Jane Austen's England by Roy and Leslie Adkins

I received this book for review from Viking Press. Jane Austen's England will be released on August 15th, and it is one of several books by Roy and Leslie Adkins, a spousal writing partnership. Here they attempt to "show how the mass of ordinary people ... lived and worked in [Jane Austen's] England," focusing not on the genteel society she depicts, but the working people who supported such elegance. It was a time where horribly brutality was both commonplace and extremely public, and they relate detailed instances of babies drowning in cesspools, the market for corpses, the dreadful treatment of animals, and all the horror of child labor. It is a far cry from the ballrooms and parlors Jane Austen's name brings to mind.

Then again, maybe it really isn't. The Adkinses in many ways succeed in painting a vivid picture of what life was like for the majority, but they "have relied upon the words of people who lived at the time" to do so, and most of those who left such writings lived rather genteel lives. Pretty much all the first-hand accounts come from people who are easily comparable to both Austen's fictional characters and those amongst whom she lived. I found it somewhat irritating that the authors insisted on referring to these people as middle-class, when I would definitely describe them as gentry. The primary and most likable voice is that of Reverend James Woodforde, an unmarried clergyman who held the living at Weston Longville in Norfolk for most of his life, and whose life and times correspond pretty exactly to that of George Austen, Jane's father (Woodforde was a few years younger and died two years sooner). He was at least well off enough to be a sufferer from gout. Another major voice belongs to William Holland, another rector, and a rather curmudgeonly one. Most quotes from him involve criticism of his fellow beings, and it's is not until about two thirds of the way through the book that we learn the reason for his bad attitude: four of his five children died within two weeks of each other from scarlet fever. Until he so gained my sympathy, I pretty much had him and his wife pegged as Mr. and Mrs. Elton. Nevertheless, some of his writings are the most interesting included, providing great insight into the inescapable force of gossip during the era. Still more interesting to me were the observations of foreign travelers to England, like Carl Moritz from Germany and Bejamin Silliman from the United States. Georgette Heyer fans will get a kick out of the hostility with which Moritz was treated upon arriving on foot at a coaching inn. The one obscure woman quoted is Nelly Weeton, a governess, and much is made of her inclusion in both the intro to the book and the publicity for it. I suppose female voices are hard to find, and an impoverished governess must always be a figure of interest, but Bronte devotees might find her experiences disappointingly pleasant. Except when her student died in blaze of fire, she seems to have had a very pleasant situation in the Lake District, and she was retained by her employer as companion to the lady of the house (a marriage worthy of Heyer) after the child's decease. 

Whenever relevant, Austen's letters are referenced. Her books are mentioned as well, but to less effect. Each chapter (organized by life events, from birth to death) begins with a quote from on of Austen's novels, but they don't always seem terribly well chosen. It is my suspicion that the authors are more familiar with her letters than her novels, which would make sense for the Adkinses, who are by profession archeologists, but Janeites reading this book might get frustrated with the simplified analysis of her writings. Unsurprisingly, it is usually Pride and Prejudice that is referenced. I admit to beginning this book with some suspicion as to why Jane Austen's name was in the title at all. Could this just be an attempt to capitalize on the Austen mania surrounding the 200th anniversary of P&P's publication? My concerns on that point were laid to rest in the chapter entitled "Dark Deeds," in which the authors tackle criminality. They make wonderful use of the case of Austen's aunt, Mrs. Leigh-Perrot, who was arrested on suspicion of stealing lace, to illustrate the massive inequalities of the justice system. Fascinatingly, William Holland wrote about the trial, assuming Mrs. Leigh-Perrot's guilt, even after she was found innocent. Here's red meat for the Janeite! Too bad they didn't leverage Cousin Eliza de Feuillide experience with the court system during William Hasting's impeachment trial to similar effect. 

What the book attempts is impressive. I was particularly enthralled when menstruation came up, a topic on which I have never found any information. Unfortunately, neither did the authors, but their conjectures on how women might have handled the situation makes this the only resource I have ever found on the subject. Pretty much every detail of daily life is dealt with in depth, presenting an often gory picture of a massively unequal society. While I heartily recommend it, there is one caveat: if you read Austen's works to escape the harshness of reality (as I imagine is the case for most of my readers), than this is probably not the book for you. Though not much of what I encountered in Jane Austen's England was surprising, having it all illustrated so vividly introduces the very real problem of how to read her books without being haunted by images of rats, decomposing bodies, and sewage. Shall I ever be able to write a ball scene again without mentioning the unbearable stench of unwashed flesh and putrid breath? I certainly hope so!   

A Civil Contract by Georgette Heyer

Once again, my entire family was sick this week. I knew what I was signing up for when I put my daughter in day care (indeed, one of my stated reasons for enrolling her was for the sake of building immunities), but I do hope this is the last bout of rhinovirus I have to cope with for a while. The only benefit of being ill all toghether is the great family reading time it provides. How lucky I had just received two never before read Heyer novels! Today I will tell you about the first, A Civil Contract.

Adam Deveril, army captain and new Viscount of Lynton, must resign his commission in order to return home and see to his family's finances, as his father's death has left them on the brink of ruin. A practical, disciplined man, he takes his responsibilities seriously, doing all he can to save his ancestral home, including breaking off his engagement to the beautiful lady from a nearby estate. It is at her father's urging that Adam agrees to marry Jenny Chawleigh, the plain and awkward daughter of an enormously wealthy and decidedly vulgar Cit, allowing him to save his estate and devote his life to farming. A Civil Contract follows the progress of their union.

This novel is markedly different from Heyer's customary style, though not so much that it isn't completely apparent from the beginning that Jenny will, in time, prove the perfect wife for Adam. By marrying the hero and heroine off early, as she done in other novels, like Friday's Child (read my review here), Heyer is able to explore a different kind of love than she usually depicts. Adam and Jenny become thoroughly comfortable with each other, loving the peaceful harmony of their relationship. They do not attempt "to cut a dash" or indulge in fashionable pursuits like the main couple in Friday's Child, choosing instead to settle quietly in the country. Instead of folding immaculate neckties, Adam can be seen wearing a peasant's smock (to the great horror of his former fiancee) and Jenny, forgoing fashionable ringlets, arranges her hair in staid braids. The values, so at odds with most (though not all) of Heyer's characters, adopted by this couple make this novel feel far more Victorian than Regency Romance, despite the fact that it is set against the backdrop of Waterloo. But the biggest anomaly in this novel from the body of Heyer's works is that it portrays a successful union across classes. I have not yet read another one of her novels to allow this. Indeed, in Bath Tangle (read my review here), she fervently opposes such intermingling. It is as if she wanted to explore how such a relationship might be made to work, but the book's conclusion leaves one wondering if the author believed in her own end result.

The novel has a few structural problems. At the beginning, the manner of the late Viscount's death is cast into suspicion, but Heyer never returns to the issue. The third quarter of the book drags, and it would have been the perfect time to indulge in a little mystery. It is almost as if she forgot part of the storyline. There is also an uncomfortable, though thankfully brief, politically incorrect racial moment. Regardless, I recommend the book. It's a lovely departure from Heyer's usual formula, and I thoroughly enjoyed it, even though it was not as hilariously funny as Heyer's other novels. Most of the comic moments come courtesy of Jonathan Chawleigh, whose forceful and extravagant personality manifests itself in outrageous gifts to the married couple, like a shell shaped bathtub and a flock of peacocks. Good fun.

Lady of Quality by Georgette Heyer (vs. Black Sheep)

I'm surprised I did not previously review this book, especially becomes it pays such obvious homage to Emma. I thought I had, and intended this post to be more of a comparison of Lady of Quality to Black Sheep (which I did previously review here), rather than a review of either, but it now seems necessary. I will share my thoughts on Lady of Quality, the last book Heyer wrote, and then we may indulge ourselves in a quick comparison of the two books, for they are remarkably similar.

Miss Annis Wychwood, despite being beautiful and rich, has resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood at 29, attempting to content herself with a sociable life in Bath. While this arrangement is preferable to living with her brother and his wife - who Annis likes very well, particularly the latter, but prefers her independence - it does have its drawbacks. Particularly, Annis is bored, so when she comes across a broken down carriage that had carried a runaway girl and the boy she does not want to marry (the feeling is mutual), she is almost eager to embroil herself in the affair. This is how she meets Mr. Oliver Carleton, the girl's guardian, "the rudest man in London", and our hero:

"But am I not right in believing that your custom is to refer every request Lucilla has addressed to you to Mrs Amber's judgment?"


"Yes, of course you are," he replied impatiently. "What the devil do I know about the upbringing of schoolgirls?"


"What a miserable sop to offer your conscience!" she said.


