THE passing of Deirdre, Dowager Countess of Rosebery, art collector and aristocrat, at the patriarchal age of 94, has not gone unnoticed in the British press. The daughter of Ronald Reid, a Harley Street surgeon, she met the future Lord Rosebery at Oxford University and, undoubtedly, had set her cap at him. He was one of the most eligible bachelors of his day, the grandson of Hannah, a lonely, orphaned Rothschild heiress, and of the fifth Earl of Rosebery, later for a short time prime minister of this country, a love match and a very happy marriage. The reported death of the dowager countess led me to reminisce of my stay at Dalmeny House, as her guest.
As you can probably tell, I was, and am, obsessed by the fascinating women of the House of Rothschild, and particularly with one branch of the family. And so, with the ambitious intention of producing a biography, I requested if it would be possible for a private visit to the Rothschild ancestral home at Mentmore Towers in Buckinghamshire. This once magnificent mansion, built by Mayer de Rothschild for his bride, Juliana, was seemingly lying unused and practically derelict, by the company that now owned it. Permission was given, and, accompanied by my husband, I toured the shell of the deserted house.
Before we left the site, the elderly gatekeeper insisted, for no known reason, on giving me a bundle of papers and would not take no for an answer. The papers appeared to be the plans of this once-splendid mansion. Not knowing what to do with them, I put them in the back of the car, with the vague idea of somehow returning them to the rightful owner. And there they stayed.
Until, deciding to visit the Highlands of Scotland for a holiday, I had the inspired idea of visiting Hannah’s ancestral home at Dalmeny, on the Firth of Forth, near Edinburgh, hopefully imbibing the atmosphere of my heroine’s marital home and perhaps depositing the plans with the family in their rightful place.
I was, of course, delighted, if surprised, to be invited by Lady Rosebery to stay for a few days, not, of course, actually in the house itself, but in an adjoining flat that the family used as their actual living quarters. I would even be allowed to look at some personal objects of Hannah. The only conditions were that we would take her elderly dog out for walks, and that she should see a copy of whatever I wrote about Hannah. Neither of these conditions were a problem.
If I had any thoughts of any luxury, I soon put them out of my mind. Their living quarters, and the rooms we were given, were far from grand, and, I thought, even a little shabby. We did have our own refrigerator and she invited us to one home-cooked meal, which she cooked herself. However, she had left a packet of bacon for us in the refrigerator, and then mentioned it a few days later as an afterthought, with a knowing look, when I said we would not be using it. This was unsettling to say the least. I had believed our Jewish background was quite clear.
With some satisfaction, I was able to present the plans to Lord Rosebery himself, and he did seem genuinely pleased to have them, even if they were only a copy of the original. After a couple of days, I was at last allowed to look at some personal items concerning Hannah, under the close supervision of the countess. This was a privilege, the reason for our trip and made it all worth while.
I was invited to take tea with the countess and a few of her lady friends. The tea party did not go well. Somehow the topic of conversation turned to my family background. There were very pointed questions into where my family came from. Seeing the ladies give each other knowing looks, I completely clammed up and would only reply to their repeated questions that I was English born. I would not go further than that. In actual fact, I am the grandchild of immigrants.
The highlight of the visit was a tour by the countess of the vast grounds and of the stately home. Many of the treasures of Mentmore, the French furniture and porcelain, had been taken there after the sale of the mansion in 1977 to pay the death duties owed by Harry Meyer, the Earl’s father.
On the walls of Dalmeny House were the ancestral portraits and Lady Rosebery informed us proudly, “And this is a portrait of Hannah’s mother, Lucy. One of my daughters is named after her.”
“Oh, no,” I said and she looked at me in horror. I explained, “Juliana was the name of Hannah’s mother. Lucy was Juliana’s unmarried sister and Hannah’s aunt.”
She looked at me in disbelief. This did not go down well, especially as I explained that if the portrait was of Juliana’s mother, her name had been Sarah Cohen. The provenance of the portrait had, apparently, been confirmed to Lady Rosebery by an art historian, but she had named her daughter, Lucy, after Hannah’s favourite aunt.
After a few days, we said goodbye to our hostess and left to continue our holiday. She looked a little taken a back when I mentioned that we were going on to a rather well-known hotel. I think that was not what she had expected.
This visit was the highlight of our Scottish holiday, and I wrote later to the countess, thanking her for her hospitality. Lady Rosebery did, indeed, check the provenance of the portrait and it was re-attributed. I did appreciate the mementoes of Hannah that she had shown me. The countess approved of my writings regarding Hannah and wrote a very complimentary letter, which I have in my possession.
I am still obsessed by the ladies of the Rothschild family and still looking for a publisher.
To get more from Life, click here to sign up for our free Life newsletter.