Georgette Heyer Read online

  P.S. When I sat down to brighten your humdrum existence with a few deathless words from my pen, I thought I had something of importance to say. Isn’t that funny? For on reading this prose poem through I find that I haven’t said it.

  P.P.S. Careful as I am always to write to you in a spirit of decorum, & with the Respect Inspired by your gray hairs, I somehow feel that perhaps I should do well to head this note Private & Extremely Confidential. Then you’ll get all-excited-like, & devour it in the hopes of Revelations of a Private & Shocking Character. Farewell!

  P.P.S.S. When some Admirer collects my letters & publishes them this’ll make edifying reading, will not it?

  Despite the derogatory remarks about her books Georgette hoped that her novels were better than she was prepared to admit publicly. By the late 1930s she increasingly wanted others to acknowledge their worth and the quality of her writing. Her suggestion that someone might one day want to collect and edit her letters or write her biography was an idea she mentioned several times. That Moore kept so many of her letters and was always careful to write her real name against her occasional humorous pseudonymous signature (Sophonisba Hawkins, Jemima Hopkins, Almeria Clutterbuck) indicates that he, at least, thought that she was someone whose work might endure.

  At the end of May, Georgette needed to “have about 50 teeth pulled out.” Afterwards she would take a short holiday and try to finish Devil’s Cub. She was maudlin and felt “vile, & do not expect to live very much longer.” Over the next few years she would suffer several bouts of ill-health and semi-humorous statements about death or suicide were not uncommon whenever she felt unwell, overwhelmed, or under duress. What she could not say out loud Georgette said through the medium of writing. Her letters were a conduit for many of her ideas, thoughts, and feelings—an essential outlet for her emotions which she expressed through humorous, ironic, or sarcastic comments about her domestic situation or her novels. Sometimes these were an unconscious reflection of frustrations or irritation felt at moments when life was difficult. Occasionally they were thinly disguised demands for attention.

  Georgette rarely asked Moore or anyone (apart from Ronald) what they thought of her books and hardly ever suggested that they read them. She wanted genuine, spontaneous praise from people whose opinions she respected. Frustratingly, those who were best-positioned to tell her what she wanted to hear often did not read the signs or understand her need. L.P. Moore was one of these. When pressed, he would occasionally respond with an encouraging comment, but from his point of view she was a successful author who reliably produced a novel a year (and very often two), enjoyed solid sales, and received good reviews in all of the major papers. To him, her success was self-evident and even if he had discerned her growing need for recognition he was of a generation which did not hold with effusive outbursts of praise. Paradoxically, had he ever overcome his natural reticence and expressed himself in such a way, Georgette would have depressed such sentiments with all the contrariness of an author who yearned for praise but demanded privacy, and consistently resisted talking about her work.

  Once she began writing again after Richard’s birth, Devil’s Cub was brought quickly to its satisfying and humorous conclusion. Moore had played his part and got the £300 advance from Heinemann, by which time Georgette had already begun her next book. Encouraged by the success of Footsteps in the Dark, which had sold out its first five thousand copies in just three months (it was reprinted four times in its first year), she had begun a second detective-thriller in the hope of a quick financial return. Originally called Half a Loaf, the new book featured all the ingredients of the classic detective story with a murdered butler, suspicious heroine, debonair detective, and the obligatory country-house party. Once again Ronald played his part in the writing: offering suggestions, reading the manuscript, and helping with the kind of technical information Georgette needed—mainly to do with guns, cars, and boats. He would collaborate on most of her detective novels and their son Richard later recalled that:

  At the time, Mother was writing both historical and detective novels. The latter were a form of mental exercise for her, but my father had a hand in them. He would work out how the crime was committed, but he was incapable of characterisation. One of my earliest memories is of my father starting off: “Now we have X who is third in line for a fortune which is at present in the hands of Y. The girl is Z and she and X plot to do this…” He had started outlining the plot when Mother interrupted saying: “Oh no! X wouldn’t do that. He’s not that kind of person.” My father exploded, but she just couldn’t help putting flesh on the bones.

