Physically weak, extremely shy and introverted, Lord John Bentinck, Marquis of Titchfield, isolated himself in his family’s London home. With the death of his father in 1854, the Marquis became the 5th Duke of Portland and owner of the ancestral estates, including Welbeck Abbey. He did not attend his father’s funeral. A newspaper account stated his absence was due to illness. When his mother died, he did not attend her funeral, either. Again the explanation was illness. Initially, he considered refusing the title because of the responsibilities that came with it; three years passed before he took the oath. He let Welbeck Abbey sit idle for nearly ten years while he lived in London. It was a quirky mystery, but his eccentricities seemed harmless enough. He had his newspapers ironed before being handed to him. He demanded that his money be washed and polished before he would touch it. He insisted that cabbies drive in a circle to prove they could manage the horses before he would board. He did not like sunlight—perhaps because of his skin problems. He ordered over 500 wigs and fake beards to hide behind anytime duties forced him to meet someone. In his only known photograph—and it is disputed it is of him—he has a ridiculously thick, full beard and a wig hiding all but his eyes. He tied his pants at the ankles in the manner of common day labors and not in the manner of a proper gentleman. He ordered sets of clothes in different sizes so he could wear his clothing in layers. He continued to wear heavy coats in the summer and he always had that umbrella ready to spring open. His quirks were innocent and fine entertainment for Londoners who enjoyed talking about the crazy Duke of Portland. In 1864—an important year in our narrative—he left London and returned to Welbeck Abbey intending to undertake a major renovation. Locals laughed behind his back that his planned “improvements” were senseless, but they loved him anyway, as he spent his vast inheritance to hire thousands of locals—skilled and unskilled, it didn’t matter—for the massive never-ending building projects at his estate. He had a lake drained, then refilled. Repeatedly. He basically destroyed the magnificent Abbey in the name of continual renovation. First, he placed antiques and family heirlooms in storage and had the large manor home stripped of everything, pictures, furniture, draperies… everything. Next, he had all the walls of the empty manor painted pink. The floors were parquet, at least in part for it each time a floor neared completion he would order it pulled up and done over. Then he sealed off all but five rooms in the western wing. These rooms were his “home”, access strictly forbidden anyone but his personal valet. At least one room was used to store the antiques. Another was used to store boxes of wigs, beards and silk handkerchiefs. The latter had a variety of embroidered initials that didn’t fit the names of anyone in Lord John’s family or circle. In each room a bare toilet had been installed without partitions or privacy. Other than the valet, all servants and workers were forbidden to interact with him. Indeed, all others were forbidden to even look at him. He had a trap door in the floor built so that if someone needed to enter any of his five rooms, he could hide under the floor until they were gone. His valet said weeks would pass without anyone, including him, seeing the duke. The valet knew he was there only because his food was being eaten. The food was always the same: a roasted chicken. He would eat half in the morning and the remainder in the evening, his only two meals. Carrying shyness to the absolute extreme, Lord John tried to make himself invisible. Issuing instructions in handwritten notes left in trays outside his door, he ordered all insignia, names, coats of arms, anything that might identify him, removed from his carriages and other belongings. He ordered construction of heated stables housing over 100 horses. The walls and stables were pink. He ordered construction of a huge riding house, 400 feet long, over 100 feet wide and 50 feet high, heated with over 4,000 gas jets. The interior broke the miles of pink walls. Instead, mirrors lined the walls producing depths of endless reflections. Despite the grand structures, he never went horseback riding. He ordered construction of England’s largest roller skating rink. But he never went roller skating. He ordered construction of an outstanding observatory with a glass roof and large telescope. But he never used it. He ordered construction of over 15 miles of tunnels under his estate. They were engineering marvels, in places wide enough for two carriages to pass. Some had skylights and all were illuminated by a gas lighting system. He had all the walls painted pink. There was no logical reason for the tunnels. Some were a secret underground maze. The tunnel that led to the train depot ran almost directly under the gravel road that led to the front doors of Welbeck Abby. What purpose the tunnels served no one knew. And while it would have been easier and less expensive to construct buildings on the surface, Lord John insisted most be built underground. He ordered construction of an underground 10,000 square foot ballroom with pink walls. He never went dancing, and the ballroom was never used. He ordered construction of an underground library. He never read any of the books. He ordered construction of a large underground billiards room. He never used it. He ordered the construction of an underground rail system that linked all the buildings on his estate. The system was elaborate with heated rail cars and other luxurious accommodations but it was used primarily—so far as is known—to transport roasted chicken from the kitchen to a dumbwaiter that Lord John could pull into his sealed room without interacting with anyone. In addition to the dumbwaiter, he ordered construction of a hydraulic elevator system capable moving twenty people at a time into and out of the tunnels. It was never used during his lifetime. For exercise, the Duke would go for walks in the dark woods after midnight. By most accounts, a female servant would carry a lantern with instructions to remain 20 yards in front of him and to never look back. Another account claims he walked alone with the lantern attached to his belt. Despite his skin ailments, Lord John repeatedly refused to allow a doctor to examine him. He conducted nearly all his business by mail. On the rare occasions he had to go to London in person for business, he would put on three layers of shirts, two overcoats with large turned up collars, a wig, a tall hat and as always he would carry an umbrella that he hid behind if anyone got too near. He would pull the shades of his carriage and secure them so tightly no one could peek in. At the depot, so he wouldn’t have to leave the security of his carriage, a crane would lift the entire carriage onto the train. Once in London, the process was reversed, and when he arrived at Harcourt House in Cavendish Square he would order the sidewalks and entrances cleared, and the servants had to keep their backs to him as he dashed down the hall to his office. Once, when a worker tipped his hat at him, Lord John had him fired immediately. He was supposed to be invisible. Toward the end of his life he fell completely silent. No one heard him speak, evidently not even his valet. Hence, the nickname “Prince of Silence”. Rumors tried to explain the quirky mystery of his behavior. It was said he had a physical deformity that left him impotent. Indeed, the rumor had a kernel of truth; there survive records of a childhood accident that doctors said would leave him unable to have children. Or maybe he was hideously ugly; some whispered he had been scarred by smallpox. Again, recalling his skin disease, the rumor was not entirely false. Darker rumors circulated and caught the attention of authorities in London. That he had murdered his brother or was perhaps a serial killer, persisted. One claimed there was a dead body in a glass box atop Harcourt House. Police investigated, found the glass box and declared it an observatory for watching the night sky. Another rumor claimed that the Lord John who hid his face was an imposter. The real Lord John, the quirky recluse, was actually living in a private insane asylum in Richmond and his powerful family was maintaining an elaborate sham to protect the dukedom. A simple check with the asylum proved the rumor false but it wouldn’t die; it merely morphed: Lord John was in the asylum under an assumed name. The rumors just kept getting more and more ridiculous until the most preposterous one actually landed in court. In 1878 Walter Druce and his wife Anna Marie were riding in a carriage in Castle Hill when they spotted his father walking along the street with another gentleman. It was an extraordinary sighting because his father had been dead for fourteen years. At about the same time, the Duke of Portland, heavily bundled in his sealed carriage, was moving out of Welbeck Abbey to resume permanent residence in London. He would never return. These two seemingly unrelated events launch our very quirky mystery.
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