By the summer of 1775, with her love for James Graham spurned, her eight-year marriage nothing but a facade and her husband showing signs of serious illness, Mary was growing emotionally vulnerable and increasingly reckless. Lord Strathmore had already suffered a repeat of the chest complaint of his youth - now undeniably tuberculosis - at the end of 1774 when he was so ill that Horace Walpole had prematurely reported his death.55 After visiting Bath in the vain hope that the waters might cure his condition, the earl joined Mary and his young family at St Paul's Walden Bury in August 1775. While his mother-in-law confidently hoped that the wholesome country air would restore him 'to perfect health', there was little doubt that the illness was terminal. Certainly the earl was continuing to run up debts - for horses, fighting c.o.c.ks, new coaches, building works and the inevitable shipments of wine from abroad - as if there was no tomorrow. Even as builders demolished the west wing of Glamis that summer, the earl's financial agent in London was attempting to keep his creditors at bay. After visiting Bath in the vain hope that the waters might cure his condition, the earl joined Mary and his young family at St Paul's Walden Bury in August 1775. While his mother-in-law confidently hoped that the wholesome country air would restore him 'to perfect health', there was little doubt that the illness was terminal. Certainly the earl was continuing to run up debts - for horses, fighting c.o.c.ks, new coaches, building works and the inevitable shipments of wine from abroad - as if there was no tomorrow. Even as builders demolished the west wing of Glamis that summer, the earl's financial agent in London was attempting to keep his creditors at bay.56 Sufficiently recovered to visit William Palgrave, a former university chum, at his rectory in Suffolk, the earl left Mary in London to follow her own pursuits. With time on her hands for her literary and botanic interests, Mary was attracting an ever larger circle of visitors to her Grosvenor Square home. While some were honest and straightforward fellow enthusiasts, keen to direct Mary's patronage to worthy ends, others had more self-interested reasons for their constant attention and flattery. In the latter group was George Gray, an unscrupulous entrepreneur who had returned from India with an enviable fortune, largely accrued through bribes. Sufficiently recovered to visit William Palgrave, a former university chum, at his rectory in Suffolk, the earl left Mary in London to follow her own pursuits. With time on her hands for her literary and botanic interests, Mary was attracting an ever larger circle of visitors to her Grosvenor Square home. While some were honest and straightforward fellow enthusiasts, keen to direct Mary's patronage to worthy ends, others had more self-interested reasons for their constant attention and flattery. In the latter group was George Gray, an unscrupulous entrepreneur who had returned from India with an enviable fortune, largely accrued through bribes.57 A friend of James Boswell and the playwright Samuel Foote, whose 1772 comedy The Nabob The Nabob is thought to have been informed by their friendship, Gray shared Mary's literary zeal. Born in Calcutta in 1737, where his Scottish father worked as a surgeon for the East India Company, Gray had been sent at the age of seven to boarding school in Edinburgh where he had met Boswell. At seventeen, he had returned to India as a clerk for the rapidly expanding trading company, stationed in Bengal, while his father retired to Scotland, where he spent much of his time lamenting his son's neglect. Clever and well-read, Gray ingratiated himself with his fellow officers and the local nawabs or nabobs, the puppet rulers of the region, and prospered in the lax regime. 'I can now converse familiarly with a parcel of ragged squalid weavers,' he proudly informed a friend soon after arriving, 'who tho' they make clothes to be worn by the Kings of the earth, have scarce a rag to cover their own nakedness'. is thought to have been informed by their friendship, Gray shared Mary's literary zeal. Born in Calcutta in 1737, where his Scottish father worked as a surgeon for the East India Company, Gray had been sent at the age of seven to boarding school in Edinburgh where he had met Boswell. At seventeen, he had returned to India as a clerk for the rapidly expanding trading company, stationed in Bengal, while his father retired to Scotland, where he spent much of his time lamenting his son's neglect. Clever and well-read, Gray ingratiated himself with his fellow officers and the local nawabs or nabobs, the puppet rulers of the region, and prospered in the lax regime. 'I can now converse familiarly with a parcel of ragged squalid weavers,' he proudly informed a friend soon after arriving, 'who tho' they make clothes to be worn by the Kings of the earth, have scarce a rag to cover their own nakedness'.58 Keen to exploit his chances further, he almost succeeded in marrying a wealthy widow before he was beaten to the altar by an army captain. Undeterred, Gray secured a seat on the company's Bengal Council in 1765 and soon after pocketed a 'gift' from the new nawab sufficient, he a.s.sured his father, to provide him with an 'independent fortune'. When Lord Clive arrived from England a few months later in a belated effort to clean up the mounting disorder and corruption, Gray resigned in apparent - or contrived - protest at Clive's autocratic manner. Gathering up his ill-gotten rupees, and leaving behind some mischievous verses about Clive, he departed briskly for London where he arrived in 1766. Keen to exploit his chances further, he almost succeeded in marrying a wealthy widow before he was beaten to the altar by an army captain. Undeterred, Gray secured a seat on the company's Bengal Council in 1765 and soon after pocketed a 'gift' from the new nawab sufficient, he a.s.sured his father, to provide him with an 'independent fortune'. When Lord Clive arrived from England a few months later in a belated effort to clean up the mounting disorder and corruption, Gray resigned in apparent - or contrived - protest at Clive's autocratic manner. Gathering up his ill-gotten rupees, and leaving behind some mischievous verses about Clive, he departed briskly for London where he arrived in 1766.

At what point 'Nabob Gray' - as Boswell dubbed him - met Mary is unknown. It is possible that they became acquainted in the early 1770s through Gray's Scottish relatives - his mother was related to the Grahams of Fintry and his niece was the Margaret Mylne who married Robert Graham. Certainly he had become a feature of her life, and a regular visitor to Grosvenor Square, by 1775. Gray smuggled some verses declaring his ardour to Mary just before she left for Hertfordshire that summer and they exchanged letters until her return. Never a good judge of character, or indeed of her own true feelings, Mary encouraged Gray's attentions despite feeling 'nothing for Mr G, that exceeded friendship'.59 When Lord Strathmore set off for Suffolk, Gray made his move, propositioning Mary in a letter delivered to Grosvenor Square one evening. Fortuitously, for Gray if not for Mary, the proposal arrived at the same time as a letter from James Graham's sister, bringing news of his interest in a woman in Minorca, and a brusque refusal from Thomas Lyon to send her a small sum of money which she had requested on the orders of the earl. Believing she was revenging herself on others - though she later conceded she only hurt herself - she began meeting Gray in secret using her footman, George Walker, as go-between. When Lord Strathmore set off for Suffolk, Gray made his move, propositioning Mary in a letter delivered to Grosvenor Square one evening. Fortuitously, for Gray if not for Mary, the proposal arrived at the same time as a letter from James Graham's sister, bringing news of his interest in a woman in Minorca, and a brusque refusal from Thomas Lyon to send her a small sum of money which she had requested on the orders of the earl. Believing she was revenging herself on others - though she later conceded she only hurt herself - she began meeting Gray in secret using her footman, George Walker, as go-between.