"My conscience doesn't need a sop, ma'am!" he said harshly. "I may be Lucilla's legal guardian, but it was never expected of me that I should be concerned in the niceties of her upbringing! Had it been suggested to me I should have had no hesitation in refusing such a charge. I've no turn for the infantry!"


"Not even your brother's only child?" she asked. "Don't you feel any affection for her?"


"No, none," he replied. "How should I? I scarcely know her. It's useless to expect me to become sentimental because she's my brother's child: I knew almost as little about him as I know about Lucilla, and what I did know I didn't much like. I don't mean to say that there was any harm in him: no doubt there was a great deal of good, but he had less than commonsense, and too much sensibility for my tastes. I found him a dead bore."


"Well, I find my brother a dead bore too," she said candidly, "but however much we rub against each other there is a bond of affection between us. I had thought that that must always exist between brothers and sisters."


"Possibly you know him better than I ever knew my brother. There were only three years between us, but although that's a mere nothing between adults, it constitutes a wide gulf between schoolboys. At Harrow, he formed a close, and, to my mind, a pretty mawkish friendship with young Elmore. They were both army-mad, and joined the same regiment when they left Harrow. From then on I only saw him by scraps. He married a pretty little widgeon, too: she wasn't as foolish as her sister, but she had more hair than wit, and a mouth full of the sort of pap I can't stomach. I knew, of course, when he bought Chartley Manor that the bosom-bow friendship between him and Elmore was as strong as ever, and I suppose I should have guessed that such a pair of air-dreamers would have hatched a scheme to achieve a closer relationship by marrying Elmore's heir to Charles's daughter. Though why Elmore - or Iverly, as by that time he was - should have persisted in this precious scheme after Charles's death is a matter beyond my comprehension! Unless he thinks that Lucilla's property is just the thing to round off his own estate?"


"Well, that is what I suspect," nodded Miss Wychwood, "but it is only right that I should tell you that Ninian says it is no such thing. He says his father has never had a mercenary thought in his head."


"On the whole," said Mr. Carleton, with considerable acerbity, "I should think the better of him if his motive had been mercenary! This mawkish reason for trying to marry Lucilla to his son merely because he and my brother were as thick as inkle-weavers fairly turns my stomach! I never liked the fellow, you know."


Her eyes were alive with laughter. She said perfectly gravely, however: "For some reason or other I had suspected as much! Is there anyone whom you do like, Mr Carleton?"


"Yes, you!" he answered bluntly.


"M-me?" she gasped, wholly taken aback.


He nodded. "Yes - but much against my will!" he said.


That made her burst out laughing. Still gurgling, she said: "You are quite outrageous, you know! What in the world have I said or done to make you like me? Of all the farradiddles I ever heard that bears off the palm!"


"Oh, no! I never flummery people. I do like you, but I'm damned if I know why! It isn't your beauty, though that is remarkable; and it certainly isn't anything you have said or done. I think it must be your quality - that certain sort of something about you!"


"It's my belief," said Miss Wychwood, with conviction, "that you are all about in your head!"


He laughed. "On the contrary! But don't delude yourself into thinking that my liking you makes me think you are a fit person to have charge of my niece."

Yes, she does call him "abominable" before the end of this conversation, confirming in true Heyer fashion that this is a case of love at first sight.

There are some incredibly priceless moments in this book, many of them attributable to Annis' rather dim witted companion, an impecunious cousin named Maria Farlow (very Miss Bates-like). The tension that builds around her ceaseless chatter and the annoyance it causes to Mr. Carleton, particularly, punctuates the climax of the novel in an absolutely hilarious fashion. Between herself, an overly rigid suitor, and the antics of Lucilla Carleton and Ninian Elmore, the book remains in a constant state of silliness, our hero and heroine providing the sarcastic perspective through which the mayhem unfolds. It is a perfectly satisfying Heyer; one which improves on a second read.

So what if Georgette Heyer's novels are remarkably formulaic? They're hysterical. No matter if readers encounter the same plot reworked with slight variations - the humor remains fresh. Black Sheep and Lady of Quality both focus on an older heroine, established in Bath, who meets her match in a most inappropriate, though socially equal, gentleman. The catalyst for bringing hero and heroine together is a young lady, of feisty and impetuous nature, on the verge of her come out. Both heroines are left to contemplate the proposals of their respective heroes, puzzling over the social dilemmas of marrying these difficult gentlemen, and fall ill in the process. I like to think of this plotin the light of an Austenesque reimagining - what if Emma Woodhouse did not fall in love with the convenient Mr. Knightley and achieved her intention of remaining single? She would often have a niece (or some other convenient young lady of interest) with her.

Black Sheep was published in 1966 and Lady of Quality in 1972, just a few years before Heyer's death. My biggest problem with Black Sheep, which is really one of my favorites, is the terribly abrupt ending. Perhaps Heyer was addressing this issue when she revisited the scenario. The end of Lady of Quality is much tidier, but the characters in Black Sheep are far more dynamic. Furthermore, the language in Lady of Quality is more repetitive than one usually sees in Heyer. Both hero and heroine have favorite exclamations that help to define their characters, making up for a lack of development (particularly in the case of Mr. Carleton). I have not previously looked into the chronology of Heyer's novels, but I think I now must consider the order in which her books were published. I am curious to see if Heyer repeatedly reworked earlier plots, and, if so, whether she was fixing problems with her earlier novels, or if she was just running out of fresh ideas. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, fellow Heyer fans. Perhaps someone has already done a study on this? Stay tuned for more, though I do not have the slightest idea when I will find the time to address the subject.

Sprig Muslin by Georgette Heyer

It has been a sick week in my house. First the baby had a fever, then a cold, and while I caught the fever, my husband caught the cold. We are very thankful to be able to share that burden rather than both suffering each ailment. The familial convalescence sent us scurrying for some light reading, and we ended up rereading Sprig Muslin by Georgette Heyer. I enjoyed the book far more this second time around than on the first read, and so I guess it is fortunate I had not previously reviewed it.

Sprig Muslin follows a variety of traditional Heyer conventions; the action takes place in the country, primarily in a series of inns, and the Corinthian hero struggles to keep a volatile young lady in line while falling for a mature heroine. No one, least of all her father and his sister, understands why Sir Gareth Ludlow would propose to Lady Hester Theale, "A woman who has been on the shelf these nine years, and more, and never took, or had countenance, or the least degree of modishness". Even more puzzling is why she would refuse such a wonderful offer. When Lady Hester tells her father of this decision, I was reminded of Sir Thomas Bertram's interrogation of Fanny Price following her rejection of Henry Crawford, only here the effect is almost Kafkaesque in its absurdity:

"Well, I don't scruple to tell you that I never thought to see such a piece of good fortune befall you, Hester! To think that you should make a better match than any of your sisters, and at your age, too! It is beyond anything great!"


"Beyond anything - oh, beyond anything!" she said, in a queer voice. "And he is coming here, with your consent! Could you not have asked me first what my sentiments were? I do not wish for this splendid match, Papa."


He looked as though he could hardly credit his ears. "Don't you wish for it?" he repeated, in a stupefied tone. "You must be out of your senses!"

"Perhaps I am." The ghostly smile that was at once nervous and mischievous again flitted across her face. "You should have warned Sir Gareth of it, sir. I am persuaded he cannot wish to marry an idiot."


"If," said his lordship awfully, "you fancy that that is a funny thing to say, let me tell you that it is not!"


"No, Papa."


He eyed her in uncertainty, feeling that in some strange way she was eluding him. She had always been an obedient, even a meek, daughter, but he had several times suffered from the uncomfortable suspicion that behind the cloud of gentle compliance there existed a woman who was quite unknown to him. He saw that it behoved him to tread warily, so he curbed his exasperation, and said, with a very fair assumption of paternal solicitude: "Now, what maggot has got into your head, my dear? You won't tell me you don't wish to be married, for every female must wish that!"


"Yes, indeed!" she sighed.


"Can it be that you dislike Ludlow?"


"No, Papa."


"Well, I was sure of that! I daresay there isn't a better liked man in England, and as for you ladies - ! The caps that have been set at him1 You will be te envy of every unmarried woman in town!"


"Do you think so indeed, Papa? How delightful that would be! But perhaps I might feel strange, and unlike myself. It wouldn't be comfortable, not to be acquainted with myself."


This baffling and (he considered) very nonsensical observation threw him out of his stride, but he persevered, saying with as much patience as he could command: "Well, never mind that! To be sure, I never thought he was trying to fix your interest, but I am sure I have seen him stand up with you at balls a hundred times! Ay, and sit talking to you, when one might have supposed that he would have been making up to one of the beauties that have been hanging out lures to him for ever!"


"He is very civil," she agreed....


