Georgette Heyer's Regency World Page 13

  ON THE PROMENADE AND OTHER ENTERTAINMENTS

  By the early nineteenth century Brighton had become well known as the Prince’s town. Each summer the generally quiet fishing village was transformed into a popular destination for the rich and fashionable. While the Pavilion stood at the centre of Brighton’s social life there were also other entertainments and activities for the well-heeled and well-connected. By 1806, George Raggett, who owned the famous White’s club in London, had established Raggett’s club on the Steine and it was to Raggett’s that the gentlemen of the ton would repair during the season to enjoy an excellent dinner or indulge in high play over a hand of cards or the roll of the dice. Hester Theale’s father, Lord Brancaster, in Sprig Muslin was a member of the Prince Regent’s set and spent most summers in Brighton playing whist at the Pavilion with the Prince and his brother the Duke of York, and engaging in every other hedonistic pastime put in his way. Across the road from Raggett’s, also on the Steine, was Donaldson’s Library, an elegant, spacious building where visitors could read the papers, exchange books, meet friends or attend one of the regular evening card parties or musical soirées. Evenings could also be spent promenading along the Steine just before sunset (at the fashionable hour of nine o’clock), exchanging nods and bows and perhaps receiving a gracious acknowledgement from the Prince Regent himself or, on one of her two visits to Brighton in 1814 and 1815, from his ageing mother, Queen Charlotte. It was while strolling along the Steine during the promenade hour that Captain Audley met Bernard Taverner in Regency Buck and the two men walked together to the Castle Inn where they shared a bottle of wine.

  Sea bathing became increasingly popular during the Regency as more

  people came to believe in the healthful effects of salt water.

  As the town grew, a second library, Fisher’s, was opened on Marine Parade between Charles and Manchester Streets. With views across the sea, it was a comfortable venue for talking or reading, with all the major London newspapers delivered each evening by coach. The Brighton Herald, established in 1806 and with immediate access to the regular packet from Dieppe, often scooped the London papers in reporting foreign events and in 1814 was the first English paper to report Napoleon’s escape from Elba. As well as the libraries, Brighton had a good theatre in New Road, just west of the Pavilion, and an established programme of balls and card assemblies held at the Castle Inn and the Old Ship on alternate evenings. Race meetings were held at the course on the Downs just outside of town and were extremely popular with both male and female visitors. Brighton did not appeal to everyone, however: Lady Ombersley in The Grand Sophy, when asked where she would prefer to spend the summer months, declared that the town was not good for her constitution and her daughter Cecilia was adamant in judging the Regent’s parties at the Pavilion as ‘stupid’!

  Sea bathing became increasingly popular during the Regency as visitors travelled to Brighton to bathe in the sea and drink its water. Sea bathing was often referred to as ‘a cold medicated bath’ with a strict ritual to be followed by anyone wishing to gain full benefit from the activity. In Sprig Muslin, Lady Hester’s sister felt that a course of sea bathing might prove beneficial to her small, rather sickly son. Patients were required to prepare for bathing by regularly drinking sea water, and bathing was to be done in cold weather when the pores were ‘safely’ closed. It was considered dangerous to bathe after exercise, or in warmer weather, as this was thought to increase the risk of contracting a chill or worse. For some, however, sea bathing had become a pleasure and they would brave the waters even in the summer, undressing in the dressing machines and swimming naked or donning the more modest linen or flannel shift and stepping into the water from their horse-drawn wheeled box after it had been pulled into the sea. Ladies and gentlemen were usually separated, and for the uninitiated or less confident there were paid helpers (known as dippers) on hand to assist bathers.

  BATH

  The city of Bath in the Avon Valley in Somerset was well known for its famous mineral spas and many beautiful eighteenth-century buildings. Bath had been popular for its hot springs during Roman times but it was during the eighteenth century that it experienced its ‘golden age’ as a fashionable resort. The new, or upper, town was set apart from the old lower town by its classically designed houses and, in particular, by John Wood the Elder’s magnificent Circus built between 1754 and 1758. Comprising thirty-three terraced houses set in a circle around a wide expanse of road, the Circus was inspired by the Coliseum in Rome and, in Bath, was rivalled only by the semicircular row of terraced houses west of the Circus known as Royal Crescent. The Crescent quickly became one of the iconic images of Bath and its building set a trend in the late eighteenth century for other spa towns, such as Buxton, Leamington and Cheltenham, to build their own crescents. It was to Royal Crescent that Sherry escorted his mother, the Dowager Lady Sheringham, and Miss Milborne in Friday’s Child, and it was while crossing the Circus in his curricle that he saw his wife, Hero, being escorted down Russell Street by another man. Other well-known Bath landmarks were the grand York House Hotel in George Street and the New or Upper Assembly Rooms in Bennett Street.