Initially the pair had to be satisfied with s.n.a.t.c.hed conversations at 'chance' meetings in Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, with all the eyes of the promenading bon ton bon ton alert for any hint of scandal. But as they became more daring - and Gray more insistent - the couple met surrept.i.tiously at her house when her faithful footman let Gray in by a back door. When the earl returned to London in November, Mary persuaded Gray to repair to Bath - out of harm's way - but agreed to meet him before he left early one frosty morning in St James's Park. Slipping on the ice in the freezing conditions, Mary returned home with her shoes and skirts soaked but being unable to change them immediately without causing suspicion she caught a fever. Indeed, most of the household, including the footman George Walker and Elizabeth Planta, succ.u.mbed to fever that December. alert for any hint of scandal. But as they became more daring - and Gray more insistent - the couple met surrept.i.tiously at her house when her faithful footman let Gray in by a back door. When the earl returned to London in November, Mary persuaded Gray to repair to Bath - out of harm's way - but agreed to meet him before he left early one frosty morning in St James's Park. Slipping on the ice in the freezing conditions, Mary returned home with her shoes and skirts soaked but being unable to change them immediately without causing suspicion she caught a fever. Indeed, most of the household, including the footman George Walker and Elizabeth Planta, succ.u.mbed to fever that December.60 As the New Year began there were few celebrations in Grosvenor Square since the house had become a sick ward, with physicians and apothecaries arriving daily with their meddling advice and ineffectual potions. Mary's indeterminate fever had turned into the same complaint she had suffered after her wedding, which she described as 'an ague, in my face' - perhaps migraine - complaining that 'my head swelled so, yet without easing my pain that I was blind'. For Mary, the laudanum prescribed may at least have provided some relief. For Lord Strathmore, in the final stages of tuberculosis, there was no hope. At the end of January 1776, accompanied by his physician, the earl set sail for Lisbon in one last desperate effort to overcome his illness - and perhaps one last attempt to recall his carefree youth. As the New Year began there were few celebrations in Grosvenor Square since the house had become a sick ward, with physicians and apothecaries arriving daily with their meddling advice and ineffectual potions. Mary's indeterminate fever had turned into the same complaint she had suffered after her wedding, which she described as 'an ague, in my face' - perhaps migraine - complaining that 'my head swelled so, yet without easing my pain that I was blind'. For Mary, the laudanum prescribed may at least have provided some relief. For Lord Strathmore, in the final stages of tuberculosis, there was no hope. At the end of January 1776, accompanied by his physician, the earl set sail for Lisbon in one last desperate effort to overcome his illness - and perhaps one last attempt to recall his carefree youth.

As Mary languished in her darkened chamber, Gray saw his chance. Scurrying back from Bath, he visited her daily, wrote her long, flattering letters and sat at her bedside every evening. Candidly, Mary told him that she had been 'so unhappy in matrimony' that she was determined never to marry again and that her heart belonged to another but that Gray had won her 'friendship and esteem' and if Lord Strathmore should die she promised to give herself fully to him. Seizing his opportunity, the moment Mary was recovered, he seduced her one evening in mid-February and from that point on they lived as lovers. She would later count this infidelity as her second 'crime'.

Lord Strathmore never reached Lisbon. On 7 March, within sight of the Portuguese coast, he died, aged thirty-eight, in the arms of his physician.61 It would be another month before news of his death reached Mary in London. By that time she was pregnant with Gray's child. It would be another month before news of his death reached Mary in London. By that time she was pregnant with Gray's child.

5.

A Black Inky Kind of Medicine London, April 1776.

Reading her late husband's last letter, dressed in her widow's mourning gown, Mary knew that the tell-tale signs of her latest 'imprudency' would soon be all too apparent. Lord Strathmore's savage words, written on his deathbed beneath the rocking deck, were coolly calculated to prompt remorse in all but the most unfeeling of widows. 'As this is not intended for your perusal till I am dead,' he began, 'I hope you will pay a little more attention to it than you ever did to any thing I said to you while alive.'1 In the stern tone of a disappointed father rather than the emotional farewell of a husband and lover, the earl declared, 'I freely forgive you, all your liberties and follies (however fatal they have been to me) as being thoroughly persuaded they were not the produce of your own mind, but the suggestions of some vile interested monster.' Continuing in the same cold paternalistic manner, he requested Mary to lay aside her 'prejudices' against his family, convinced that these were 'entirely without foundation'. Urging her to treat their five children fairly, he warned her to avoid indulging in malicious gossip and - perhaps having suffered himself at the expense of her sharp wit - not to be 'tempted to say an ill natured thing for the sake of sporting a Bon Mot'. Even as he dismissed the 'futility' of her literary ambitions, the earl insisted that, 'no one ever studied with more attention to promote the Happiness of an other, than I have constantly done to promote yours'. Yet his concluding advice - to safeguard her fortune by vesting control of her estate in the hands of a trustworthy agent - was eminently sensible and well-meaning, if chiefly prompted by concern for the future welfare of his young heir rather than for his wife. The earl's parting words - 'a dead man can have no interest to mislead, a living man may' - would surely haunt his widow in years to come. In the stern tone of a disappointed father rather than the emotional farewell of a husband and lover, the earl declared, 'I freely forgive you, all your liberties and follies (however fatal they have been to me) as being thoroughly persuaded they were not the produce of your own mind, but the suggestions of some vile interested monster.' Continuing in the same cold paternalistic manner, he requested Mary to lay aside her 'prejudices' against his family, convinced that these were 'entirely without foundation'. Urging her to treat their five children fairly, he warned her to avoid indulging in malicious gossip and - perhaps having suffered himself at the expense of her sharp wit - not to be 'tempted to say an ill natured thing for the sake of sporting a Bon Mot'. Even as he dismissed the 'futility' of her literary ambitions, the earl insisted that, 'no one ever studied with more attention to promote the Happiness of an other, than I have constantly done to promote yours'. Yet his concluding advice - to safeguard her fortune by vesting control of her estate in the hands of a trustworthy agent - was eminently sensible and well-meaning, if chiefly prompted by concern for the future welfare of his young heir rather than for his wife. The earl's parting words - 'a dead man can have no interest to mislead, a living man may' - would surely haunt his widow in years to come.