He began to feel uneasy. It was impossible to read her countenance. It was mournful, yet tranquil; but in the tone of her vice there was an alarming note which recalled to his mind her contumacious behavior when he had disclosed to her the only other offer he had ever received for her hand. He remembered how meekly she had borne every manifestation of his wrath, how dutifully she had begged his pardon for disobliging him. That had been five years ago, but here she was, still a spinster. After eyeing her for a moment or two, he said: "If you let this chance of achieving a respectable alliance slip, you are a bigger fool than I take you for, Hester!"


Her eyes came round to his face, a smile quivered for an instant on her lips. "No, how could that be, Papa?"

As Sir Gareth journeys to Hester's home in order to make his already rejected proposal, he comes across an obviously genteel and extremely beautiful young lady, of schoolroom age, attempting to obtain lodgings for the night. As Amanda is unaccompanied and carries nothing but two band boxes, the landlord attempts to reject her as undesirable, but then Sir Gareth steps in. Determined to return her to her family, whose name she will not reveal, Sir Gareth carries Amanda to Lady Hester, not willing to leave her unattended. Thus begins the great adventure that Amanda leads her two self-appointed protectors upon. It is a convoluted tale, chock full of improbable occurrences, that culminates in absolute hilarity. The last few chapters of the book are priceless. It was the perfect sickroom read.  

Lady Caroline Lamb: Fiction vs. History

The "three or four families in a country village" which Jane Austen chose to focus upon did not allow her scope to include the grand personages of her day. This, however, does not stop writers of Austenesque from including those larger than life personalities, the celebrities that determined the manner in which the Regency Era lives on in our imaginations, in their reworkings of Austen's novels. People like the Prince Regent, Beau Brummel, Lord Byron, and Lady Jersey can all be found in the thousands of stories that Austen has inspired, both directly and indirectly, and I have recently been reflecting on the way in which fiction has determined my feelings about these people. The inspiration for this train of thought comes from Our Tempestuous Day: A History of Regency England by Carolly Erickson, which I just read, and her depiction of Lady Caroline Lamb. She writes:

Caroline's fashionable circle dazzled Byron, but her explosively original personality dazzled him even more. "She possessed an infinite vivacity of mind," he wrote, and in truth her quicksilver facility with words and love of wordplay was like him own, though more heated.


"My most sanative elixir of Julep, my most precious cordial confection," she wrote, addressing her cousin Lord Hartington as if he were a medicine chest, "my most dilutable sal polychrist and marsh mallows paste, truly comfortable spirit of hartshorn tincture of rhubarb and purgative senna tea!" Her letters were a quirky, eccentric jumble of exclamations, playful archaisms, deft verbal dodges and feints, the whole working together to scan like poetry. Sometimes they were in poetry, or rather light verse. Her conversation, it is safe to suppose, was as brilliantly eccentric as her writing, intense and full of curiosity and wit, with abrupt changes of mood and subject that kept her listeners enthralled.

This image conflicts with the assumptions I had made about Lady Caroline, almost entirely based upon the fictional accounts of her I have come across in novels. Suddenly she seemed a brilliant woman trapped in a restrictive world, just like Austen. Though familiar with her basic biography (summarized quite nicely at http://janeaustensworld.wordpress.com/2007/03/11/lady-caroline-lamb/), I had never taken any interest in her infamous novel, Glenarvon, and generally breezed over her role in history, content in my disinterest. Now I feel compelled to study her further, and I intend to read a biography of her (I'll let you know how that goes), and possibly peruse the suspicious novel. My prejudice towards Glenarvon is based almost solely upon the depiction Georgette Heyer supplies of both the novel and its author in Bath Tangle (which I reviewed here):

"Good God, no! It is the most absurd farrago of nonsense! But I prophesy it will run through a dozen editions, because none of us will be able to resist searching either for ourselves or our acquaintance in it. Could you have believed it? - Lady Caroline Lamb is the author? The Lambs are all in it, and Lady Holland-very well hit off, I imagine, from all i have ever heard of her, but Papa disliked that set, so that I was never at Holland House - and Lady Oxford, and Lady Jersey, and poor Mr. Rogers, whom she calls a yellow hyena? I must say, I think it unjust, don't you? Glenarvon, of course, is Byron, and the whole thing is designed as a sort of vengeance on him for having cried off from his affaire with her."


"Good God!" he exclaimed. "She must be mad to have done such a thing!"


"I think she is, poor soul! Never more so than when she tumbled head over ears in love with Byron! For my part, I was so unfashionable as to take him in instant aversion. How she could have borne with his insufferable conceit, and the airs he put on to be interesting, I know not - though I daresay if one could bear that dreadful Lamb laugh nothing would daunt one! Not but what I am extremely sorry for William Lamb, laugh as he may! If it is true that he stands by her, I do most sincerely honour him. I fancy she met to portray him in a kindly way, but some of the things she writes of him may well make him writhe. She is so very obliging as to favour the world with what one can only take to be a description of her own honeymoon - so warm as to make poor Fanny blush to the ears! It can't be pleasant for William Lamb, but it won't harm him. For she portrays herself, in the character of Calantha, as an innocent child quite dazzled by the world, quite ignorant, wholly trusting in the virtue of every soul she met! Pretty well for a girl brought up in Devonshire House!"

Needless to say, after reading the above, I felt I had knew enough of what sounds here like little more than a tabloid written by a spoiled girl in midst of a temper tantrum.

It is one of Heyer's great appeals to a Janeite that she ventures so far beyond the world of Austen. Pamela Aidan is another author to vividly portray the world of the ton in her Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman trilogy. After Heyer, it is Aidan's representation of Lady Caroline Lamb in the first book, An Assembly Such as This, that has most determined my negligence of her, for here she is an object of Fitzwilliam Darcy's abhorrence (I shudder at the thought):

A private entrance to the room lay open to Darcy's left, and from its secrecy he saw emerge the tawny-crowned person of Lady Caroline Lamb on the arm of a gentleman quite unknown to him. From where he stood he could see only her face, her delicate chin raised high, her eyes glittering in amusement and daring. As she and her companion made their way through the throng, it parted before them, and Darcy noted more than a few faces of both ladies and gentlemen color and turn away from the procession.


Suddenly, an older woman sank in a faint, the gentlemen nearest to her crying out in dismay. Several young ladies followed her example, and soon the floor was littered here and there with insensible females being coaxed into consciousness by alarmed young men who, nevertheless, craned their necks to catch another glimpse of the source of the uproar. More than a few women were being propelled from the room by insistent husbands or fathers amid shouts for carriages and cloaks.


"What the devil is going on?" Darcy demanded of the chaos around him. Dy tugged at his sleeve and solemnly pointed back down the room to where Lady Caroline and her swain had finally broken free from her mother-in-law's guests. Darcy's draw dropped in disbelief while his own face flooded crimson.

I felt the need not to include more, so as to not ruin the story for those unfamiliar with it, but you can see from this excerpt how the lady could make a poor impression. On a side note, I just read Ms. Aidan's contribution to Jane Austen Made Me Do It, entitled "The Riding Habit", and enjoyed it very much.

So compelled by Erickson, I now feel the need admit my prejudices and, in atonement, to reevaluate Lady Caroline. If she continues to hold my interest, you will be sure to hear more of her soon.

Venetia by Georgette Heyer

Still waiting on baby, but my husband and I were able to curb some of our impatience by indulging in yet another fabulous Georgette Heyer novel. Venetia, while not being quite as uproariously funny as some of Heyer's other novels, stands out due to its wonderful characters. Our heroine, Miss Venetia Lanyon has to be one of my favorite Heyer creations. Much in the style of Frederica Merriville of Frederica (read my review here) in her familial dedication, but with the charming benefit of possessing exquisite beauty and a streak of eccentricity, Venetia is certainly one of Heyer's more capable ladies, and her intelligence and charm captivates from the first page. Take the opening conversation, for example, between Venetia and her younger brother, Aubrey. I should admit that my interest in Greek literature adds to the appeal of not only this scene for me, but also much of the book, as Aubrey's pursuits as a classical scholar causes such references as the following to abound:

"A fox got in amongst the hens last night, and ravished our best layer," remarked Miss Lanyon. " A great-grandmother, too! You'd think he would be ashamed!" Receiving no answer, she continued, in an altered voice: "Indeed, you would! It is a great deal too bad. What is to be done?" 


His attention caught, her companion raised his eyes from the book which lay open beside him on the table and directed them upon her in a look of aloof enquiry. "What's that? Did you say something to me, Venetia?"


"Yes, love," responded his sister cheerfully, "but it wasn't of the least consequence, and in any event I answered for you. You would be astonished, I daresay, if you knew what interesting conversations I enjoy with myself."


"I was reading."


