Word Wenches

Royal Weddings Through the Ages

Anne here, interviewing three of the seven authors who contributed to a Harlequin Historical anthology called Royal Weddings Through the Ages — Terri Brisbin, Michelle Willingham and Elizabeth Rolls. It's a fascinating idea — looking at royal weddings from the 12th century to the middle of the 19th century — and even one about Napoleon's royal wedding. 

Anne: What was the brief for this anthology? Whose idea was it ? Did you each choose your own Royal Wedding or were they allocated to you?

Terri: The idea for the anthology came from the London editors who wanted to do something to celebrate the (then) upcoming royal wedding of Prince William to Kate Middleton last April. They decided to commission a collection of short historical stories about real royal weddings of the past and invited Harlequin Historical and Mills&Boon Historical authors to write them. Each author chose their royal wedding, though I know I was specifically asked to write a medieval one.

Anne: Terri, your story was about the marriage of  Eleanor of Aquitaine and the future Henry 11 in 1152. Could you tell us a little about it, please? 

Terri: It's called  WHAT THE DUCHESS WANTS. Eleanor, the wealthiest woman in Europe, has just been freed from her marriage to Louis of France and knows she must find a suitable husband quickly. Her wealth attracts many suitors and this time the decision lies in her hands. Who should she choose? 

Henry of Anjou is hungry—for lands, for titles and especially for the woman who could help in his quest to gain the ultimate position—King of England. Though years separate them, Henry understands that beneath the titles she carries and the wealth and power she controls, Eleanor is a woman. . . a woman who must be wooed to marriage.

They would establish a dynasty that would be among the most famous in history and it would all begin with a simple decision – what did the duchess want?

Anne: Royal weddings aren't the easiest of topics for a romantic story — what was the main challenge of your story?

Terri: For me, the challenge came because I chose to use the actual royal couple for my story. To stay accurate to the real history of Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II and yet make it a love story required walking a narrow path while making it entertaining. I truly believe that there must have been some softer feelings, at least an attraction, between Eleanor and Henry that made him her choice of husband and lord. 

Anne: Did you discover anything in your research that surprised you? 

Terri: I did discover that it was quite the practice to kidnap heiresses to gain control of their persons AND their fortunes. Eleanor herself was the target of at least one kidnapping attempt on her way back to Aquitaine from Paris after her divorce. The perpetrator was Henry’s younger brother who wanted Eleanor as his bride....and her wealth, too.

Anne: Thanks, Terri. Michelle, you chose the marriage of Richard the Lionheart. What influenced your choice?

Michelle: I chose Richard and Berengaria because I’ve always loved that era in history and it held a strong connection to my Irish medieval series.

Anne: What was the main challenge for you in telling Richard and Berengaria's story?

Michelle: For me, one challenge was Richard the Lionheart’s sexuality. It’s a gray area and historians argue about whether or not he was bisexual, gay, or why his marriage to Berengaria was so challenging. It makes for a challenging happily-ever-after, considering he and Berengaria were separated after the Crusade and they never had any children. I ended up using a different hero/heroine, based off my Irish medieval MacEgan Brothers series, and framed their love story around Richard and Berengaria’s wedding.


Anne: That's a clever solution. Tell us about the story.

Michelle: Princess Berengaria's lady-in-waiting, Adriana, takes her duty to the future Queen of England seriously—she will defend her to the death! When their sea voyage to the Holy Land ends up in shipwreck and capture Adriana knows her only hope lies with the mysterious Irishman, Liam MacEgan.

Liam escapes to reach Richard the Lionheart and together they plan a rescue mission. Nothing will stop these warriors from succeeding—their future brides are captive on Cyprus and they'll raise hell to claim them!

Anne: Did anything of interest pop up in the research that surprised you? Something you had to leave out of the story?

Michelle: I never knew that Richard and Berengaria were married on the island of Cyprus. (That's Cyprus on the left.) It was quite an adventurous story in real life, with Berengaria shipwrecked off the island, and Richard had to overthrow the emperor of Cyprus to take back his bride. I did leave out Richard’s experiences on Crusade but was able to use it as material for a future story (in my anthology Warriors in Winter that comes out next December). Apparently Saladin and Richard couldn’t come to an agreement, and out of rage, Richard ordered the execution of over 2700 Muslim men, women, and children. His ruthless nature was surprising, but I was able to use that event in a later story because the hero Liam refuses to kill the women and children.

Anne: Thanks, Michelle. Now we'll jump a few centuries to the marriage of the Prince of Wales, later to become the Prince Regent in 1811. I must admit, Elizabeth Roll's story was the first in the anthology I turned to, precisely because I couldn't imagine how anyone could possibly make the Prince of Wales and Princess Caroline's wedding romantic. Elizabeth? 

Elizabeth: I deliberately chose the wedding of George, Prince of Wales, later Prince Regent and George IV, and Princess Caroline of Brunswick-Wolfen-Buttel, precisely because it was so awful. Their first meeting and courtship - using the term loosely! - were truly scandalous. Prinny really did send his current mistress, Lady Jersey, down to Greenwich to meet the Princess. The main challenge was in portraying Prinny and Caroline very much as the historical record gives them to us, warts and all, from contemporary accounts and contrasting it with the way Kester and Linnet dealt with their own forced marriage of convenience. I thought all the scandal and drama around the royal wedding could create a good backdrop. And let's face it, we all love a good dollop of scandal<g>.

Anne: We do indeed. And I have to say, I thought the interweaving of the romance story with the royal wedding story worked really well. Did anything of interest pop up in the research that surprised you?
 
Elizabeth: Not so much that surprised me. I read fairly widely in that period and I was reasonably familiar with all the nasty little ins and outs of that particular royal marriage. There was no way I could get in much about Prinny's suspected prior and illegal marriage to the Catholic widow, Maria Fitzherbert; I had to allude to it, though, otherwise the way the poor Archbishop of Canterbury conducted the marriage didn't make a whole lot of sense. I'll admit to getting a belly laugh out of the accounts I read of the actual wedding. 

Anne: So, tell us about your story, Elizabeth.

Elizabeth:  Kester, Duke of Severn, has recently contracted a marriage of convenience to an heiress in order to save his family from his father's crushing debts. So he feels a certain sympathy with the Prince of Wales, who is being forced into marriage to settle his own debts. Being begged by Lord Malmesbury to intervene between the bickering royal couple leads Kester and Linnet to take another look at their own marriage.

Here's a short excerpt from Elizabeth's story, a conversation between Lord Malesbury and the hero of the story, the Duke of Severn.

"Lord, what a mess. Severn, if you can, try to see the prince. Represent to him the. . .the folly of continuing to insult his bride. She is not, I fear, of a governable or tractable temper. This, on top of sending Lady Jersey as a lady-in-waiting to meet her at Greenwich."

"He didn't."

"Oh, yes, he did," said Malmesbury. "Apparently the queen was behind it. And the blasted woman was late! Lady Jersey that is—not Her Majesty." His teeth actually ground. "Furthermore she had the temerity to attempt to sit beside the princess in the carriage. Claimed the motion made her unwell if she sat facing backwards!"

"Well, quite apart from Prinny's rudeness in sending his mistress to receive his bride," said Severn, "why the devil did Lady Jersey accept the appointment if she can't sit in a carriage backwards?"

Malmesbury's smile was pure acid. "I asked her that myself. Anyway, look Severn, if you can talk with the prince, try if you can to get him to see reason. He likes you. And haven't you recently married?"

"I returned from my honeymoon yesterday." And he didn't want to talk about it to anyone, least of all Prinny. "I'm surprised you knew anything about it."

The baron nodded. "Oh, yes, someone mentioned it in a letter. The thing is, he might listen to you. Voice of experience and so forth." Malmesbury looked apologetic. "After all, there are parallels, if you will forgive my bluntness."

Severn forcibly relaxed his hands. "At least His Highness is marrying to settle his own debts." he said coldly. "Then, at Malmesbury's steady regard, he sighed. "Oh, very well. I'll try what I can do, but I'm not making any promises."

Terri, Michelle and Elizabeth are each giving away a copy of Royal Weddings Through the Ages to someone who leaves a comment, asks a question of our guetsts, or leaves an answer to the following question:
— Which wedding, royal or otherwise, would you like to see as the subject for a story?

A Weekend in the Country

Nicola here! Last weekend we met up with some of our college friends for our annual reunion. This was the 27^th year we have done this. We started small – ten of us having dinner together in a rented flat in London in 1986. (Here we all are in the picture - I hope my friends will forgive me!) As time passed and we became a little more prosperous we met in various country house hotels where someone else cooked the dinner for us. Then some members of the group got married, some had children and we wanted to bring partners and kids along so we moved the location to old coaching inns in towns and cities where there was plenty to occupy the children. Then it all changed again. About six years ago we decided to go back to catering for ourselves and we took it in turns to book houses that could accommodate up to twenty-four people. This year it was my turn to arrange the weekend and I knew exactly where I wanted us to go – somewhere historic.

