lantern, that assailant slid open a drawer and took out the duke’s own recently-sharpened sabre, soon to become a key piece of evidence in a most singular crime. Gripping the razor-edged sword, the assailant then crept to the bed and let the blade fall in what should have been a deadly arc. The first blow woke the duke and split his skull wide open, the wound so severe that it exposed his brain. With a cry, the duke stumbled from his bed as the blade fell again and again, until four wounds had been inflicted on Cumberland’s head. The duke’s life was saved by the lucky fact that it was the flat of the blade, and not the edge, which connected with his skull. In fact, the duke not only survived but, fired by adrenaline, began making a significant din. Cumberland’s cries of anguish soon brought help in the dutiful form of Cornelius Neale, his page, who was confronted by a grisly sight. The wound in Cumberland’s skull was pouring with blood. Neale snatched up a poker as he entered the bedroom, expecting to find the attacker still there. In fact, the room was empty save for the injured duke. There on the floor lay the bloody sabre and just beyond it, an open doorway through which the attacker had fled into the palace. Neale was torn between giving chase and helping his master, but he chose to attend the duke who was, by now, rather wobbly. He accompanied Cumberland to the safety of a porter’s room and then, with medical help summoned, the search of the palace began. The household staff were summoned and all but one rallied to the call. The missing man was Joseph Sellis, a long-serving valet, and he would soon become one of the most infamous men in the kingdom. Sellis might have been missing but his personalised slippers were not, for they were discovered hidden in a closet in the duke’s bedroom: the same closet, it was soon suspected, in which Cumberland’s attacker had concealed himself before creeping out to commit his crime. With his sudden and unexplained disappearance, questions began to be asked about the absent Sellis. Had he fallen victim to the escaping assailant? Or might he, in a horrific turn of events, actually be the attacker? As the porter and Mrs Neale made their way to Sellis’s rooms, they found a disturbing trail had been laid. Every door between the duke’s room and that of the missing valet stood open, as though they had been used as an escape route. The door of Sellis’s room, however, was ominously closed and from behind that locked door frightful sounds of gurgling and spilling liquid could be heard. When the door was finally opened, they found Joseph Sellis within. He was dead, his throat ferociously slashed. Yet who had done the deed? Could such a terrible injury really be self-inflicted? A tale of theft and scandal As the day dawned, Samuel Thomas Adams, coroner of the king’s household, opened an inquest into the death of Sellis. The inquest was to uncover a tale of theft and scandal, and raised more questions that it answered. Joseph Sellis had come a long way since the days of his childhood in Corsica, the French island in the Mediterranean Sea. He had been in the Duke of Cumberland’s service for five years and was a popular man with the royal family, even becoming one of just two people to be trusted with the key to Queen Charlotte’s bedchamber. At the inquest, however, a rather different sort of fellow emerged, along with a history that had already been blackened by accusations of criminality. Sellis, it seemed, had once served as valet to a gentleman named Mr Church with whom he had resided in New York. During Sellis’s employment, Church’s desk had been burgled by an unknown member of the household. The thief smashed open a chest with a hammer and stole a large sum of money, a valuable gold watch and a showy diamond pin. Church was determined to catch the thief, sure that the wrongdoer was someone in his employ. He questioned the members of his household and decided that the guilty party must be none other than Joseph Sellis: Sellis alone had free access to Church’s private apartments and amongst his personal possessions was a hammer, the head of which perfectly matched the marks left on the pillaged chest. The circumstantial nature of the evidence meant that no formal charges could be brought against Sellis but Church fired him on the spot. Surprisingly, given that he was suspected of being a thief, the charitable Mr Church gave Sellis a generous severance payment. Church wasn’t the only man who recalled meeting Sellis in New York though, and the jury at the inquest heard that the dead valet had been a vocal and committed supporter of American independence, not to mention a critic of King George III: hardly the sort of man one might expect to find on the royal payroll just a few years later. Yet on his return to British shores, Sellis had done rather well for himself. He joined the household staff of Lord Mount Edgcumbe, who introduced him to the Duke of Cumberland. Impressed by Sellis’s dedication to duty, Cumberland gave him a position – not bad for a suspected thief. Conspiracy theories and accusations The inquiry and the prevailing public opinion was that Sellis was the guilty party in the events at St James’s Palace, just as he seemed to have been in New York. Witnesses came forward to tell of all sorts of bizarre happenings involving the dead valet, including concealed pokers and pistols hidden in the domestic staff quarters at the palace. A housemaid named Sarah Varley came forward to say that she had found a pistol hidden behind Sellis’s bed, though Cornelius Neale claimed ownership of it. Neale claimed that Sellis had begun a groundless vendetta against him a year earlier, when Sellis accused Neale of stealing from the household and threatened to tell the duke. Worried about the seemingly unbalanced Sellis, Neale procured a pistol. Now he stated that he believed Sellis had intended to murder Cumberland and frame him for the murder, as part of that ongoing and apparently illogical vendetta. When Sellis’s plan failed, Neale hypothesised, he slit his own throat to escape the law. Members of the household staff may have claimed that Sellis had a hot temper, but was he really capable of such a brutal scheme? The inquiry decided that Sellis had attacked the duke but, failing in his plan to murder him, threw down his weapon and took off running and, upon his return to his own room he slashed his own throat. The jury took a trip to the palace and saw for themselves the blood-spattered walls and the footprints left by Neale, who had trodden on the bloody sabre in his rush to help Cumberland. They viewed the sabre, which Sellis himself had sharpened just days earlier, and they even peeked in on the body of Joseph Sellis, still lying on the bed where he had died and covered from throat to feet in his own dried blood, his bloody and hacked neck cloth tattered and tied around his neck. The wound was so deep that only his spine had stopped the blade. Later, the sheer ferocity of the attack led some to speculate that there was no way the wound could have been self-inflicted. The washbasin in Sellis’s room was filled with blood but the straight razor that had killed him now became a point of discussion. It was nowhere near the dead man’s hand, and the jury wanted to know why. In fact, Sergeant Joseph Creighton explained that he had picked up the razor when he arrived to examine the scene, and put it down several feet from the bed, not in its original position. The crime scene hadn’t just been contaminated, it had been rearranged. Later, the distance of the razor from the supposed suicidal victim became a sure sign of conspiracy to Cumberland’s critics. The duke’s survival in the care of Doctor Henry Halford seemed like a miracle. Meanwhile, the public couldn’t get enough of this grisly turn of events and they flocked to the palace, where they were admitted a few at a time to view the crime scene and Sellis’s rooms. The dead valet had been removed but everything else remained as it had been on that fatal evening, with blood splashes clearly visible in both the duke’s bedroom and that of his valet. Sellis was buried in an unmarked grave by night, but he didn’t go unmourned, leaving behind a wife and four children. The verdict The jury decided that Sellis had attacked the duke before taking his own life and this was the official verdict of the inquiry. Sellis’s bereaved wife, Mary Ann, however, would not accept it. She maintained that her husband was in high spirits and was looking forward to accompanying Cumberland to Windsor the following day. She was certain that he would not, could not be a killer. Perhaps the jury should look a little more closely at the oh-so-helpful Neale, she suspected, for her late husband had written to the duke the previous year and accused Neale of fiddling his expenses. Was this not motive to kill Sellis and frame him for the crime? Those looking for even more scandal imagined a scandalous triangle, suggesting that Sellis and Cumberland were lovers until Neale arrived and supplanted Sellis in his employer’s bed. On the night in question, had Sellis discovered the men together and attacked the duke in a rage, causing Cumberland to order Sellis’s murder to silence him? When these rumours appeared in print, Cumberland sued the publisher for libel and won. Yet the ghost of Joseph Sellis wouldn’t rest in peace and for the rest of Cumberland’s life, rumours of his valet’s death dogged him. Years later, the husband of one of the duke’s lovers cut his own throat and once again, the gruesome case of Cumberland and Sellis was in the news. When rumours of homosexual intrigues involving the three men appeared in print again in 1833, Cumberland went back to the libel courts. Once again, he won. In truth, Cumberland was not half as villainous of his political enemies liked to claim. Physically disfigured and hard-line in his political beliefs, his fearsome visage made him a handy villain; couple that with an authoritarian attitude, and he was a man who found it difficult to make friends. Despite his reputation though, when he became King of Hanover, Cumberland was seen by many to be a mostly benevolent and well-liked monarch, favouring diplomacy over brute force. Despite this, his name remains forever linked to scandal and one of the bloodiest royal crimes in the Georgian era and he is still, to some, the bogeyman of Hanover.