"So you were - and have let your coffee grow cold, besides abondoning that slice of bread-and-butter. Do eat it up! I'm persuaded I ought not to permit you to read at the table."


"Oh, the breakfast-table!" he said disparagingly. "Try if you can stop me!"


"I can't, of course. What is it?" she returned, glancing at the volume. "Ah, Greek! Some improving tale, I don't doubt."


"The Medea," he said repressively. "Porson's edition, which Mr. Appersett lent to me."


"I know! She was the delightful creature who cut up her brother, and cast the pieces in her papa's way, wasn't she? I daresay perfectly amiable when on cam to know her."


He hunched an impatient shoulder, and replied contemptuously: "You don't understand, and it's a waste of time to try to make you."


Her eyes twinkled at him. "But I promise you I do! Yes, and sympathise with her, besides wishing I had her resolution! Though I think I should rather have buried your remains tidily in the garden, my dear!"

Though you may not gather it from this episode, brother and sister get along famously, and Aubrey, for all his own oddity, is a great asset to the humor of tale. This unusual duo is plagued by the rather insipid company to be had in their Yorkshire neighborhood, particularly Venetia's two determined suitors: one an immature young  man wrapped in the throws of calf love, and the other, a far more determined and extremely Mr. Collins like man, Edward Yardley. Though certainly more presentable and far less groveling than Austen's most famous buffoon, the resmblance is uncanny, as is demonstraited in his inability to accept it when a proposal is refused, as well as in speeches of this ilk:

His smile was one of conscious superiority. He said: "I am afraid this is a subject on which you must allow me to be a better judge than you, Venetia. We won't argue about it, however - indeed, I should be sorry to engage in any sort of discussion with you on a matter that is not only beyond the female comprehension, but which one could not wish to see within it!"

To such insufferable condescension are Aubrey and Venetia subjected to until their illusive and rakish neighbor, Lord Jasper Damerel, arrives at his ancestral home to provide the excitement and mental challenge that has been so lacking in both the Lanyon's lives. There can be no doubt that he is our hero, for Venetia is quick, upon first acquaintance, to call him an "ogre", while he retaliates with "vixen", and there is nothing more romantically promising in Heyer than an exchange of insults. However, regardless of the inevitability of their eventual union, this book has more surprises in the course of its events than is customary in her books. I found it a joy to read, and an incredibly effective way to forget my discomfort. I am saving the next new Heyer I have on hand, Cousin Kate, for when the real labor pains begin.  

Friday's Child by Geogette Heyer

I recently reread Friday's Child for the third time, and I still enjoy it just as much as I did the first time around. It is definitely one of my favorite Heyer novels, a remarkable fact when I consider that the main characters are some of the most vapid, shallow, and ridiculous I have ever encountered. Somehow, and I have not yet quite put my finger on why, I adore them anyway. Perhaps it is just that Hero Wantage and Lord Anthony Sheringham (Sherry to his friends) are so childish that they trigger a sense of affection in me? I'm not sure. What I can say for certain is that I feel an almost parental indulgence for their antics. No matter what scrapes they find themselves in, even when they pose danger to the feelings, and sometimes well-being, of others, my perfect humor and sympathy with them never waivers.

Our story begins with a failed proposal. Sherry fancies himself in love with his neighbor and current toast of the town, Isabella Milborne, and offers for her hand, more with the intention of freeing up his inheritance, held in trust until he marries or turns twenty-five, than settling down. Though he has convinced himself of his passion, debt is his true motivation, the inevitable result of a rakish lifestyle, and when Isabella rejects him, he vows to marry the next woman he sees. This just happens to be Hero, his childhood companion and longtime worshiper, who is in rather a predicament herself. The cousins who have long housed her have presented her with an ultimatum: accept the curate's offer of marriage or be sent to Bath to train as a governess. Sherry proposes the solution to both their troubles, and in a bizarre take on the marriage of convenience the two run off to London together, Hero hiding on the floor of Sherry's curricle to escape local notice.

Thus does Hero, the dependent cousin, become a viscountess. She and Sherry are married by private license the day after they arrive in London, and this is when the real fun begins. Initiated into Sherry's band of boon companions - his cousin, the scatterbrained Honorable Ferdinand Fakenham, the romantic and volatile Lord Wrotham, and the brains of the group (no difficult or notable feat), Mr. Gilbert Ringwood - Hero is introduced into a world to which few ladies of quality are ever exposed. She and Sherry rack up endless amounts of staggering expenses (Sherry buys no less than nine horses in a single afternoon) and engage in the kind of adventures that would cause proper ladies to faint. However, the inappropriateness of the situation he himself has created eventually works upon Sherry's notion of respectability (this is, after all, his very own wife who is spouting phrases like "bits of muslins" and frequenting gaming hells), driving the couple towards a more unexceptional mode of life. Fortunately for the reader, before we find ourselves at this happy conclusion, the laughs derived from this most unusual couple's lack of propriety are nonstop.

This book is one of both my and my husband's favorite novels to read aloud because the dialogue is so ridiculously amusing. I have no wish to deprive any potential reader of the outrageous joys the story contains and so must be very selective about what passages I choose to quote, but I think you get a sense of the atmosphere Heyer creates in this phenomenal book in the following scene during which, on the evening of their wedding, the newlywed couple dine with some of Sherry's friends:

The Honorable Ferdy, who had been pondering at intervals all day how his cousin's wife came by such a peculiar name, now introduced a new note into the conversation by saying suddenly: "Can't make it out at all! You're sure you've got that right, Sherry?"


"Got what right?"


"Hero," said Ferdy, frowning. "Look at it which way you like, it don't make sense. For one thing, a hero ain't a female, and for another it ain't a name. At least," he said cautiously, "it ain't one I've ever heard of. Ten to one you've made one of your muffs, Sherry!"


"Oh no, I am truly called Hero!" the lady assured him. "It's out of Shakespeare."


"Oh, out of Shakespeare, is it?" said Ferdy. "That accounts for my not having heard it before!"


"You're out of Shakespeare too," said Hero, helping herself liberally from a dish of green peas.


"I am?" Ferdy exclaimed, much struck.


"Yes, in the Tempest, I think."


"Well, if that don't beat all!" Ferdy said, looking around at his friends. "She says I'm out of Shakespeare! Must tell my father that. Shouldn't think he knows."


"Yes, and now I come to think of it, Sherry's out of Shakespeare too," said Hero, smiling warmly upon her spouse.


"No, I'm not," replied the Viscount, refusing to be dragged into these deep waters. "Named after my grandfather!"


"Well, perhaps he was out of Shakespeare, and that would account for it."


"He might have been," said Ferdy fair-mindedly, "but I shouldn't think he was. Mind you, I never knew the old gentleman myself, but from what I've heard about him I don't think he ever had anything to do with Shakespeare."


"Very bad ton, my grandfather," remarked the Viscount dispassionately. "Regular loose-screw. None of the Verelsts ever had anything to do with Shakespeare."


"Well, I dare say you must know best, Sherry, but only think of Anthony and Cleopatra!" argued Hero.


"Anthony and who?" asked Ferdy anxiously.


"Cleopatra. You must know Cleopatra! She was a Queen of Egypt. At least, I think it was Egypt."


"Never been to Egypt," said Ferdy. "Accounts for it. But I know a fellow who was in Egypt once. Said it was a sad, rubbishing sort of place. Wouldn't suit me at all."


Hero giggled. "Silly! Cleopatra is hundreds and hundreds of years old!"


"Hundreds of years old?" said Ferdy, astonished.


"Good God, you know what she means!" interpolated the Viscount.


Mr. Ringwood nodded. "She's a mummy," he said. "They have 'em in Egypt." He felt that this piece of erudition called for some explanation, and added: "Read about 'em somewhere."


"Yes, but the one I mean is in Shakespeare," said Hero. "I expect it's the same one, because he was forever writing plays about real people."


A horrible suspicion crossed Ferdy's mind. He stared fixedly at her, and said: "You ain't a blue-stocking, are you?"


"Of course she's not a blue-stocking!" cried the Viscount, bristling in defence of his bride. "The thing is she's only just out of the schoolroom. She can't help but have her head crammed with all that stuff!"


"Anyone can see she's not a blue-stocking," said Mr. Ringwood severely. "Besides, you oughtn't say things like that, Ferdy. Very bad ton!"


Mr. Fakenham begged pardon in some confusion, and said he was devilish glad. A fresh bogey at once raised its head, and he demanded, in accents of extreme foreboding, whether the evening's entertainment was to consist of Shakespeare. Upon being reassured, he was able to relax again and to continue eating his dinner in tolerable composure.