Finally released from a pa.s.sionless marriage after nine years of discontent, Mary Eleanor shed few tears over the loss of Lord Strathmore. As soon as she received news of the earl's death on 6 April, Mary acted with due decorum, immediately ordering mourning suits for the servants in Grosvenor Square and at Glamis with the instruction that 'all possible respect should be paid to the memory of her deceas'd Lord', and exchanging her richly adorned gowns and elaborate hairstyles for sombre black dresses and plain accessories.2 A portrait, which is thought to be of Mary, painted by an unknown artist at about this time, depicts her with an appropriately sorrowful expression and downcast eyes in a pale face under grey powdered hair, wearing the traditional black ruff and cap of the later stage of mourning. A portrait, which is thought to be of Mary, painted by an unknown artist at about this time, depicts her with an appropriately sorrowful expression and downcast eyes in a pale face under grey powdered hair, wearing the traditional black ruff and cap of the later stage of mourning.3 The children likewise, Maria and Anna, aged seven and five, their brothers John, George and Thomas, aged six, four and two, would have been made to wear black clothes. Young John, who was now formally the tenth Earl of Strathmore, reached his seventh birthday just a week after hearing news of his father's death. Having been sent to boarding school in Neasden - then a small village a few miles north of the capital - shortly before his father had set sail, he had little cause for celebration. While the three youngest children were despatched to their grandmother's at St Paul's Walden Bury in the capable care of their governess, Elizabeth Planta, Maria, who turned eight a week after her brother's birthday, remained with her mother at Grosvenor Square, ostensibly to provide support in her bereavement. Yet while Mary outwardly adopted the sober demeanour and costume of grief, inwardly she was jubilant. Free at last from her husband's restrictive demands and her brother-in-law's penny-pinching controls, Mary was finally in command of the immense fortune her father had left her and - more importantly - in charge of her own life. The children likewise, Maria and Anna, aged seven and five, their brothers John, George and Thomas, aged six, four and two, would have been made to wear black clothes. Young John, who was now formally the tenth Earl of Strathmore, reached his seventh birthday just a week after hearing news of his father's death. Having been sent to boarding school in Neasden - then a small village a few miles north of the capital - shortly before his father had set sail, he had little cause for celebration. While the three youngest children were despatched to their grandmother's at St Paul's Walden Bury in the capable care of their governess, Elizabeth Planta, Maria, who turned eight a week after her brother's birthday, remained with her mother at Grosvenor Square, ostensibly to provide support in her bereavement. Yet while Mary outwardly adopted the sober demeanour and costume of grief, inwardly she was jubilant. Free at last from her husband's restrictive demands and her brother-in-law's penny-pinching controls, Mary was finally in command of the immense fortune her father had left her and - more importantly - in charge of her own life.

At a time when divorce was both rare and difficult, and separation spelled social exile, the death of a spouse was frequently the only means of escape from an unhappy marriage. Denied any legal status or ownership of property in marriage, in widowhood many women found a comfortable and rewarding existence. Most eighteenth-century marriage settlements for the wealthy and middle cla.s.ses made provision for a guaranteed pension or 'jointure' - generally between a fifth and a quarter of the husband's wealth - should the wife survive her husband. Since widows were also legally ent.i.tled to own property, even working-cla.s.s women could earn a decent living - and respect within the community - by taking over a late husband's business. Furthermore, for most women, under the supervision of a father from birth and a husband during marriage, becoming a widow provided a first taste of independence. The playwright John Gay underlined the attractions of widowhood in his comedy, The Beggar's Opera The Beggar's Opera, first staged in 1728. 'The comfortable Estate of Widow-hood, is the only Hope that keeps up a Wife's Spirits,' exclaims the villain Peachum, adding: 'Where is the Woman who would scruple to be a Wife, if she had it in her Power to be a Widow, whenever she pleas'd ?'4 And while audiences guffawed at Gay's drama throughout the century, many women truly did enjoy the last laugh. Lady Mary c.o.ke suffered two years of brutality and humiliation at the hands of her husband, Edward, Viscount c.o.ke, before he died suddenly in 1753 leaving her, at twenty-six, a merry widow with a handsome jointure of 2,500 a year. And while audiences guffawed at Gay's drama throughout the century, many women truly did enjoy the last laugh. Lady Mary c.o.ke suffered two years of brutality and humiliation at the hands of her husband, Edward, Viscount c.o.ke, before he died suddenly in 1753 leaving her, at twenty-six, a merry widow with a handsome jointure of 2,500 a year.

Widowed at twenty-seven, Mary Eleanor was even more comfortable and decidedly more merry. On her husband's death, she not only became ent.i.tled to the independent jointure stipulated in her marriage settlement but also regained her life interest in her father's estate, including Gibside, Streatlam and the coalmines, farms and other properties attached. Although the Bowes fortune remained in trust, supervised by named trustees who were charged with keeping it intact for her eldest son, during her lifetime at least the profits of the farms and mines now accrued to Mary. Precisely how much this fortune was worth is unclear, although one estimate put Mary's income after Lord Strathmore's death at up to 20,000 a year - easily one of the top twenty annual incomes in the country.5 Certainly, she was one of the richest widows in Britain. And in the year that America would sign its declaration of independence, Mary could look up to the statue of Liberty her father had erected as a free woman for the first time in her life. Wealthy and attractive, intelligent and accomplished, she was finally able to pursue her literary and botanical interests without constraint, a.s.sociate with her intellectual friends at will and spend time with her children. She lost no time in exerting this newfound independence. Certainly, she was one of the richest widows in Britain. And in the year that America would sign its declaration of independence, Mary could look up to the statue of Liberty her father had erected as a free woman for the first time in her life. Wealthy and attractive, intelligent and accomplished, she was finally able to pursue her literary and botanical interests without constraint, a.s.sociate with her intellectual friends at will and spend time with her children. She lost no time in exerting this newfound independence.

Within days of receiving news of the earl's death, Mary dismissed all his former servants in Grosvenor Square and turned away friends of the Strathmore family when they called.6 There was good sense in this seemingly vindictive move beyond a pent-up desire for liberation. Secretly entertaining her lover by night, she was anxious to conceal his visits - and the growing evidence of their liaison - from the prying eyes of the Strathmores and their allies. In coming months she would dispense with the Strathmore livery and send away the silver plate to have the initial 'S' replaced with a 'B'. There was good sense in this seemingly vindictive move beyond a pent-up desire for liberation. Secretly entertaining her lover by night, she was anxious to conceal his visits - and the growing evidence of their liaison - from the prying eyes of the Strathmores and their allies. In coming months she would dispense with the Strathmore livery and send away the silver plate to have the initial 'S' replaced with a 'B'.7 Having regained the Bowes fortune and retained the Bowes name, she plainly wanted to erase all trace of the Strathmores from her life. Cosseted by her eldest daughter, surrounded by her beloved cats and dogs, surrept.i.tiously visited by her lover, Mary could not help exulting in the Lyon family's misfortunes. For the tables certainly had turned. Having regained the Bowes fortune and retained the Bowes name, she plainly wanted to erase all trace of the Strathmores from her life. Cosseted by her eldest daughter, surrounded by her beloved cats and dogs, surrept.i.tiously visited by her lover, Mary could not help exulting in the Lyon family's misfortunes. For the tables certainly had turned.