It’s not easy to arrange accommodation for twenty-four when you’re looking for a fair degree of comfort. You also need a degree in mathematics simply to work out which rooms can accommodate which combination of families. It’s even more difficult to find somewhere old that will accommodate twenty-four people and not cost the earth. I looked at various splendid stately homes. One, in Somerset, was a 13^th century manor house. It sounded fabulous but it cost £11 000 for the weekend. There was plenty of choice in Scotland and at a very reasonable price. The problem was that it would take us all weekend simply to get there. Next!

An 18^th Century Farm

I realised we would need to set our sights a little lower. Then I found Luckley Farm (pictured), in a village in the Cotswolds near Stow-On-The-Wold. Stow is an ancient market town packed with interesting old buildings, quirky shops and two wonderful antiquarian booksellers. Luckley was only a few miles outside of the town in the middle of stunning countryside. It was perfect, an 18^th century farmhouse with 21^st century plumbing. When I say farmhouse, I’m talking about the kind of very substantial home a prosperous farmer would live in during the late 18^th and early 19^th century. Luckley was a big house and a working farm. In 1806 the rent charged for it was over £500. The tenant farmer also had considerable standing in the neighbourhood. Samuel Shelton, who lived at Luckley at the turn of the 19^th century, was described as a “yeoman” in the records. From the Middle Ages a yeoman was a free man who owned or worked a parcel of land. By the late 18^th century he was a solid member of the middle class. Samuel Shelton was happy to engage in correspondence with Sir Charles Cockerell the owner of Sezincote, the local “big house” about improvements to the church and did not seem overawed by his aristocratic neighbours, pointing out in one letter that the parishoners needed a warm, dry church and since Sir Charles only visited a couple of times a year it was hardly fair to penalise the people who attended every week!

 Down on the Farm

The day started early on the Regency farm. Both the farmer and his wife would be up at 5am, the wife getting the servant girls up to light the fires and get milking, making the cheese or churning the butter. The housewife herself would be quite prepared to turn her hand to any of these tasks and also to tend to the animals, collect the eggs and take the farm produce to market.

Behind the house at Luckley was a walled garden with fruit trees and in the farmyard a beautiful dovecote. The dovecote would have been a valuable source of meat, manure and feathers. In the medieval period only manorial lords were allowed to have a dovecote but the laws were relaxed after 1600 and many farms then built them. There is also a restored granary at Luckley. Granaries were built from the mid 17^th century onwards when changes in farming methods led to increased grain production and the need to find a means of storage for large quantities of it.

As lesser gentry the yeoman and his family might well still live as their ancestors had done, the farmer's wife looking after the house, family, servants and animals. They would not be part of the society that went up to London for the season and the daughters in particular might receive a very basic education at the local school. However there were yeomen who were ambitious for their daughters to marry further up the social scale and these girls became genteel, adopting the accomplishments of drawing and embroidery and even reading upon occasion! Some old-fashioned people complained that these girls were no longer any good at shearing a sheep or even cleaning or making a pudding. Financial ruin was never far away from such families, though. A couple of bad harvests could reverse their fortunes and then the girls might find themselves looking for a post as governess.

Luckley Farmhouse

Although the farmhouse had been renovated and changed over the years there were still plenty of the original 18^th century features left. There was a huge kitchen with bread ovens on each side of the enormous open fireplace and a big, comfortable drawing room that featured family portraits from the 19^th century. We all took our turn for a photograph under the ancestors. (The picture shows the dh and me taking our turn in the hot seat!) The portraits of the male members of the family looked every inch the Victorian country gentlemen they had become. According to the family story we were told, the Victorian owner of Luckley married a much younger lady (the one in the portrait above us.) There was some sort of scandal and they had to go abroad to get married!

On the first floor of the house, up a wide wooden staircase, were four bedrooms, one with a 19^th century four-poster bed. (Yes, I grabbed that one!) All the rooms on this floor had their original windows with stone embrasures and mullioned panes. On the top floor were a further two rooms with wonderful original beams on display. It would be difficult to find a more inspiring place for a historical romance writer – and friends – to stay. The house had a definite atmosphere and more than one guest mentioned that they had sensed a ghostly presence and seen a mysterious white shadow wafting about the house!

It was also a house packed with old books. One wall on the first floor was completely taken up with a bookcase whose contents varied from the religious to the medical to Barbara Cartland romances to a “health and efficiency” manual about sex published in the 1920s!

We had a wonderful weeked full of friendship and nostalgia and plans for the future. It was lovely to see everyone and explore such a beautiful place. Plus I came away with ideas for settings, characters - and Regency scandals!

Do you have friendships going back many years? Do you go to reunions of family, high school or college friends? What would be your perfect venue?

(1) Guests; (2) Joanna Bourne Wins!

GUESTS:

 Happy Leap Year!  Wednesday, February 29, is Leap Day, and on that special day, Anne Gracie will host guests Terri Brisbin, Michelle Willingham and Elizabeth Rolls. They will talk about their stories in Royal Weddings Through the Ages, released this month.  Join us on Wednesday and let's talk about royal weddings!

JOANNA BOURNE CLEANS UP:

You've no doubt read all the rave reviews for Joanna Bourne's November 2011 release, The Black Hawk.The book is definitely a reviewer favorite.  It's also a reader favorite, as evidenced by the results of the All About Romance annual reader poll.  The votes are in, and The Black Hawk made a sweep, claiming wins in seven (seven!) categories:

Best Romance
Best Historical Romance Not Set in the U.K.
Biggest Tearjerker (tie)
Best Romance Hero 
Best Romance Heroine
Most Kickass Heroine (tie)
Best Romance Couple

The Wenches join with all those intelligent and astute readers in congratulating Joanna for such an astounding accomplishment.  Well done, Joanna!

 

Visiting Lord Derby

Hi, Jo here, planning a visit to an aristocratic town house -- in my imagination! I just picked up a book called The Classic English Town House, by Rachel Stewart. It has Adam's plan for Lord Derby's house at 26, Grosvenor Square. I've seen it before, but this time I decided to simplify it to make the layout easier to follow, so we could imagine visiting it.

It's a plan for the refurbishing of the interior of an existing house, probably a similar one to these.

The plan is only of the ground floor and first floor, which is the second to an American. There were probably two more floors of bedrooms and servants' quarters in the attics. There was certainly a basement with storerooms, kitchens and other offices.

So here's the simplified plan of the ground floor. Remember, you can click on an image to see it in a larger size.

The house was about 30 feet wide.

Visiting the House.

(All that follows is my interpretation of what I've read. I'd love to have additional or conflicting information.)

Simple folk like us.
We knock at the door, which is in the center of the hall. Of course, being of the lower orders we're shooed away, or to the servents' entrance, but let's assume we have some reasonable reason for invading. We'll be left in the hall, or perhaps offered a chair under the beady eye of the porter. His quarters are the tiny square in the hall there.

If we're respectable enough, we would be taken to the anteroom whilst the footman goes to inform milord or milady of our arrival.

Dinner guests

Let's assume we're invited to the house to dine. You'll see that the dining room is on the ground floor. This is efficiently closer to the kitchens, but it's also on the public floor of the house, not the more intimate first floor. We will probably be taken through the anteroom to the parlour before the meal. If it is a gentlemen's meal, which they often were -- business lunches, in effect, and in the 18th century an afternoon meal -- then the diners might progress no further than the dining room.

However you'll see that beyond the dining room is the library, which would largely be a male domain, so some might be invited there after the meal for further discussions.  Beyond that lies milord's dressing room. There would be a single bed there for his use when not visiting his wife on the upper floor. Interesting to see both here and in milady's suite a water closet, though it's not clear where it discharges to.

If the meal was for gentlemen and ladies then the ladies would leave and go to one of the drawing rooms on the first floor to enjoy tea or coffee while the gentlemen got down to serious business over port and such.

A Rout

Now let's consider that popular form of entertaining, the rout. I assume, but do not know, that the name comes from route, because it was a matter of traveling through the house, seeing and being seen. For these events as much furniture as possible would be removed.

I've cut down to the drawing rooms. There's a reason for three. We enter the house and divest ourselves of cloaks and such, giving them into the care of our maid or valet. We go upstairs and work our way through the first, second, and third drawing rooms, where there's a convenient exit to the stairs and off we go!

A Ball?

These townhouses weren't suitable for grand balls, but the Third Drawing Room, at 22 x 33 feet could hold a small dance. In that case the other two rooms could be for cards or gossip.

Other Entertainments

There could be a musical evening, a card party, a salon of poetry and discussion, all in one or more drawing rooms. This museum room has no furniture, but we could enjoy the like.