Such is the style of anti-intellectualism that pervades this story, a thing I would typically deplore, yet incongruously I love every moment of it. For all those who compare Heyer to Austen, I offer this novel up as a demonstration of the absurdity of the notion. Austen could never (would never) create these characters, who are more caricature than anything remotely based in reality. I continue to be amazed at Heyer's ability to entrance me with those who I must deplore, in a manner most antithetical to Austen, and perhaps none more so than Hero and Sherry. I cannot recommend this book enough and plan to have my husband read it to me, once again, while I am in labor, for nothing else could provide such a perfect distraction. I only fear that my laughter will prove an impediment to my ability to follow the doctors instructions, but that, I fear, simply cannot be helped. 

The Convenient Marriage by Georgette Heyer

In true Heyer fashion, the colorful hero and heroine render this book utterly delightful. Set in the eighteenth century, The Convenient Marriage is one of Heyer's few novels that starts with a marriage and ends in love, as opposed to the her standard formula of tumultuous courtship resulting, on the last page, with a passionate embrace. The Earl of Rule, after many years of determined, and somewhat rakish, bachelorhood, has been convinced by his sister to form an eligible match and ensure his succession, and who better than a Winwood of Winwood to fulfill that post? No matter that Winwood itself is horribly encumbered, the family's penchant for gambling having left them of the verge of penury; the generous settlements Lord Rule is willing to pay for the honor of marrying so eligible a bride will safe them from the sponging house. The problem is that the eldest Miss Winwood, the beautiful Elizabeth, is already in love. Her situation seems hopeless until her youngest sister, the far less comely and stuttering Horatia (only recognizable as the fair one's sister by their shared, distinctive Winwood nose), decides to right the situation, taking matters into her own hands by clandestinely visits Lord Rule and offering herself as a wife in Elizabeth's stead, having never even set eyes on him before. The result is this hilarious scene, which I cannot help but to quote at length:

A lady, not so tall as he had expected to see, was standing with her back to the door, apparently inspecting an oil painting that hung on the far wall. She turned quickly as he came in, and showed him a face that certainly did not belong to Miss Winwood. He checked for a moment, looking down at her in surprise.


The face under the simple straw hat also showed surprise. "Are you L-Lord Rule?" demanded the lady.


He was amused. "I have always believed so," he replied.


"Why, I th-thought you were quite old!" she informed him ingenuously.


"That," said his lordship with perfect gravity, "was unkind in you. Did you come to see me in order to - er - satisfy yourself as to my appearance?"


She blushed fierily. "P-please forgive m-me!" she begged, stammering dreadfully. "It w-was very r-rude of m-me, only you s-see I was surprised just for the m-moment."


"If you were surprised, ma'am, what can I be but deeply flattered?" said the Earl. "But if you did not come to look me over, do you think you could tell me what it is I am to have the honour of doing for you?"


The bright eyes looked resolutely into his. "Of c-course, you don't know who I am," said the visitor. "I'm afraid I d-deceived you a little. I was afraid if you knew it was not L-Lizzie you might not receive me. But it was not quite a lie to say I was Miss W-Winwood," she added anxiously."B-because I am, you know. "I'm Horry Winwood."


"Horry?" he repeated.


"Horatia," she explained. "It is an odious name, isn't it? I was given it on account of Mr W-Walpole. He is my godfather, you understand."


"Perfectly," bowed hid lordship. "You must forgive me for being so dull-witted, but would you believe it? - I am still quite in the dark."


Horatia's gaze faltered. "It is - it is very difficult to explain it to you," she said. "And I expect you are horridly shocked. But I did being my m-maid, sir."


"That makes it far less shocking," said his lordship reassuringly. "But would it not be much easier to explain this very difficult matter to me if you sit down? Will you let me take your cloak?"


"Th-thank you," said Horatia, relinquishing it. She bestowed a friendly smile upon her host. "It is not anything n-near so difficult as I thought it would be. Before you came in my spirits quite f-failed me. You see, my M-mama has not the smallest n-notion of my being here. But I couldn't think of anything else to do." She gripped her hands together, and drew a deep breath. "It is because of L-Lizzie - my sister. You have offered for her, haven't you?"


Slightly taken aback, the Earl bowed. Horatia said in a rush: "C-could you - would you m-mind very much - having m-me instead?"


The Earl was seated in a chair opposite to her, absently swinging his eyeglass, his gaze fixed on her face in an expression of courteous interest. The eyeglass stopped swinging suddenly, and it was allowed to fall. Horatia, looking anxiously across at him, saw a rather startled fron in his eyes, and hurried on: "Of c-course I know it ought to be Charlotte, for she is the elder, but she said nothing would induce her to m-marry you."


His lips quivered. "In that case," he said, "it is fortunate that I did not solicit the honour of Miss Charlotte's hand in marriage."


"Yes," agreed Horatia. "I am sorry to have to say it, but I am afraid Charlotte shrinks from the idea of m-making such a sacrifice, even for L-Lizzie's sake." Rule's shoulders shook slightly. "Have I said s-something I shouldn't?" inquired Horatia doubtfully.


"On the countrary," he replied. "Your conversation is most salutary, Miss Winwood."


"You are laughing at me," said Horatio accusingly. "I d-daresay you think I am very stupid, sir, but indeed, it is most serious."


"I think you are delightful," said Rule. "But there seems to be some misapprehension. I was under the impression that Miss Winwood was - er - willing to receive my addresses."


"Yes," concurred Horatia. "She is w-willing, of course, but it makes her dreadfully unhappy. Th-that's why I came. I hope you don't m-mind."


"Not at all," said his lordship. "But may I know whether I appear to all the members of your family in this disagreeable light?"


"Oh no!" said Horatia earnestly. "M-mama is excessively pleased with you, and I myself d-don't find you disagreeable in the least. And if only you would be so v-very obliging as to offer for me instead of Lizzie I should like you very well."


"But why," asked Rule, "do you want me to offer for you?"


Horatia's brow drew close over the bridge of her nose. "It must sound very odd," she admitted. "You see, Lizzie must m-marry Edward Heron. Perhaps you do not know him?"


"I believe I have not the pleasure," said the Earl.


"W-well, he is a very particular friend of ours, and he loves L-Lizzie. Only you know how it is with younger sons, and poor Edward is not even a Captain yet."


"I am to understand that Mr Heron is in the Army?" inquired the Earl.


"Oh, yes, the T-tenth Foot. And if you had not offered for L-Lizzie I feel sure M-mama would have consented to him being contracted to her."


"It was most lamentable of me," said Rule gravely. "But at least I can remedy the error."


Hiratia said eagerly: "Oh, you will take m-me instead?"


"No," said Rule, with a faint smile. "I won't do that. But I will engage not to marry your sister. It's not necessary to offer me an exchange, my poor child."


"B-but it is!" said Horatia vigorously. "One of us m-must marry you!"


The Earl looked at her for a moment. Then he got up in his leisurely way, and stood leaning on the back of a chair.


"I think you must explain it all to me," he said. "I seem to be more than ordinarily dull this morning."


Horatia knot her brows. "Well, I'll t0try," she said. "You see, we're so shockingly poor. Charlotte says it is all P-Pelham's fault, and I dare say it may be, but it is no use blaming him, b-because he cannot help it. G-gambling, you know. Do you gamble?'


"Sometimes," answered his lordship.


The grey eyes sparkled. "So do I," declared Horatia unexpectedly. "N-not really, of course, but with Pelham. He taught me. Charlotte says it is wrong. She is l-like that, you know, and it makes her very impatient with poor P-Pel. And I m-must say I feel a little impatient myself when Lizzie has to be sacrificed. Mama is sorry too, b-but she says we must all feel d-deeply thankful." She coloured, and said rather gruffly: "It's v-vulgar to care about Settlements, but you are very rich, are you not?"


"Very," said his lordship, preserving his calm.


"Yes," nodded Horatia. "W-well - you see!"


"I see," agreed Rule. "You are going to be the Sacrifice."


She looked up at him rather shyly. "It c-can't signify to you, can it? Except that I know I'm not a Beauty, like L-Lizzie. But I have got the Nose, sir."


Rule surveyed the Nose. "Undoubtedly, you have the Nose," he said.


Horatia seemed determined to make a clean breast of her blemishes. "A-and perhaps you could become used to my eyebrows?" The smile lurked at the back of Rule's eyes. "I think, quite easily."


She said sadly: "They won't arch, you know. And I ought to t-tell you that we have quite given up hope of my g-growing taller."


"It would be a pit if you did," said his lordship.


"D-do you think so?" Horatia was surprised. "It is a great trial to me, I assure you." She took a deep breath, and added, with difficulty: "You m-may have n-noticed that I have a - a stammer."


"Yes, I had noticed," the Earl answered gently.


"If you f-feel you c-can't bear it, sir, I shall quite understand," Horatia said in a small, anxious voice."