  Bath reached the height of its popularity as a fashionable resort in the later eighteenth century and, although still well patronised by the time of the Regency, its hotels and lodging-houses were tenanted more by the elderly, the retired and the shabby genteel, than by the rich and fashionable. It was in Bath that Annis Wychwood in Lady of Quality chose to live without the protection of a male relative and in spite of strong family opposition to the idea of an unmarried woman setting up her own establishment. The various attractions of the town such as the Pump Room and the Upper and Lower Assembly Rooms continued to draw large numbers of people, however, and well-established social programmes offered a range of entertainments throughout the season. Visitors to Bath had a wide choice of inns, hotels and lodging-houses, but the most respectable and best-known hotels were the Christopher in High Street, the Pelican on Walcot Street, the less genteel White Hart in Stall Street and, best of all, the York House Hotel with its well-appointed rooms, fine food, excellent service and convenient location on George Street at the northern end of Milsom Street, just a short walk from the Upper Assembly Rooms. Ideally set up and situated to service travellers coming into Bath by coach from London, Bristol and the Midlands, with a large stable and plenty of rooms for tired travellers, it was also the most expensive hotel in Bath. Miles Calverleigh stayed at the York House in Black Sheep and his nephew Stacy shocked Abigail Wendover’s prim sister Selina by questioning whether his devil-may-care uncle could really afford to stay there or whether he would leave town without paying his bill.

  THE UPPER AND LOWER ASSEMBLY ROOMS

  The Assembly Rooms were a vital part of Bath life. Here people met to dance, play cards, gamble, listen to music and talk, and here Richard ‘Beau’ Nash established himself as the first Master of Ceremonies and became the acknowledged leader of Bath society for much of the eighteenth century. A strict protocol was enforced in the Assembly Rooms and guests were required to sign the subscription book or risk incurring the displeasure of the Master of Ceremonies. In Friday’s Child, Lord Sheringham made the fatal error of neglecting to sign the Master’s book and as a result found himself being presented to the plainest female present when he attended a ball at the Lower Rooms. Balls began at seven o’clock and ended at eleven p.m. precisely. Full evening dress was de rigueur and, as Abigail Wendover obligingly explained to Miles Calverleigh in Black Sheep, while country-dances and cotillions were acceptable, waltzing was not permitted and those wishing to stand up for the minuet had to be in their places no later than eight o’clock. Tea was served part way through the evening and cost sixpence.

  The Lower Rooms were the pre-eminent venue for assemblies until 1771 when the growth of the new, or upper town, saw the building of the magnificent new Upper Assembly Rooms in Bennett Street (also known as the New Assembly Rooms) comprising a grand Ballroom, Tea Room, Car
d Room and, linking all three, an Octagon Room. In Black Sheep, Abigail Wendover met several of her friends in the Octagon Room before attending a concert given by Neroli, and took tea afterwards with Mr Calverleigh who told her that the singer had put him in mind of a blancmange. Although both the Upper and Lower Rooms offered subscribers a range of entertainments, the Upper Rooms were generally considered superior and tended to dominate the weekly round of events with a dress ball on Mondays, card assembly on Tuesdays, concert on Wednesdays and fancy ball on Thursdays. As a result, the social life in Bath was often marked by a rivalry between the two sets of rooms and between the two reigning Masters of Ceremonies.

  Abigail Wendover was surrounded by a crowd of admirers when she

  attended a concert at the Upper Assembly Rooms in Black Sheep.