I hope you enjoyed this visit. Remember, too, that this would be one of the grander townhouses in London, where land was scarce and expensive. Others were narrower and might have fewer floors.

The book The Classic English Town House points out that these small aristocratic houses only worked because there were surrounded by services. In the country the nobility could house many servants, incluing maintenance staff, services such as a bakery and brewhouse, and large storage areas. That wasn't possible in a London townhouse, but extra servants, food, drink, repair people and such were all around, for there wasn't much separation between rich and poor. If the house didn't have stables there would be a livery stable not far away.

So, any comments or additional information?

Cheers

Jo

 

Shattered Rainbows: The why, the how, the where

by Mary Jo

Last week I published the e-book edition of Shattered Rainbows on the major selling platforms (Nook and Kindle) and it will be at other sellers soon.  Shattered Rainbows is #5 in my Fallen Angels series (here's an excerpt), and I’ve finished proofing #6. River of Fire, which will be available within a couple of weeks.

For years, I've received plaintive requests from readers about these books, which are out of print.  So—finally, after months of work tucked in around writing new books, blogging, petting cats, housework, living life, etc,. the complete 7 book Fallen Angels series will be available in e-editions around the world.  (Book #7, One Perfect Rose, is already available in a Kensington e-edition.) 

Since a number of people enjoyed the background of how an earlier book in the series was written, here's some of the story behind this story. 

Proofing scans of the books and making minor tweaks has been a lot of work, but also a surprising amount of fun.  I still like these characters and their stories, and I think they’ve stood the test of time fairly well.  (Well, I would think that, wouldn’t I?  <g>)  

One Seriously Tortured Hero

Shattered Rainbows is blessed with one of my most tortured heroes.  Lord Michael Kenyon had a vile family life and was saved by the friendship of the other Fallen Angels he met as a boy at Eton.  He becomes a soldier and comes close to betraying one of his closest friends through the manipulations of the wicked woman he disastrously loved.  He has GUILT! 

I thought it would be a particularly hard book to write, but in fact, it flowed very smoothly even though it’s a long book with lots of plot and research and tormented, complicated characters.  (No book is easy.  But at least this one flowed well.)

I think that SR is the book where I realized that having a compelling plot makes a book easier to write.  Much harder is a very character driven book where there are fewer events for the characters to react to.

A Pretty Tortured Heroine, too

The heroine also has her issues.  Catherine Melbourne had married very young to a philandering cavalry officer, and she and her daughter “follow the drum” through the Peninsular campaigns.  There were officers’ wives who did this, though Catherine’s actions as a battlefield nurse owe more to the career of Florence Nightingale half a century later.  For her stunning (and unfortunate) beauty, kindness, and nursing ability, she’s known as “St. Catherine,” a label she wears uneasily because of her own deep sense of inadequacy.  So this makes TWO guilt ridden characters!  No wonder the book flowed smoothly.

Waterloo: The Road to Hell

In Regency romance, the Napoleonic wars are a constant drumbeat in the background, and not infrequently in the foreground.  Heaven knows I’ve contributed more than my share of military heroes and spies of both genders to the mix.  But Shattered Rainbows is my full-on Waterloo book. 

Since I have an inexplicable fondness for British miitary history, I loved researching the battle.  Huge amounts have been written about Waterloo, but one of the best sources was THE FACE OF BATTLE by the wonderful British military historian Sir John Keegan.  His books are notable for his marvelous writing clarity.  In The Face of Battle, he describes the experience of actually being a soldier on the battlefield.  He covers three battles: Agincourt (arrows and spears), Waterloo (musket balls and cannon), and the WWI Battle of the Somme (machine guns and field artillery.) 

Waterloo is called the last great black powder battle, and Keegan describes the clouds of stinging smoke that reduced visibility of the battle to almost nothing.  He explains column and squares and troop movements with vivid power.  Trampled rye crops and muddy ground, and Napoleon's last great throw of the dice.

Given all the research I did for the battle, I’m very proud of myself for keeping Waterloo to one chapter of my book. Even there I cut between Michael commanding barely trained infantry troops and Catherine and her daughter tending to wounded soldiers on the streets of Brussels.  Powerful stuff, and all drawn from the historical record.  (The movie Waterloo is also a great research resource since they had real armies in front of the cameras.)

After the battle, when Michael lies near death from his wounds, Catherine and my faithful fictional surgeon, Ian Kinlock, perform a blood transfusion to save Michael’s life.  In pre-internet days, it was very hard to find much information, but it was pretty clear that such a procedure was far more likely to kill than cure. 

It was theoretically possible that a transfusion might save someone’s life and this is fiction.  I asked two different doctors about the procedure, and they were both absolutely horrified.  (GOOSE QUILLS??!!! They knew less about the history of transfusion than I did. <G>)  As a romantic metaphor about two people who love each other but are constrained by honor to never speak, the transfusion was great!

The Road to Heaven

The second half of the book is a whole different chunk of research as Catherine learns that she is heir to a feudal island off Cornwall—but her cranky grandfather will leave the island to a male cousin if Catherine doesn’t have a reliable husband.  Catherine is a widow by now, but hiding the fact (with good reason) so she asks Michael to pose as her husband.  (Yes, it’s contrived, but being over the top is in the DNA of historical romance. <G>) 

So they go off to the island and have many wild adventures before achieving their happy ending.  The research fun came from creating my fictional island, which is based on the feudal Channel Isle of Sark. Sark is considered British, but it’s ruled by a hereditary Seigneur.  The current one is 22nd in his line, and his grandmother was Sybil Hathaway, the famous Dame of Sark, who ruled the island during the time of the Nazi occupation. 

This was a feast for a writer.  I named my islands Skoal (“skull”) and Bone and gave them a Viking heritage.  Two sections of Sark are joined by a narrow strip of land that rises over a hundred meters (330 feet) from the sea.  In other words, there’s a lethal drop on each side, and children used to cross the neck of land on their hands and knees so they wouldn’t blow over.  Needless to say, I got mileage out of a similar feature in my fictional islands. 

There is one last bit of real history I want to mention.  Many years ago, I visited the Outer Hebrides island of Lewis and Harris off the west coast of Scotland.  It’s a wild, primitive place, and life has always been harsh. We visited an abandoned village of collapsed black houses—a primitive structure with dry stone walls and a turf roof.  The sort of place you’d share with your livestock on a cold and windy night.

This was years before I started writing, but as I looked the stone ruins, I thought it would make a great setting for a chase scene in a suspense novel.

And so it did. <G>

Have you ever looked at something and thought “That should be in a book?”  And since many of you are writers—have you ever put such things in a book?  If so, tell me about it!

Mary Jo, who loves the cover done by the amazingly talented Kimberly Killion of Hot Damn Designs. 

Bang Up To The Mark

Cara/Andrea here,

I was musing the other day on how, despite the gilded splendor of Mayfair balls and the civilized rituals of Polite Society, Regency life was really fraught with danger at every turn. Footpads, highwaymen, unscrupulous villains of every sort—not to speak of Napoleon’s armies marching through all of Europe . . . was it any wonder that most every gentleman’s basic necessities included not only breeches and boots but also aa pistol. Or probably two, as most bucks of the ton would want to have his own matched pair of dueling weapons, just in case.

Now, it’s not that I was in a murderous mood, mind you. But it did get me to thinking about Regency firearms . . . and one name immediately flashed to mind. Manton. Now, how many times have you read that one of our storybook heroes—or heroines—saves the day with a deadly accurate shot from weapon crafted by Joseph Manton?  Like Almack’s, Gunter’s and Astley’s, Manton is an iconic name in Regency-set books. So I decided to peer beneath the puffs of black powder smoke and take a closer look at this Prince of Precision—for his firearms were considered the best that money could buy.

Born in 1766, Joseph Manton was apparently an ardent sportsman in his youth, and like most of his contemporaries spent countless hours walking the English countryside banging away at birds and game. The firearms of the day weren’t all that accurate, a fact that must have sparked Manton’s creativity because he began to experiment with new ways to add rifling to a gun barrel. (Rifling is a spiraled grooving cut into the inside of the barrel which imparts spin—and thus far greater accuracy—to a bullet. Thus rifled weapons, as opposed to smoothbore weapons, are far more deadly.)

Manton’s sporting guns gained a reputation for quality and accuracy, and he went into gunsmithing business with his brother John, who was also interested in shot and powder. The partnership didn’t last long and John broke away to form his own business crafting firearms. For the rest of their lives they would be rivals, and while John Manton’s weapons are also considered fine firearms, it was Joe Manton whose name became synonymous with the best pistols and rifles that money could buy.

Manton was soon making weapons for more than just sport. A technical wizard, he was constantly tinkering with gun design, and throughout his professional life developed many new innovations which changed the way weapons were made.  One of his early inventions was a wooden cup, or sabot, for bullets that improved loading time and accuracy. (Don’t ask me to explain the scientific reasons, but it is considered the precursor to modern shell casings.)