"I like it," said the Earl.


"It is very odd of you," marvelled Horatia. "But p-perhaps you said that to p-put me at my ease?"


"No," said the earl. "I said it because it was true. Will you tell me how old you are?"


"D-does it matter?" Horatia inquired forebodingly.


"Yes, I think it does," said his lordship.


"I was afraid it m-might," she said. "I am t-turned seventeen."


"Turned seventeen!" repeated his lordship. "My dear, I couldn't do it."


"I'm too young?"


"Much too young, child."


Horatia swallowed valiantly. "I shall grow older," she ventured. "I d-don't want to p-press you, but I am thought to be quite sensible."


"Do you know how old I am!" asked the Earl.


"N-no, but my cousin, Mrs M-Maulfrey, says you are not a d-day above thirty-five."


"Does not that seem a little old to you?" he suggested.


"Well, it is rather old, perhaps, b-but no one would think you were as much," said Horatia kindly.


At that a laugh escaped him. "Thank you," he bowed. "But I think that thirty-five makes a poor husband for seventeen."


"P-pray do not give that a thought, sir!" said Horatia earnestly. "I assure you, for my p-part I do not regard it at all. In f-fact, I think I should quite like to marry you."

And as he has already decided that her would very much like to be married to her too, it is not long before they are united.

As the passage above reveals, we have a very unusual heroine on our hands. Young and unworldly, she finds herself in all kinds of scraps once her marriage launches her on the town. The minor ones are of her own creation, but the more sinister ones are contrived by Lord Rule's old enemy, Lord Lethbridge, and those who wish to see the marriage fail: Rule's former mistress, Lady Massey, and his heir apparent, the Macaroni Crosby Drelincourt. Furthermore, Horatia's well meaning but harebrained brother, Pelham, rather worsens situations when he means to aid his sister. He and his companion in arms, Sir Roland Pommeroy (who reminds me of one of my most favorite Heyer hero, Freddy Standen of Cotillion), add a massive dose of comedy to the tale, eventually finding themselves in cahoots with with nothing less than a highwayman in their attempts to protect Horatia's honor. Eventually, our heroine comes to learn that her husband is truly in love with her and did not just marry her for her Winwood nose. No matter what mischief she falls into, he will always be there to bail her out, and with far more grace and decorum than her brother can muster. This unlikely couple prove to be perfectly suited, and I found my self wishing at the end of the book that Heyer had indulged in more than one trilogy, so anxious was I to know what might befall the couple next.    

The Talisman Ring by Georgette Heyer

With this review I have officially caught up with all the Georgette Heyer rereads my husband and I indulged in over the holidays, and what a note to end on! The Talisman Ring is definitely one of my favorite Heyer novels. I don't think I fully appreciated it the first time through. The plot revolves around the grandchildren and nephews of Sylvester, Baron of Lavenham, who is on his death bed as the book begins. His grandson and heir, Ludovic Lavenham, has not been heard from for two years, as he was forced to flee the country following an incident in which he was believed to murder the man whom had won from him his familial heirloom: the valuable talisman ring. In his place Sylvester's nephew, the dandified Beau Lavenham, stands to inherit the fortune, though not the title. Sylvester also has a granddaughter on his hands, the charming and impetuous Eustacie de Vauban (who reminds me greatly of Leonie of These Old Shades, read my review here), rescued from France on the eve of the Revolution. The story opens with the arrival of Sir Tristram Shield to Lavenham Court, another nephew, who has been summoned forth by Sylvester and promptly ordered to marry Eustacie. Both comply, but when Sylvester dies before the deed can take place, Eustacie flees the Court, not finding Shield romantic enough to fulfill her ambitions for a husband, but she doesn't get very far. Quickly she falls in with a band of smugglers lead by none other than her cousin Ludovic, and when he is shot by pursuing Excisemen they take shelter at a local inn, run by the sympathetic Mr. Nye. There they fall in with Miss Sarah Thane, one of Heyer's older and highly resourceful heroines (with a mischievous streak), and her brother, the highly amusing and somewhat muddle-brained Sir Hugo, thereby establishing our locale and our cast of characters. The remainder of the book focuses on creating the appropriate romantic alliances, recovering the talisman ring, and clearing Ludovic's name.

This story is a blast! So much humor, endless adventure, and we could barely put it down (even though we both knew exactly what happened). As usual in my Heyer reviews, I find she can speak for herself better than I can on her behalf, and so I will quote the scene in which Eustacie unfolds her situation before Miss Thane, when they first meet, as if not only establishes the plot and the characters' traits, but also beautifully sets the tone of the novel. It is lengthy, but very worth reading, as is the entire novel. I consider it one of Heyer's best.

Ten minutes later Eustacie was ensconced in a chair by the fire in Miss Thane's bedchamber, gratefully sipping a cup of hot milk. Miss Thane sat down beside her, and said with her friendly smile: "I hope you mean to tell me all about it, for I'm dying of curiosity, and I don't even know your name."


Eustacie considered her for a moment. "Well, I think I will tell you," she decided. "I am Eustacie de Vauban, and my cousin Ludovic is Lord Lavenham of Lavenham Court. He is the tenth Baron."


Miss Thane shook her head. "It just shows how easily one may be mistaken," she said. "I thought he was a smuggler."


"He prefers," said Eustacie, with dignity, "that one should call him a free-trader."


"I'm sorry," apologized Miss Thane. "Of course, it is a much better title. I should have known. What made him take to s- free trading? It seems a trifle unusual."


"I see that I must explain to you the talisman ring," said Eustacie, and drew a deep breath.


Miss Thane, a sympathetic listener, followed the story of the talisman ring with keen interest, only interpolating a question when the tale became too involved to be intelligible. She accepted Ludovic's innocence without the smallest hesitation, and said at the end of the recital that nothing would give her greater pleasure than to assist in unmasking the real culprit.


"Yes," said Eustacie, "and me, I think that it was perhaps my cousin Tristram, for he has a collection of jewellery, and, besides, he is a person who might murder people - except that he is not at all romantic," she added.


"He sounds very disagreeable," said Miss Thane.


"He is - very! And, do you know, I have suddenly thought that perhaps I had better marry him, because then he would have to show me his collection, and if I found the talisman ring it would make everything right for Ludovic."

Miss Thane bent down to poke the fire. She said with a slight tremor in her voice: "But then if you did not find the ring it would be tiresome to have married him all to no purpose. And one has to consider that he might not wish to marry you."

"Oh, but he does!" said Eustacie. "In fact, we are betrothed. That is why I ran away. He has no conversation. Moreover, he said that if I went to London, I should not find myself in any way remarkable."

"He was wrong," said Miss Thane with conviction.

"Yes, I think he was wrong, but you see he is not sympathique, and he does not like w9omen."

Miss Thane blinked at her. "Are you sure?" she said. "I mean, if he wants to marry you -"

"But he does not want to marry me! It is just that he must have an heir, and because Grandpere made for us a mariage de convenance. Only Grandpere is dead now, and I am not going to marry a person who says he would not care if I went to the guillotine in a tumbril!"

"Did he really say that?" inquired Miss Thane. "He must be a positive Monster!"

"Well, no, he did not say exactly that," admitted Eustacie. "But when I asked him if he would not be sorry to see me, a jeune fille, in a tumbril, and dressed all in white, he said he would be sorry for anyone in a tumbril, 'whatever their age or - or apparel'!"

"You need say no more; I can see that he is a person of no sensibility," said Miss Thane. "I am not surprised that you ran away from him to join your cousin Ludovic."

"Oh, I didn't!" replied Eustacie. "I mean, I never knew I was going to meet Ludovic. I ran away to become a governess."

"Forgive me," said Miss Thane, "but have you then just met your cousin Ludovic by chance, and for the first time?"

"But yes, I have told you! And he said I should not do for a governess." She sighed. "I wish I could think of something to be which is exciting! If only I were a man!"

"Yes," agreed Miss Thane. "I feel very strongly that you should have been a man and gone smuggling with your cousin."

Eustacie threw her a glowing look. "This is just what I should have liked! But Ludovic says they never take females with them."

"How wretchedly selfish!" said Miss Thane in accents of disgust.

"Yes, but I think it is not perhaps exactly Ludovic's fault, for he said he liked to have me with him. But the others did not like it at all, in particular Ned, who wanted to hit me on the head."

"Is Ned a s- free-trader too?"

"Yes, and Abel. But they are not precisely free-traders, but only land-smugglers, which is, I think, a thing inferior."

"It sounds quite inferior," said Miss Thane. "Did you meet your cousin Ludovic, and Ned, and Abel on your way here?"

"Yes, and when he seized me of course I thought Ludovic was the Headless Horseman!"