  The role of Master of Ceremonies derived from a position held at the royal courts, where a designated individual was held responsible for supervising and, at times, deciding what constituted acceptable public behaviour in the Pump Room, the Baths and the Assembly Rooms, thus protecting visitors to Bath from uncouth or unseemly conduct. The Master’s presence, as demonstrated by Nash in the eighteenth century, also implied a certain level of decorum, manners and behaviour at social functions and reassured those present that their fellow guests were of a particular social standing. It also gave an event a certain cachet, designating it as fashionable and, for those in his favour, it could mean an easy entrée into elite circles. It was customary for visitors to Bath to sign the Master’s subscription book upon arrival, enabling him to make a formal call and effect necessary introductions at future social events. Neglecting to write one’s name in the book was tantamount to an insult and inevitably resulted in some degree of social discomfort for the perpetrator. In Bath Tangle, Lady Serena advised her young mother-in-law of the wisdom of writing their names in the Masters’ books despite the fact that both ladies were in mourning and unable to attend either balls or card assemblies. Once apprised of the ladies’ arrival in Bath, both Mr King of the Upper Rooms and his rival Mr Guynette of the Lower were assiduous in their attentions and did all they could to make the Dowager Countess’s stay agreeable.

  In Bath Tangle, Fanny, Lady Spenborough, visited the Pump Room

  regularly to meet friends and take the waters.

  THE PUMP ROOM

  Taking the waters at Bath meant either bathing in one of the hot pools or, the preferred option, drinking the water in the Pump Room. This was the social hub of daily life in Bath during the Regency, for here residents and visitors would gather throughout the day to take the waters, stroll about the room, meet friends, exchange news, listen to the small orchestra and survey the scene for any newcomers who might be worthy of introduction to one’s social circle—although Lady Serena in Bath Tangle caused her mama-in-law considerable consternation when she struck up a friendship with the outspoken, flamboyant and decidedly middle-class Mrs Floore. The Great Pump Room was opened in 1799 and visitors entering through the grand Ionic colonnade adorning the exterior found themselves in a large, spacious room, elegantly appointed with Corinthian pillars, tall multi-paned windows and furnished with benches, chairs and Chippendale seats. A pumper dispensed glasses of the famous mineral water to those regular visitors to the Pump Room who had paid their season’s subscription and to occasional drinkers on payment of a small sum. On most days (when she had nothing better to do) Selina Wendover in Black Sheep made a point of drinking a glass of the famous water although she did not really enjoy it. Many claims were made for the wholesomeness of drinking Bath water but for some, such as Fanny in Bath Tangle, the benefits of attending the Great Pump Room were to be found more in the pleasant setting and social interaction than in the waters themselves. For those visitors wishing to bathe in the waters rather than drink them, there was a choice of several baths, such as the King’s Bath, the Cross Bath, the Queen’s Bath and the Hot Bath. During the Regency, mixed bathing was permitted in all the baths except for the Queen’s Bath which was for women only. Bath attendants assisted both men (suitably clad in shirts and drawers) and women (in a linen shift) to enter the baths and supervised the bathers as they wallowed up to their necks in the warm, steamy waters. Bath’s hot springs were famous for their curative powers and it was for this reason that in Sylvester the Duke of Salford went to such extraordinary lengths to get his invalid mother there.

  TAKING THE CURE

  Good health was highly prized during the Regency when the vast array of illness and disease meant that the chance of avoiding the physician’s risky diagnosis, the surgeon’s knife or the apothecary’s brews was minimal. Neither wealth nor title was a guarantee of health and even the best physicians were still limited in their understanding of disease. Many people proved remarkably resilient, however, undergoing surgery without anaesthetic and enduring the purges, emetics, leeches, hot plasters, induced blisters, opiates and other ‘curatives’ in the doctor’s arsenal without a murmur. Treatment was generally a response to symptoms, rather than a preventative measure, and it was not uncommon for the ‘cure’ to be as bad as, or, in some cases, worse than the illness itself. In Friday’s Child, the Dowager Lady Sheringham was convinced that while in Bath she should avail herself of the newest treatments, including the four different waters at Dr Wilkinson’s rooms and the Russian Vapour Baths.