Ensconced at Streatlam Castle, which he knew he would soon have to vacate, Thomas Lyon viewed Mary's actions as open declarations of war. 'We need expect nothing from my Lady but all the opposition in her power & every thing that can distress us,' he warned James Menzies, the steward at Glamis, and added: 'She has thus soon declared herself as inveterate against every Person that was kind by my Brother.'8 Devastated by his brother's death, Thomas frantically attempted to put the earl's papers in order and make the funeral arrangements. As the earl's body was conveyed slowly by sea from Lisbon to London, where it was loaded on to another ship headed for Dundee, Thomas sent instructions to Glamis for a sober and austere funeral. Urging strict limits on numbers and on alcohol he ordered 'for G.o.ds sake take care that not a mortal is in liquor for at such a time I should detest the very thoughts of it'. Devastated by his brother's death, Thomas frantically attempted to put the earl's papers in order and make the funeral arrangements. As the earl's body was conveyed slowly by sea from Lisbon to London, where it was loaded on to another ship headed for Dundee, Thomas sent instructions to Glamis for a sober and austere funeral. Urging strict limits on numbers and on alcohol he ordered 'for G.o.ds sake take care that not a mortal is in liquor for at such a time I should detest the very thoughts of it'.

As the earl's body was interred in the family vault at Glamis, Thomas searched desperately for the will he a.s.sumed his brother must have made before embarking on what was almost certain to be his final voyage. When nothing was found in the earl's belongings in London, Thomas wrote to Glamis with mounting alarm demanding: 'Do you know of no papers he has left, have you the key of his draw in the Library or his gla.s.s bureau in his dressing room.' But no will surfaced at Glamis, Gibside or Grosvenor Square making Mary, as his widow, the lawful executor of the earl's estate. Relishing the confusion this would inevitably cause, Mary could not resist pointing out that 'the difficulties will be endless'. She had no intention of making them any easier. Only after several meetings with her lawyer, Joshua Peele, and under sustained pressure from Thomas Lyon, did Mary agree to renounce her role as executor in favour of Thomas.9 In truth this was no sacrifice, since she was scarcely more adept at managing money than had been the late earl. Untangling his brother's financial affairs, Thomas had worse shocks in store. In truth this was no sacrifice, since she was scarcely more adept at managing money than had been the late earl. Untangling his brother's financial affairs, Thomas had worse shocks in store.

For all the vast wealth generated by the Bowes coal and despite Thomas's parsimonious management of the proceeds, the earl had chalked up a colossal backlog of bills as well as numerous bonds for cash borrowed from friends, bankers and money-lenders. Sorting through the jumble of papers, Thomas discovered the debts totalled a staggering 145,000. Even by the standards of the debt-ridden eighteenth century, when aristocrats routinely lived on credit and fortunes were lost or won at the gambling tables in a single night, this was an exorbitant sum - equivalent to roughly 17m in today's terms. Hardened gamblers had shot themselves for significantly less. Added to this a further 50,000 had to be raised for the children's maintenance and education, according to a legal deed drawn up by the earl, meaning nearly 200,000 - roughly 24m - had to be found. As lawyers representing Mary and the Strathmores met to a.s.sess the damage, it was plain that drastic action was required.

Prevented from selling any of the Bowes properties or heirlooms, since these now belonged to Mary, Thomas was determined at least to save the castle which had been his family's home for four centuries. All renovation work at Glamis was abruptly halted, leaving the demolished west wing only half rebuilt, the gardens neglected and poor Aunt Mary, now frail and aged, alone in her apartment with only occasional visits from a cleaning woman. The fine furniture and plush furnishings bought with the Bowes fortune just nine years earlier, along with livestock, farm implements and the contents of the late earl's wine cellar, were all put up for sale. As local gentry flocked to the auction that June, Robert Graham, the Laird of Fintry who had been rejected by the Lady of Glamis, drew some small pleasure in buying the four-poster beds which had once belonged to her lord. Determined to offer the Strathmores no respite, Mary insisted that her personal breakfast table and basin stand be removed from the sale. She could do nothing, however, to prevent Thomas from selling livestock, racing horses, furniture, wine and even greenhouse plants, bought for Gibside since her marriage and therefore legally the late earl's estate, in another sale later that year. Yet even while she gloried in Thomas Lyon's downfall, Mary could not remove the Strathmores from her life as easily as she had changed the initials on her silver. Resolved to safeguard the Strathmore legacy for future generations, Thomas devoted his energies to protecting the rights of his young nephew - at the expense of the boy's mother if necessary. For if Mary was now in command of her own life and income, she was not in charge of her children.

In keeping with eighteenth-century legal att.i.tudes towards women, mothers enjoyed no right of custody over their offspring. When parents separated the courts invariably awarded custody of the children - including breastfeeding infants - to their fathers. The d.u.c.h.ess of Grafton, for example, had to say goodbye to her three children on her divorce from the Duke in 1769 and would not be permitted to see them again until she was on her deathbed thirty years later.10 In a farewell letter to her eight-year-old daughter, enclosing a lock of hair, she described herself as your 'unhappy mother who dotes on you'. Lady Elizabeth Foster, who married in the year Mary was widowed, would likewise have to give up her sons, aged four and eighteen months, on separation a few years later and would not see them again for fourteen years. Indeed, one resourceful mother, eloping with her lover in 1796, would go so far as to fake the death and funeral of her youngest daughter in a desperate attempt to keep her; after three years she gave the child up and did not see her again until the girl was an adult. Only when specified by prior legal contracts would mothers be granted guardianship - and sometimes not even then. Fortunately for Mary, Lord Strathmore had signed a deed in 1774 naming Mary as one of four guardians to his children on his death. In a farewell letter to her eight-year-old daughter, enclosing a lock of hair, she described herself as your 'unhappy mother who dotes on you'. Lady Elizabeth Foster, who married in the year Mary was widowed, would likewise have to give up her sons, aged four and eighteen months, on separation a few years later and would not see them again for fourteen years. Indeed, one resourceful mother, eloping with her lover in 1796, would go so far as to fake the death and funeral of her youngest daughter in a desperate attempt to keep her; after three years she gave the child up and did not see her again until the girl was an adult. Only when specified by prior legal contracts would mothers be granted guardianship - and sometimes not even then. Fortunately for Mary, Lord Strathmore had signed a deed in 1774 naming Mary as one of four guardians to his children on his death.11 Unfortunately for Mary, the other three guardians were Thomas Lyon and his Scottish allies, the agent James Menzies and the lawyer David Erskine. Acting in unison, these three would always be able to outvote Mary on any issue. For the moment, Thomas was willing to leave the children in the care of their mother; maintaining a close scrutiny on her conduct he knew he wielded a potentially powerful weapon. Unfortunately for Mary, the other three guardians were Thomas Lyon and his Scottish allies, the agent James Menzies and the lawyer David Erskine. Acting in unison, these three would always be able to outvote Mary on any issue. For the moment, Thomas was willing to leave the children in the care of their mother; maintaining a close scrutiny on her conduct he knew he wielded a potentially powerful weapon.

