If the Jazz Age followed hard upon World War One, no one was in more of a hurry to pivot than British stage star Billie Carleton (Florence Leonora Stewart, 1896-1918), whose sordid drug death occurred following the great Victory Ball at Royal Albert Hall just a couple of weeks after the Armistice was signed.
Carleton was a second generation London chorus girl who’d been onstage since the age of 15. Her elevation to speaking parts occurred in the 1915 London production of the Irving Berlin show Watch Your Step (which had originated on Broadway with the Castles), and was followed by appearances in Houp La! (1916), Charlot’s Some More Samples (1917), The Boy (1917), Fair and Warmer (1918, supporting Fay Compton), and finally her first and last starring part in The Freedom of the Seas (1918). Critics decried her weak singing voice; her beauty and personality seem to have been what fueled her rapid ascent. British Pathe has a short scrap of silent film of the actress taken during these years, in which there is emphatically more personality on display than beauty.
But she was wild, and that can be attractive. Carleton had first been fired for drug use (opium) in 1915. By 1916 widespread use of drugs like opium, morphine, heroin, and cocaine amongst the soldiery and “women of easy virtue” was a scandal in the newspapers. Carleton clearly moved among the social set that partook of these dangerous diversions. On November 27, after her performance in Freedom of the Seas, she attended the Victory Ball until the wee hours of the morning, cavorting with friends like Compton, the young Noel Coward, the recently widowed Irene Castle, and costumier and fashion designer Reggie de Veulle. After a night of partying, Carleton finally went to bed some time after 10:00 a.m. the following morning. By 3:30 in the afternoon of November 28, she was dead.
Drugs had clearly stopped Carleton’s heart, as she was only 22 years old. And there was the little matter of the vanity box full of coke and barbiturates found in her room. Many sources give “overdose of cocaine” as cause of death, but the fact that a maid overheard Carleton sleeping loudly and deeply at around 11:30 in the morning sure sounds to this armchair forensics non-expert more like the downers or the opium at work. Or perhaps it was the combination, as in the speedball deaths of John Belushi, Chris Farley, Mitch Hedberg, River Phoenix, and Philip Seymour Hoffman. (Ye Gods, what a track record. You’d think people would smarten up by now).
A sensational investigation followed, revealing tales of orgies and visits to Chinatown opium dens. de Veulle had been her coke dealer; details about his homosexuality and cross-dressing further damned him with a prejudicial public. The downers were prescribed by Carleton’s close friend, personal physician, and “surrogate parent” Dr. Frederick Stewart, who was in hot water many times for his liberal supply of addictive drugs to his patients. I am particularly intrigued by this man, whose surname happens to be the same as Carleton’s reported given one. If he were her biological father, I’m sure reporters of the day would have made note of it. Was he a stepfather? A boyfriend of her mother? Or just a coincidence? Some sources spell his last name “Stuart” and assert that they hadn’t met until 1915. (All this, I’m sure can be ferreted out, but it will take someone with more time to devote to it than I have). Carleton herself was raised by an aunt named Catherine Joliffe, who, like her mother, was a chorus girl. It also came out that Carleton was the “kept woman” of numerous men, primarily one John Darlinton Marsh, who had rained thousands of pounds upon her. No surprises there! Carleton’s lifestyle was not unusual among show folk. She lived lavishly, well beyond her means, ran up credit, then bailed herself out periodically either by pawning expensive gifts, and/or persuading sugar daddies to come to her aid.
At any rate, Carleton’s shocking death was early in the titillating timeline — months before the long chain of better remembered Hollywood scandals that began circa 1920. It has been memorialized many a time: by Sax Rohmer in his 1919 novel Dope; by Agatha Christie in her 1923 short story “The Affair at the Victory Ball”, and by Noel Coward in his 1924 play The Vortex, for just a few famous examples.
For much more detail (you know you want it) see:
Aimee Crocker: Time Travel and Bohemian Adventures
The Epsom and Ewell History Explorer
For more about classic show biz history consult No Applause, Just Throw Money: The Book That Made Vaudeville Famous.