He also noticed that most people tended to aim low when firing a weapon, so the front sights of his guns were made to compensate for this. In addition, he noted that in dueling, the recoil of a pistol often kicked the barrel up, throwing off the aim. So he added extra weight to the barrel, which made his pistols steadier, and thus they aimed truer. (Ummm, if I were heading out to a dawn meeting on Houndslow Heath, I certainly know whose pistol I would want to be packing in my pocket!) Needless to say, his expertise earned him a loyal following, including the Duke of Wellington (see left for the Duke’s rifle and shipping label affixed to the gunbox.)

Manton’s firearms possess a lethal beauty. They are not only precision instruments of death and destruction but are also, quite simply, works of art. The craftsmanship is superb and the decorative touches are exquisite. The stocks—lovely burled walnut and other rich woods—are etched with intricate patterns to ensure a good grip, while the engraved embellishments have a sublime delicacy that belies their practical purpose.

This artistry didn’t come cheap. One of the sources I read said that a Manton single-barreled fowler sold for 25 guineas, and a "London Best" double sold for 55 guineas—princely sums for the era. (Manton weapons still command a pretty penny today. They are highly prized collector’s items and go for very high prices at auction.) It’s also no surprise that a number of his apprentices went on to become some of the most legendary gunmakers of the 19th century, including James Purdey, Joseph Lang and Charles Lancaster.

I came across a rather humorous story that recounts how Manton’s coach was once stopped by a highwayman who ordered him to “Stand and deliver.” Recognizing the weapon as one of his own, Manton supposedly sputtered, “Damn it, you rascal, I’m Joe Manton and that’s one of my pistols you’ve got! How dare you try to rob me!” To which the highwayman responded, “You charged me ten guineas for this pistol, which was a damned swindle— though I admit it’s a damned good barker.” The thief then compromised and agreed to rob gunmaker of only ten guineas. Despite the deal, Manton was said to be so incised by the robbery that he promptly went back to his workshop and designed a double barreled carriage pistol. (See right. No doubt the story is apocryphal, but it’s amusing nonetheless. And the truth is, Manton was fascinated by double barreled weapons and created a number of them, including fowling guns and rifles like the one owned by Wellington.)

A lesser known aspect of Manton’s lillustrious career was the fact that he also worked with the British government on cannon design, and pioneered many innovations that presaged developments in modern ballistics. Sadly, he ended up in a prolonged and expensive legal battle with the Board of Ordnance over patents and payments. He ended up losing his fortune and was declared bankrupt in 1826.

I love learning these little tidbits of history, and feel they add to my appreciation of the era, whether I’m reading novels or non-fiction. What about you? Do you find it fun? And are there any iconic Regency people or places that you would like to know more about?

A Burns Night Toast

A couple of weeks ago, my husband and I visited some good friends, native Scots, for their nearly-annual Burns Night Supper. We’ve shared this traditional Scottish event with them for years, taking part in all the rituals of a traditional Burns Supper -– toasts and responses, poetry, whisky tasting, traditional Scottish dishes, and of course, celebrating the arrival of the haggis, carried steaming hot into the dining room accompanied by the bagpipes (LIVE bagpipe music, played by other friends who definitely know how to pipe in the haggis and regale the guests!).

A typical Burns Night includes more than just a great meal and great company, several wee sippies of good whisky, and plenty of Burns poetry and songs. There’s also the sequence of evening's events: the ritual carrying in of the haggis accompanied by bagpipe music, the Address to a Haggis (and slicing with a sword), the Immortal Memory, the Toast to the Lassies and Reply to the Laddies, poetry readings, more toasts, and Auld Lang Syne. Our meal this year included the haggis, a savory big sausagey sort of thing that's apparently quite tasty (being a non-meat-eater, I always skip it), and we enjoyed neeps ‘n tatties (mashed turnips and potatoes), delicious salmon and veggies, fresh-baked shortbread and a superb trifle. And whisky. And, to polish it all off, hot tea made as only Brits and Scots can make it. That, and friendship and Burns -- perfection.    

Since Burns Night is a January holiday, just past (celebrated around January 25, his birthday), I thought I’d trot out a portion of an Immortal Memory Toast that I wrote for one of these annual suppers. And since it’s also just past Valentine's Dayk, it seems a fitting time to take a look at Robert Burns, the famous (or infamous) lover of women, and lover of love--

Susan's Immortal Memory Toast to Robert Burns

Born in 1759, Robert Burns grew up in a time when Scotland needed a poet more than a hero—the time for martial heroics had ended with the defeat at Culloden, and soon the poetry and songs of Burns, Hogg and later Scott helped to heal and restore Scottish national pride. Burns wrote in the vernacular, showed a disdain for government and authority, and wrote wry, astute observations on life with sympathy for the common man. He died in his thirties, leaving a rich legacy of verses, and while it’s not always his best work, much of it is brilliant, humorous, sometimes profound. He wrote of Scottish freedom with fire and fervor in a poem celebrating Bruce and victories past:

Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots wham Bruce has aften led
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victorie!

And (in keeping with Valentine’s week!) he wrote reams of romantic verses in love songs and poetry. He was a handsome, charming, talented guy who loved women (as often as he could)... and to his credit, he seems to have greatly appreciated females, and did make an effort to understand them to a better degree than many of his 18th century contemporaries. But he enjoyed them too much, with a wickedly roving eye and heart. Robert was in love with love, and seemed to have some difficulties with commitment ...

He said of himself that he was "a miserable dupe to love."

There was Nellie, when he was 15: And whilst that virtue warms my breast/I'll love my handsome Nell.

Margaret, to whom he proposed when he was 16: Peggy dear...My fair, my lovely charmer!

Allison, to whom he proposed: And by thy een sae bonie blue/ I swear I’m thine forever, O!

Entering dancing school, Rob found many opportunities to research his love songs. And he helped found the Tarbolton Bachelors Club as its president. Each member was required to be “a professed lover of one or more of the female sex." No Hellfire Club for these lusty young gents, no dark catacombs and lechery, just passionate admirers of the opposite gender. They debated dilemmas of love and broken hearts. Robbie himself favored, in one debate, the lass with no fortune, bless his idealistic heart.

In 1784, he met Jean Armour: My heart was caught before I thought, and by a Mauchlin lady
We'll get back to her, long-suffering, tolerant lady that she was. 

Then there was Elizabeth, who gives birth to Robbie’s first child, whom he called Dear-Bought Bess: Welcome, lily bonie, sweet, wee dochter
Tho' ye come here a wee unsought for…

Jean Armour is pregnant when she and Robert serve penance for fornication:
For I've lately been on quarantine/A proven fornicator ... 
Robert is ordered to sit in the pew; Jean, seven months pregnant, must stand in repentance.

Then he meets the lovely Mary Campbell, who was his famous “Highland Mary” --

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes/Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream/Flow gently sweet Afton disturb not her dream

Burns wanted to marry her, but Jean was pregnant with twins this time…and Mary died unexpectedly, possibly with child. A year later, Meg, another servant girl, demands legal security from Burns for their unborn child. He denies it–-the only time he did.

Soon he meets Agnes Craig, a married woman whom he called Clarinda in years of correspondence that indicated a love affair: Had we never lov'd sae kindly/Had we never lov'd sae blindly/Never met--or never parted/We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

During that time, Jenny Clow bears Robert a son. Two months later, Jean Armour gives birth to a second set of twins. Her family throws her out and serves Robert with a writ. Meanwhile, Robert begins work as an excise man along the Solway firth. He acknowledges Jean as his wife by Scottish law with a binding spoken agreemen to marry. Months later, another son is born to Jean and Robert.

I hae a wife o' my ain
I'll partake wi' naebody
I'll tak Cuckold frae nane
I'll gie Cuckold to naebody.

A year later, his daughter is born to Helen Parks. Jean Armour takes the baby in as her own, and a week later, gives birth to her own son. She nurses both infants.

"Oor Rob should hae two wives," she said patiently.
In the three years following, she had another daughter and another son.

Robert died on July 21, 1796, of pneumonia or rheumatic fever that developed after he walked hom drunk in a pouring rain, pausing to lie down in the road for a little nap. On the day of his funeral, Jean gave birth to yet another boy.

Burns, passionate, irrepressible, charming, handsome, brilliant and out of control, had relationships, affairs, at least a dozen children –- and of those children that survived, he acknowledged and did his best to provide for them, though he barely made ends meet. A parade of crushes, loves, and dalliances notwithstanding, he seems to have understood love in all its forms, joyful and sad, frolicking and profound. He loved being in love. He understood passion (perhaps too well...) and he experienced the full gamut of love and life himself in three short decades. And though he died young, still in his thirties, he had a rare ability to express emotional richness.

