An Autobiography, vols 1,2 | Page 5

WILLIAM
HARCOURT'S PLEASANTRIES--ASQUITH MINISTRY
FALLS--VISIT FROM DUCHESS D'AOSTA

CHAPTER IX
MARGOT IN 1906 SUMS UP HER LIFE; A LOT OF
LOVE-MAKING, A LITTLE FAME AND MORE ABUSE: A REAL
MAN AND GREAT HAPPINESS

MARGOT ASQUITH
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

BOOK ONE

"Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid wooed by incapacity."--Blake.

CHAPTER I
THE TENNANT FAMILY--MARGOT, ONE OF TWELVE
CHILDREN--HOME LIFE IN GLEN, SCOTLAND--FATHER A
SELF-CENTRED BUSINESS-MAN; HIS VANITIES; HIS PRIDE IN
HIS CHILDREN--NEWS OF HIS DEATH--HANDSOME LORD
RIBBLESDALE VISITS GLEN--MOTHER DELICATE; HER LOVE
OF ECONOMY; CONFIDENCES--TENNANT GIRLS' LOVE
AFFAIRS
I was born in the country of Hogg and Scott between the Yarrow and
the Tweed, in the year 1864.
I am one of twelve children, but I only knew eight, as the others died
when I was young. My eldest sister Pauline--or Posie, as we called
her--was born in 1855 and married on my tenth birthday one of the best
of men, Thomas Gordon Duff. [Footnote: Thomas Gordon Duff, of
Drummuir Castle, Keith.] She died of tuberculosis, the cruel disease by
which my family have all been pursued. We were too different in age
and temperament to be really intimate, but her goodness, patience and
pluck made a deep impression on me.

My second sister, Charlotte, was born in 1858 and married, when I was
thirteen, the present Lord Ribblesdale, in 1877. She was the only
member of the family--except my brother Edward Glenconner-- who
was tall. My mother attributed this--and her good looks--to her
wet-nurse, Janet Mercer, a mill-girl at Innerleithen, noted for her height
and beauty. Charty--as we called her--was in some ways the most
capable of us all, but she had not Laura's genius, Lucy's talents, nor my
understanding. She had wonderful grace and less vanity than any one
that ever lived; and her social courage was a perpetual joy. I heard her
say to the late Lord Rothschild, one night at a dinner party:
"And do you still believe the Messiah is coming, Lord Natty?"
Once when her husband went to make a political speech in the country,
she telegraphed to him:
"Mind you hit below the belt!"
She was full of nature and impulse, free, enterprising and unconcerned.
She rode as well as I did, but was not so quick to hounds nor so
conscious of what was going on all round her.
One day when the Rifle Brigade was quartered at Winchester,
Ribblesdale--who was a captain--sent Charty out hunting with old Tubb,
the famous dealer, from whom he had hired her mount. As he could not
accompany her himself, he was anxious to know how her ladyship had
got on; the old rascal-wanting to sell his horse-- raised his eyes to
heaven and gasped:
"Hornamental palings! My lord!!"
It was difficult to find a better-looking couple than Charty and
Ribblesdale; I have often observed people following them in
picture-galleries; and their photographs appeared in many of the
London shop-windows.
My next sister, Lucy, [Footnote: Mrs. Graham Smith, of Easton Grey,
Malmesbury.] was the most talented and the best educated of the family.

She fell between two stools in her youth, because Charty and Posie
were of an age to be companions and Laura and I; consequently she did
not enjoy the happy childhood that we did and was mishandled by the
authorities both in the nursery and the schoolroom. When I was thirteen
she made a foolish engagement, so that our real intimacy only began
after her marriage. She was my mother's favourite child--which none of
us resented--and, although like my father in hospitality, courage and
generous giving, she had my mother's stubborn modesty and delicacy
of mind. Her fear of hurting the feelings of others was so great that she
did not tell people what she was thinking; she was truthful but not
candid. Her drawings--both in pastel and water-colour--her portraits,
landscapes and interiors were further removed from amateur work than
Laura's piano-playing or my dancing; and, had she put her wares into
the market, as we all wanted her to do years ago, she would have been a
rich woman, but like all saints she was uninfluenceable. I owe her too
much to write about her: tormented by pain and crippled by arthritis,
she has shown a heroism and gaiety which command the love and
respect of all who meet her.
Of my other sister, Laura, I will write later.
The boys of the family were different from the girls, though they all
had charm and an excellent sense of humour. My mother said the
difference between her boys and girls came from circulation, and would
add, "The Winsloes always had cold feet"; but I think it lay in temper
and temperament. They would have been less apprehensive and more
serene if they had been brought up to some settled profession; and