Blithely oblivious to the future threats Mary entrusted the care of her three youngest children and Maria to the talented Miss Planta; they spent most of their time at their grandmother's Hertfordshire home, where Mary sometimes visited. Maria, who had changed from the cheerful toddler who giggled with Thomas Gray into a mature and sensible child with a keen sense of decorum, wrote from there to her great aunt Mary at Glamis in May. Plainly identifying with her aunt's isolation in the empty castle, she confessed herself 'quite uneasy lest you should have forgotten that there are two such little girls in the world as my Sister, and me, who love you dearly'.12 But if Maria, with her three siblings, her grandmother and her governess for company, felt abandoned this was nothing to the experience of her brother John, now boarding at the little school run by the puritanical Richard Raikes in Neasden. According to Maria, citing a letter from John to Miss Planta, he was 'in perfect health, and says Mr Raikes commends him'. A thoughtful and diligent boy, who studied hard at his French, writing and music, he would remember the importance of strong family bonds. But if Maria, with her three siblings, her grandmother and her governess for company, felt abandoned this was nothing to the experience of her brother John, now boarding at the little school run by the puritanical Richard Raikes in Neasden. According to Maria, citing a letter from John to Miss Planta, he was 'in perfect health, and says Mr Raikes commends him'. A thoughtful and diligent boy, who studied hard at his French, writing and music, he would remember the importance of strong family bonds.

Keeping out of the public eye, as mourning etiquette conveniently dictated, his mother had more pressing problems on her mind. Mary thought she had been scrupulously careful to avoid becoming pregnant. She had begun having a s.e.xual relationship with George Gray in mid-February, just before Lord Strathmore had left for Portugal, having succ.u.mbed to the 38-year-old Scot's advances 'one unfortunate evening' when she was 'off my guard'.13 Once the earl had left the country, she had welcomed her lover with increasing regularity to her bedchamber in Grosvenor Square. Let in discreetly late at night by her faithful footman George Walker, Gray crept up one of the back staircases unseen by the other servants and usually stayed until four or five the next morning, stealing out before the maids awoke. Naturally anxious to avoid a mishap, Mary a.s.serted that, 'All the time of my connection with Mr Gray, precautions were taken'. But since eighteenth-century contraception was rudimentary at best, this was far from foolproof. Once the earl had left the country, she had welcomed her lover with increasing regularity to her bedchamber in Grosvenor Square. Let in discreetly late at night by her faithful footman George Walker, Gray crept up one of the back staircases unseen by the other servants and usually stayed until four or five the next morning, stealing out before the maids awoke. Naturally anxious to avoid a mishap, Mary a.s.serted that, 'All the time of my connection with Mr Gray, precautions were taken'. But since eighteenth-century contraception was rudimentary at best, this was far from foolproof.

Although condoms had been invented a century earlier, apocryphally attributed to a physician to Charles II called Dr Condom, these were normally used only as prophylactics against venereal disease rather than as contraceptives. The fact that they were fashioned from sheep's or pig's gut and secured with a silk ribbon, and were designed to be washed and reused, did not recommend them for regular encounters. James Boswell, an inveterate brothel visitor, described donning 'armour' in a rare effort to prevent another bout of gonorrhoea when engaging with a seventeen-year-old prost.i.tute in 1763. He found the experience, he confided in his diary, 'a dull satisfaction'.14 Although condoms were on open sale in at least one London shop in 1776, they were advertised as 'implements of safety which secure the health of my customers'. In common with most couples of the period endeavouring to avoid an unwanted pregnancy rather than an unwanted rash, therefore, Mary and Gray probably adopted the withdrawal method. Certainly her remark that 'an instant's neglect always destroyed' their precautions makes this most likely. It was scarcely surprising, then, that in less than two months Mary had found herself pregnant. Although condoms were on open sale in at least one London shop in 1776, they were advertised as 'implements of safety which secure the health of my customers'. In common with most couples of the period endeavouring to avoid an unwanted pregnancy rather than an unwanted rash, therefore, Mary and Gray probably adopted the withdrawal method. Certainly her remark that 'an instant's neglect always destroyed' their precautions makes this most likely. It was scarcely surprising, then, that in less than two months Mary had found herself pregnant.

Acutely aware that Thomas Lyon, and his ever-watchful sisters, would welcome any opportunity to discredit her, Mary knew that she needed to avoid all hint of a scandal. For any woman giving birth to a child out of wedlock in Georgian Britain the prospects were bleak; the large numbers of children abandoned on the streets and surrendered to the Foundling Hospital were tragic evidence of this. For a t.i.tled, recently widowed heiress to give birth to an illegitimate child in a society obsessed with celebrity gossip would be disastrous. Not only would the newspapers report each detail with glee, she would also be shunned by polite society and almost certainly deprived of her children.

Her options were therefore limited. She could give birth in secret and arrange for the child to be quietly adopted in the manner of several women who found themselves in similar straits. Yet such clandestine births were highly risky and for Mary to disappear for any length of time soon after her husband's death would surely have raised the Strathmores' suspicions. Alternatively, she could marry Gray and - given general eighteenth-century ignorance about pregnancy - pretend the ensuing child was born prematurely. Yet there were several overriding objections to the marriage. To wed so soon after becoming widowed would not only offend etiquette but would also inevitably provoke unseemly gossip about her suitor. At the same time Mary knew that Thomas Lyon would do his utmost to protect the Bowes fortune - and its young heir - from the grasping hands of any prospective husband, especially one with such a colourful reputation for getting rich quick. Moreover, Mary had already warned Gray that her miserable experience of matrimony had convinced her 'never to engage myself indissolubly' again. The only course left was to attempt an abortion.