Miss Thane was regarding her as one entranced. "Of course!" she echoed. "I suppose you were expecting to meet a headless horseman?"

"Well," replied Eustacie judicially, "my maid told me that he rides the Forest, and that one finds him up on the crupper behind one, but my cousin Tristram said that it was only a legend."

"The more I hear about your cousin Tristram," said Miss Thane, "the more I am convinced he is not the husband for you."

"No, and what is more he is thirty-one years old, and he does not frequent gaming-hells or cock-pits, and when I asked him if he would ride ventre a terre to come to my death-bed, he said 'Certainly not'!"

"This is more shocking than all the rest!" declared Miss Thane. "He must be quite heartless!"


"Yes," said Eustacie bitterly. "He says I am not in the least likely to die."


"A man like that," pronounced Miss Thane, "would be bound to say the Headless Horseman was only a legend."


"That it what I thought, but my cousin Ludovic was not after all the Headless Horseman, and I must admit that I have not yet seen him - or the Dragon which was once in the Forest."


"Realyy, you have had a very dull ride when one comes to think of it."


"Yes, until I met my cousin Ludovic, and after that it was not dull, because when he discovered who I was Ludovic said I must go with him, and I helped to lead the Exciseman into the Forest. He mounted behind me on Rufus, you see. That was when I lost the other bandbox."


"Oh, you had a bandbox?"


"But yes, I had two, for one must be practical, you understand. But one I dropped just before I met Ludovic, and I forgot about that one. We threw the other away."


Miss Thane bent over the fire again rather hastily. "I expect it was the right thing to do," she said in an unsteady voice."


"Well, it was in the way," explained Eustacie. "But I must say it now becomes awkward a little because all my things were in it."


"Don't let a miserable circumstance like that worry you!" said Miss Thane. "I will lend you a nightdress, and to-morrow we will decide whether to go and look for the bandboxes ( though I feel that it would be a spiritless thing to do) or whether to break into your home at the dead of night and steal some more clothes for you."

And on that note, I say goodbye, at least temporarily, to Georgette Heyer. If I didn't consider it blasphemous, I would perhaps admit that a return to Miss Austen sounds almost dull after the antics with which I have recently been regaling myself, but such notions are, of course, inadmissible.

Frederica by Georgette Heyer

This book had to be reread as soon as my husband and I got through the first chapter of The Corinthian (read my review here) and both remarked that it was very similar to the manner in which Frederica commences. However, that is where the similarities end. Instead of being importuned by relatives to marry at the start of this book, as our hero of The Corinthian is, this novel finds the Marquis of Alverstoke set upon by female relatives determined that he shall throw a ball for their daughters as they embark on their first season (his sisters are, however, rather unhappy that a cousin, Endymion Dauntry, stands as heir to his great fortune, and would be very happy to see the young man cut out by an appropriate marriage). Not being one to put himself out for anybody, Alverstoke promptly rejects any such notion, that is until he meets the Merrivilles, a family of distant cousins, of respectable but not large fortune, who come to London. The eldest sister, Frederica, requests Alvertoke's assistance in launching her sister into society, a favor he has little interest in bestowing until seeing said sister, Charis, who is "a diamond of the first water". It then occurs to him that a ball at Alverstoke house in honor of his niece and cousin would be precisely the place for Charis to make her debut as well, and that having to support such a beautiful girl would be exactly the scenario to most infuriate his grasping female relatives. Little does he know, however, that he will soon be irrevocably embroiled in the Merrivilles affairs and called upon to bail them out of repeated scrapes, which the two youngest boys, Jessamy and Felix, prove particularly adapt at falling into.

As the name of the book is Frederica, it can be no surprise which of the Merriville ladies captures the cold Marquis' heart (despite the fact that, at 24, she considers herself quite off the shelf and practically an old maid). While Frederica proves to be precisely the intelligent and endearing lady that Alverstoke never thought existed - on who never bores him - I think the true star of the show is Felix, an imperturbably curious and infinitely charming young boy who very soon has the Marquis wrapped around his finger. He wastes no time in requesting the most outlandish favors from Alverstoke, as demonstrated in this scene in which they are first introduced:

His lordship, acknowledging thier bows, found he was being surveyed: by Jessamy, whom he judged to be about sixteen years of age, measuringly; by Felix, three or four years younger, with the unwavering yet incurious gaze of childhood. He was quite unaccustomed to being weighed up; and there was a decided twinkle in his eyes as he looked the boys over.

Jessamy, he thought, was an exaggerated copy of his sister: his hair was darker than hers, his nose more aquiline, and his mouth and chin determined to the point of obstinacy. Felix still retained the snub-nose and the chubbiness of extreme youth, but he had the same firm chin and direct gaze which characterized his seniors, and even less shyness. It was he who broke the silence, blurting out: "Sir! Do you know about the Catch-me-who can?"

"Of course he doesn't! Don't be so rag-mannered!" his brother admonished him. "I beg your pardon, sir: he has windmills in his head!"

"Not windmills: railway locomotives," replied Alverstoke. He looked down at Felix. "Isn't that it? Some sort of steam-locomotive?"

"Yes, that's it!" said Felix eagerly. "Trevithick's, sir. I don't mean the Puffing Devil: that ran on the road, but it caught fire, and was burnt."


"Ay! and a very good thing too!" interjected Jessamy. "Steam-engines on the roads! Why, they would send every horse mad with terror!"


"Oh, pooh! I daresay they would soon grow used to them. Besides, I'm not talking of that one. The one I mean runs on rails - at fifteen miles an hour, and very likely more!" He turned his attention to Alverstoke again. "I know it was brought to London, because Mr Rushbury - my godfather - told me so, and how you could ride in it for a shilling. He said it was north of the New Road, and not far, he thought, from Montague House."


"I believe it was," said Alverstoke. "From some cause or another I never visited it, but I do seem to recall that the inventor - what did you say his name is?"


"Trevithick! The first locamotive he made has five wagons, and it can carry ten tons of iron and seventy men, but only at five miles an hour. It's in Wales - I forget the name of the place - but the one here has one carriage, and -"


"Will you bite your tongue, you abominable little bagpipe?" interrupted Jessamy. "Anyone would take you for a regular shabster, rattling on like that, and not allowing Lord Alverstoke to edge in a word!"


Abashed by this rebuke, Felix hastily begged his lordship's pardon; but Alverstoke, amused by him, said: "Nonsense! I can always edge in a word - when I wish to! There was such a locomotive, Felix, but I am afraid it's a thing of the past. I rather think that Trevithick hired some ground, near Fitzroy Square, fenced it in, and laid down a circular track. As I recall, it created quite a stir, but although a great many people went to see it, few could be persuaded to ride in it - and none at all after a rail broke, and the engine overturned! So it had to be abandoned. It must have been quite ten years ago." He smiled, seeing the look of disappointment on Felix's countenance. "I'm aorry! Are you interested in locomotives?"


"Yes - no - in engines!" stammered Felix. "Steampower - c-compressed air - ! Sir, have you seen the pneumatic lift at the foundry in Soho?"


"No," said his lordship. "Have you?"


"They wouldn't let me," replied Felix sadly. A thought occured to him; and, fixing his ardent eyes on Alverstoke's face, he asked, with pent breath: "If you wished to see it - could you?"


Frederica, who had resumed her seat, said: "No, no, Felix! Lord Alverstoke does not wish to! You mustn't plague him to take you there!"


She was right: Alverstoke had not the remotest desire to inspect a pneumatic lift, but he found himself unable to resist the pleading look in the eyes raised so hopefully to his. He sat down again, smiling a little ruefully, and replied: "I expect I could. But you must tell me more about it!"

Needless to say, when Alverstoke's associates spot him strolling down the street with a boy bound for a foundry, they are literally floored. This is man who doesn't know the names of his own nieces and nephews, but for the Merrivilles he finds himself bending over backwards.

This is such a charming story. It is a classic Heyer Regency, filled with romping antics and enchanting characters. Frederica is a must read for the Heyer fan. If the indifferent Lord Alverstoke can't resist Felix's pleading eyes, how can you?

The Grand Sophy by Georgette Heyer

I love this book! I think The Grand Sophy only improved with a second reading, firmly establishing Sophy Stanton-Lacy in my mind as Heyer's most admirable female character. While Heyer created many intelligent heroines, Sophy quite casts them all in the shade, being endowed with a degree of understanding usually reserved for the heroes of these books, and then only the most exceptional. Having spent most of her life on the continent in diplomatic circles, Sophy enters her aunt's household in Berkeley Square while her father, Sir Horace Stanton-Lacy, attends a mission in the Americas. In little or no time this remarkably self-possessed young lady has not only all her cousin's dancing on her strings, but a large swath of the London Ton as well. The most remarkable aspect of her maneuvers is that she never makes a misstep, quite in the style of the Duke of Avon (read all about him in my review of These Old Shades), but with completely benevolent intentions, even if her methods are the most audacious imaginable.