  A friend of the Rougiers told Jane Aiken Hodge that Ronald “at this time was an immensely supportive husband, charming, friendly and always there when his wife needed him, if perhaps always a step behind. And he was a tower of strength when it came to reading proofs, where she relied on him to catch errors she was too close to spot.” Half a Loaf became Why Shoot a Butler? and Georgette acknowledged Ronald’s contribution by dedicating the book “To one who knows why.”

  By the time Georgette’s second thriller came out in February 1933, her first had sold almost twelve thousand copies. It was an encouraging figure in an era when publishers were pleased to sell four or five thousand copies of a title. With royalties of fifteen percent on the first three thousand books sold, Georgette had earned back her advance in the first three months. Within a year Footsteps in the Dark had brought in nearly £800—a substantial return considering a housemaid earned just fifty or sixty pounds a year. It also meant that Georgette could see clearly where the money was. Of her fifteen novels only her contemporary books sold less than ten thousand copies in their first four years of publication. The novels that had merited the most reprints were These Old Shades (twenty-five thousand copies in seven years) and The Masqueraders (twenty-two thousand copies in five years). Sales of Devil’s Cub were also strong. Given the success of her crime and historical fiction it is not surprising Georgette gave up writing contemporary romance.

  Soon after the publication of Why Shoot a Butler?, and possibly on the strength of her improving royalties, Georgette and Ronald decided to find a house with an extended lease into which they could settle long-term. They had been married for almost eight years and been in Sussex for nearly eighteen months. Country living suited them and once Richard was born they may have felt a desire for greater permanency. In May they left Southover and moved into the Sussex Oak Inn north of Horsham. From here they found the ideal residence.

  Blackthorns was a large, two-story brick house set in fifteen acres with a big garden and a wood in which nightingales sang. There was a stream and a pond where Richard could sail his boats, and a well from which their water was pumped each morning and evening. Set on the outskirts of a tiny hamlet called Toat Hill (toat being Saxon for lookout) in the parish of Slinfold, Blackthorns lay four miles to the west of Horsham. Like Southover, it was set well back from the road with a long driveway and a great many trees to shield it from public view, and was far enough removed from Horsham to ensure Georgette’s privacy. She did not find it inconvenient, however, for they bought a car (“the Viper”) and Slinfold had its own railway station with a train service that could get them to London in an hour.

  About this time, Georgette joined the Empress Club in Dover Street in central London. Established in 1897 as a club for educated, professional women, the Empress provided an elegant, sophisticated environment which enabled Georgette to play host to her agent or friends whenever she visited the capital. On trips to London she often liked to “drop in” on Moore and occasionally they met at the Empress for lunch. Georgette appears to have remained a member of the Empress Club until the War.6

  It may have been through her association with Moore that during the 1930s Georgette gradually came to know a handful of other authors or “fellow-inkies” as she liked to call them. One of these was another Heinemann author, Margaret Kennedy, whose 1924 novel, The Constant Nymph, had been a sensational bestseller.
In later years changes at Heinemann saw Georgette’s circle of literary acquaintances slowly increase to include other Heinemann authors such as J.B. Priestley, Graham Greene, Somerset Maugham, Eric Ambler, and Clifford Bax. But, despite meeting them socially, it seems that Georgette never attempted to further the relationship beyond that of a friendly acquaintance and her only close writing friends remained Joanna Cannan and Carola Oman.

  The upheaval of the move to Blackthorns meant that Georgette published only Why Shoot a Butler? in 1933. It was a moderate success with some good reviews, including one in The Times Literary Supplement and another in a smaller paper which amused Georgette immensely:

  Somebody in the Westminster Record says that Why Shoot a Butler? ought to be on every shelf. Now don’t burst into hoarse, mocking laughter. I’m taking myself very seriously. They talk about my “Art” in Horsham, & that sort of thing soon goes to one’s head. They can’t think how I make my people talk. They are sure they wouldn’t know what to make their characters say, & they wonder how ever I think out a plot at all. So do I. So when I next brighten your dull life with one of my gracious visits, just remember that I’ve got my Art, & can make my people talk, & ought to be on every shelf. No, I’m not sure that I like that last bit. After all, I did manage to lure Ronald into marrying me.

  While she was always glad to know she was read and enjoyed, Georgette did not relish the type of gushing praise and incredulity which her writing inspired in some of her neighbors. Although she appreciated the local people within their context, she did not go out of her way to mix with them. She left it to Ronald to get to know them through the shop and his golf, and to shield her from anyone who sought to intrude into her writing life.

  They lived at the Sussex Oak for some weeks before moving into Blackthorns. Georgette put the time at the inn to good use by writing the opening chapters of an eighteenth-century historical romance which she felt was “going to be very good value.” She was so enthused by the new book that she wrote out several excerpts for Moore by hand and asked:

  Now how do you like those choice excerpts? Pretty fruity? Would you like to hear my Dramatis Personae? No? Well, it’s too late now, you’ve got to.

  Marcus Drelincourt, Earl of Rule. Hero of the best type. Very pansy, but full of guts under a lazy exterior. Aged 35.

  Elizabeth Winwood, lady in the best XVIIIth cent. tradition. Sweet & willowy. Age 20

  Charlotte Winwood. Improving spinster. 19

  Horatia Winwood. A stammering heroine, of the naive & incorrigible variety. 17

  Pelham, Viscount Winwood. Brother to above ladies. Young rake & spendthrift. Provides light relief.

  Maria, Viscountess Winwood. Mother to all the above Winwoods. An invalid of exquisite sensibility.

  Edward Heron. Lieutenant of the 10th Foot, invalided home from Bunker’s Hill. Enamoured of Elizabeth.

  Louisa, Lady Quain. Trenchant sister to Rule.

  Sir Humphrey Quain. Her husband.

  Arnold Gisborne. Secretary to the Earl of Rule.

  Caroline, Lady Massey. I regret to say, Rule’s discarded mistress.

  Crosby Drelincourt. Cousin & heir-presumptive to the Earl of Rule. A Macaroni, & a nasty piece of work, taken all round.

  Robert, Baron Lethbridge. Best type of villain. Fierce & hot-eyed & sardonic.

  This sort of list was important, for her characters were often the starting point for her novels. She would first imagine an individual, then spend hours thinking about him or her while playing endless games of patience, fleshing the character out in her mind and devising a suitable name. Once created, a character’s behavior and dialogue followed naturally. Georgette found it impossible to force one of her creations to behave in a manner contrary to their established personality. When writing a book her dramatis personae lived for her to the extent that they frequently determined the course of the story. There were even times when she complained, as other authors have, that a character had taken her in a direction in which she had never contemplated going.

  Once Georgette had created the cast for the new book she was able to give Moore a hint of things to come: “All these people are naturally going to fall into a number of awkward situations, & I rather think Pelham has a duel with friend Crosby, while I am quite sure that Rule has one with Lethbridge. Lots of gambling. Horatia is a gambler, & I should imagine will get herself into a fairly sticky mess over it. But don’t you fret—it will all End Happily.” Two weeks later she had made rapid progress:

  I’m glad you like my excerpts. I’m thinking of calling it The Convenient Marriage. O.K.? Yes, isn’t it sad about Caroline Massey? Not a Nice Woman at all, & do you know I’m afraid she’s going to have a liaison with Lord Lethbridge as well as with Rule? I do hate promiscuity, don’t you? Her husband was in Trade, you know, & of course that was a Grave Drawback, & she never got herself received in the very best circles, but she had a lot of money, & gave lavish parties, & people who liked deep basset used to go to her house a lot. She had a good cellar, too, which attracted people like Lethbridge.