  Responses to illness and injury took various forms, and patients had a wide choice of advisers, healers, medications, cures, traditional wisdom and folklore. Many people self-medicated and women such as Mrs Dauntry in Frederica, believing herself to suffer from a weak constitution, took a wide range of medications including goat’s whey for a non-existent consumption, paregoric draughts, restoratives and other remedies. Those wishing for medical advice could avail themselves of the services of the local apothecary, surgeon, wise woman, herbalist or village quack, while for those who could afford it a visit from a physician was considered desirable. For some patients the attentions of an understanding, well-spoken medical practitioner could be so comforting that they would call on him at the first sign of a symptom. Faced with the often dull life of a well-bred, older single lady, Selina Wendover in Black Sheep frequently developed nervous disorders or other ‘interesting conditions’ that required the attention of the best doctors in Bath.

  Some Regency ladies enjoyed the regular attentions of an understanding physician.

  Among the best-known Regency doctors were Matthew Baillie, Sir Henry Halford, Sir Richard Croft and Sir William Knighton. Each of these men built large and successful practices during the period and were in great demand among members of the upper class. Dr Baillie was a famous physician and lecturer in anatomy who also served as Princess Charlotte’s principal physician until her pregnancy and confinement, when Sir Richard Croft was brought in as a specialist. A small, plain man, Baillie impressed patients and colleagues alike with his clarity of mind, good sense, and ability to communicate even the most complex medical conditions simply and effectively, and it was he who attended young Amabel in The Grand Sophy. A colleague of Baillie’s, Sir Richard Croft was a tall, elegantly dressed man, with an aristocratic clientele and a strong sense of his own skill and importance. A leading accoucheur (man-midwife), Croft was in great demand in fashionable circles although there were those who thought little of his particular methods of dealing with pregnant ladies. In A Civil Contract, neither Adam Deveril nor his formidable Aunt Nassington agreed with Croft’s ‘reducing diets’ (consisting mainly of liquids) for expectant mothers or with his practice of bleeding them. Adam became so concerned about his wife’s poor health that he called in one of the Regent’s personal physicians, Sir William Knighton to replace Croft. Hard-working, conscientious and empathetic, Knighton had successfully established himself as an accoucheur and was well known for his superb manners and keen intellect. Sir Henry Halford was another eminent medical specialist who found favour with the nobility and aristocracy during the Regency. A sound and reliable doctor, and a satisfactory rather than br
illiant diagnostician, he had been physician extraordinary to George III, and established a thriving practice in Curzon Street in the heart of fashionable London. Known for his courtly manners (and referred to by some as the ‘eel-backed baronet’) Halford was physician to four British monarchs and his reputation alone was enough to convince concerned aristocratic mothers like Lady Legerwood in Cotillion that he should be brought in to assist the unimpressed family doctor.

  The practice of medicine was still largely unregulated when the Regency began, and anyone could try his or her hand in almost any area except midwifery which was more strictly controlled. Remedies for illness and disease varied widely during the period but blood-letting or bleeding was one of the most popular. Used as a cure in almost every kind of illness, it was especially favoured by the Prince Regent who, like many others, believed that blood-letting would release the ‘bad blood’ from the patient’s body and with it the cause of the disease. In certain cases bleeding did appear to relieve pain and many among the upper class also believed in bleeding as a means of alleviating the consequences of overindulgence in food and drink. In The Reluctant Widow, Lord Bedlington, overcome by the tragic news of his nephew’s death, felt obliged to have half a pint of blood taken to help calm his nerves and swore by the efficacy of the ‘cure’.

  In its simplest form, bleeding was achieved by opening a vein with a small knife called a lancet and letting the blood run until the practitioner felt enough had been released. The amount of blood taken varied enormously and depended mainly on the whim of the surgeon (or apothecary, blacksmith or barber) and the constitution of the patient. Leeches (sixpence each) were also used and were applied to the skin to suck the blood until enough was thought to have been taken, before they were sprinkled with salt to make them let go. Another popular method of drawing blood was cupping, whereby the practitioner placed heated cups made of glass (occasionally metal) on the patient’s body to create a vacuum which drew the skin up into the cup and brought the blood to the surface. Both dry cupping and wet cupping were common during the Regency although wet cupping—where the skin was scratched or cut to allow the blood to flow freely from the body—was more popular. In dry cupping the skin remained uncut and the benefit to the patient was felt to be derived purely from the increased circulation of the blood.