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary, fu' o' care!
Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling birds
That wanton lightly through the air
Thou minds me o' departed joys
Departed, never to return.

The ritual of the Burns Supper was started by Robert Burns' close friends just a few years after his death to honor him, his contributions and genius, and the good times they had. The format that began then is still very much the same today, including the various whisky toasts, the welcome to the Haggis, and so on. We can be grateful to Burns for many things, among them, his famous Address to the Haggis:

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the pudden race!

Nor can we forget Robert’s particular love affair with something else -- good Scots whisky:

We are na fou, we're na that fou/But just a drappie in our ee;

And -

Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin
Tho life's a gift no worth receivin
When heavy-dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin
But oil'd by thee
The wheel's o' life gae down-hill scrievin
Wi' rattlin glee.

So here's to the wheels o' life, and here's to Robbie Burns!

Have you ever been to a Burns Supper? If you were in a relationship with Robbie Burns today, how long would it take before you told him what you thought? What advice would you give Jean Armour?  

Susan

 

 

 

 

 

 

What Working Wenches Wear

by Mary Jo

Hi, there!  For today’s Ask A Wench, I delved into the Wenchly question jar and came up with this one from J. Wishard:

"Let's have an authors fashion show of sorts. Why not ask the Word Wenches to describe or show a photo of how they dress to "write/work".  And do any of them have a piece of clothing that is their "lucky" writing clothes, such as lucky socks?“

This turned out to be a lot of fun! First up:

Nicola Cornick:

Ok, so this photo was taken a little while ago but I still have a penchant for rolling my jacket sleeves up when I work and I also love a bit of fancy headgear! My favourite hat is big and furry and was bought at a vintage sale. When the weather gets really cold I have been known to wear it at my desk because I feel the cold when I'm sitting still and writing. I have a lucky silver ring which I bought in the Orkney Islands and which is patterned with runic designs.

 

 

 Joanna Bourne:

When I'm working, my fashion statement tends to be . . . bright.  Frequently red.  Sometimes with exuberant flowers.  I'm so absent-minded that if I don't dress in noticeable colors, I lose myself.

This is me in my favorite vintage Hawaiian shirt, all energized by that tropical magic and caffeine.

 

  

 

 

Patricia RIce:

I’m not superstitious, which smacks too close to paranoia for my logical mind. No lucky socks or sandals. Heavy sweaters and corduroys in winter, turtlenecks and jeans for the mild seasons, capris and button shirts in summer. My one peculiarity is that I never, ever do T-shirts. Don't even own one. And I never have pics of myself around the house. I'm sure we all look like Anne's photo at our desks!

 

Susan Fraser King:

What do I wear when deep in the writing? Mostly plain, comfy stuff in gray and black. (I love black – I’d wear it every day if I could!). Some of my favorite pieces of author-mode clothing are pretty tattered by now, but crazy soft and comfortable. I also love plaids, not just because I write Scotland, but because I love tartan patterns and colors.

Here are some items from my current writing wardrobe: a gray sweatshirt that I’ve had forever – note the tattered sleeve with the hole in it! (Liz Claiborne petite, really soft and a great fit; I’d love to find another just like it) … a black long-sleeve tee … and another favorite piece, a plaid quilted vest that’s great for winter and cooler air-conditioned nights too … and flip flops, which I wear year round. And I love this simple jewelry piece, a chunk of amethyst and citrine wrapped in silver wire that looks like a thistle!

So in writing mode, I’m all about flip flops and ragged gray sweatshirts. Nothing fancy. It’s so not me – and darker, quieter tones help me to focus amid the distractions of an active household where something can easily lure me away from my office and the work to be done! Once the writing takes over, all the rest can vanish for a while.

Cara Elliot/Andrea Penrose:

Lucky socks? Nope. Pashima shawls? Nope. And certainly not corsets or crepe de chine. Alas, my writing garb would definitely not make the fashion plates of La Belle Assemble. I dress for comfort, which currently means something warm and fuzzy, like Ugg sheepskin slippers and a polarfleece pullover.

Now, some people collect stylish little stiletto heels and slinky shifts, but my closet is crammed with Patagonia Snap-Ts, Nike dri-FIT and North Face wind-foil. Most are black or earth shades—I tend to like neutral colors—but I do have a few snazzy colors like red, limes and mango, for when the mood strikes me. (No correlation between wearing hot colors and writing hot scenes . . .but maybe that's something I should think about.)

 Jo Beverley:

I'm afraid I just wear what I'm wearing. As I always dress comfortably around the house, it doesn't matter what I'm doing -- reading, writing, cooking etc. I wish I had lucky socks, a pashmina of passion, or undies of inspiration, but sadly, no.

Mary Jo Putney:

Like most of the Wenches, I write in comfort clothes, usually oversize knits from Lands End and L. L. Bean.  Like Pat, cord trousers and sweaters in winter, lighter clothing in summer.  I always kick my shoes off (loafers in winter, slides in the summer) and write in my (not particularly) lucky socks.  Very boring.

THEN—I read Jo’s entry and realized that I do indeed have pashminas of passion.  Lots of them, in different weights and colors for the seasons.  My house isn’t particularly cold, but as I sit at a computer, my joints like a bit of extra warmth.  Here’s a picture of some of my pashminas of passion.  The adorable little sheep is Lamb Chop, whom we met in Rotorua, New Zealand.  It was love at first sight for her and our bear, Wellington, so she came home with us.  (Antipodean females are very intrepid travelers!)

Anne Gracie:

I don't wear anything particularly special to write in, but I do believe it's important to dress appropriately — to dress like an author, walk like an author, talk like an author, grunt and squeak and squ—er, I forget the rest of that quote.

So I dress in a simple, elegant, casual manner that befits my lifestyle. For instance this is the kind of thing I throw on most days — that's me walking from my bedroom to my office (pic by Kat from bookthingo) I have a variety of such outfits, naturally. One for each day of the week.

So nothing fancy, or special, like lucky socks for me. Just simple, tasteful, comfortable clothing.

MJP: So that’s the Wenchly fashion show!  If you think that most writers make Casual Friday look like formal wear—you’re probably right.  Except for Anne!

For asking the question that inspired this blog, JF Wishard gets a free book from me.  Thanks for the question!

What do you wear to work?  And what would you wear if you could choose whatever you want? <G>

Mary Jo, adding a picture of what our site mistress, Sherrie Holmes, wears at her computer since she has so much pizzaz!

 

A good map is a thing of beauty

Anne here, confessing that I've always liked maps. I get frustrated when things don't include maps, when a map would make it all so much more accsssible and interesting. And since I was a kid I've loved the really old maps, where the countries look nothing like the shape of the countries we know now, and where sea monsters and mermaids cavort in the stretches of empty sea. Here's one from 1872.

Here be dragons?
It's not strictly true, actually — that most of the old maps said that, I mean. As far as I know that phrase was only used on one map — a 16th century copper globe known as the The Lenox Globe and it didn't actually say "Here be Dragons," it was in Latin and said "HC SVNT DRACONES" (which means the same thing). But it's a good tale and a great image and I'd be delighted to have dragons lurking on the edge of any map of mine. There are still dragons lurking — they just look different.

Landscape is important to me, so I use maps all the time for my research.I would happily tramp the streets and country lanes where my heroes and heroines walk, but I can't. So I do the next best thing — I consult a map.

I love having the ability to see the actual arial view of the land through google maps. I remember when I was searching the Dorset coastline for a suitable place for my heroine in Stolen Princess to land. You can imagine my delight when I found not only the perfect cove, which has a smuggling history, but saw through the arial view the faint outline of a path from the beach up the cliff. Through all the writing of that book, I had a detailed map of the area pinned to my noticeboard and photos of the surrounding countryside. Some were part of my collage for the story.

Do I use all these details?
No, otherwise readers all over the place would be dropping like flies, zzzing out of my story, but it helps to build the landscape in my mind and when I'm writing I can "see" the landscape. 

In my current story, the heroine can see over the back wall of the house she's in, right into the neighboring house. It's a crucial part of the plot.
I know it's possible as I've done exactly that at a friend's house in inner London. But was it possible during the Regency in the area I want? So it's off the the Horwood Map for me.
The Horwood Map? you ask, scratching your head. It was a landmark map of its day, and a huge achievement. And for me, it's a source of fascination and delight.

The Horwood Map of London

By the late 18th century the growth and expansion of London had proceeded on such a scale that the last detailed city map, John Roque's Plan of 1740, had become hopelessly out of date. As well, much redeveloping was starting to take place, with old buildings and estates being demolished and new developments being constructed, particularly in the west and the north of the city. There was an urgent need for a good quality, detailed and accurate plan of the city to me made available to the developers, surveyors and gentlemen of property, for city planning was not controlled by government in those days. This is Roque's map, below.


