It is only in exceptionally sensational cases that individuals are identified. There was probably no more sensational a case as that of the crimes of Sir Mervyn Tuchet, 2nd Earl of Castlehaven (1593-1631). His case revealed a catalogue of sexual abuse which lingered in the public memory for over 200 years. In the perverse justice system that Parliament created with the Buggery Act created, it was not the rapes and sexual abuses he perpetrated that led to Castlehaven’s execution but the consensual gay acts he had with other man.
Life seemed to be going well for Mervyn when he inherited his title from his father 400 years ago this February. Raised in his English family’s Irish estates and castles he had chosen to live in his ancestral properties in England. He was knighted in 1608 by King James I (or “Queen” James, as he was often referred to). Castlehaven inherited his maternal grandfather’s estates in 1611 (he was named after his grandfather Sir James Mervyn). He then married a coheiress of an extremely wealthy London alderman which brought him more estates. He finally inherited the rest of his Irish estates from his father and a cousin.
Life then began to take a different turn beginning with the death of his wife in around 1622. Castlehaven remarried not long afterwards to Lady Anne, Dowager Baroness Chandos (1580-1647). Virtually from the first day of the marriage Castlehaven exhibited unusually aggressive sexual behaviour.
To say the Castlehaven family was dysfunctional is an understatement. Accusations flew around between father and son, husband and wife, and master and servant. At the centre of it were the activities of the earl himself. First of all, here’s a simple family tree of some of the principal family members involved in the case. This may help to unclutter the jumble of relationships.
On several following nights Castelhaven invited a couple of servants, Henry Skipwith and John Antkill, into bed with him and his wife. When he wasn’t spending the night with his wife and his servants he was with prostitutes and serving boys, according to the countess.
John Antkill was of impoverished gentry stock. He became Lord Castlehaven’s page and rose to become manager of some of the estates before being elected to parliament in 1621. He was the first servant whom the countess accused the earl of forcing upon her. Castlehaven tried to convince her, and fail, that it was no sin to sleep with another man he had chosen for her. And if he couldn’t convince her he was equally unsuccessful in convincing her daughter (his step-daughter) Elizabeth Brydges to do so as well.
Elizabeth Brydges had married her step-brother, Castlehaven’s son and heir, when she was 15 years old. This was not unusual in aristocratic circles at this time. Again, it was a dynastic move and not a love-match. Like her mother the countess Elizabeth and her husband didn’t get on well. But she did seem to find some love in the household in the form of Henry Skipwith.
Henry Skipwith was Castlehaven’s favourite servant. They often slept together and “slept” together, and sometimes Skipwith slept between Castlehaven and the countess. You probably won’t be surprised to learn that the countess became pregnant by Skipwith. Unhappily, the child “disappeared” and Skipwith blamed the countess of having something to do with it and despised her from then on. That’s when Castlehaven decided to couple Skipwith with his step/daughter-in-law to make his own son jealous. It worked.
Castlehaven’s son and heir James, styled Lord Audley, often argued his father over religion, a hot topic in England in those days when Catholics and Protestant were always at each other. Lord Audley was also jealous of the favours and money he poured on his servants Antkill and Skipwith. Forced into the marriage with his new step-sister while they we both just teenagers was no road to happiness. His only positive hope was his eventual inheritance. His succession to the earldom and titles was legally secure, but succession to the estates and wealth was not. Castlehaven could give them to whoever he wanted. When Skipwith began sleeping with the Audley’s wife (even though the couple were so incompatible that they only lived in the same house for a few months after marrying) Audley began to fear that he would become a penniless peer and Skipwith would inherit his estates. Castlehaven had hinted as much.
Undaunted by the family disputes he was fostering and the sexual liaisons he was orchestrating and forcing, Castlehaven continued with his devious crimes. When not doing so he was happily having consensual sex (apparently) with another servant called Florentius (or Lawrence) Fitzpatrick.
And then Giles Broadway arrived on the scene. He was another poor country lad who became a servant. One night as they lay in bed together Castlehaven claimed he had become too old to satisfy his lusty wife, despite being 12 years younger than she was (he didn’t seem to have a problem satisfying his male servants). He encouraged Broadway to sleep with her, and even suggested he marry her after his death. Broadway agreed. So days later Broadway was invited into Castlehaven’s marital bed and while the earl held his wife’s arms firmly to stop her from struggling Broadway raped her.
In November 1630 James, Lord Audley, had had enough of his father’s abusive behaviour and reported him to the authorities. Castlehaven was arrested and put on trial for sodomy and rape in April 1631. Various family members and servants gave evidence against him, but the outcome was not in doubt. The Buggery Act of 1533, under which he was charged, offered only one punishment if found guilty – death. And, indeed, the earl was beheaded on 14th May.
The Castlehaven case became the subject of pamphlets and ballads for several centuries. It would be the sex case everyone mentioned whenever another gay scandal emerged – until the arrest of a certain Oscar Wilde in 1895.
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