Hinting at the dark side. Adding a little reality to the Regency World

One of the joys of writing historicals is learning about life in in the past.  The Ton's Most Notorious Rake features  two aspects of life during the Regency, although neither of them are glamorous. The poor and those who had "fallen from grace" had little prospect of improving their lot without some help.

My heroine, Molly, is housekeeper for her brother, who is vicar of Compton Parva, and since he is unmarried she had taken over many of the duties that would normally fall to a vicar's wife. She visits the poor, and has set up  a Sunday school for the poorer children.

The Sunday school movement began in the 1750s and flourished throughout the 19^th century.  The first documented Sunday school was set up by Hannah Ball in High Wycombe but I first heard about this movement as a child in Sunday school. We learned about a local philanthropist, Robert Raikes, who believed that one of the best ways to prevent the poor turning to  crime was  education.

Raikes was born in Gloucester  in 1736 and inherited a publishing business from his father. He used his fortune to fund schools for poor boys, and his newspaper to publicise his views. Since many poor children worked in factories six days a week, the best time for them to attend lessons was on a Sunday.  Originally, his textbook was the Bible. His first school began in 1780 with boys only, but later girls began to attend. Other schools flourished across the country and despite some detractors, including criticism from some religious leaders, the movement proved a success. By 1831 over one million children were being taught weekly.

Raikes's schedule for the school is probably not much different from others set up around the country. This is his plan:- "The children were to come after ten in the morning, and stay till twelve; they were then to go home and return at one; and after reading a lesson, they were to be conducted to Church. After Church, they were to be employed in repeating the catechism till after five, and then dismissed, with an injunction to go home without making a noise."

Reading and writing were skills that could take a poor person from the gutter into gainful employment, perhaps as a clerk, or working in a shop. It also meant they were able to read newspapers and notices for themselves,  which meant they were better informed.

 The second aspect of Regency life that I wanted to explore in this book, just a little, is the plight of "fallen women". Molly is the widow of an abusive husband, and she knows all too well how difficult it is for women to make a living without a man's support. Women during the Regency were rarely free to choose their own destiny. They were expected to obey their fathers until they were married off, when they became the property of a husband.  Women who lost their reputation were often cast out of their home, or their place of work, and left to survive as best they could. You may have heard of the Harlot's Progress, Hogarth's prints that show how an innocent country maid is lured into work as a prostitute, and eventually comes to a bad end.

Molly sets up Prospect House, a refuge for women in this parlous situation. Molly knows their stories, and she is determined to help them to help themselves. The  residents of Prospect House are lively, courageous young women and in return for her support they provide Molly with  friendship and advice.

Naturally, because The Ton's Most Notorious Rake historical romance, it has a happy ending. But I do not believe that as a novelist I should ignore the darker side of Regency life. We should never forget that the ladies and gentlemen who people our stories live on a knife edge. Reputations and fortunes could be lost in an hour, and rich and poor alike were liable to be struck down by death or disease. This constant threat adds colour and vibrancy to the period, and makes it, for me, one of the most exciting times in British history.

Happy reading.

Sarah Mallory / Melinda Hammond

The Ton's Mot Notorious Rake

Published by Harlequin Mills & Boon, March 2018

Dr Foster went to Gloucester - Melinda Hammond talks Mud, Meanderings & Inspiration

Anyone remember this?

Doctor Foster went to Gloucester

In a shower of rain;
He stepped in a puddle,
Right up to his middle,
And never went there again.

I used to recite this well known rhyme to my children and thought nothing of it, except that it was plain silly, puddles were never that deep.  Now, however I am not so sure…..

Walking my dog around the Yorkshire hills this winter I have noticed a change in some of the bridleways, which has given me more food for thought about how people travelled in the past.  This is a picture of what is locally known as Stony Lane.  It used to be like this for most of its length, and as you can see from the close-up, there are lots of small stones packed together to make a good surface.

 Local historians tell me this bridleway forms part of an ancient trackway stretching across the country and possibly providing a route between religious houses from Europe to Ireland.  It formed part of the old packhorse trails that used to crisscross the country and when the mills were built in the valleys during the Industrial Revolution, many of the workers lived on the hills and the quickest way to work was straight down, cutting across the old tracks.  There is still evidence of this around, if you look closely. This opening in the stone wall now has a modern wooden stile, but you can see the way the stone is worn away from the hundreds of boots or clogs that made the daily journey to and from the mills.

Just for interest I have added a picture of the stile on the south side of the lane (a stone one, built in a more modern wall). The fenceposts in the picture below show the line of the track that leads the quarter of a mile or so to the valley bottom. Nice to walk on a sunny morning, but imagine having to toil back up in the winter, after a hard day's work.

So back to Doctor Foster. Part of Stony Lane now is just mud. Packed hard, it is fine in dry weather, but very slippery and uneven when wet. Where the stones have gone I have no idea, but if they are buried, they are a long way down. This next picture shows it on a relatively dry day, and you can see the darker patches where the mud is still wet. 

