Breach of Promise

The Edwardian Actresses were the popular superstars of their era, and the glamour of their profession was such that even the plainest among them had no shortage of admirers, whilst the prettiest were sought after by some of the most elligible bachelors in the land, even sons of the peerage. Indeed, many young Lordlings lost their hearts to a pretty face they had seen on the London stage. Some married the object of their affections, whilst others were dissuaded from doing so by staid parents who, almost universally, did not see an actress as a fitting wife for the scion of a fine family. Often, this familial disapproval only came into full force when the young man announced his intention to marry his amour, and this could lead to legal proceedings since, at the time, a promise of marriage, once accepted, was regarded as a legally binding contract. If such a promise was subsequently reneged upon, the jilted party could, and often did, seek compensation.

UK Law on Breach of Promise

The sanctity of marriage has long been held in high esteem in Western Civilisation, and, consequently, the promise to marry was taken as a very serious commitment. Since the early middle ages, although there was no actual legal remedy, a person who broke such a promise would be subject to the admonishment of the church, and possibly to shunning by his fellows - both of which could irreperably damage a person's reputation and standing in society. When the woman was the injured party she had the most to lose, since it was generally far harder for a woman to make a living alone than it was for a man in similar circumstances - and so for a woman the loss of a promise of marriage might also mean the loss of a secure future.

In the 17th Century, during the reign of Charles I, this disadvantaged position of the woman in such cases began to be recognised through remedies in the law. As is usual in the English common law courts, this did not happen overnight, but came about as the result of a series of precedents established over a number of years. The ultimate result, however, was that a promise of marriage became as binding a legal contract as, say, an agreement to provide a service or buy or sell an item. That meant that if one side or the other failed to honour that agreement, the injured party was, under the law, entitled to be compensated for loss of the benefit that they had expected to accrue under the agreement. The same rules of "Caveat Emptor" (Let the buyer beware) also applied, wherein neither side had any special duty to reveal all potential flaws leading to their side of the contract - so that the non-disclosure of some objectionable event in past history by one party was no defence for breach of promise by the other.

By the turn of the late Nineteenth Century, Breach of Promise of Marriage was firmly established in English jurisprudence - and that of many other countries around the World, including America. In the latter half of that century alone there were, in Britain, approximately one thousand breach of promise actions that ended with a trial in court - with judgement and damages awarded by a jury - and many more that were settled without recourse to the law courts. Damages, whether awarded by the courts or determined by mutual agreement, were intended to compensate the injured party for the loss of benefit, financial and otherwise, that would have accrued from the marriage, and sometimes amounted to quite considerable sums.

Although breach of promise cases were almost invariably brought by women against men, it was by no means a solely female remedy. Men, under the appropriate circumstances, were equally entitled to seek remedy by it, and there were a number of successful instances of (usually young) men being awarded damages against independently wealthy (and almost invariably significantly older) women. But the men in these types of cases were generally seen as gigolos and libertines, taking advantage of the situation. Furthermore, a greater expectation was placed upon a man to be able to provide for himself, so that the damages they were awarded, if such were awarded at all, were generally limited accordingly. A woman in such circumstances on the other hand, was far more likely to be seen as the innocent injured party, and since women then generally had very limited economic independence she had for more to lose. Women could not work in many of the higher professions, and their pay scales in those professions that were open to them were generally much lower than for men - even when a woman might be doing exactly the same job! Marriage, for a woman, therefore, could be looked upon as an economic necessity, and a woman who trusted a man and became engaged to him might lose all opportunity of security if he subsequently jilted her - particularly since, in some quarters, a woman who had once been rejected by a man might now be regarded as 'soiled goods' (an outrageous imputation but one which, nevertheless, did hold some substance at the time).

Of course, when such cases came to trial, the lawyers for the defendants, who were invariably men, were wont to describe the plaintiffs as scheming, avaricious gold-diggers. But this defence seldom worked, except perhaps to limit the amount of damages. Provided only that a promise of marriage could be established, these cases were almost invariably successful.

The emancipation of women, and it's consequent opening up of new opportunities for women to earn their own ways in life, led to the legal tort of Breach of Promise gradually falling into disuse, although it was not until as recently as 1970, in the Law Reform (Miscellaneous Provisions) Act, that it was finally removed from the statute books.

One such case was that of the actress Daisy Annie Markham (her real name), who, indeed, received in compensation the largest sum ever granted in a British breach of promise action as a result of her suit against William Compton, the 6th Marquess of Northampton.

Compton was the son of William George Spencer Scott Compton K.G., the 5th Marquess of Northampton, and at the time of his engagement to Miss Markham held the title of Earl Compton. He was a soldier who held a commission as Lieutenant in the Royal Horse Guards, and with his handsome features cut a dashing figure in his military uniform.