There is no doubt that women have known and used a variety of methods to end unwanted pregnancies since earliest times, often with the sanction of Church and State. In early China and Egypt, ancient Greece and Rome, various herbs and plants deemed capable of bringing about a miscarriage were well-known and widely used. Aristotle actually recommended abortion for families that had reached an optimum size; Roman law allowed for abortion as long as it was authorised by the woman's husband. Although rarely written down, folklore knowledge of natural abortifacients was discreetly pa.s.sed by women from generation to generation. Plants such as rue and savin, which were known for their ability to procure abortions, were often grown by midwives and herbalists, while the fungus ergot was popularly known as 'Kindesmord' - child's death - in Germany. Male medical pract.i.tioners, whose faith in the ancient doctrine of balancing bodily 'humours' dictated that it was harmful for women to miss menstruation, often prescribed potions to the same purpose and quite probably with the same ingredients. Although early Christians condemned attempts to end pregnancy, English common law permitted the abortion of a foetus as long as it had not been felt to move - up to about four months - and this may well have been interpreted loosely by the female midwives charged with the test. Even when later abortions were suspected, these were exceedingly difficult to distinguish from a natural miscarriage or stillborn delivery and prosecutions were few. Only in 1803 would Parliament pa.s.s a law that specifically outlawed abortion and even then only after the baby's movements could be felt.

Throughout the eighteenth century, therefore, when contraception was little used and unplanned pregnancies could spell disaster, methods of abortion were widely available. One woman seeking a divorce from her adulterous husband in 1774, for example, described to the ecclesiastical courts how he had made her sister pregnant then persuaded her to take some pills which he had obtained from a midwife in Fleet Street.15 Precisely because such practices were legally constrained and took place mostly within women's circles, very few personal accounts have survived. Lady Caroline Fox, believing herself pregnant for the third time in three years in the 1750s, informed her husband, 'I took a great deal of physic yesterday in hopes to send it away' and later added jubilantly: 'I am not breeding (is that not clever!)' Precisely because such practices were legally constrained and took place mostly within women's circles, very few personal accounts have survived. Lady Caroline Fox, believing herself pregnant for the third time in three years in the 1750s, informed her husband, 'I took a great deal of physic yesterday in hopes to send it away' and later added jubilantly: 'I am not breeding (is that not clever!)'16 Mary Eleanor Bowes's candid description of attempting an abortion - not just once but four times - is therefore quite unique, although her frank words were never intended for public consumption. Mary Eleanor Bowes's candid description of attempting an abortion - not just once but four times - is therefore quite unique, although her frank words were never intended for public consumption.

Immediately Mary discovered she was pregnant she asked Gray 'to bring me a quack medicine he had heard of for miscarriage'. Gray duly obtained the potion which Mary described as a 'black inky kind of medicine' that looked and tasted as if it contained copper. Although Gray was reluctant to let Mary drink the substance, rightly fearing that it may have been poisonous, she insisted on knocking it back since she was 'so frightened and unhappy' at the prospect of being pregnant. The potion worked, or at least a miscarriage ensued; in early pregnancy it was, of course, difficult to discern which. Yet despite her scare, and the potentially devastating consequences, Mary soon found herself pregnant again - not once but three more times in rapid succession during the summer and autumn of 1776. The second time, probably in May or June, the inky medicine once more did its work but the third time, possibly in July or August, it failed. In desperation, Mary downed an emetic to make her vomit, along with a large gla.s.s of brandy and liberal quant.i.ties of pepper, which seemingly induced her third abortion or miscarriage. She would number these three abortions among her 'crimes' in the 'Confessions' which she was later forced to write. Her most d.a.m.ning attempt was still to come.

The fact that Mary fell pregnant with such regularity was little wonder given that Gray had inveigled himself sufficiently to visit her bedchamber every other night. The purpose of this pattern, Mary revealed, was 'that by the intervention of one night, we might meet the next with more pleasure, and have the less chance of being tired of each other'.17 Moreover, since Gray commonly stayed until nearly dawn and their 'conversation' was lasting, she found that 'a night of sleep was absolutely necessary'. Whenever Mary visited St Paul's Walden Bury to see the children and her mother - and presumably to enjoy a well-earned rest - she relayed messages via George Walker, or occasionally her housekeeper, arranging future rendezvous. Moreover, since Gray commonly stayed until nearly dawn and their 'conversation' was lasting, she found that 'a night of sleep was absolutely necessary'. Whenever Mary visited St Paul's Walden Bury to see the children and her mother - and presumably to enjoy a well-earned rest - she relayed messages via George Walker, or occasionally her housekeeper, arranging future rendezvous.

Having endured her late husband's inattention for nine years, there can be little doubt that George Gray's interest and apparent devotion were both flattering and welcome. Whether Gray tendered any genuine affection for Mary, or simply viewed her as his latest route to easy riches, is hard to determine. In all Mary's relationships - with lovers and friends, servants and acquaintances - money would always cloud a person's true motives. Certainly, judging by Gray's previous attempt to marry a wealthy widow in India, his eagerness to pocket an indecently large bribe in Bengal and his indifference to his ailing father in Scotland, he nursed few scruples about making his way in entrepreneurial Georgian Britain.

Having made London his home since returning from Bengal, Gray had seemingly failed to endear himself either to his family or to society. The satirical ballad The Stoniad The Stoniad would employ typical colonial prejudice by suggesting, wrongly, that 'half-wake orient G*y' had not only been born in India but was actually a Hindu or ' would employ typical colonial prejudice by suggesting, wrongly, that 'half-wake orient G*y' had not only been born in India but was actually a Hindu or 'tout a fait GENTOO'. But his friends were no more complimentary. It was after dining with Gray and Boswell at the house of Samuel Foote in 1772 that the playwright had been inspired to pen his savage attack on imperialism, GENTOO'. But his friends were no more complimentary. It was after dining with Gray and Boswell at the house of Samuel Foote in 1772 that the playwright had been inspired to pen his savage attack on imperialism, The Nabob The Nabob. The satire, published in 1778, would help establish the contemporary view of East India Company employees like Gray as jumped-up, greedy, arrogant villains. 'These new gentlemen,' explains one character, 'who from the caprice of Fortune, and a strange chain of events, have acquired immoderate wealth and rose to uncontroled power abroad, find it difficult to descend from their dignity, and admit of any equal at home.'18 On the other hand, Gray's behaviour in India had been no more disreputable than that of Lord Clive who committed suicide in 1774 following sustained censure over his own approbation of significantly larger 'presents'. On the other hand, Gray's behaviour in India had been no more disreputable than that of Lord Clive who committed suicide in 1774 following sustained censure over his own approbation of significantly larger 'presents'.