It is thick and gloopy and can come up at least over your ankles if you stand on the dark patch to the left of the picture. However, if you put your foot in the patch on the right, it would keep on going, as a friend recently discovered, up to the knee!  The last time I pushed my stick into that patch I stopped at 18" (45cms) but I hadn't reached stone, and  with the continuing rains it might go deeper still. The picture below shows it in more detail.

I am sure someone knows the reason why there are these deep pockets of muddy gloop – possibly a different type of soil, maybe the constant pounding of feet, I don't know. What I do know is that in the past when hard-packed stones were the only form of road surface, this type of problem must have occurred all the time. Local landowners were responsible for maintaining their section of the highway, some better than others, and in periods of bad weather the road surface could be washed away just as it has in the next picture. A couple of seasons without repair and a highway could easily become almost impassible by a carriage. Unfortunately these photos cannot do justice to just how uneven and rutted this is.

As another little aside, I am told that there used to be a small ale house beside the lane here, where the track widens.  The farmer who now owns the field has found stones from an old building there, so at least the weary travellers could find some refreshment during their journey.

Until the end of the 18^th century travelling by coach must have been a slow and uncomfortable business, bouncing along on badly made roads and possibly even breaking a wheel in a deep rut.  And as for Doctor Foster, I can well imagine that if the muddy tracks around here are anything to go by, it is quite possible that he stood in a puddle up to his thighs, at least.

I have used carriage accidents and bad roads in many of my books in the past, and in the latest story I have just written a scene in a lane very much like Stony Lane for an encounter between my main characters. Complete with mud!

Happy reading

Melinda Hammond / Sarah Mallory

ROMANCE & THE DARK SHADOW OF WAR

 I have been writing Georgian and Regency romantic adventures for decades now, and one cannot research the period without coming up against the dark shadow of war. England and France had been at war, off and on, for centuries, it affected everyone's lives, from trivial problems such as where to buy French brandy, to families fearing for their loved ones who were in the army or navy.

I make no apology for my first illustration of this post - Cornwell may not write "romantic novels", but there can be no doubt that this guy sets many hearts a-flutter!)

As a romantic novelist I am writing an entertainment, but although the main theme of my books may be love, and the reader is guaranteed a happy ending, I also like to acknowledge at least some of the realities of life in the Georgian and Regency period, and very often that means alluding to war in some way. My latest Sarah Mallory novel, The Duke's Secret Heir, is partly set in Harrogate, and even in this genteel watering place the consequences of war make themselves felt: the duke is there to visit his closest friend, an ex-soldier who is surviving with a bullet lodged in his lung.

There were breaks in the hostilities between England and France. One of them was the short-lived Treaty of Amiens, which lasted for just over a year from March 1802. I used this period as the setting for another story, where I sent my newlyweds careering across France. War was declared again before they could complete their journey back to England and they had to use a great deal of ingenuity to escape, so it proved a very adventurous honeymoon! At one point, as their coach hurtled through a hostile village, it was pelted with sabots by the locals (and it is said that the word sabotage derives from the disgruntled French workers from  about this time, throwing their wooden clogs into the machinery to damage it). I had great fun with this book, and it remains a firm favourite, a lively tale despite the fearful danger surrounding my couple. It is currently e-published as To Marry a Marquis in the Ladies in Love box-set, available on Amazon.

One of the turning points for the Regency was the Battle of Waterloo – "a damn close-run thing," as Wellington described it. Perhaps it was growing up in a street full of boys and playing war games most evenings and holidays that gave me a liking for action, and I find military history fascinating. However, I write romance, and mainly from the female point of view, so most of my books show the aftermath of war rather than the battles themselves. Most ladies were kept well away from scenes of conflict, even soldiers' wives and the camp followers did not venture onto the battlefield itself until after the event. However, in A Lady for Lord Randall ,my Sarah Mallory book for the Brides of Waterloo series, the hero is a colonel, and I did put in a large battle scene, which I thoroughly enjoyed writing!

 

Hand to hand fighting at Hougoumont

Fascinating as it might be, war is a dark and desperate business. When I was refreshing one of my early Melinda Hammond novels ready to re-publish it as an e-book , I had quite a surprise. I had forgotten just how much description I had included about Waterloo. In Maid of Honour, my heroine, Lucy, travels to Brussels in June 1815. She attends Lady Richmond's Ball, probably the most famous party of all time, and unlike most of her non-military compatriots, she remains in Brussels during the battle. Maid of Honour is written mainly from the heroine's point of view, and since it was not the hero, but Lucy's childhood sweetheart Tom who is the soldier, I wrote this part of the story as Lucy would have experienced it.

On the day of the battle itself she mistook the rumble of guns for thunder over Brussels, until a crippled old veteran explained. Then, fleeing cavalry careered through the town proclaiming that all was lost, the Allies were defeated and Bonaparte would be in Brussels by nightfall.