Miss Markham was born at Drayton Parslow, in Buckinghamshire, on July 26th, 1883, the daughter of Charles and Lydia Markham, and spent her early formative years in India (some sources claim she was born in India in 1886, but the former year and location are confirmed in census records.) When she was only seventeen she married Harold Kenneth Moss, a stockbroker, but the marriage was not a happy one and she split from her husband to pursue a career on the stage, making her debut at the Theatre Royal, Worthing, on 4th June 1903 - as Alison Shetland in "A Scarlet Flower". Her stunning good looks and considerable personal magnetism led to increasingly better provincial engagements until December of the following year when she accompanied Charles Wyndham's company to New York, appearing in "The Case of Rebellious Susan" and "Mrs Gorringe's Necklace". Returning to England she made her London debut at the New Theatre in May 1905, supporting Lena Ashwell in the dramatic play "Leah Kleschna." Her marriage to Moss was dissolved on her (uncontested) petition in January, 1906, and in the following years Daisy, now a free agent, enjoyed a string of West End engagements, before long playing leading roles to enthusiastic packed houses.

It was around this time, at the height of her theatrical career, that she first caught the eye of the young Earl Compton. She was playing the leading role of Suzanne Polignac in the farcical comedy "The Glad Eye" at the Globe theatre in 1911, when the Earl first laid his eye and set his sights upon her. An introduction was arranged, and in the weeks that followed a romantic friendship quickly sprang up between the noble young officer and the pretty actress. The Earl occupied his box at the theatre with increasing frequency, and, when he did not see the play, he would call for her in his car and take her home to her flat at 5 Brompton Road, which she shared with her French maid, Anna Autier. In 1912, the couple became engaged and Daisy resigned from her theatrical contract whilst she bore him twins.

But then the Marquess, a former Liberal M.P., intervened and prevailed upon his son to end the affair. The Marquess was, at the time, in ill-health, and the dutiful young Earl made a solemn promise to his dying father that he would never marry the actress. When the Marquess died and the Earl succeeded to the title, he kept his oath to his father and broke off the engagement.

It was a tragic situation, since the young couple appear to have truly loved one-another, and the breaking of the engagement was very much against both of their personal wishes. The subsequent action for breach of promise was one of the most sensational of all time and was reported in the press the world over.

Daisy hired three of the most prominent, and most expensive, advocates in England to act on her behalf: Sir Edward Carson K.C. (Baron Carson); Edward Hemmerde K.C. (Recorder of Liverpool and Liberal M.P. for North West Norfolk); and Henry McCardle K.C.

The new Marquess (now the sixth in line), assembled an equally imposing team to act in his defence: Henry Duke K.C. (who would later become First Baron Merrivale); Frederick Edwin Smith K.C. (M.P. for Walton in Liverpool and future Baron Birkenhead); and Raymond Asquith K.C. (son of the then Prime Minister Herbert Asquith).

With such a prominent and pugnacious assembly of legal warriors in the two opposing camps all of London waited with baited breath for what looked set to be the legal battle of the decade. When the case opened before Mr. Justice Bucknill (Sir Thomas Townsend Bucknill M.P. K.C.) in the Kings Bench Division of the High Court on July 2nd, 1913, virtually every actress in London, it was said, queued up outside the Law Courts to support their sister in her action against the man who had slighted her. The court-room was filled to over-flowing whilst the crowds outside were so enormous that, for a time, The Strand was completely blocked to traffic.

What then occured in the court-room, however, was an anti-climax, the two opposing legal 'armies' having already fought out a conclusion to the battle before the doors of the Law Court had even opened. Sir Edward Carson, for the plaintiff, then stood up and addressed the judge in the following terms:

"I have strongly advised, that this case should not be fought out, in the interests of all the parties. The Marquess has agreed to make provision for Mrs. Moss who would have been entitled to the position of Marchioness if he had married her."

"The Marquess has consented to settle on her the sum of £50,000, and he has given her an indemnity against all the costs of this action."

Carson went on to say that the Marquess did not dispute the promise of marriage, and that he had only broken off the engagement out of respect to his dying father. He was glad that he would not have to enter into the details of case and said that the Marquess was still deeply fond of the lady and respected her in every way. He had strongly advised Mrs. Moss that, if possible, for the good of both parties, the case should not be fought out to the bitter end. To that end, he had consulted with Mr. Duke as a result of which the settlement he had spoken of had been reached. He then went on to read the letter by which Compton had broken off the engagement.

It was addressed from Castle Ashby, the Marquess' family home in Northampton, and it ran:

My dearest Daisy

I must just write you a line as I am so wretchedly miserable.