Living in Portman Square, a popular address with overseas entrepreneurs, Nabob Gray could reach Mary's house on the other side of Oxford Street in a few minutes. Since luxurious Grosvenor Square was as famous for its aristocratic residents as it was notorious for their scandalous lives, it was not long before his visits were noticed. Among the first to tender suspicions was Elizabeth Planta, who initially dismissed Gray's interest as a harmless flirtation but soon realised his intentions were less than honourable. Fearful that Elizabeth would convey her information to Mrs Bowes, or worse to the Strathmore family, Mary affected a sudden and violent dislike for her former governess, who had effectively lived as a member of the Bowes family for nearly twenty years. Keeping her actions a secret from her mother, Mary borrowed money from her lawyer, Joshua Peele, when he visited St Paul's Walden Bury soon after the late earl's death, and offered Miss Planta an irresistible payoff totalling 2,000.19 Furnished with sufficient funds to keep her comfortable for life, that July Miss Planta, or Mrs Parish as she would become on her marriage not long after, left the children she had looked after since they were babies. Furnished with sufficient funds to keep her comfortable for life, that July Miss Planta, or Mrs Parish as she would become on her marriage not long after, left the children she had looked after since they were babies.

Carefully covering her tracks, Mary was at pains to denounce the governess's behaviour as 'the most vile, ungrateful, and pernicious that ever was heard of', insisting that she exhibited an 'uninterrupted series of ill-temper, deceit, self-interestedness, and ingrat.i.tude; with obstinacy, and in many respects a bad method with my children' and that 'in short, she was too insufferable, else I would have retained her'. It was plain that the lady did protest too much. There is little doubt that the goodbye gift was hush money to buy the governess's silence over Mary's adulterous relationship with Gray, and quite probably her first pregnancy and abortion too. There were generous presents too, in the shape of a watch and some old furniture, for George Walker, the discreet footman. But no amount of skulking up backstairs or offering backhanders could prevent the affair becoming public in the claustrophobic world of London society.

It was Walker who first related the gossip circulating in the capital's coffee-houses and taverns. Initially the couple encouraged him and laughed together at 'all the ridiculous stories' during their nightly encounters. 'I was always extremely silly, in not minding reports,' Mary wrote, 'on the contrary, rather encouraged them; partly, that I might laugh at other people's absurdities and credulity, and partly, because I left it to time and reason, to shew they were false.'20 Openly displaying their disdain for public opinion, the pair now ventured out together, parading in the public parks and city streets in Mary's open carriage even though she was still in mourning. The blue-stockings Frances Boscawen and Mary Delany excitedly exchanged news of their sightings that summer: 'Yesterday I was told by a lady that she had met Lady Strathmore with servts still in mourning, Openly displaying their disdain for public opinion, the pair now ventured out together, parading in the public parks and city streets in Mary's open carriage even though she was still in mourning. The blue-stockings Frances Boscawen and Mary Delany excitedly exchanged news of their sightings that summer: 'Yesterday I was told by a lady that she had met Lady Strathmore with servts still in mourning, but wearing white favours in their hats but wearing white favours in their hats (as at a wedding),' revealed Mrs Boscawen, 'also that in the chaise with her, sat an ill-looking man, from whence inference was made that she was marry'd to some Italian.' (as at a wedding),' revealed Mrs Boscawen, 'also that in the chaise with her, sat an ill-looking man, from whence inference was made that she was marry'd to some Italian.'21 According to Jesse Foot, the surgeon, Gray's 'visits were constant, and their airings open'. According to Jesse Foot, the surgeon, Gray's 'visits were constant, and their airings open'.

It was inevitable then that reports of Mary's excursions flaunting her new lover would reach the ears of Thomas Lyon in Streatlam. Still discovering his brother's unpaid debts and grimly selling off land and chattels to balance the books, he knew that a second marriage by his brother's widow could compromise the future fortunes of Lord Strathmore's children. A new heir, for example, could certainly confuse the inheritance. For the moment he scrutinised the reports and kept his powder dry. The gossip piqued the interest of others with a pecuniary interest too. Coquettishly playing the field, Mary exchanged locks of hair with a suitor she enigmatically called 'Mr C. W.' and sent a short but flirtatious refusal to a certain 'Mr MacCallaster'.22 Less easy to dismiss with a keepsake or a brusque rebuff was James Graham, who arrived unexpectedly on her doorstep in London that summer, having heard of her husband's demise. Now a lieutenant, although at twenty still only just out of boyhood, Graham hoped to revive their carefree youthful pa.s.sion. Still stung by his neglect, Mary refused to see him, even when he attempted to throw himself in her way on further occasions. For all his youth, he was the only man she would ever truly care for, yet her pride and a justifiable fear of further heartache prevented her from admitting her feelings. She would later say that 'having, at the risk of my life, conquered my headstrong pa.s.sion, I was determined not to expose myself to another conflict, with one whom I had so much reason to be afraid of.'23 She did indeed preserve herself from the pain of future loss. Less than three years later, in January 1779, James Graham would die, of unknown causes, in Naples. She did indeed preserve herself from the pain of future loss. Less than three years later, in January 1779, James Graham would die, of unknown causes, in Naples.

By July 1776, even as the American colonies declared their independence from the British Crown, Mary had resigned herself to wedlock once again. While she would never feel more for Gray than l.u.s.t and friendship, she had convinced herself that he would make a dependable husband, a dutiful stepfather and - since she was probably pregnant again - a loving natural father. Certainly they shared common interests in poetry and drama while Gray slotted in well with the ever-expanding social circle that congregated in the drawing room of 40 Grosvenor Square. For regardless of the fact that she was still officially in mourning, Mary's gatherings in the splendid four-storey house in the south-west corner of the square had become popular and animated events within London's tight-knit scientific fraternity.

Conversation at Mary's salons in the summer of 1776 would almost certainly have focused on the treasure trove of botanical delights which had recently been shipped back from the Cape by Francis Ma.s.son; the Kew gardener had submitted an account of his explorations to the Royal Society which had been read during three meetings in February. Having linked up with the Swedish naturalist, Carl Peter Thunberg, for one of his expeditions, Ma.s.son informed the society that they 'like true lovers of science thought themselves richly overpaid, by the ample collection of curious & new plants, as well as animals which they found in their way'.24 Since Ma.s.son had just set sail again, this time headed for the Canary Islands, the prospect of further discoveries waiting to be plucked in the enticing Cape region naturally enthralled those he left behind. Among the Royal Society fellows who enlivened Mary's scientific discussions, Daniel Solander, the Swedish botanist, was impatient for further plant specimens while his friend, John Hunter, was always in the market for exotic new animal species, like the long-necked, spotted 'camelopard' which was fabled to live in southern Africa. Since Ma.s.son had just set sail again, this time headed for the Canary Islands, the prospect of further discoveries waiting to be plucked in the enticing Cape region naturally enthralled those he left behind. Among the Royal Society fellows who enlivened Mary's scientific discussions, Daniel Solander, the Swedish botanist, was impatient for further plant specimens while his friend, John Hunter, was always in the market for exotic new animal species, like the long-necked, spotted 'camelopard' which was fabled to live in southern Africa.

