Act II
(c. 1689–26 July 1767)
The little girl who was to become one of the most famous faces of the Georgian court was born in 1689 to a family who occupied an illustrious if crumbling address. Henrietta Hobart was one of eight children born to Sir Henry Hobart, 4th Baronet, and his wife, Elizabeth, who lived at Blickling Hall97 in Norfolk. Sir Henry Hobart had inherited from his father not only the debt-ridden family estate at Blickling Hall, but also the unofficial position of leader of the Norfolk Whigs. He was a well-connected career politician who served as a Gentleman of the Horse for William III and fought with the king’s forces at the Battle of the Boyne, but despite his other successes, he had no head for money. Marriage to the wealthy Elizabeth Maynard went some way to temporarily holding off Sir Henry’s creditors, but as the years passed, his parlous finances fell once again into wrack and ruin as the ancestral pile and expensive election campaigns cleaned him out. Sir Henry’s life was beset with challenges and he was in and out of parliament for nearly two decades, riding a roller coaster of success and defeat.
Young Henrietta knew none of this. Instead her early life was quiet, uneventful, and totally in keeping with that of a daughter of a seventeenth century aristocrat. She was trained in the female arts from a young age, and she was prepared for the good and profitable marriage that, her parents no doubt hoped, would be her destiny.
Fate had other things in store for the Hobart family though, and Henrietta’s idyllic childhood was shattered in 1698 when her father lost his Norfolk seat in parliament to Sir William Cook. It wasn’t a closerun thing either, for he was roundly beaten into third place and flung unceremoniously out of office. Sir Henry was furious. He had given years of his life and a fortune in family money to the pursuit of politics and, just like that, he was finished. At the time of the election the political atmosphere was nothing short of toxic, and even as Sir Henry was spending a king’s ransom failing to secure his seat, rumours that he had behaved with cowardice at the Battle of the Boyne began to circulate. There could be few greater insults than this.
Sir Henry blamed the damaging rumours for his defeat, and he blamed his outspoken Tory neighbour, Oliver Le Neve, for the rumours. Determined to seek redress, he challenged his neighbour to a duel “for spreading a report that he was a coward and behaved himself so in Ireland, by which ‘tis said he lost his election for the county.”98 If the man behind the gossip was a true gentleman, said Sir Henry, then he would agree to the duel as a matter of honour. At first Le Neve protested his innocence, but Sir Henry wouldn’t be placated. When he issued a second challenge, Le Neve told him that if the accusation wasn’t withdrawn, then he would consent to the duel if only to clear his name. Le Neve would certainly have been wary of facing his neighbour, but honour was honour and must be restored.
The two men met on Cawston Heath on 20 August 1698 to engage in the last duel ever fought on Norfolk soil. Because duelling was illegal by then, no seconds accompanied them just in case the meeting led to criminal proceedings. The weapon of choice was swords. Sir Henry made the first move and struck Le Neve in the arm, but with an answering thrust Le Neve’s sword pierced Sir Henry Hobart’s stomach, inflicting a deep laceration. That was the end of the duel and the badly-bleeding Sir Henry withdrew. Mortally wounded, he fled for Blickling Hall where his agonised cries echoed around the corridors. He died the following day.
“Yesterday’s post brought us an account of poor Sir Harry Hobart’s death. He received his wound on Saturday and died on Sunday night; they say he sent the challenge to Le Neve, one of the militia captains, who had reported him a coward. Le Neve declined the first challenge but complied with the second; he is likewise hurt in two or three places, but not mortally.”99
When Whig statesman James Vernon coolly reported the death of Sir Henry Hobart in in the above letter to the Duke of Shrewsbury, his words little hinted at the turmoil that had been whipped up by the duel. Fearing the repercussions of the killing, Oliver Le Neve fled Norfolk for London and began what would become an arduous life on the run. Sir Henry’s widow, Lady Elizabeth, promised a £500 reward to anyone who could capture her husband’s killer and, with the Norfolk Militia hot on his trail, Le Neve escaped England and headed for Rotterdam. Once her husband had been laid to rest at Blickling Hall, Lady Elizabeth erected a monument to his memory on the very spot where he had suffered his fatal wound. It stands there to this day. Le Neve remained on the continent for two years in the hope of evading justice, but a trial was held during his absence nonetheless.
“On Saturday last Mr. Le Neve was tried for killing Sir Henry Hobart at Thetford and was found Guilty of Manslaughter.”100
When a broken and desperate Le Neve eventually returned to England to face the music, he was put on trial in person before a grand jury. This time he was acquitted.
When Sir Henry Hobart died, he left “his affairs [in] a confused condition, and his two brothers almost destitute; he had eight children, a great debt upon his estate, and law entanglements upon his wife’s fortunes.” In short, Sir Henry left a mess.101 At just four years old, the Hobart son and heir, John, was too young to take on the tangled affairs of Blickling so that unenviable job passed to Elizabeth, the grieving widow. She was the daughter of politician Sir Joseph Maynard and had come into the marriage with an enormous dowry of £10,000, which her husband had swiftly spent. Now she was saddled with a crumbling family pile and debts that she couldn’t hope to repay. The basic upkeep of Blickling Hall generated more and more debt every single day and with her financial challenges so well known to all and sundry, the chances of snaring a rich husband to plug the gaps were close to zero. Nobody wanted Lady Elizabeth if the money pit that was Blickling Hall was part of the deal.
There was only one way that Elizabeth could turn. Her twice widowed step-great-grandmother, Mary Howard, had made an excellent third marriage to the 5th Earl of Suffolk102 and it was to this illustrious branch on the family tree that Lady Elizabeth now appealed for help. To her delight and surprise, the Countess of Suffolk invited her and the Hobart children to be her guests at Gunnersbury House in West London, which she had inherited from her late husband, Elizabeth’s hugely wealthy great-grandfather, Sir John Maynard. For Lady Elizabeth and her family, the trip was a welcome change of pace.
Lady Elizabeth and her children passed the summer of 1699 at Gunnersbury House, pampered and tended to in a manner befitting the household of the Earl of Suffolk. It became a sanctuary, but it was soon to be marred by tragedy.
In the summer of 1701, Lady Elizabeth fell ill during a visit to Gunnersbury. She died that summer of consumption, leaving her orphaned children behind. Things could hardly get any worse. The ailing Blickling estates were in the hands of trustees until John came of age but when it came to day-to-day life, the Hobart children looked to their eldest siblings to care for them. The following years brought with them tragedy after tragedy. In quick succession, the eldest three Hobart daughters died, until 16-year-old Henrietta reached the front of the queue. Her childhood was over.
The year was 1705, and things were more desperate than ever. All but alone and facing an endless struggle against the debts her father had left behind, Henrietta made a decision that would change her life forever. When she was invited to stay at Gunnersbury House on a semipermanent basis, she said yes.