I want to assure you that I am trying to do the right thing and, though you will perhaps find it difficult now, I am going to ask you to believe that I always have, and do at the present moment, love you and respect you more than anyone in this world. You are absolutely my ideal of perfect womanhood.

But, Daisy, the ways of the world are hard and I want you to believe that what I am now doing I am doing from a sense of duty, genuinely believing it to be best for both of us.

Darling, I have known it all along, I have tried to smother my reason, to stifle my thoughts for your sake. But when my father talked to me on Friday, he only faced me with the same thoughts that I had told you of when I first loved you, and which I have ever since been trying to suppress.

Daisy, you don't know how these so-called ladies would treat you, and I really could not bear to see you suffering it. With your sweet sensitive nature it would be torture to you. Oh, if only I could escape from my position!

Daisy, I want to beg your forgiveness for the way in which I have done it. I was so distracted between my feelings for you and my convictions of what was really best, that I am afraid I wavered tn a way that was most unfair to you. I must also apologise for that hurried scrawl that I sent you this morning (it seems ages ago), I am quite mad, Daisy. I feel I have nothing left to live for. Writing that note was killing the last hope of my heart of conquering my reason. I did it in a hurry for fear of changing my mind. And, although I can't remember what I said, I believed after sending it that I had said something of extremely bad taste and brutally cruel to you. Daisy, I did not mean it, old girl.

Well, darling, I really have nothing more to say. You will always be my very beautiful dream.

Darling, write me one line later on, when you feel inclined, to tell me you have some respect for me left.

God bless you, darling, and give you all the pluck you will need, I cannot write more.

Your broken-hearted,
Bim.

Sir Carson then sat down and Henry Duke, for the defendant, stood up to confirm the agreement. Also referring to Daisy as Mrs. Moss, he confirmed that there was no question as to the fact of a promise to marry, and that, therefore, the only question in the case was as to what compensation the defendant should pay to the plaintiff in respect of the breach of that promise. At the time of the engagement his client was heir-apparent to the Marquisate of Northampton and had no expectation of any early succession to the title. But that situation had changed with his father's suddent illness, which was to lead to his lamented and untimely death.

"My client felt himself bound to submit his proposed marriage to his father. Mrs. Moss well knows he did all in his power to obtain his father's consent, but his father regarded it as an impossible marriage. He laid upon his son a most absolute prohibition of the union, and a few days before death laid upon him a solemn obligation that he would not pursue the desire any further."

He went on to confirm that the new Marquess had agreed to the terms mentioned by his opposing counsel and added:

''I hope that, so far as the money can do so it will mitigate the disappointment of Mrs. Moss. It is not an ungenerous provision."

Having heard the statements of the two advocates in the case, Mr. Justice Bucknill said he had nothing to say except that, having heard the letter read, one could not have any doubt as to the truth of what both Mr. Carson and Mr. Duke had said about the warm feelings and sincere affection the defendant in this case held for the plaintiff. As to the award of damages, it was not a matter for him to express any opinion about the amount agreed upon, except that, as it was accepted by the plaintiff and made by the defendant in the generous spirit of making ample provision for her it met with his fullest approval.

The two former lovers sat impassively, a few yards apart, whilst the formalities were completed. The whole case lasted only thirty minutes, at the end of which Miss Markham, dressed in a black silk frock with a white lace collar and a black hat, left the court in possession of the biggest sum in damages that were ever granted to any woman for breach of promise in British legal history. Adjusted for inflation, it was sum amounting to a little more than £4 million at 2010 prices (calculated using http://www.thisismoney.co.uk/historic-inflation-calculator).

For the new marquess it was a crippling blow financially. The newly inherited family estates, built up over a millenium and which had never before changed hands, had to be broken up and sold peicemeal to foot the bill.

In the aftermath of the case, Daisy built a fine new home for herself and her parents and went into seclusion, despite numerous highly lucratative offers to tempt her back to the stage (no doubt intended to exploit the notoriety the case had given her). She did subsequently make a breif return to the stage around 1918, after all the fuss had died down, and subsequently, from May 1920, spent a year in management of the St. James's Theatre where she collaborated with Joseph Hannaford Bennett as a producer of plays. Her last appearance on-stage appearance was as Elaine in her own production of "The Case of Rebellious Susan". In 1921 she played in two British silent movies, "Candytuft, I Mean Veronica" (as Gwynne) and "Ships That Pass in the Night" (as Winifred Reffold). She then quietly faded again from the theatrical scene and lived in obscurity, but presumably in comfort, until 1962 when she passed away at the age of 76.

Some other highly publicised cases from the period involving peers and actresses: