Georgette Heyer Page 13

  A few days before she left the city Georgette wrote a hasty letter to Moore. “I’ve done nothing about a modern book,” she told her agent. “I don’t think I can now, but I’ll try & write some shorts. This appalling tragedy is too much on my mind. And that swine Oddy’s verdict has just about finished us.” With Ronald between jobs she was the main source of income and the financial pressure was already beginning to build. Concerns about money were to become a recurring theme—partly because she never knew in advance just how much her next royalty check would be. Royalties were calculated twice a year in March and October, but the amount she received depended on the number of books sold and the price paid for them—something impossible to predict.

  Georgette enjoyed solid sales for each of her titles and even after the initial burst of advertising and reviews had passed her novels continued selling steadily. A good writer could remain in print for years if a book sold several hundred or a thousand copies a year. In the 1920s and 1930s (before the advent of the paperback in 1935) publishers would start a book at seven shillings and six pence and within a year or two would offer a successful title in a cheaper three-shilling-and-six-pence edition. Royalties were less for the cheaper books—at ten percent just over four pence a copy. If Georgette’s novels sold a thousand copies of each title in the cheaper edition annually (a possible eleven thousand copies in 1931) her yearly royalties would have amounted to less than £200. This was not an insignificant sum in the early 1930s, but receiving it as she did in two separate payments six months apart made controlling day-to-day expenses difficult and she often found herself struggling financially. In April the receipt of her first royalty statement for the year prompted an anxious letter to Moore: “Thank you for the check. I see the Shades still go on…I hope you’ll get rid of the American rights in Conk [sic]. With no modern book I look like being broke.”

  The financial strain that was to dog Georgette for most of her writing life was an inevitable consequence of spending her money faster than she earned it. This was partly because she was supporting her mother and Boris in addition to her own household. Sylvia had also decided to move to Horsham and had taken rooms at the Black Horse Hotel a few doors down the street from the sports store. Frank was now at Cambridge, having left Lancing the previous year. He had won the Bevan Exhibition to Pembroke College and although he was less of a drain on Georgette’s finances he still required help occasionally. Even with an Exhibition, life at Cambridge could be expensive and there were several months of vacation each year when Frank came down from the University, shared the rooms above the shop with Boris, and had to be provided for. Georgette did not balk at giving her family financial support, but the need to have a reliable income—something not likely to be supplied by the profits of a small sports store in Horsham—did put pressure on her to keep writing.

  Georgette’s relationship with Ronald does not seem to have been harmed by her role as the main family breadwinner. Nor does she appear to have resented the responsibility or even questioned it, although she did find it a burden at times. Ronald did his best to contribute financially and, although it was not where his ambition lay, had pinned his hopes on making a go of the sports shop. It cannot have been easy for a man of his class and social background to have to depend on his wife as the main source of income—particularly in a postwar world where men were assumed to have returned to their “rightful” place as head of the home and family provider. That it was Georgette’s earnings that largely supported them in the 1930s and that Ronald’s response, so far from being resentful, was to assist her with her writing in whatever way he could, suggests a maturity in the relationship and a strength of character that helps to explain why their marriage endured for nearly half a century.

  Georgette and Ronald understood each other well. His practical support of her writing, via his reading of her manuscripts and research assistance, also meant that he had a legitimate stake in her work, which must have made their dependency on her literary income somewhat easier to bear. Although she did not resent the demands on her creative powers or on her purse, Georgette felt them nevertheless, especially as the move to Sussex, so far from saving them money, eventually proved to be a significant drain on their finances.

  They left London on 30 April 1931 and moved in to a cottage called Swan Ken at Broadbridge Heath, near Horsham. Six months later they moved into a comfortable, two-story house called Southover in Colgate, a tiny hamlet in Lower Beeding, east of Horsham. Southover lay at the end of a long, narrow lane deep in the West Sussex countryside, with only a handful of houses nearby and one pub, the Dragon. It was secluded and private, which entirely suited Georgette. For her, country living did not mean embracing community life. She did not wish to become involved in the parish church or join the Women’s Institute and had no need of a large group of friends or a busy social life. Although she mingled with the local people and regularly went into Horsham to shop and sometimes went to the cinema with Ronald, Georgette preferred to remain out of the public eye and to safeguard her privacy. People knew who she was, of course, for a celebrity of any kind rarely remains anonymous in a small English village, and the postman was a reliable source of information about any newcomer. Word quickly got around. Although people sometimes exclaimed over her achievements or tried to talk to her about her books, they mostly left her alone. Ronald was more outgoing and his love of golf meant an instant entrée into the local community after he joined the nearby Mannings Heath Golf Club.

  The Rougiers took Southover fully furnished for a year. It was a relief to be in their own place again. Their stay at the Swan Ken had not stopped Georgette writing, however, for she had begun a magazine serial story there which she told her agent was “developing into a remarkably fine effort.” It was her first attempt at a detective-thriller, a departure from her usual writing but one which she hoped would make money. The detective-thriller had become hugely popular by the 1920s, thanks largely to the writings of Edgar Wallace, whose novels sold in millions. Georgette’s first “thriller” was called Footsteps in the Dark after the ghostly footsteps heard in their house in Kratovo. The story was typical of the genre with a haunted house, secret passages, a skeleton, and several mysterious characters, one of whom turns out to be an undercover policeman. It is not a great piece of writing and lacks the wit of her later detective novels but it is good fun in parts and she obviously enjoyed writing it. In some ways it reflects her mood at the time: lighthearted, hopeful, and with a promise of things to come. Georgette had discovered she was pregnant.

  Baby Georgette and Sylvia

  Georgette aged 18 months

  Georgette aged 8 and Boris

  Georgette aged 12 with Boris and Frank

  Sylvia Watkins and George Heyer

  George Heyer

  Sylvia on her wedding day, 1901

  Captain George Heyer, circa 1915

  Georgette’s grandfather George Heyer

  Georgette’s grandmother Alice Heyer

  Georgette’s grandfather William Watkins

  Georgette’s grandmother Annette Watkins

  Cecily, Annette, and Josephine Watkins

  Fairfield House

  Georgette and Grannie Watkins

  Georgette with Boris and Frank about the time of writing The Black Moth

  A photograph of Georgette possibly from The Black Moth jacket

  The Black Moth, Constable 1921

  The Great Roxhythe, Hutchinson 1922

  Georgette Heyer by E.O. Hoppé, 1923

  The Transformation of Philip Jettan, Mills and Boon 1923

  Instead of the Thorn, Hutchinson 1923

  Charles Joseph Rougier

  Jane Henderson Gray Crookston

  Ronald Rougier aged 22

  Young Ronald Rougier

  Ronald Rougier, naval cadet

  Carola and Dulce Oman

  Georgette Heyer, circa 1922

  Joanna Cannan

  George Heyer a few hours before his death

 
Georgette and Ronald’s wedding, 1925

  Georgette Heyer in Tanganyika, 1927

  Georgette outside “the Manor House,” Tanganyika

  Georgette and Ronald in Kyerwa, Tanganyika

  The Masqueraders 1928, written in the grass hut

  Helen 1928, the most autobiographical novel

  11

  Thank you for these few kind words about my letters. I think they are rather peculiar. I write very few.

  —Georgette Heyer

  Delighted to find that she was going to be a mother, Georgette wrote to tell Moore: “We are expecting an addition to the family in February to my almost insane rapture, & Ronald’s equally insane horror.” Her pregnancy was the fulfillment of a long-held wish for a child and her husband’s “horror” had more to do with their financial situation than with the thought of becoming a father. Since giving up his career as a mining engineer, Ronald had not enjoyed great success in business. They had lost their savings investing in the gas, light, and coke company and had borrowed the money for the sports store; with a baby on the way Ronald must have felt an even great pressure to provide for his family.

  He needed a regular income. But the profits to be made from stringing tennis racquets, repairing guns, or selling golf clubs were never going to be large in an English market town with a population of only fourteen thousand. Ronald worked hard at making the shop a success but Georgette was moved to tell her agent: “I MUST HAVE MONEY. Like that. All in capitals. I pray god to soften the heart of an editor unbusinesslike enough to pay me an extortionate sum for the privilege of producing the thriller.” In November she agreed to a £200 advance from Longmans who wanted to publish Footsteps in the Dark as a novel.

  Spurred on by the need for money and the demands of a growing number of fans, even before she had finished writing the detective-thriller, Georgette was planning her next book. “I’ve got something far more Amazing up my Sleeve,” she told Moore. “What price a sequel to These Old Shades? Yes, I thought that’d make you sit up.” She intended the book to be like her earlier historical romances: with a hero the fans could adore and a heroine (originally named Helen) who would appeal to both old and new readers. She was excited by the new book and told her agent:

  It is a return to this author’s popular manner, &—discarding hyperbole—is a sort of “Twenty Years After,” for it is to be about Avon and Léonie’s son, Dominic. He is going to be quite remarkably like his father, with a bit of Ma’s hot temper thrown in, & her total disregard for human life. I haven’t thought out the whole plot, yet, but he’s to be a Bad Man (but Terribly Handsome and Attractive, of course) & he’s to be a Famous shot. One of those impossible people who shoot as well Drunk as Sober. There will of course be an Abduction, a villain (neither handsome nor Attractive), a cross-country Chase, hair-breadth escapes, etc. And I propose to give Léonie, Avon, Lord Rupert, & Co. good fruity parts in the epic.

  In the end she dispensed with her planned villain and made Dominic, the Marquis of Vidal, a more interesting and desirable character by casting him as both the hero and the villain of the piece. It is Vidal who abducts the heroine, Mary Challoner, and he who discovers soon after forcing her aboard his yacht bound for France that she is neither the trollop he first thought her nor the typical romantic heroine. Georgette deliberately turned several romantic stereotypes on their heads in this sequel and Mary Challoner was her first anti-heroine. Not for Mary the traditional scene where the aristocratic hero ravishes the fainting, helpless, but secretly enamoured heroine. Instead, Georgette built to a superb comic climax early in the book:

  “And now,” said Vidal silkily, “and now, Miss Mary Challoner…!”

  Miss Challoner made a heroic effort, and raised herself on her elbow. “Sir,” she said, self-possessed to the last, “I do not care whether you go or stay, but I desire to warn you that I am about to be extremely unwell.” She pressed her handkerchief to her mouth, and said through it in muffled accents: “Immediately!”

  His laugh sounded heartless, she thought. “Egad, I never thought of that,” he said. “Take this, my girl.”

  She opened her eyes once more, and found that his lordship was holding a basin toward her. She found nothing at all incongruous in the sight. “Thank you!” gasped Miss Challoner.

  Georgette called the novel Devil’s Cub in a nod to fans of These Old Shades and that book’s much-loved hero, “Satanas,” the Duke of Avon (she had rejected as titles The Son of the Duke, Wolf of Avon, and Boris’s ironic suggestion: These Old Shadows). Georgette hoped to finish the sequel in time for spring publication but her writing was interrupted in mid-February by the arrival of her long-awaited baby.

  At 3:40 p.m. on Friday, 12 February 1932, Georgette gave birth to a healthy eight-pound boy. She called him Richard, a favorite name which she had used in The Black Moth, several short stories, and for the hero in Helen. Richard’s second name was George, after his father, George Ronald, and his grandfather, George Heyer. Later in their lives the reverse initials of father and son became something of a family joke and Georgette would regularly refer to her son as “R.G.” and her husband as “G.R.” Eight days after Richard’s birth, Georgette wrote to tell Moore of her son’s safe arrival, that the baby looked “like a Gauguin picture, & has shoulders like his father’s,” and that she was “in that sort of a Mood just at present when I am Affronted by receiving letters which do not mention Richard George Rougier.” She was a proud parent and a devoted mother, although her time with Richard would always be limited by the demands of her writing.

  In a fitting reminder of her literary career Richard and Footsteps in the Dark appeared on the same day. Kenneth Potter of Longmans wrote to Georgette to say he hoped that the baby and Footsteps “were going to be my two most successful works” (her earlier concerns about Longmans had been temporarily allayed by their prompt production of the detective-thriller). Some years later Georgette described Footsteps in the Dark as “This work, published simultaneously with my son… was the first of my thrillers, and was perpetrated while I was, as any Regency character would have said, increasing. One husband and two ribald brothers all had fingers in it, and I do not claim it as a Major Work.” Richard, however, she described as “my most notable (indeed, peerless) work” and “my most successful achievement.”

  Her son was now three months old and “Lusty & Belligerent,” but he had deep blue eyes with long lashes and she loved him. He had a nanny, of course, but Georgette gave Richard as much of her time and attention as she thought proper in the first year of life, and she often wrote at night instead of during the day “so as not to disrupt family life.” Some days she would begin her work at nine or ten in the evening and sit up all night writing her manuscripts in longhand. She also had an ancient typewriter which Moore had given to her during his first year as her agent and sometimes she wrote on that.

  Her relationship with her agent had become more important since the move to Sussex and she wrote to him often. In May she asked Moore if he “could squeeze £300 out of Heinemann” for Devil’s Cub. On receiving a rather terse reply, in which he assured her that she could “safely leave the question of the advance” to him, she responded with one of her joking letters: “I won’t be sat on, so there!” After ten years of writing to Moore (it would be another year before she began calling him “L.P.”), Georgette treated her agent as an affectionate niece would treat her kindly, old-fashioned, Victorian uncle. Moore seems not always to have known how to respond to her habit of poking fun at him and may have preferred a more conservative author-agent relationship. Georgette, however, like many authors, needed more than that and was swift to let him know whenever she felt neglected or out of touch. She visited him at his office when she was in London and when he failed to visit her at home in Sussex expressed her disappointment in typical fashion: “How much we enjoyed your visit to us the other day! (HINT.) How nice of you and Mrs. Moore to run down to see us, AS YOU SAID YOU WOULD. (sarcasm.)”

  Despite her insist
ence that she wrote very few letters, Georgette was a prolific correspondent. She thought nothing of writing several letters in a day—even when she was busy with a new manuscript. She frequently regaled her agent with humorous excerpts from her latest book, descriptions of baby Richard, and stream-of-consciousness accounts of small moments in her daily routine. She had the ability to bring the least incident to life: the changing of the nib on her fountain pen, a bout of laryngitis, or Richard’s latest achievement, while the receipt of a “very jammy” letter from a fan was an opportunity for a wry comment about the public taste and the worth of her own novels. Such moments of self-deprecation are rare in the first decade of her writing life, but in 1932 she wrote jokingly to Moore to tell him that “One of these days you’ll get had up for Obtaining Money Under False Pretenses. And I shall be arrested as an Accessory & have to admit that I did write a series of worthless books for which you did obtain sums of money far greater than the said books were worth.” She ended the letter with a series of humorous postscripts: