Ada Leverson, part 1: Edith and Bruce, the little Ottleys

When I spotted the Virago Modern Classic edition of Ada Leverson's three-novel collection The Little Ottleys at my local library book sale, I hesitated. I feared that I would find her stories of social and emotional dilemmas among the Edwardian privileged classes, who are depicted in all their insularity and entitlement, to be more annoying than amusing.

I needn't have worried: her portrait of the marital constraints that male vanity and obtuseness place on intelligent and deeply-feeling women is quietly devastating.

I. Edith and Bruce

The opening scene from Love's Shadow (1908), the first of the three novels, perfectly encapsulates the dynamic of the central relationship in The Little Ottleys:

'There's only one thing I must really implore you, Edith,' said Bruce anxiously. 'Don't make me late at the office!'

'Certainly not, Bruce,' answered Edith sedately. She was seated opposite her husband at breakfast in a very new, very small, very white flat in Knightsbridge—exactly like thousands of other new, small, white flats. She was young and pretty, but not obvious. One might suppose that she was more subtle than was shown by her usual expression, which was merely cheerful and intelligent.

'Now I have to write that letter before I go,' Bruce exclaimed, starting up and looking at her reproachfully. 'Why didn't I write it last night?'

Edith hadn't the slightest idea, as she had heard nothing of the letter before, but, in the course of three years, she had learnt that it saved time to accept trifling injustices. So she looked guilty and a little remorseful. He magnanimously forgave her, and began to write the letter at a neat white writing-table.

'How many g's are there in "Raggett"?' he asked suspiciously.

She didn't answer, apparently overtaken by a sudden fit of absence of mind.

'Only one, of course. How absurd you are!' said her husband, laughing, as he finished the letter and came back to the table.

She poured out more coffee.

'It's a curious thing,' he went on in a tone of impartial regret, 'that, with all the fuss about modern culture and higher education nowadays, girls are not even taught to spell!'

'Yes, isn't it? But even if I had been taught, it might not have been much use. I might just not have been taught to spell "Raggett". It's a name, isn't it?'

'It's a very well-known name,' said Bruce.

'I daresay it is, but I don't know it. Would you like to see the boy before you go?'

'What a question! I always like to see the boy. But you know perfectly well I haven't time this morning.'

'Very well, dear. You can see him this afternoon.'

'Why do you say that? You know I'm going golfing with Goldthorpe! It really is hard, Edith, when a man has to work so much that he has scarcely any time for his wife and child.'

She looked sympathetic.

'What are you doing today?' he asked.

'Hyacinth's coming to fetch me for a drive in the motor.'

His face brightened. He said kindly, 'I am so glad, darling, that you have such a delightful friend—when I can't be with you. I admire Hyacinth very much, in every way. She seems devoted to you, too, which is really very nice of her. What I mean to say is, that in her position she might know anybody. You see my point?'

'Quite.'

'How did you meet her originally?'

'We were school-friends.'

'She's such a lovely creature; I wonder she doesn't marry.'

'Yes, but she has to find someone else whom she thinks a lovely creature, too.'

'Edith, dear.'

'Yes, Bruce.'

'I wish you wouldn't snap me up like that. Oh, I know you don't mean it, but it's growing on you, rather.'

She tried to look serious, and said gently, 'Is it, really? I am sorry.'

'You don't mind me telling you of it, do you?'

'Not at all. I'm afraid you will be late, Bruce.'

He started up and hurried away, reminding Edith that dinner was to be at eight. They parted with affectionate smiles.

When he had gone down in the lift, Edith took an inextensive walk through the entire flat, going into each room, and looking at herself in every looking-glass. She appeared to like herself best in the dining-room mirror, for she returned, stared into it rather gravely for some little time, and then said to herself: 'Yes, I'm beginning to look bored.' [1]

As well she might, chained for life to the insufferable Bruce.

II. Ada and Ernest

According to Sally Beauman's introduction to The Little Ottleys, at 19 Ada Beddington married businessman Ernest Leverson against her parents' wishes. He was at least a decade older than Ada. Perhaps at first acquaintance he seemed charming; or perhaps for a lively, clever, pleasure-loving young woman he simply promised an escape from the confines of her family home. After their marriage, writes Beauman, Ada quickly learned that Ernest was "a compulsive gambler, and incautious investor, and a philanderer," whose "ward" was really his illegitimate daughter from a previous liaison. The fatuous, self-absorbed, and self-pitying Bruce Ottley is widely assumed to be based on Ernest. And Edith, with her quick perception, calm good sense, and subtle humor, is often seen as a self-portrait of Ada.

III. One is not enough

I had intended this post to be a review of all three novels in The Little Ottleys. But in the process of researching and writing it I learned that Ada Leverson was much more than a keenly witty novelist. It soon became clear that a single post couldn't do her justice. So over the next several posts I will explore her remarkable life, times and work, including her friendship with Oscar Wilde, her loyalty during and after his trials, the increasing strains on her marriage (and its ultimate dissolution), and her discovery of her gifts as a novelist. I hope you'll enjoy accompanying me on that journey.

Next time: Ada Leverson, part 2: Friendship with Oscar Wilde

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1. Ada Leverson, The Little Ottleys: Love's Shadow (Virago/Dial, 1983), Ch. I. Quote from Sally Beauman's introduction, p. x. Full text of Love's Shadow available at Project Gutenberg: https://gutenberg.org/cache/epub/9786/pg9786.html