  One of the remarkable things about several of Georgette’s manuscripts was the extent to which the first drafts were so often the final drafts. The excerpts which she wrote out for Moore from the early manuscript of The Convenient Marriage are almost word-for-word as they appear in the published novel. Once she knew what the book was to be about she was generally able to write quickly and easily, with minimal rewriting or reworking of the plot and only occasional “sticks.” More than once in the first three decades of her career Georgette completed a manuscript in less than twelve weeks. She did get “stuck” briefly while writing The Convenient Marriage and told Ronald about the problem. “‘Ah! I’ve been waiting for that,’” he told her, before proceeding “to enumerate all the Sticking places in all the books I’ve written ever since I married him.” Ronald assured his wife that she would overcome this obstacle as she had the others.

  The difficult bit was in chapter three where the hero, Lord Rule, goes to visit his mistress, Lady Massey. As Georgette humorously explained it to Moore:

  Here I am, in Lady Massey’s boudoir (all rose pink and silver, you know), & I can’t either talk to her, or get away. The trouble is I’ve led such a sheltered life. It’s a frightful drawback, & I do think young females about to embrace a literary career ought to get to know a few good demi-mondaines. Personally, I can’t make out what Rule sees in that odious Massey. She seems to me a very ordinary woman. No S.A. at all. But you never know with Men, do you?

  Georgette’s description of Caroline Massey as “ordinary” and having no sex appeal (S.A.) was based partly on her perception of the character as vulgar. Vulgarity was still the unforgivable sin in Georgette’s world—both real and fictional.

  Her notion of class and breeding underpins all of her writing and is crucial to understanding her view of the world. Although she held to the idea of a natural social hierarchy, she also recognized the capacity for vulgarity in any individual regardless of class and frequently depicted dishonorable aristocrats alongside principled lower-class characters. Georgette’s own view of herself was as someone who was well-bred and most comfortable in upper- and upper-middle-class circles. Ever class-conscious, in Horsham society she felt herself to be on the same social plane as those who moved in “county” circles, despite the fact that she did not own an estate, hunt, or even farm her own land. A photograph taken of her with baby Richard shows her looking elegant and very “county” in a tweed jacket and pearls. Georgette’s particular kind of snobbery was rarely overt—she was much too private for that—but it is implicit in most of her public and private writing.

  Although Richard was only eighteen months old when she was writing The Convenient Marriage Georgette told Moore that her son didn’t “care for the book. He does like a Womanly Woman, & thinks that a Mother’s Place is in the Nursery.” As an observer of human nature and human relationships, Georgette could recognize all kinds of women: young, earnest, athletic types; glamoro
us, worldly wise girls; witty socialites; vamps; and even the “angel in the house,” and all of them clearly and obviously “womanly women.” Yet, Georgette felt herself to be none of these things. She knew what the female stereotypes were, but she could also see that she simply did not fit into any of these roles. It was not even as if the “mother in the nursery” was a natural calling for her when, although she adored Richard and Ronald, her affection for them was far more cerebral than tactile.

  Her wonder that the Earl of Rule should desire the “very ordinary” Lady Massey may also have been because Georgette did not see herself as having sex appeal. Caroline Massey is a strong, forceful, ambitious woman—not unlike her creator—and yet Georgette struggled to see her as sexually appealing or desirable to men. In her own life sex was not a consuming passion. While Georgette obviously understood the psychology of romantic passion and was able to write about it convincingly, the physical manifestation of love made her uneasy. It was not merely that inter-war British society did not encourage the view of women as actively sexual beings; it was that she balked at the physical act of intercourse.

  This comes through most clearly in her earliest contemporary novel Instead of the Thorn, in which her heroine struggles with the realities of sex and its place in marriage. In the book Georgette shows herself acutely aware of the fact that many women of her generation had come to their first experience of sex completely unprepared for it. As the writer Vera Brittain reported in her famous autobiography, Testament of Youth, prior to marriage many women in that era had never seen a man naked nor had the least idea of what sexual intercourse involved. As a result, numerous brides (and some grooms) entered marriage without any notion of what it physically entailed. Even Marie Stopes, the author of Married Love (1918), had not known that sex was a necessary part of procreation. She had only made the startling discovery after two years of unconsummated marriage.