Ada’s attempt to circumnavigate the problem of Sir George’s massive proportions was endearing. Not having yet met the baronet, she described him to Lovelace as allegedly ‘very handsome and attractive’. As to size, Hester had said that her suitor was really ‘not at all too big, or what exceeds the proportions of a fine well-made man’. Goodness evidently shone out of the dear man and – although bashful in company – Sir George was reported to have plenty to say, when aroused in ‘particular’ conversation. Really, Ada pleaded, no man could be better suited to their dear Hester, or more likely to produce the happiness that she so richly deserved.
Ada’s commendations won through. Plans were made for a wedding to take place at Ockham in February 1843. (Locke King and his wife Louisa risked maternal wrath to attend the ceremony. William’s mother, furious at what she perceived as Hester’s selfish desertion, maintained her usual unforgiving distance.) Writing to Ada, whom he had still not met, back on 3 November 1842, Sir George thanked his unknown advocate for the ‘so strangely so surprisingly kind’ way in which she had represented and welcomed him into her branch of Hester’s family. Her affectionate message of congratulation, so he told a gratified Ada, had given him more pleasure than any other letter he had received. It was a kindness which was never forgotten, as the grateful Crauford would demonstrate in his fond attentions in later years to all three of Ada’s children.*
Lady Byron had been equally delighted by the news of Hester’s suitor, signifying her approval by providing both a trousseau and a gift of £300 to a young woman whose tender affection for Ada’s children had long since won their grandmother’s own heart. Concern for Hester’s welfare offered a welcome distraction from the unpleasant memory of how easily she had again exposed herself to Medora’s manipulations.
Medora had lost favour with her aunt after her tantrums at Moore Place. Seeking to regain her old ascendancy, she took the only route that never failed. On 19 July 1842, having fuelled herself with alcohol, Medora concocted the most ignoble letter she ever addressed to ‘Dearest Pip’. The subject, once again, was Augusta Leigh.
It was by chance that Medora, while lodging at the Lovelaces’ home in St James’s Square, had happened to catch a passing glimpse of her own mother. (Augusta had been visiting another resident in the square, her cousin the Duke of Leeds.) Mrs Leigh had not weathered well. Nevertheless, she is unlikely to have represented the nightmarish portrait conjured up for Lady Byron’s delectation by an inebriated correspondent. ‘I have drunk quantities of wine since,’ Medora admitted before launching forth:
God forgive her. Oh how horrible she looked – so wicked – so hyena-like – that I could have loved her so . . . Had death passed over me the chill – the horror – could not have been so great. Pity & forgive me if I involuntarily pain, I do not mean – but I do suffer . . .
Reverting to more practical details and suddenly recalling that she was meant to be preparing to go back to France in less than a week, Medora added as a (characteristically ungrammatical) afterthought that ‘Ada and me will consult about road.’
By July 1842, Lady Byron was perfectly aware that Medora was an inveterate liar (one against whom she had already resolved to protect Augusta Leigh from future financial pressure). Nevertheless, Medora’s awful account was nodded through as no more than the truth. ‘I could not read of that meeting without great pain,’ Annabella responded (forgetting that no actual encounter had been described), ‘and yet I believe it best that you should see what it is.’
It was not one of Lady Byron’s finest moments.
To Ada, the news that Medora, paid off with a small allowance from Lady Byron, was to be settled in a remote French village with her daughter and servants, came as an unqualified relief. Writing to her mother on 23 July, the day of Medora’s departure, Ada thankfully noted the arrival of a warm west wind as ‘the very thing’ to speed their intrusive relative on her way.
Ada Lovelace’s relief was understandable. At the end of her own patience after a series of difficult interviews with Medora (undertaken at Lady Byron’s request), she made no effort to hide her scorn. Lady Byron heard how Medora had insulted both her kind patron and Anna Jameson before announcing her intention of getting the money (of which she had been so unjustly deprived) by ‘throwing herself down the throat of the first man she could get hold of to marry’.
The language of Ada’s paraphrasing of Medora’s threat revealed her own contempt. Acting with just a touch of malice, Lady Lovelace had apparently offered to arrange a marriage to her own French dentist, adding that Medora could think herself lucky if the gentleman agreed to such a match. At this point, Miss Leigh completely lost her temper.* ‘And then came all sorts of vituperations; some so really ridiculous, that one could scarcely feel otherwise than inclined to laugh.’
Writing to William at approximately the same time, Ada was more candid still. The whole Medora business had been both miserable and infuriating, she told her husband. But what saddened her most was to see the hurt that had been caused, both to her mother and to loquacious, well-meaning Anna Jameson. ‘I cannot bear to think of it, & the folly of so many people.’
By the end of July 1842, Medora – modestly subsidised by her aunt and supposedly under the close supervision of the Beaurepaires – was gone. Annabella, although disillusioned, grieved at the loss of a niece who had become close as a daughter, one in whom she had seen