Map-making in those days was a private activity also, not a subject of government departments as it so often is now. Richard Horwood decided to accept this challenge. He was not a famous map-maker and had only published one other map, of the city of Liverpool. But he was a man of determination and ambition.

Horwood raised the money for the survey by subscription — it was an investment in what he hoped would be a money making endeavor. By the mid-1790's he'd raised £4,000 in cash, and had secured a loan from the Phoenix Fire Company for the rest.

It was all done by hand — or rather, by foot. Horwood and his surveyors tramped the whole of the city, measuring and drawing and noting down everything in amazing detail. Not everything, because not all people were well-disposed toward the project and the surveyors and map-makers weren't always granted access to private estates, military sites such as the Tower of London and sometimes even to back alleys. 

The final map was a triumph of the mapmaker's art. Horwood had aimed to show every single property, every house, alleyway and street, every court and square and garden — and with a few exceptions, he succeeded. His map is detailed in a way that takes your breath away, even today, and was a landmark achievement. Here's a small part of it. Click on the image for a larger size map with clearer detail.

Marvelous, isn't it? Sadly, though his map of London made Richard Horwood's reputation, and made his name live on in history, the map didn't make him a fortune, as he'd hoped. But what a legacy.

With the continuing growth of the city it was inevitable that his map would soon fall out of date, and in 1827 Christopher and John Greenwood published a new map. It's a wonderful map, very detailed and excellent to show how the city had grown in the twenty-five years since Horwood, but to my mind it lacks Horwood's crisp detail and visual appeal. Here's part of the Greenwood map showing much the same area as the Horwood one. 

To pore over these maps is to pore over Georgian London. One can almost see the city come to life. In these maps, I found a number of good possibilities for my current story. I can see the places that are in easy walking distance of her house, a market where she might shop, a park, a poor house she might pass and think, "there but for the grace of God..."

London was a fascinating mix of rich and poor in those days. Did you see the workhouse in Mount Street, in the heart of Mayfair on the Horwood Map? it wasn't all rich people. And you can see it, right there on the map.

My heroine lives in an area that contains grand houses, but which was rapidly falling out of fashion, so there's an interesting mix of people, as you get when an area is changing demographically. 

I do a search for images of some of the places marked on the map and I find several that have survived the centuries, and images of others.

Here's a drawing of the Hungerford market, long since demolished for late Regency era housing.

And as I look at the map I'm reminded that the Thames Embankment hadn't been built yet and maybe I can use the proximity of the river... Ah yes, I do love a good map.

What about you? Do you like maps? Only use them when you have to? Or do you prefer to use an electronic Global Positioning thingy-whatsits that tell you to turn right or left? Or do you (or the driver in your life) prefer to operate On Instinct. 

(1) CARA'S NEWS (2) WINNERS

CARA/ANDREA:

Cara/Andrea is very excited to announce that 7 of her Andrea Pickens traditional Regencies—including the RITA final The Storybook Hero are now available exclusively on Amazon at a very good price—just in time for Valentine's Day!

WINNERS:

Oh, my, do we have more winners!  Pearl Berger started off this round by winning a book from Nicola.  Ora E. Amis and Laura Jordan both won books from Mary Jo.  Helene Grannes won a book from Anne.  Double winners Ann Stephens and Kathryn each won a book from Jo.  And last but certainly not least, Artemisia won a book from Joanna.  Congratulations, winners!

 

Treading The Boards

Nicola here. I’m busy planning a couple of trips to London to the theatre. I was thrilled to see that two of my favourite plays, She Stoops to Conquer, a Georgian comedy by Oliver Goldsmith and the Restoration comedy The Recruiting Officer, are on this spring. I love a lot of the 17^th and 18^th century comedies and thinking about the enduring appeal of the theatre also made me think about the theatre in the Georgian and Regency era and the huge popularity it had. Not only was theatre popular in London, it was also all the rage in the provinces where private theatres as well as public ones sprang up. Theatrical performances were also found in more unlikely places. Apparently The Recruiting Officer was the first play staged in Australia by convicts of the First Fleet in 1789.

 The Work of the Devil

The English Civil War and the Commonwealth that followed dealt a severe blow to the theatre as all playacting was banned as the work of the devil. Theatre started to recover in the reign of Charles II and by the end of the 18^th century it was hugely popular with an estimated two thousand people visiting the theatre each night. Most London theatres were not open all the year round. Drury Lane and Covent Garden were the only two that had licences for the whole year. The rest were seasonal; the Haymarket, for example, was a summer house open from April to October. Members of the Ton would subscribe to a theatre or opera box for the season, appear there as part of their policy “to see and be seen” and often talk through the performance. A box cost up to 7 shillings per night to rent. Prices were cheaper for the common man or woman in the Pit and there was also the benefit of ale and oranges on sale as fruit girls and pot boys would circulate between acts, the equivalent of the ice cream vendor today.

The London playhouses were very large. Drury Lane could accommodate an audience of over three and a half thousand. Plays rarely ran for very long and there was a constant demand for new shows. Over two thousand were produced between 1750 and 1800. Of these only the works of Sheridan and Goldsmith have survived in popularity into the present. One critic referred to the others as “tedious, heavy with sentimentality, middle-class morality and the work ethic.” Some of the actors, though, have gone down in history amongst the all time greats, Edmund Kean and Sarah Siddons for example. The theatre could also be the route to a glittering marriage. The actress Louisa Brunton, who married the 1^st Earl of Craven, was said to possess a great deal more beauty than acting talent. 

Theatres had mainly wooden interiors which were always at risk of fire. In 1794 the Drury Lane Theatre, London introduced the first iron safety curtain, which would eventually become a statutory requirement in all large theatres. It also had a large water tank on its roof – a feature that was adopted by other theatres – to extinguish fire in the stage area. Despite this the theatre burned down in 1809.

The formal theatre was only one form of playacting in the capital. There was also comic opera, ballet, puppet theatre, which appealed to both children and adults, and the “theatre of varieties”, the forerunner to 19^th century music hall, which was broader and coarser in humour. All these performances contained music in some shape and form and so were not classified as plays.

Pantomime was also coming into vogue. In 1788 The Arabian nights was turned into a drama and performed at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. The popularity of the stories with a Georgian audience was based in part on the way that the lives of ordinary people could be transformed through magic. They contained very contemporary and appealing themes. They were also stories that were full of sexual desire. An eighteenth century audience could deal quite comfortably with this. They were stories for a sophisticated audience who relished sensuality since they contained excess of all sorts, from eating and drinking to orgies!

The Theatre Royal

Out in the provinces every small town had its own elegant theatre. A series of royal patents were granted to certain cities to establish “Theatres Royal.” One of my favourites is the Bath Theatre Royal. It is intimate and elegant and has a very historic atmosphere. Built in 1805, it boasts several ghosts and claims to be the most haunted theatre in Britain. The Grey Lady is the theatre’s most famous ghost. She haunts the boxes and the dress circle corridor and her appearance is accompanied by the scent of jasmine. The phantom doorman appears only to members of the cast and like the Grey Lady is seen wearing Georgian dress.

The Theatre Royal in Bury St Edmunds was established in 1819 and recently restored. It is the sole surviving example of a Regency theatre in England and offers the most wonderful tours and workshops giving an insight into the theatre in the Regency period. Also in the eighteenth century, companies of players began to travel on regular circuits between market towns. Often performances by travelling players would co-incide with other fairs and and events. At Newbury in Berkshire the calendar of race meetings was complemented by a calendar of theatrical entertainment.

Everyone was playacting mad. Grammar schools also put on plays at Christmas for charitable causes. Melodramas were staged in village barns, a practice which sometimes proved fatal as when almost 200 people were incinerated at a performance at Burwell in Cambridgeshire.

 Private Theatricals

In 1770 the Earl of Barrymore spent £60 000 on building his own private theatre to seat 700 people. The Duke of Devonshire had a private theatre at Chatsworth that was modelled on those in various European palaces. The Chatsworth theatre was built in 1830, designed by Wyatville and adorned with a painted ceiling. It had two large boxes for guests and, most democratically, a gallery for the servants.

Elsewhere less well-heeled members of the aristocracy and gentry performed amateur theatricals in their drawing rooms and outbuildings. In Mansfield Park by Jane Austen a great deal of the action centres on the rehearsals for the play Lovers’ Vows. The Austens themselves were a keen acting family and from earliest youth Jane was involved in both the writing and performing of theatricals.

All At Sea

When I was researching Whisper of Scandal I was surprised to discover that the performance of musical plays and the theatre of variety was extremely popular in the British Navy. Nine plays were produced on HMS Hecla during the winter of 1821 whilst it was marooned in the ice on an Arctic expedition. It was one of the ways to keep morale high during difficult voyages. Cross-dressing roles were particularly popular!

