New Year's Day, 1886.
We are leaving this afternoon for Luton, Mme. de Falbe's place, where there is a ball and cotillon to-night. We were to go and join the shooters yesterday, but it was rainy and cold, and the ladies didn't care to go out. The talk at luncheon was pleasant; Froude is brilliant and easy. His American experiences and stories were amusing, but I told him he mustn't take the very eccentric ladies and gentlemen whom he had encountered as specimens of Americans. I didn't know any such people, that really most of us were quite quiet and ordinary, and like everybody else. Lord Derby rather urged him on, and was amused at our perfectly amicable discussion. We drove over to Croxteth, Lord Sefton's place, after lunch. The park is fine and they have capital shooting. Our evening was quiet, and we broke up early, as they always have a midnight service in the chapel on New Year's eve for the family and servants and any of the guests who like to attend. We left the drawing-room at 10.30, so that the servants might put out the lights, finish their work, etc., and also to have time to get out of our low dresses and jewels. A little before 12 Lady Margaret Cecil (Lady Derby's daughter by her first husband, Lord Salisbury) came for us and we went to the chapel. I had put on a dark cloth dress and jacket, nothing on my head. The chapel was full, all the servants (including my French maid) and household. Lady Margaret, looking like a saint in her plain black dress, and beautiful earnest expression, sat at the little organ, and everybody, gardeners, keepers, coachmen, cooks, housemaids, joined in the singing. It was very solemn and impressive. At the end of the service we all went out first, and then Lady Margaret and her brother Lord Lionel stood at the head of the stairs and shook hands with all the guests, and all the servants, wishing all a "Happy New Year." It was a nice beginning of the New Year. Lord Derby hopes our next one will be also in England and at Knowsley, but everything is so uncertain, and of such short duration in our country (especially Cabinets) that we can hardly look forward a year.
Luton,
January 3, 1886.
Our journey yesterday from Knowsley was not very long, and some of the country all about Matlock, in Derbyshire, quite wild and lovely. Our host here is M. de Falbe, Danish Minister, who married Mrs. Leigh, owner of this charming place. We found the house party, mostly young, assembled in the morning-room with tea, the ladies all, as usual, in very dressy tea-gowns. I can't quite get used to that fashion, though I see it is very practical in the country at this season. Everyone goes out (in all weathers generally) from luncheon till tea-time, and of course one must get out of short skirts and muddy boots before coming down to the drawing-room. We went up early to dress, as Mme. de Falbe wanted to dine precisely at 8, on account of the ball afterwards. The house is large, with endless corners and corridors, fine drawing-rooms, library, and a large chapel with a fine organ. The dinner was handsome and very well arranged, five round tables, and quantities of silver, flowers, servants, etc. About 10.30 the company began to arrive, many county neighbours, Salisburys, Lyttons, Caledons, etc., bringing their house parties with them. We had a very pretty cotillon. At the end the children's pony came in carrying two big baskets filled with presents. The poor little thing was very gentle, but was evidently afraid of slipping on the parquet floor.
The Late Earl of Derby
From a photograph by Franz Baum, London
Sunday, 3d.
To-day has been charming; first the service in the house chapel, very good organ music—Mme. de Falbe is musical and arranges everything. After breakfast they organized a paper hunt for the "jeunesse" in the park, and the older people walked about. The rendezvous was the dairy—a model one, quite delightful with tiles, and creepers running along the walls and peeping everywhere in at the windows. One by one the young people assembled, flushed and exhausted with running, and all clamouring for tea. Comte Jacques de Pourtalès (one of our Secretaries), a young officer of the Blues, and Forbes, Mme. de Falbe's son-in-law, were the hares and got in some time before the hounds. After tea Falbe took me over to the stables, where there were plenty of horses, and also to the "vacherie," which was perfect. They have 40 small Alderney cows, all the same breed and colour, pretty little beasts, and so wonderfully clean, kept like pet dogs.
The dinner and evening was most lively, choruses, banjos (which is a favourite instrument in English houses), and every kind of game, including musical chairs—M. de Falbe at the piano. I think everyone played except the Falbes and ourselves. W. and Falbe retired afterwards to the smoking-room, and were deep in foreign politics. Falbe is a perfect type of the diplomatist, tall, good-looking, and a charming, courteous manner. We ladies went off about 11, and an hour later we heard the most unearthly noises in the house. All the men parading the corridors with banjos, bells, gongs, etc., and singing (if singing it can be called) at the top of their voices. They stopped at every door to serenade. The party breaks up to-morrow, and we all go back to London.