A Matter of Course

The following year the countess took a rest from her civic responsibilities to prepare for the birth of the Rothes’ second child, the Hon. John Wayland Leslie. The arrival of their new son found Norman in Egypt, where he’d accompanied Lord Milner and other colonial ministers on business; after learning of John’s birth, the proud father hurried home, canceling the second leg of his trip to Italy.

It wasn’t long before Noëlle was back in the busy groove of her increasingly public life. Socially, she and Norman were as active as ever, attending soirees, state ceremonies and sporting events together, as well as hosting their own dinner parties, noted as much for the wonderful food prepared by their Italian chef Valence as for the Rothes’ hospitality. The pair’s good looks, charm and sincere interest in the public welfare made them an exceptional team.

“There are very few young couples in Scottish society more admired,” observed New York World reporter Nixola Greeley-Smith, “than the handsome Lord and Lady Rothes.”

But the earl and countess weren’t without critics. More conservative and religious than many members of the aristocracy at the time, they were derided by some for maintaining a domestic lifestyle not commonly adopted by the upper classes. A snooty Bystander columnist even called the Rothes “a most unfashionably devoted couple.” Their affectionate attachment may have been unusual in the jaded, amoral world of the Edwardians but it didn’t affect their overall popularity; in fact it gave them a special cachet.

For instance, when Noëlle and Norman went to the Perth Hunt Races in September 1910 they were sought out by press photographers because, unlike other married couples in attendance, they remained together throughout the event. Several London news magazines, including The Tatler, published snapshots of the Rothes making their way to the paddock (and looking rather perturbed by the publicity). Their fame as pious young socialites wasn’t something the Rothes encouraged but they grew accustomed to the attention.

Noëlle and Norman at the Perth Hunt Races, 1910

Noëlle, especially, was becoming more visible as a talented hostess and charity organizer. Perhaps her finest moment came at Christmas 1910 when she directed a spectacular set of tableaux vivants honoring the history of Falkland Palace, presented at the former royal residence as part of an anniversary program for the owners of Falkland –– her friends, the Crichton-Stuarts. The more than 20 tableaux, performed by 130 members of old Scotch nobility, were elaborately staged and costumed. Lead parts were taken by the countess herself and two of her little cousins, while Norman joined his son, Malcolm, and their host, Lord Ninian Crichton-Stuart, in another scene.

Shortly thereafter, the Rothes participated in the so-called “Tally Ho!” Ball, an annual two-part dance benefit, again held at Edinburgh’s Music Hall, and drawing a good deal of publicity. Keeping with the first ball’s “Glory of the Hunt” theme, the evening’s quadrille was divided into reels named for famous hunts. Though taking place in January 1911, some months after the death of Edward VII, the court was still in mourning, which dictated the attire of the revelers. The second ball also followed mourning etiquette, with women in black, purple or white gowns, and featured a quadrille with reels named after each of the event’s patronesses. In the “Countess of Rothes’ Reels” gentlemen were dressed in the costume of Highland regiments and the ladies in black gowns with sashes of corresponding clan tartan.

That year was a rewarding one for Noëlle and her work. Having founded a branch of the Red Cross in Leslie, which she endowed with three ambulances, 1911 saw the completion of first aid training for volunteer members, 63 of them receiving certificates from area doctors who conducted the classes.

The Leslie Red Cross Society’s ambulance corps, headquartered at Leslie Town Hall, was called The Countess of Rothes Voluntary Aid Detachment. But Noëlle didn’t just lend her name and money to the Red Cross post in Leslie, she received the necessary training herself, including instruction in artificial respiration from her aunt, already a Red Cross nurse. In light of coming events, it’s a poignant fact that during Noëlle’s initial lessons, she was specifically briefed on first aid for the drowning.

Later in the year, the countess was happy to assist in fundraising for a new ward of the Randolph Wemyss Memorial Hospital in Buckhaven, named for the late husband of one of her friends, Lady Eva Wemyss. Under the patronage of H.R.H. Princess Louise and the Duchess of Wellington, a large outdoor bazaar was held on the grounds of Wemyss Castle to raise money for the proposed 12-bed addition to the hospital. Noëlle was a member of the opening committee and supplied several stalls in the bazaar, donating oil paintings, watercolor drawings, old prints, engravings, rare books, pottery and needlework, among other items from the Leslie collection.

Today the Randolph Wemyss Memorial Hospital is a busy, state-of-the-art modern facility.

