Miranda Seymour - In Byrons Wake: The Turbulent Lives of Lord Byrons Wife and Daughter: Annabella Milbanke and Ada Lovelace

In memory of Peter Cochran, who was so kind to all those of us who benefited from his work in the world of Byronic studies. And to the future of Talia and Shira, two of Ada Lovelaces youngest and most loyal admirers.

CHAPTER ONE

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The year is 1799, almost the dawn of a new century, but this is presently of less interest than the fact that she, Miss Annabella Milbanke, is posing for her portrait to John Hoppner, one of Englands most celebrated artists.

It was her own decision to wear the white dancing dress, bound high above the waist with a blue satin sash, short-sleeved to show how elegantly she holds her arms. Annabella dances extremely well. Her mother declares that her minuet steps are perfection and Mr Watts, the dancing master, declares that he has never seen such strength in a childs ankles. He is quite right; that is why Annabella finds it so easy to hold her pose on the dais, stepping forward as if to greet the world.

It was also her own idea that Mr Hoppner should paint rocks behind her, and the sea, as if she were skipping along the beach below their country home in the faraway north of England. But mostly, when she is alone on the beach at Seaham, it is not dancing that preoccupies Annabella. : it is so interesting to picture herself as a brave soldier in the pass at Thermopylae, or comforting a prisoner in his lonely dungeon...

Head up, my angel, her mother instructs from the stiff gilt chair where she sits in watchful attendance. Think of your pas grave in the minuet. Hold your body straight as a little queen.

She feels like a little queen, the centre of attention as Mr Hoppner bobs out from behind his easel to praise her for her patience. He has a long pale face with no hint of a smile. She cant decide whether he is interesting enough to become a chosen friend.

Shall we visit Great Aunt Mary later? asks Annabella. I want to read her one of my new poems.

Her mother darts a look at Mr Hoppner. Shes such a clever little creature.

Indeed! says Mr Hoppner. A most remarkable infant.

Im not an infant! Im seven years of age! The smile undoes the pompous phrasing, bringing such dimples into the round and rosy cheeks that the adoring old lady (she must be nearing fifty) jumps up and runs forward to embrace her proud-backed, blue-eyed daughter. Its a charming scene, reflects Hoppner. Perhaps mother and child would have formed a better subject. But time is pressing on and the artist is growing weary of Lady Milbankes chatter.

Discreetly, Mr Hoppner rattles the oily brushes in his jar. Sighing, Judith Milbanke resumes her seat.

She is so very coaxing, she murmurs by way of apology.

Indeed. He hesitates. And you have others like her, madam?

We did! the child interrupts. But Sophys leaving to get married. And now I must remember to write to her as Lady Tamworth. I shall write to her every week!

But Lady Milbanke has folded her hands across her stomach, almost as if to ward off a blow.

Sophy Curzon is her cousin. My poor late sisters daughter has always lived with us. But Annabella Anne Isabella, I should say, since she bears the names both of a royal lady and our dear friend, Mrs Baker of Elemore Hall is our only child. And born on Ascension Day! Her father and I are much blessed.

And so, the child sweetly adds, am I.

Completed and framed, Hoppners portrait of Miss Milbanke was despatched to Seaham Hall, perched high on the cliffs of County Durham, above the German Ocean. Here, the new painting was hung alongside the 1778 portrait by Joshua Reynolds (one of his best) of Annabellas newly married father, Sir Ralph Milbanke, dark-browed and kind-eyed, all ready to burst out with one of those silly jokes for which a loving daughter could never find the heart to tease him. Flanking it was the sharp-nosed profile of Annabellas mother, Judith Noel, posed in the fiercely fashionable convention of the time (the portrait was painted in 1784, six years after Judiths marriage), hair powdered and plucked up into a pyramid of ruffles and bows, a black waist ribbon stressing the anguish of her childless frame.

Looking at the three family members together, an entire generation might seem to have been skipped. And so it has been. Awaited for fifteen long years, it is no wonder that Annabella, born at last on 17 May 1792, can do as she pleases with her adoring parents. The result is already peeping through in Hoppners portrait. Everything about this child her steadfast stare; the poised way she stands; the tilt of a determined chin speaks of a formidable and, so far, well-founded confidence. The world, little Miss Milbanke seems to assume, lies at her feet.

CHAPTER TWO

(17921810)

From 1792 on, Judith Milbankes letters to her family and friends dwelt upon a single theme: the wonder that was her daughter, Annabella. Never in the history of mankind had a mother been blessed with such a flawless little creature! Happy someday would be the winner of such a bride! Visiting grand neighbours with Sophy and Annabella (when Miss Milbanke was still only fifteen months old), Judith took less interest in a park newly landscaped by Humphry Repton than in the fact that the Earl and Countess of Fitzwilliams son quite doated [ sic ] on Annabella. Lord Milton, aged just seven, seemed a most eligible candidate for her hand. Having seen Miss naked , Judith raunchily joked to her broadminded aunt, Mary Noel, therefore he can tell whether he will like her or no.

Travelling on to stay with other old friends from earlier, Yorkshire days, before the Milbankes moved east to Seaham, Judith complacently reported how . On 20 April 1794, as little Miss neared her second birthday, the proud mother was happy to credit her offspring as Governess in Chief of Papa, Mama & the whole Family.

The word was out. Pleasing Judith Milbanke depended upon how many bouquets a friend was willing to throw in the direction of her in a tactful postscript to one of Judiths letters from Seaham to Mary Noel.

Admirers were rewarded with more information than they might have wished to receive. Aged two, Annabella could already identify twenty flowers (and weeds) by name. Annabella always performed her Do Do as soon as she got up. Annabella had bathed in the sea and, rising from the waves, looked like a little Venus. The princesses (George IIIs daughters) had personally requested news of Annabella, having heard report the words were seldom off the lips of a besotted mother that .

Few dared suggest the likely result of all this adulation. In 1794, Sophy Curzon masked her own anxiety behind a neighbours comment. Apparently, Lady Liddell of Ravensworth Castle thought Judith far too indulgent: she does not ever deny that if it is possible to spoil a very fine Girl, The words were Lady Liddells; the emphatic underlining was Sophys own.

Warnings rarely offered were a waste of breath. Events conspired to strengthen Judiths belief that Miss Milbanke was destined for great things. Her brother, Viscount Wentworth of Kirkby Mallory, had always made it clear that the handsome estate over which he presided in the Midlands would not be passed down to his own illegitimate son. Thomas Noel, following his marriage to Kitty Smith in 1796, was understandably disgruntled about receiving only a modest sum of money and the living of the church at Kirkby Mallory (to which he became a notoriously absentee rector, employing a curate as his substitute). The following year, Lord Wentworth made arrangements to leave his considerable property, together with his title, to his sister Judith, and after her, to his niece. A conscientious brother, he now began the task of setting his affairs in order by paying off a substantial number of gambling debts. (Both Wentworth and Mary Ligonier, the wealthy little wife he married after the death of his live-in mistress, Catherine Vanloo, were addicted to the tables; Judith and Ralph preferred betting on horses.)