Meet some of the movers and shakers who have lived at Montacute over the centuries, from the man who tried Guy Fawkes to a saucy novelist who courted scandal.
The grand designer
© NTPL / Derrick E Witty
Sir Edward Phelips (1560-1614) was the man who put Montacute on the map. Perhaps his crowning glory was getting the trial of Guy Fawkes off to a bang as the opening prosecutor. Conspirators beware – this portrait of him will be vetting you as you enter the house.
Having made his fortune as a lawyer, Phelips wanted the ultimate status symbol to show off his wealth and power. He commissioned Montacute House in 1588 and it was completed 13 years later. Phelips also carried a lot of political clout. He became Speaker of the House of Commons in 1604.
At his majesty's pleasure
Never cross the King or you might end up spending time at his pleasure. So Sir Robert Phelips (1586-1638), son of Sir Edward, found out. The intelligent but impetuous and anti-Catholic Sir Robert was arrested at Montacute and enjoyed an eight-month stay in the Tower for opposing King James I’s plans to marry his son, the future Charles I, to a Catholic princess.
At Montacute, Sir Robert could enjoy the finer things in life. The inventory taken on his death lists gold and silver plate alone valued at £470, a small fortune. He knew he had lived it up too much when he was sued by his stepmother for money he owed.
The gambling squire
© NTPL / Derrick E Witty
Sir William Phelips (1823-89) cuts a dashing and prosperous figure in this portrait, which hangs in the Parlour Passage. Sadly, life wasn't as rosy as it looked for ‘The Gambling Squire’. For William had a mental illness which made him a compulsive gambler.
He was perhaps taking things to extremes when he once, famously, placed a bet on one of two flies crawling down a window-pane. Upon losing, William was heard to mysteriously say 'There go Sock and Beerly!'. Montacute never recovered from his excesses and by 1911 the family's treasures and the estate had been sold off and tenants had moved in.
The PM in waiting
We all suffer our disappointments in life, but perhaps not so acute as George Nathaniel Curzon. In 1923, Marquess Curzon was waiting at Montacute for the nod to say that he was the new Prime Minister. There was no phone, but at last a telegram arrived with news. The supremely confident Curzon travelled up to London with great expectations only to find that Stanley Baldwin had got the top job.
During his 10 years as tenant at Montacute, from 1915 until 1925, Curzon redecorated the house. Sure to make a splash is the en-suite he installed in Lord Curzon's Room, hidden inside a cupboard.
Love in a cold climate
The things we do for love... The novelist Elinor Glyn lived at Montacute for 18 months as the mistress of Marquess Curzon, enduring arctic temperatures to stay by her man's side. But she couldn't stop Curzon's feelings cooling along with the weather, and knew the frost had well and truly set in when she of read of his engagement to Mrs Alfred Duggan in the Times.
A Jilly Cooper ahead of her time, Glyn liked to cause a stir. Her passion, eccentricity and love of furs added to the notoriety. As this ditty about her asks 'which would you prefer?':
Would you like to sin
with Elinor Glyn
on a tiger skin?
Or would you prefer
to err
with her
on some other fur?
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