As the New Year approached, the earl and countess spent much private time together. In October the couple were guests of the Marquise of Bute, staying a fortnight on his estate. It was a relaxing vacation –– a cottage all to themselves, long walks and rides over the hills. And after Norman and Lord Bute’s six-gun posse hit Kyle moor, bagging grouse, Noëlle and other ladies of the house party “would drive out through the fields to meet the men for an elaborate picnic lunch.”

Back home in Leslie, Norman and Noëlle attended several County Fife test cricket matches. Cricket was one of Norman’s favorite sports, in season or not, and Noëlle shared his interest in the game. According to Ian, the couple’s grandson, Norman was chiefly remembered locally for his fine sportsmanship.

“Lord Rothes was a keen cricketer,” The Scotsman concurred posthumously, “and did much for the game in Leslie.”

By the end of February 1912 cricket wasn’t on the earl’s schedule as he prepared for yet another business trip, this time to America. Arriving in New York Harbor aboard the Cunard Line’s Lusitania, accompanied by colleague Sir Curtis Lampson, Norman was on a mission to compare the efficiency of the U.S. telegraph service, operated by private enterprise, to the state-run British system. As a New York Times correspondent wrote:

There is a great difference of opinion on this subject in England, where it forms a continual and somewhat heated discussion. There has always been a feeling there that the government made a bad bargain when it acquired the telegraph companies by purchase.

Although Norman Rothes’ visit was originally a professional one, his tour of the States and Canada so exhilarated him that he decided to make a pleasure trip of it. On the Pacific Coast by late March, the warm breezes, rambling roses and sea views worked their magic, and he sent a wire to Noëlle, inviting her to come out and join him in Pasadena, California, for an extended holiday. If she left soon, they’d even be able to spend their 12th anniversary together. Norman told Noëlle he would be winding up a business jaunt in Vancouver, British Columbia, at that time, and suggested she meet him there. Afterwards the couple would go back to Pasadena where Norman had rented an idyllic summer place, a bungalow in a grove of orange trees. According to the London Daily Graphic, it was Norman’s “intention to settle down there fruit farming.”

One of Noëlle's best friends was her husband's cousin, Gladys Cherry

The countess was ecstatic at the possibility of sunny California and asked Gladys Cherry, Norman’s first cousin and one of her own close friends, to “experience the adventure of America with her,” as Ian Rothes put it. Gladys accepted the invitation, seeing it as a fine opportunity to spend time with her brother, Charles, then living in New York.

Gladys, daughter of James Frederick Cherry and Lady Emily Cherry (nee Haworth-Leslie), shared with Norman a grandmother in the late Mary Elizabeth, 18th Countess of Rothes. Gladys was three years younger than Noëlle and led an active life in London, being notably “excellent in amateur theatricals,” as the Daily Sketch reported. Gladys may not have relished missing the upcoming social season but the prospect of America was a tantalizing lure.

In the meantime, Noëlle delved into planning their trip, “right down to the details,” she admitted. Typically feminine, her first objective was to order new clothes –– “practically everything (was) new.” Leaving her two sons, Malcolm, 10, and John, 2, to the care of their governess at home was the only regret Noëlle had as she busily prepared for her well-earned holiday.

When the countess told her mother and father about the trip, the Dyer-Edwardes decided to join their daughter as far as France, where they would then go on to open their chalet in Normandy for the spring. This estate, the Chateau de Retival, had been written up in the press as one of the finest French coastal properties (Noëlle had spent much time there in her youth, and had a hand in laying out the gardens with her mother)

Early in the morning of April 10, 1912, following a day of shopping for last minute additions to her new wardrobe, Noëlle, her parents, her maid, Roberta “Cissy” Maioni, and Gladys boarded the boat train at London’s Waterloo Station, bound for Southampton Harbor. The group would sail at noon, and everyone was in anticipation of the voyage, which the countess later admitted to her grandson was to be “the great journey of my life.”

•          •          •

The prospect of seeing America was exciting for Noëlle but so was the fact that she and her family would be making the maiden voyage of the greatest ocean liner in the world.

The venerable White Star Line spared no expense in the construction of its latest wonder ship, largest and most luxurious ever built. According to publicity, it was also the safest afloat; one trade journal labeled the vessel “practically unsinkable.” When the countess’ party went aboard that morning, they must have marveled at the size of the behemoth. Over 46,000 tons, 11 decks high, nearly 900 feet long, the great liner’s name was justified –– Titanic it was indeed.

