On the hillside sloping down to the great road they found a modest cottage, which, with some adjoining land, they purchased and commenced to convert into the odd museum it is now. They called it “Plas Newydd,” and by that name it is now familiar to many thousands of summer visitors to Llangollen.
It was not long before the fame of this so-called “romantic” retreat spread to London; brought, doubtless, by some traveller whom the Ladies, as keenly alive to advertisement as any theatrical manager, had invited up from that not too comfortable hostelry, the “Hand.” From that time forward a constantly increasing stream of callers presented letters of introduction at Plas Newydd, on their passage along the great road. Every one who was any one found a welcome there. Rank, fashion, art and literature, politics, were all represented in their visitors-books. Artistic and literary visitors left sketches and sonnets, and presented autograph editions; rank and fashion gossipped and tittle-tattled and corresponded; and political and influential callers eventually made a Government pension possible to these precious “hermits.” It was in 1788 that Lord Mornington wrote them, somewhat mysteriously, about some “arrears” in that pension which “he will not fail to interest himself in despatching,” adding that “Mr. Pitt is acquainted with their situation and with the motive that so greatly recommends them to His Majesty’s favour.” What was that recommendation? What national service did the Ladies of Llangollen render that they should have received a Government subsidy? Is it possible that, in those palmy days of the Secret Service Fund, the Ladies were eavesdropping agents, gathering political gossip from Irish members travelling this road and reporting it to Downing Street?
In no real sense did these two friends retire from the world. Indeed, they visited all the best people within reach of a carriage-drive from Llangollen; but always, however far the distance, making it a point never to sleep away from home. Their costume was invariable, and strange. It consisted of riding-dress; with white stockings, shoes, beaver hats, stiff starched neckcloth, and short, powdered hair. Their coats were of decidedly masculine cut. Charles Mathews, who saw them occupying a box at the Oswestry Theatre when he was playing there in 1820, said they “looked exactly like two respectable superannuated old clergymen.” Their love of jewellery, however, was a distinctly feminine trait, and was carried an inordinate length. Lady Eleanor had the Cordon of the Order of St. Louis, presented by Louis XVIII.; and both wore a vulgar profusion of ribbons, brooches, and rings.