I haven’t written about the theatre in any of my books but I know some of the other Wenches have. Is there a book you’ve enjoyed that features theatricals in some way? Or do you have a favourite play from the Georgian era? Or a play you have performed in?

 

Down to the sea in ships

by Mary Jo

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

(John Masefield, "I must go down to the sea," verse 1)

Most people love the sea, which is why waterfront property is so expensive.  A lot of us like to visit the sea on our vacations.  I am definitely of that number. 

So this year the Mayhem Consultant and I took our annual winter getaway on a week long yacht charter in the British Virgins.  For years we've watched graceful sailboats cruising the Sir Francis Drake Channel through the Virgin Islands, so this year we decided to give it a try on the 45’ yacht Corus, which is owned and sailed by a British couple, Ann and Bill Hastert.  

Research afloat:

For a writer of historical novels, it was a fascinating and visceral education in what it must have been like to travel on sailing ships in the past.  Mind you, we had a gourmet meals and a crew dedicated to giving us the kind of vacation we wanted.  We had our own private cabin with bathroom ("head"), and choice of wines for lunch and dinner. (Ann in the galley, below.)

The Downsides:

BUT--sailboats have tight quarters.  I'm a short person, and I was still banging my head, knees, and other body parts all week.  With a cockpit about 6' x 8'. there wasn't any walking room.  (Though I was dropped off on little beaches so I could stretch my legs once a day.)  When we were under sail--a couple of hours a day, from one island to another--the cockpit cushions were stowed below and we were sitting on hard teak benches and hanging on so we wouldn't go tumbling.   (Getting a numb backside was one of the major downsides.) 

The Pluses:

The upside included masses of reading time (bliss!), and fun beach walks with sea dogs and flowers and diving pelicans.  Just what I needed to recharge my batteries before staring to write Lost Lords #5.
 
It was an entry into a new world, with lots of sunshine and great food.  A new world that was always moving in three dimensions, at least a little and sometimes a lot. 

Luckily, the Mayhem Consultant and I are not prone to seasickness, but the Corus's movements could cause problems, like bashing into walls or pouring more wine than expected.  (Sad, that. <G>) 

Interestingly, though we weren’t seasick, we have found that ut took several days to fully regain our land legs.  The ground underfoot felt like it might be about to move.   Not a problem, just—interesting.

 

A'roving, a roving:

As a dedicated landlubber, this is all part of the adventure that I wanted to experience.  One really becomes aware of the weather when on a sailboat.  A line of squalls might sweep across the water, completely covering an island, then move on leaving rainbows in its wake.  In the middle of the night, I'd hear rain falling and have to close the hatch and the little portholes so we wouldn't get rained on.  Then open them again when the rain stopped and the cabin got stuffy. <G> 

Lessons Learned:

I learned the true meaning of “ship shape.”   There is limited storage space, and if things aren’t properly stowed, the result was instant clutter, and possibly objects flying around the cabin as the boat rocks and rolls. 

I learned about limited resources of electricity and water.  The reading lights were very small, there was no real shower, and the V-shaped bed made me appreciate the sheer genius of a rectangular bed with a pillow top mattress. <G> 
 
I learned something about simplicity.  I've never gone shoeless for a week in my life, yet when I obeyed the ship rules and took off the sandals, I didn't miss them at all.  I could have gone the whole week on one pair of shorts, a chambray shirt, a sun hat, and a hoody for evenings.  (Though I did go for clean underwear every day. <G>)  With only one mirror and that mostly above my eye level, I forgot about appearance and tangled hair.  (And in fact, hair can go a lot longer without washing than one realizes. Another reminder of times past.) 

(I should note that I didn’t care about my appearance then.  But now that I’m home, I find the pictures taken of me on the Corus so alarming that no one is going to see them. <G>)

I also recognized that the sea is beautiful but unforgiving.  Even in well traveled waters, meticulous attention is required for the weather, the seas, and the setting of the sails.  Luckily, Bill and Ann are both certified captains and very experienced so we were in good hands. 

The experience gave me much better insight into the long sailing journeys of the past, when it took weeks or months to reach a destination.  I better understand how very alone and terrified one might feel at sea in a storm, and the patience and contemplation that sailing engenders.

Since I am not patient and my mind tends to run like a gerbil on a wheel, I am not cut out to be a sailor.  But the experience was wonderful and enlightening, a real shower when I got home felt FABULOUS, and in the future, I'll write more heartfelt sailing scenes in my books. <G>

Returning once more to John Masefield’s lovely poem, verses 2 and 4:

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

I'm not that sort of true sailor.  But I think I understand such folk better now.

Knowing the kind of readers Word Wenches attracts, I suspect that some of you have sailed single handed across the Atlantic. <G>  What are your sailing experiences?  And if you haven't sailed, would you like to?

Mary Jo

Friends

Hi, here's Jo, talking about friends in fiction. On the left is Charlie and Billy with some new friends they made on our recent cruise.

I didn't plan A Scandalous Countess to be a novel so rich with friends, but it is, and it's got me thinking about the role of friends in a romance novel.

Nearly everyone accumulates friends during their lives, even if the friends are scattered around the world, as are many of mine. A fictional hero or heroine without friends is unlikely to appeal to me, and I think most readers will wonder what's wrong with them. Of course the character can be far from any friends, because that's not the same as not having any. In fact snatching a character from their family and friends is a well-used fictional device.

If the hero or heroine is truly friendless, however, it can be a concern. As a reader I wonder if they are capable of forming that deep, warm, believable relationship that's the happy ending I want in a romance novel.

Do you agree with me, or do you like to see loners brought into community? Do you have a favorite romance novel in which the hero, heroine, or both is friendless at the beginning?

Friends and the Author

Friends can be very useful to the author, especially if they're to hand in the book. They give a character someone to vent to, explain things to, and seek advice from. In A Scandalous Countess, my heroine Georgia, dowager Countess of Maybury (and doesn't she hate that "dowager", given that she's only 20!) has a lot of social friends, because she was a popular leader of the young set in Town. However mourning, and the scandal surrounding her husband's death in a duel, causes her to retreat to her family's Worcestershire estate.

Thus she's isolated and away from her friends -- but she has the postal system, which wasn't bad in 18th century England if you could afford it. The BBC recently did a radio programme on the postal system, and you can listen to the episodes. The one relevant to this topic is A Culture of Letters  

After the first shock of grief has passed, Georgia writes to her particular friend, Lizzie, Lady Torrismonde, of the situation in which she finds herself. This fills in some details and gives us a taste of Georgia's character and "voice."

A Letter to a Friend.

"Dear Lizzie,

when I returned to Herne, I half expected to return to the schoolroom bedchamber I shared with Winnie. Instead, I’m installed in a handsome set of rooms, but in all other ways I could be sixteen again! I have no more say in the running of Herne than I did at sixteen, when I so recently was accustomed to managing three houses.

I have no money! In truth, I do, for I have my portion back, but it’s returned to my father and he doles out a few guineas a month. I wasn’t aware a portion could be returned, but I suppose anything is possible if all parties agree to it. The new Earl of Maybury was eager to shed the commitment to pay my jointure of two thousand for perhaps sixty years, even at the cost of twelve thousand now.

You will understand how bitter it is to have a pittance in my pocket. Father pays my bills, but I’m sure he feels entitled to question my purchases, and as all this is done through his clerk of accounts, you will appreciate how it galls me.

Thus far I’ve only purchased mourning clothes and a few essentials, but now I’m awakened, I’m tempted to order something outrageous. What do you think it should be?

A jewel-encrusted prayer book? A gold-plated chamber pot? I can see you laughing and shaking your head, and it makes me smile and cry at the same time. I would order a carriage now and race to see you, but I know you expect a new treasure at any time, so I’ll restrain myself. I’d inflict myself on Babs except that she and Harringay are in France. Ah, Versailles! Will I ever see Versailles again?"

The image is an 18th century letter from a museum in Malaga.

As a young widow, Georgia is in an uncomfortable position. Legally, she is independent of her father, but he doesn't see it that way and nor, really, does she, for her world wouldn't accept her living independently, and she wants to return to her familiar world. With only weeks to go until the end of her mourning year, Georgia encounters the hero, a scarred ex-naval officer who has recently inherited a title and an impoverished estate. Her father has asked -- demanded, in fact -- that she help him adjust to society.

A Letter to a friend about a new friend.

Again, Georgia writes to Lizzie.

"Let me tell you of another lord—Dracy. Dracy is an original—that is certain sure. I came across him leaning so far over the terrace balustrade that I feared he intended to throw himself off. But no, he was merely seeking to identify flowers.

I suppose a life at sea doesn’t provide much experience of gardens. I’m sure I’d hate it, for I do love flowers. When I think of the ones in our London garden, and especially those at Sansouci . . But I will not pine. All that is over and I will have other gardens soon.

