THE GIRL WHO STOLE A HUNDRED TITLES

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 684, 8 June 1929, Page 18

THE GIRL WHO STOLE A HUNDRED TITLES

Princess’s “Cousin ’who Borrowed Ten Pounds . . . Novel Method of Buying Fur Coats . . . “Touching” Episode with Marie Corelli . . .

r } MONG the gentler forms JJL V of exploiting gullibility one must award a high VjfHKMf j place to the society adventuress who goes about the world posing as a woman of title. It is not so difficult as it seems—at any rate for a time. Provided you possess the necessary savoir-faire and unlimited cheek you can get away with it—for a time! I have come into contact with many women who rely for their livelihood on spoofing society (writes a contributor to an English newspaper), and some of them fly pretty high. One successfully deluded the world for a long time that she was a daughter of the Austrian Emperor, but was eventually confronted with her longlost brother, a respectable teacher of music, who was not in the least anxious to claim royal blood. Another adventuress had the colossal cheek to make her way into Warwick Castle, introduce herself to the wealthy American tenant as a cousin of Prjncess Patricia, borrow ten pounds, and in making her exit casually remark: “Thank you so very much. I must bring the Princess to see you some time!” Furs—But No Funds One can only imagine the feelings k'f her victim. As it turned out, the impostor made a bad deal on this occasion, for the police were communicated with and the next attempted “touch” took her to gaol for IS months. On one occasion she escorted some American tourisis to Word worth’s grave, where she knelt down aiid with flowing tears murmured that she was a descendant, of the famous poet and could not look upon his grave without being moved to emotion. When funds were running low. she would take a title, engage a suite of rooms at a luxurious West End hotel, and then sally forth on a raiding expedition. Simplicity itself to a woman of good presence and engaging tongue!

Making her way up Bond Street she would sail into a likely-looking costumier's establishment and say: “Good morning. I want you to show me some fur coats.”

She always dressed well, and nine times out of ten she stepped out of an expensive hired ear. At the mention of a fur coat the proprietor would come bustling forward, but the woman didn’t buy the first she was offered. She would try them all on, from 200 to 1,000 guineas, and then regretfully murmur that “Sir James” would not care to pay more than 500 guineas. The proprietor didn’t mind that. Pricking up his ears at the mention of “Sir James,” he would agree that her ladyship looked very well in the 500guinea coat and ask where it was to be sent. He would be told: “Lady Dashwood, Grosvenor Square.” And would the messenger bring the coat along and receive a cheque? How she obtained possession of the coat was a masterpiece of trickery. Accompanied by the boy, she entered the car and told the chauffeur to take her to an address in the Square. When she arrived there she pulled a key from her bag, imperiously saying to the youth: “Give me the parcel and go down the area steps into the servants’ quarters. I will send a cheque down by the butler.” She walked up the steps of the house, rang the bell, and remained waiting until she saw the boy safely out of sight. Then she returned to the car and disappeared. Parlourmaid as Peeress Her adventures in society would fill a book. In turn she has called herself Lady Lawrence. Lady Johnstone, Lady Dashwood, Lady Muir, the Hon. Mrs. Percival, and goodness only knows what else. And in her earlier days she had been a domestic servant !

She was in Paris for some time, accompanied by a genuine titled woman who was so charmed that she introduced her to all her friends and made her known in the ltue de la Paix as a desirable customer. The bill for a sumptuous wardrobe has never been paid. Then she made a tour of the jewellery establishments, had a profitable time, and was getting along nicely when she rashly attended a reception at the British Embassy, where one of the secretaries asked her a few questions and came to the conclusion she was an arrant fraud. in the heyday of her career she

turned up at this biggest hotel in Eastbourne, calling herself Lady Johnstone, but rather discounting her potential value as a guest by carrying her luggage in a brown-paper parcel. “My bags have gone astray,” she t.old the dubious manager. “It doesn’t matter for tonight; I expect they’ll turn up tomorrow.” But four days passed and still her ladyship’s luggage did not appear. In the meantime she had been making a tour of the town. A couple of suitcases, clothing of all sorts, found their way to the hotel, and for a time her ladyship was in clover. Unfortunately, she didn't possess the money to pay her bill, and the manager saw fit to call in the police and have his guest removed to the uncomfortable seclusion of a prison cell. Fond of Policemen She was fairly industrious in her time. For something like twenty years less, of course, her terms in gaol, she strutted the stage as a woman of title, imposing upon everyone she met. Her affairs of the heart were almost as numerous as her depredations. When she was not at her old tricks of posing as a woman of title, she was having a flourishing time at the expense of some impressionable male. But although herself the gay deceiver, she more than once fell a victim to a personality as fascinating as her own. There was a Canadian colonel who “married” her, and then, when exposure came, disclosed the fact that he already had a wife. And, strange as it may seem, she had a fondness for policemen! One of her achievements was her adventure with Miss Marie Corelli. On this particular occasion she called herself Lady Ramsay, engaged in showing a party of American tourists over Stratford-on-Avon, where Miss Corelli lived. A “Royal” Impostor "I want you to attend a dinner party I am giving,” said. “Lady Ramsay,” over the telephone. So ingratiatingly did she introduce herself that Miss Corelli told her all her troubles, how she had been prosecuted for food hoarding' and had had a row with Mr. Lloyd George. There was a “touching” end to this little episode. “I am so very sorry,” remarked the adventuress one day at Miss Corelli’s house. “I’ve lost my purse with forty or fifty pounds in it. You might let me have some money to get back to London.”

Miss Corelli may have thought it rather strange that a lady of royal relationship should be iu such a predicament. Still, she produced ten pounds. Recently the woman made another of her appearances at the London Sessions, where she stood in the dock with doxvneast eyes and meekly said nothing when Sir Robert Wallace informed her that lie had a good mind to send her to penal servitude.

But Sir Robei't is a merciful judge; he looked at the prisoner and probably came to the conclusion that all her adventurous deceptions had brought her precious little profit. So he sent her to prison for 15 months and warned her that her next appearance would entail more serious consequences.