Now a terribly clever lady would not be so very charming if she failed to possess a devilishly biting wit, and Sophy uses her's to infuriate when the ends justify the means. I love this early encounter with her cousin, Charles Rivenhall, who has long acted as the patriarch of the family (his father having failed in this light), and, as result, has developed rather tyrannical habits which Sophy is determined to correct:

"I must buy a carriage, and don't know whether to choose a curricle or a high-perch phaeton. Which do you recommend, cousin?"


"Neither," he replied, steadying his horses round a bend in the street.


"Oh?" said Sophy, rather surprised. "What, then?"


He glanced down at her. "You are not serious, are you?"


"Not serious? Of course I am serious!"


"If you wish to drive, I will take you in the Park one day," he said. "I expect I can find a horse - or even a pair - in the stables quiet enough for a lady to drive."


"Oh, I fear that would never do!" said Sophy, shaking her head.


"Indeed? Why not?"


"I might excite the horse," said Sophy dulcetly.


He was momentarily taken aback. Then he laughed, and said: "I beg your pardon: I had no intention of offending you! But you cannot need a carriage in London. You will no doubt drive out with my mother, and if you should wish to go on some particular errand you may always order one of the carriages to be sent round to the house for your use."


"That," said Sophy," is very obliging of you, but will not suit me quite so well. Where does one buy carriages in London?"


"You will scarcely drive yourself about the town in a curricle!" he said. "Nor do I consider a high-perch phaeton at all a suitable vehicle for a lady to drive. I should not care to see any of my sisters making the attempt."


"You must remember to tell them so," said Sophy affably. "Do they mind what you say to them? I never had a brother myself, so I can't know."


There was a slight pause, while Mr Rivenhall, unaccustomed to sudden attacks, recovered his presence of mind. It did not take him very long. "It might have been better for you if you had, cousin!" he said grimly.


"I don't think so," said Sophy, quite unruffled. "The little I have seen of brothers makes me glad that Sir Horace never burdened me with any."


"Thank you! I know how I may take that, I suppose!"


"Well, I imagine you might, for although you have a great many antiquated notions I don't think you stupid, precisely."


"Much obliged! Have you any other criticisms you would care to make?"


"Yes, never fly into a miff when you are driving a high-couraged pair! You took that last corner much too fast."

Needless to say, Sophy gets her high-perch phaeton and pair and proves herself quite the whip. Many people in this book try to curb Sophy's behavior and provide direction she is entirely without need of, in particular Mr. Rivenhall's prim and sour fiancee, Miss Eugenia Wraxton. As I often seem to be unable to resist quoting large swaths of Heyer (her dialogue is just too funny!), allow me to cite the first of many moments in which Sophy puts Miss Wraxton firmly in her place:

"I am persuaded that you must find our London ways strange at first."


"Why, I imagine that cannot differ greatly from those of Paris, or Vienna, or even Lisbon!" said Sophy.


"I have never visted those cities, but I believe - indeed I am sure! - that the tone of London is vastly superior," said Miss Wraxton.


Her air of calm certainty struck Sophy as being so funny that she went into a peal of laughter. "Oh, I beg your pardon!" she gasped. "But it is so ridiculous, you know!"


"I expect it must seem so to you," agreed Miss Wraxton, her calm quite unimpaired. "I understand that a great deal of licence is permitted on the Continent to females. Here it is not so. Quite the recerse! To be thought bad ton, dear Miss Stanton-Lacy, would be very dreadful. I know that you will not take it amiss if I give you a hint. You will of course wish to attend the Assemblies at Almack's, for instance. I assure you, the veriest breath of criticism to reach the ears of the patronesses, and you may say farewell to any hope of obtaining a voucher from them. Tickets may not be purchased, you know. It is most exclusive! The riles, too, are very strict, and must not be contravened by a hairsbreadth."


"You terrify me," said Sophy. "Do you think I shall be blackballed?"


Miss Wraxton smiled. "Hardly, since you will make your debut under Lady Ombersley's aegis! She will no doubt tell you just how you should conduct yourself, if her health permits her to take you there. It is unfortunate that circumstances have prevented me from occupying that position which would have enabled me to have relieved her of such duties."


"Forgive me!" interrupted Sophy, whose attention had been wandering, "but I think Madam de Lievan is waving to me, and it would be very uncivil not to notice her!"


She rode off as she spoke, to where a smart barouche was drawn up beside the track, and leaned down from her saddle to shake the languid hand held up to her.


"Sophie!" pronounced the Countess. "Sir Horace told me I should meet you here. You were galloping ventre a terre; never do so again! Ah, Mrs Burrell, permit me to present to you Miss Stanton-Lacy!"


The lady seated beside the Ambassador's wife bowed slightly, and allowed her lips to relax into an infinitesimal smile. This expanded a little when she observed Miss Wraxton, following in Sophy's wake, and she inclined her head, a great mark of condescension.


Countess Lieven nodded to Miss Wraxton, but went on talking to Sophy. "You are staying with Lady Ombersley. I am a little acquainted with her, and I shall call. She will spare you to me perhaps one evening. You have not seen Princess Esterhazy yet, or Lady Jersey? I shall tell them I have met you, and they will want to hear how Sir Horace does. What did I promise Sir Horace I would do? Ah, but of course! Almack's! I will send you a voucher ma chere Sophie, but do not gallop in Hyde Park." She then told her coachman to drive on, included the whole of Sophy's party in her light, valedictory smile, and turned to continue her interrupted conversation with Mrs Drummond Burrell.


"I was not aware that you were acquianted with the Countess Lieven," said Miss Wraxton.


"Do you dislike her?" Sophy asked, aware of the coldness in Miss Wraxton's voice. "Many people do, I know. Sir Horace calls her the greatest intriguante, but she is clever, and can be very amusing. She has a tendre for him, as I daresay you have guessed. I like Princess Esterhazy better myself, I own, and Lady Jersey better than either of them, because she is so much more sincere, in spite of that restless manner of hers."


"Dreadful woman!" said Charles. "She never stops talking! She is known as Silence, in London."


"Is she? Well, I am sure, if she knows it, she does not care a bit, for she dearly loves a joke."


"You are fortunate in knowing so many of the Patronesses of Almack's," observed Miss Wraxton.


Sophy gave her irrepressible chuckle. "To be honest, I think my good fortune lies in having an accomplished flirt for a father!"

If any of you, dear readers, happen to be so uninitiated as to be quite in the dark regarding who the illustrious historical figures mentioned in the passage above are, let me urge you to both read this article on RomanceWiki and look at the wonderful images supplied of the exclusive club's most memorable patronesses at The Romantic Query Letter and The Happy-Ever-After blog posthaste.

I am afraid I cannot complete a review of this book without touching on a sensitive topic. As many readers of this blog have probably deciphered, I am Jewish, and there is a scene in this novel where Sophy visits about the most disreputable member of those money-lenders referred to at the time as "the Jews" imaginable. I did not think much of it, or take the slightest offense, when I first read the book - no more than I did upon reading The Merchant of Venice or Oliver Twist - but shortly afterward I read a very interesting review of the book by a fellow blogger, for whom I have the utmost respect, in which she expressed extreme and legitimate discomfort with Heyer's portrayal. We engaged in a bit of healthy debate over the issue, which I do not believe resulted in either of us changing our mind's on the subject, but in light of the recent controversy raging over Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn, and I feel the need to reiterate my perspective on this subject. Political correctness is a very modern notion, and while it does indeed help to foster a more civil discourse, I feel it often inhibits our ability to discuss the very real racism that continues to flourish in our society and to understand both the present and historical consequences of such intolerance. I urge readers to not allow this episode of The Grand Sophy to undermine their enjoyment of this otherwise delightful novel, but to use it as a means of understanding a very real aspect of 19th century society. The reason Jews historically functioned as money-lenders was because of ancient religious prohibitions against Christians acting in this capacity. Money-lending allowed a marginalized sect to carve a useful place for themselves inside a hostile society, and, as in any profession, there were those who abused their position. Heyer depicts the very worst of these, and I admit to thinking that her feelings on Jews were probably not what most of us would deem acceptable, but it does not change the fact that she was a marvelous and extremely historically accurate writer, and by expressing her own, relatively modern prejudices (this book was first published in 1950), she has inadvertently provided us with an opportunity to understand hatred and intolerance. Not reading this book because of this scene is like removing a very offensive word from a masterpiece of American literature because we are too timid to confront the reality it highlights, and on that note, I will bring an end to both my rant and to this post. Enjoy the remains of the weekend everyone!