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56—MARYLEBONE JOURNAL HISTORY


THE DUKE AND THE DANCER WHEN THE EARL OF ORKNEY WED A SHOWGIRL IN A MARYLEBONE CHURCH, ALL THE TALK WAS OF THE NOTORIOUS DUKE WHO GAVE HER AWAY BY TOM HUGHES


The beautiful Nash church of All Souls, Langham Place has seen many society weddings in its 186 years. Few have been quite such clandestine affairs as the nuptials of 19th July 1892, when the Earl of Orkney quietly married Miss Constance MacDonald. That was the bride’s name on the register, but she was known behind the footlights as the “celebrated burlesque actress” Connie Gilchrist. For a time at least, she held the unenviable (but traditionally transitory) title of “the most notorious woman in London”. Adding to the sensational events


of this summer Tuesday morning, the bride was given away by the Duke of Beaufort, a rakish octogenarian variously described as Connie’s erstwhile lover, protector, or, whisper it, even her father. The wedding breakfast was held just a few steps away from the church, off Portland Place, at 4 Duchess Street, where Connie had resided in well-furnished Marylebone comfort for most of a decade, all of which had been openly paid for by the Duke, who was also a frequent visitor.


On her wedding day, Connie was


27, if one accepts that she was born in 1865. Her parentage was always a mystery. It was said her mother took in “theatrical laundry”. Her father, if not the Duke, was perhaps a civil engineer who rarely came around. As a little girl, Connie’s cherubic beauty had attracted the interest of a popular designer of Christmas cards. Her face, surrounded by holly, bows and other holiday flummery, sold thousands of cards annually. Lewis Carroll, whose eye for a pretty little girl was quite well-developed, thought her “one of the most beautiful children in face and figure that I have ever seen”. When Connie outgrew the toddler


phase (and Carroll’s interest), her mother put her on the stage. She starred in children’s entertainments and pantomimes. She also won acclaim for her facility in the greatly underestimated stage talent of rope skipping. So renowned had she become that she was asked to pose for Whistler. In 1877, he painted her (with her skipping rope) as The Gold Girl – a Harmony in Yellow & White.


The theatrical press dubbed her “The Child.” Sadly, for a maturing actress, there


were few parts in the West End that included a need to skip rope. But Connie could always rely on her beauty. She was possessed of what one of her numerous admirers described as “liquid blue eyes”. John Hollingshead, legendary impresario of the Gaiety Theatre, soon employed Connie in his burlesque extravaganzas. The adorable ingénue would innocently deliver her lines – usually featuring the most ribald double-entendres. And did I mention her legs? The occasional flash of Connie’s appendages was enough to fill the boxes every night with her gentleman devotees. Alas for Connie’s long-term career, she had no voice. One of the few critics immune to her appeal thought her singing was shrill and her speech was shrewish. And so she mostly danced, behind those eyes and on those legs. One of those stage-door admirers


stood out. The Duke of Beaufort seems to have been a jolly old sort, if you like your peers with a little less of the noblesse oblige about them. His


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