On April 10, 1912, Titanic (and Noëlle's presence aboard) was front page news - Enlarge

Before the ship left the pier, a horde of journalists scrambled to interview the many wealthy and famous travelers. Noëlle likely considered it a nuisance but she consented to speak briefly to a correspondent for the Paris Herald. Confirming she and her husband were interested in buying an American orange grove, she said they’d be coming back home in July “to take their children over.” Asked by the reporter “how she liked the idea of leaving London society for a California fruit farm,” Noëlle couldn’t contain her amusement and frankly replied, “I am full of joyful expectation.”

Noëlle’s parents, Thomas and Clementina, were also enthusiastic, although for them the voyage would be but a short trip across the Channel to Cherbourg, Titanic’s first port-of-call. There they would disembark –– a lucky thing for the couple. But what of the ominous near-collision during the departure from Southampton, when another ship was sucked from its moorings by the sudden displacement of water caused by the sheer size of Titanic? Did it cause the Dyer-Edwardes to worry for their daughter’s safety as she continued overseas alone on the new, unpracticed liner?

Whiling away the time, the pair enjoyed exploring the ship and testing its amenities, ordering tea in the reception room, perhaps, or strolling the decks with their daughter. Conversation might have included concern for the children back home, plans for a reunion in a few months, or their delight in –– or anxiety about –– the ship’s performance.

Delayed by the mishap, Titanic didn’t drop anchor in Cherbourg Bay until dusk. White Star’s shuttle Nomadic was awaiting the late arrival, and as the leviathan dropped anchor nearby, the wash from its approach caused the smaller craft to pitch and wallow. With nightfall the ferry began unloading passengers and cargo, and the group of cross-Channel ticket-holders prepared for the ride back to port. Boarding Nomadic at about 7:30 p.m., the Dyer-Edwardes bade farewell to Noëlle and Gladys. Noëlle later said her mother hesitated for a moment, then “rushed back for a final embrace.”

As the tender steamed out into the night the couple waved goodbye. Though seemingly ill at ease about leaving, they could never have guessed the danger that lay ahead for their daughter and her friend.

•          •          •

Danger was the last thing on anyone’s mind as the “unsinkable” Titanic glistened in the sunlight of the following morning, April 11. At anchor at its second and final port-of-call, Queenstown (now Cobh), Ireland, the ship took on more passengers and cargo. Any anxiety caused by the brush with disaster the previous day had subsided. The near-miss was now seen as a lark by many, even as proof of Titanic’s supposed invincibility; no one regarded it as an omen. Gladys Cherry marveled at the “perfect confidence people had in that great boat.”

Noëlle and Gladys, still in high spirits about this first trip to America, were settling into their ocean-borne home. Booked together in a small stateroom, No. 37 on C-Deck, the women possibly upgraded later to a larger one further down the corridor. Researchers, including Daniel Klistorner, an expert on Titanic’s accommodations, think the pair may have been reassigned to starboard cabin C-77.

Making the space livable without a luggage closet, with which some of the bigger cabins were equipped, may have posed a problem for the women, laden as they were with all the fussy accoutrements dictated by early 20th century fashionable life. Noëlle was traveling with no less than three steamer trunks, in addition to other suitcases, and Gladys probably had as much luggage. Still, there’s no documented evidence that the ladies moved cabins.

The countess seemed to have packed everything, from her elaborate gold and silver dressing table set with matching wardrobe clock to the new dresses and lingerie she’d bought in London. She had with her all her favorite furs (ermine, seal and black fox) along with every adjunct of the Edwardian belle –– feather boas, fans, gloves, high-buttoned shoes and, of course, an array of fabulous jewelry. Most of Noëlle’s collection consisted of pearl and diamond pieces, including an extraordinary $900 diamond belt buckle ($27,000 today) which may have been in the motif of the Leslie coat-of-arms. While the countess’ athleticism was reflected in her choice of practical linen sportswear and motoring veils, she indulged her flair for style in her selection of hats from the ultra chic Hanover Square shop of Zyrot et Cie. But nothing in her wardrobe was as valuable or as sentimental as a length of 400-year-old Brussels lace. The ancient material was a wedding present from her mother, and Noëlle still used it to trim her gowns.

Noëlle in her peeress robes for the 1911 Coronation of George V.

Unpacking their bags may have been a task Noëlle and Gladys attended to without the aid of Noëlle’s maid, Cissy, who became sick the night before and was confined to her own cabin on E-Deck for most of the voyage. Nineteen years old, blonde and very pretty, Cissy’s illness didn’t discourage the attentions of an unidentified bedroom steward, and the two had a romance. It’s not clear if Noëlle was aware of her maid’s dalliance at the time but she knew of it soon afterwards, and in later years Cissy wrote a story about it for a newspaper competition.