I expected a portly, weathered tar, but though he is browned and carries himself in a military manner, he is, in his own way, quite polished. And young. Not yet thirty, I’m sure. And with a fine, manly figure. He has much to learn, however. Would you believe that he lifted me, without request or permission, up onto the coping so I could identify the flowers for him! It quite flustered me, for he’s very strong."

 (You may remember that I blogged about the plant in question a while ago -- the tall, white nicotiana that is intensely perfumed in the evening.)

Georgia ceased writing, brushing the tip of her quill across her lips. Despite the scar, the briskness, and the lack of stylish manner, there was something about the man. He was so firm, so complete in himself. So confident and strong. Such a shame about his appearance.

She was ashamed of her reaction there and resolved to do better if they ever met again. As a start, she could address the subject briskly now.

"The poor man is badly scarred by a burn across the right side of his face. The skin there is shiny and puckered and it twists up his brow and lips as if he’s constantly in a sneer. I made a point to treat him exactly as I would anyone else, but it is a sad injury, for I believe before he must have been a very handsome fellow."

You can read the encounter described here on my web site.

Friends and characterization.

Friends also serve to reflect different facets of a character, helping the author to bring them to life. Gentle Lizzie illuminates Georgia's lively nature. Worldly-wise Babs reveals that she is innocent and even naive in ways. When Dracy becomes a friend, he draws out her intelligence and practical abilities.

His becoming a friend is a mixed blessing, however. Georgia likes him very much, but he's unsuitable husband material -- poor, and with a lowly title -- and she worries he might be falling in love with her. Friends don't hurt friends.

I admit that I began the novel thinking scarred Dracy would be a solitary, even brooding type, but somehow my heroes never are. LOL! He, too, is rich in friends, though most are naval men, scattered around the world. However, he's already made a new one near his Devon estate and that's promising, especially as Knowlton is very different in nature. I think it's healthy for a character to have variety in friends, for it suggests an open mind and generous nature.

Friends care.

Of course, friends care, as we see in this little scene with Knowlton, who's come up to Town, pretending legal business, but really because he's worried about Dracy's entanglement with scandalous Lady Maybury. When out, they hear some gossip about her.

     When they left the chophouse to stroll back to their inn, Dracy said, "It's only a matter of someone stoking the old fires. And nothing to it, either."

     Tom held his silence.

     "Look, none of it's true. I know it. You might trust my judgment."

     Tom looked at him. "My brother almost married a gypsy girl, convinced she'd make an honest wife."

     "Perhaps she would have done."

     "Filched his silver spoons before the knot was tied."

     "Very well, I take your point, but up until that duel Lady Maybury was a respected wife. Flighty, perhaps, and inclined to mischief, but I've not heard anyone suggest a prior sin. It's the duel, Tom! Everything else flows from there. If Maybury had killed himself in that carriage race, she'd have lost her husband and her homes, but she would have been a tragic widow, not a scandalous one."

     "But he didn't," Tom said. "He was killed in a duel with a man some believe to have been her lover."

     "But why? Why believe that? If..." He'd been about to say Annie, but that would be too close to the bone, so he chose Lady Swanton, a virtuous wife of their Devon neighborhood. "If Sir James Swanton were to get himself killed in a duel -- yes, I know it's unlikely -- would anyone believe for a moment that they'd fought over Lady Swanton, still less that she'd been sneaking into the victor's bed?"

     "Lady Swanton hasn't acted a breeches part at Drury Lane."

     "'Struth, did she? Never mind, that's not the same thing."

     "I take your point, Dracy, but don't you see? People who know Lady Maybury better than you do think it possible."

     Dracy crossed the street between two wagons, frustrated by everything. A breeches part at Drury Lane. She did need reining in....

     But he didn't want to be her jailer.

     He wanted to be her lover.

     As they cut down Crick Lane, Tom said, "Bewitched. Come away back to Devon with me, Dracy, and clear your head of her."

     "I'm not bewitched," Dracy lied. "I believe her honest and I cannot tolerate injustice. I truly do have business to complete here, but I will return soon, within a fortnight of a certainty."

     "I'd ask for a promise if I thought you'd make it."

     A fortnight, and he'd already been away from Dracy almost that long. He couldn't neglect his primary responsibility indefinitely.

     "Then I give it. I'll set out to return to Dracy within a fortnight."

     "Good man."

     Dracy laughed. "You sound as if I'd sworn off gin! I'm in complete control of all my wits and appetites, I assure you."

     Tom looked as if he'd believe that only when Dracy was back attending to his Devonshire estate.

********************

So what do you think about friends in romance novels? Do you notice a lack of them? Do you find too many clutter up a story?

What about friendship in the love relationship. How does that show?

As it happens my next heroine is rather friendless, but not by her own fault. She's keen to expand her social contacts and enjoy the company of others, but there may be problems there.

My publisher has made a video of me talking about A Scandalous Countess. You can see it here.

It was a bit nerve-wracking to do, and I was there for about an hour, but it boiled down to a pretty good couple of minutes, don't you think?

A Scandalous Countess will be officially out on the 7th, but it's trickled out in a few places already. To celebrate its arrival, I'll give a commenter a pick of my backlist, assuming I have spare copies. You can find that here.

Cheers,

Jo

 

 

 

 

 

The Many Fascinating Faces of History

Cara/Andrea here, One of the things I love about browsing through a museum or gallery exhibit is that serendipitous discovery of some new item or person that adds yet another reason to be fascinated by the past. It’s those tiny colorful threads that make the rich tapestry of history come alive for me, and deepens my appreciation of the human spirit’s creative energy.

I recently stumbled upon the work of Sir Godfrey Kneller, a German-born painter who worked for much of his life in London. (He anglicized  his name from Gottfried Kniller.) I was unaware of his art, but as I read the short biography on the gallery walls, and spent time perusing his canvases, I was delighted to realize that I’d come across a new-to-me historical figure with a fascinating story, both artistically and intellectually.

Born in 1646 in Lübeck, Kneller studied with Rembrandt and spent a number of years in Rome and Venice, mastering the art of historical and architectural scenes, before coming to England in 1674 at the invitation of the Duke of Monmouth. He was soon asked to paint a portrait of Charles II, and from there he quickly established himself as the premier portrait artist of the era. Court beauties, bewigged aristocrats, leading intellectuals, like Sir Isaac Newton—they all sat for Kneller, who in 1680 was appointed as “Principal Painter to the Crown.” Knighted by William III, and later created a baronet by George I, he is considered the master of English Baroque portraiture and established a style—albeit a trifle formulaic—that remained in vogue until Hogarth and Reynolds brought a different, more individualistic perspective to capturing people in paint and canvas.

One of the things that I found fascinating about Kneller was not just his art, which as I have said tends to be similar in formal style and composition, but his association with the leading influential thinkers of the day. His most famous works are his portraits of the Kit-Cat Club—which led me to another delightful discovery!

Founded in the late 1690s, the Kit-Cat Club was a group of prominent lords and literary luminaries of the day who wielded enormous influence in shaping British social and political thought. They originally met at a tavern in Shire Lane run by a man named Christopher Catling, whose mutton pies were know as Kit-Cats (the nickname is derived from his name, Kit being the diminutive of Christopher.) The club adopted the rather humorous moniker and soon became the unofficial center of Whig power during a time of flux in the monarchy. They later moved their meeting place to the Strand, where the legendary London restaurant Simpsons-In-the-Strand now stands.

Members included the highest born aristocrats of the land as well as ordinary men. It was an interest in ideas and politics that brought them together, and they are credited with shaping “modern” British attitudes going into 18th century. William Congreve, Sir John Vanbrugh, the Duke of Somerset, The Earl of Burlington, Sir Robert Walpole, and the Duke of Devonshire were Kit-Cats, as was Kneller himself.

The National Portrait Gallery in London has a small room devoted to Kneller’s Kit-Cat portraits. It’s quite an experience to stare at those self-assured faces and imagine being a fly on the wall at those meeting. Apparently, the club was famous for its elaborate toasts to the reigning beauties of the day. They commissioned special glasses with the compositions engraved on them. Some of the ladies who earned the honor were Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, Lady Godolphin  and Lady Sunderland.

Kneller died in 1723, victim of a fever, and was buried at Twickenham Church, where he served as a warden. He is also commemorated with a monument in Westminster Abbey, highlighted with an epitaph composed by Alexander Pope.

So, see what I mean about one thing leading to another? Through a glance at a painting, I was lead to learn about the artist AND his  world. To me, that’s the beauty and excitement of history—art, ideas, fashion, etc. all intertwine in such thought-provoking ways. It makes us ponder, it makes us smile, it makes us admire the amazing talents and personalities that have made the world what it is today.

So, what about you? Have you made any recent discoveries of new people or items in history that excited you? Do you have as much fun as I do walking through museums or exhibits and seeing something new? And lastly, what about portraits—do you have a favorite portrait painter?