The fact that Mary was denied entrance to the exclusively male Royal Society, despite her extensive knowledge and devotion to botany, did nothing to quell her interest in reports from Africa nor her desire to further scientific enlightenment as a patron. Inspired by tales of Ma.s.son's voyage, and probably encouraged by Hunter and Solander, she now laid plans to finance an ambitious mission to send an explorer into uncharted parts of the Cape in search of new flora for her own burgeoning collection. It may well have been Solander who introduced her to William Paterson, a genial twenty-year-old Scottish gardener with little formal education but a huge sense of adventure who agreed to undertake her expedition the following spring. Certainly Solander had escorted Paterson to a Royal Society meeting in May that year and the pair would remain friends.25 Other scientific enthusiasts within Mary's...o...b..t included Richard Penneck, superintendent of the British Museum's reading room, and Joseph Planta, younger brother to Mrs Parish, who had taken over as librarian at the museum upon his father's death in 1773. Having just been appointed one of the two secretaries to the Royal Society, the ambitious 32-year-old Planta was rather more immune to Mary's attractions than many of his fellow guests - and had no doubt been kept abreast of her nocturnal activities by the ousted Mrs Parish. Other scientific enthusiasts within Mary's...o...b..t included Richard Penneck, superintendent of the British Museum's reading room, and Joseph Planta, younger brother to Mrs Parish, who had taken over as librarian at the museum upon his father's death in 1773. Having just been appointed one of the two secretaries to the Royal Society, the ambitious 32-year-old Planta was rather more immune to Mary's attractions than many of his fellow guests - and had no doubt been kept abreast of her nocturnal activities by the ousted Mrs Parish.

Alongside Mary's earnest discussions on botany there were jovial breakfasts, languid dinners and musical suppers, frequent opera and theatre trips, and frivolous excursions about town on any number of pretexts with a host of less ill.u.s.trious guests. These included James Mario Matra, a thirty-year-old naval officer who had sailed around the world with Banks and Solander in the cramped cabins of the Endeavour Endeavour. Born Magra - he later changed his name - and originally from New York, he was suspected by Captain Cook of slicing off parts of the ears of a drunken shipmate. Despite the fact that Matra was subsequently cleared of the brutal deed, the affable Cook nevertheless described his midshipman as 'one of those gentlemen, frequently found on board Kings Ships, that can very well be spared, or to speak more planer good for nothing'.26 The bespectacled Matra had been introduced into Mary's set by his fellow voyager Solander and his own brother, a decidedly more shadowy character, Captain Perkins Magra. Having enlisted with the army as an ensign in 1761, Magra had fought for British forces in America but was on leave in London in the summer of 1776. One more constant companion who could not be left out of any social outing was the children's new governess, Eliza Planta. No sooner had Elizabeth Planta packed her bags and bade the children farewell than Mary had employed her younger sister - for the Planta family had a seemingly endless supply of talented daughters - in her stead. The bespectacled Matra had been introduced into Mary's set by his fellow voyager Solander and his own brother, a decidedly more shadowy character, Captain Perkins Magra. Having enlisted with the army as an ensign in 1761, Magra had fought for British forces in America but was on leave in London in the summer of 1776. One more constant companion who could not be left out of any social outing was the children's new governess, Eliza Planta. No sooner had Elizabeth Planta packed her bags and bade the children farewell than Mary had employed her younger sister - for the Planta family had a seemingly endless supply of talented daughters - in her stead.27 Wily, flighty and promiscuous, in stark contrast to her prim elder sister, nineteen-year-old Eliza - baptised Ann Eliza - quickly established herself as an indispensable ally and eager confidante of her mistress. Wily, flighty and promiscuous, in stark contrast to her prim elder sister, nineteen-year-old Eliza - baptised Ann Eliza - quickly established herself as an indispensable ally and eager confidante of her mistress.

Intoxicated by her liberty, whether it was to debate the finer points of science with fellows of the Royal Society, practise her skill for languages with her intellectual equals or flirt outrageously with the stream of sycophants who clamoured to her door, Mary was living life to the full. It was her year of behaving badly. Carelessly courting scandal, she flaunted her lover, abused her body, spent extravagantly and jeopardised her relationship with her children, especially the neglected young earl. She would be judged forever on the reckless excesses of this one year - in reality little more than nine months - and come to regret bitterly her waywardness. According to Foot, who would become one of Mary's harshest critics: 'Her judgement was weak, her prudence almost none, and her prejudice unbounded.'28 In a view that would stand as a lasting image of the Countess of Strathmore, the surgeon described Mary's house as a 'temple of folly' and declared that her undoubted talents and intellect were 'that sort which required to be under the controul of some other'. That Foot regarded the control Mary apparently needed to be male went without saying; that he also, as an avowed enemy of his professional rival John Hunter, was never likely to gain access to Mary's 'temple' was equally left unsaid. Later, mostly male, writers would dispense similarly severe criticism and suggest that Mary's future trials were simply just desserts for her licentious behaviour. Even Mary would subscribe to the view that the miseries in store were all divine punishment for her adulterous affair with Gray. For even as she appeared to be in charge of her life for the first time, in reality she was edging closer to an ever-tightening trap. 'G.o.d blinded my judgement,' she later explained, 'that I could not discern, in any case, what was for my children's and my own advantage; but in every thing where there were two expedients, I chose the worst.' In a view that would stand as a lasting image of the Countess of Strathmore, the surgeon described Mary's house as a 'temple of folly' and declared that her undoubted talents and intellect were 'that sort which required to be under the controul of some other'. That Foot regarded the control Mary apparently needed to be male went without saying; that he also, as an avowed enemy of his professional rival John Hunter, was never likely to gain access to Mary's 'temple' was equally left unsaid. Later, mostly male, writers would dispense similarly severe criticism and suggest that Mary's future trials were simply just desserts for her licentious behaviour. Even Mary would subscribe to the view that the miseries in store were all divine punishment for her adulterous affair with Gray. For even as she appeared to be in charge of her life for the first time, in reality she was edging closer to an ever-tightening trap. 'G.o.d blinded my judgement,' she later explained, 'that I could not discern, in any case, what was for my children's and my own advantage; but in every thing where there were two expedients, I chose the worst.'29 The worst, however, was still to come. The worst, however, was still to come.

Living with Gray effectively 'as his wife', scandalising strait-laced society as a merry widow and a neglectful mother, her home had become an open house to a growing band of unwholesome characters bent on selfish ends. Whenever a trip to the opera or a supper party was planned, the attentive Captain Magra would always be on hand as a ready escort. Whenever she desired a friendly ear for whispered confidences, Eliza Planta was at her side. And when the debonair Irish soldier arrived in London that July, Mary welcomed him into the fold with open arms.

Since Hannah Newton's death on 11 March,