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 Lovelace’s youngest and most loyal admirers.
CONTENTS
Significant Places in the North East
The Noels, Milbankes, Byrons and Kings
PART ONE: Annabella
1 Anticipation (1761–92)
2 A Very Fine Child (1792–1810)
3 The Siege of Annabella (1810–12)
4 Entering the Lists (1812–13)
5 An Epistolary Courtship (1813–14)
6 A Sojourn in Hell (January to March 1815)
7 Unlucky for Some: 13 Piccadilly Terrace (1815–16)
8 The Separation (1816)
9 In the Public Eye (1816–24)
PART TWO: Ada
10 In Search of a Father
11 A Rainbow’s Arc (1829–35)
12 Mathematical Friendships (1834–5)
13 Ada’s Marriage (1835–40)
14 An Unconventional Wife (1836–40)
15 Ambitions and Delusions (1840–1)
16 A Cuckoo in the Nest (1841–3)
17 My Fair Interpretress (1843–4)
PART THREE: Visions
18 The Enchantress (1843–4)
19 The Lady from Porlock (1844–9)
20 Vanity Fair (1847–50)
21 The Hand of the Past (1850–1)
22 Rainbow’s End (1851–2)
23 Life after Ada (1852–3)
PART FOUR: The Making and Breaking of a Reputation
24 Enshrinement (1853–60)
25 Outcast
List of Illustrations
Timeline of Events
Note on Ada’s Health
Acknowledgements
Significant Places in the South West
Select Bibliography
Notes
Picture Credits
Index
PART ONE
Annabella
CHAPTER ONE
A
NTICIPATION
(1761–92)
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 England’s 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 child’s 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. She likes to make up stories: 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 can’t 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. ‘She’s such a clever little creature.’
‘Indeed!’ says Mr Hoppner. ‘A most remarkable infant.’
‘I’m not an infant! I’m 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. It’s 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 Milbanke’s 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 Sophy’s 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 sister’s 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, Hoppner’s 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 Annabella’s 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 Annabella’s mother, Judith Noel, posed in the fiercely fashionable convention of the time (the portrait was painted in 1784, six years after Judith’s 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 Hoppner’s 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.