Lucy is advised to leave the city but she is determined to remain, and when at last she learns that Napoleon has been defeated, she waits anxiously for Tom's return. When she learns his regiment was caught up in some of the bloodiest fighting near Hougoumont she sets out to look for him on the battlefield itself. Here's a brief excerpt: (NB if you are of a nervous disposition, you may want to skip this bit!)

***

It seemed to Lucy that the full horror of the battle was spread below her. The ground was covered with the dead, men and horses entangled in a nightmare pattern, the garish colours of the uniforms dulled by mud and grime and dried blood. Scores of French cavalry had died attacking the British squares, yet the men who had shot them down now lay dead in the very formations they had fought so hard to maintain. That anyone could come out of the battle alive seemed to Lucy to be nothing less than a miracle. A movement caught her eye and she saw grey-cloaked women moving amongst the dead, taking rings and watches, even pulling teeth from the corpses to sell in the markets of Brussels and London.

***

She finally finds Tom in one of the field hospitals. These are little more than a huddle of tents with overworked medical officers and surgeons doing their best to save lives. There was very little they could do – there were no painkillers or antibiotics, and surgeons would remove an injured limb in an attempt to save a man. It was crude, brutal, and those who did not die of their wounds often succumbed to infection. This section of the book is dark, perhaps, but I wanted to show the horror Lucy was experiencing. She was a young woman from a privileged background, accustomed to a safe, comfortable home. Suddenly she finds herself in a nightmare world where she has to draw on all her strength of character to get through it.

A romance needs a backdrop, and there is no doubt that wartime provides one of the most dramatic. Whether the characters are in physical danger themselves, or living with the uncertainty of what may happen to their loved ones, war adds an extra dimension to a story.

What is your favourite wartime romance? Is it perhaps a literary classic like War & Peace or an epic like Gone With the Wind? Or maybe it's a romance by Carla Kelly, or Louise Allen? There are so many to choose from, so wartime romance clearly strikes a chord with many readers.

Melinda Hammond / Sarah Mallory

Sneak Preview THE DUKE & THE DEBUTANTE by Melinda Hammond

So, September is here, the summer holidays are over and we are looking forward to autumn, with those longer nights when it is lovely to curl up in a chair with a good book (although, to be honest, I can curl up with a good book any time of year!)

So I thought this month I would give you a sneak preview of a revised Georgian Romance that I am publishing on Kindle later this month. The Duke and the Debutante was one of my first historical romances but it is still one of my favourites, the story of spirited Melissa Langham, who crosses swords with the rich and powerful Duke of Aldringham.  They meet in Bath, and I have given below an extract, where they dance together for the first time.  This is the new cover, too, which I hope you like.

          Upon the beat, the duke took her hand and almost from the first steps, Melissa forgot everything except the music. They skipped and gestured, pirouetted and passed each other with grace­ful ease, their steps perfectly aligned. It was exhilarating, to be so at one with a partner and Melissa wondered how it could be that strangers should move so well together. As the courante drew towards its conclusion she found herself wanting to prolong the moment. The last notes died away, they saluted one another and as she rose from her curtsy the duke reached for her hand.

'Will you stay for the minuet?'

Melissa knew she should refuse. She should go back to Lady Fryer, but for the life of her she could not summon up the will to do so. Almost without realizing it she took his proffered hand and remained on the dance floor.

The music swelled and rolled against her senses. Melissa lifted her eyes to the duke's face and could not look away. He circled around her, his intense blue gaze hold­ing her in thrall so that she was only dimly aware of the other couples dancing around them. Her body was no longer her own, it moved and swayed to the same rhythm as her partner's. When he stepped up to her, the white lace on her corsage brushed against his black velvet coat. He led her round, first one way then the other, his eyes never leav­ing her face. She was lost, time stood still, when the dance ended he held her a prisoner with the intensity of his gaze and she did not even notice that the music had ended and made no move to leave.

The musicians struck up again, another minuet, and still they danced. Melissa did not hear the murmurs of disapproval from some of the matrons sitting on the benches, nor did she notice Lady Fryer fidgeting uneasily on the edge of the dancefloor. She was caught in a world outside time, aware only of her part­ner, the sinuous elegance of his movements as they followed the steps of the minuet and the way her own body swayed and circled around him while the lilting music flowed about her. They were like two birds performing some ritual courtship, their bodies expressing a primeval language she barely understood.

The duke took her hand and led her back to their original positions, bowing as the music ended. Melissa curtsied mechani­cally to her partner. She felt dazed, shaken by what had occurred and she looked up, searching his face. There was a smile lurking in his hard eyes, a warmth that was oddly reassuring. It told her he knew exactly what had occurred during the dances and she was about to speak, to ask him to explain what had happened when another voice broke in.

'Well, well, very nice, my dear, but time is pressing. Your aunt mistook the day, there is another engagement. Come along Melissa, I am sure the duke won't ... your servant, your Grace!'

In a flurry of half-finished sentences, Sir Joseph caught Melissa's arm and almost dragged her away. The spell was broken, Melissa looked back to see the duke had not moved from the dancefloor. He was still smiling, but it was not the warm, intimate look they had shared a moment earlier. It was a smile that made a chill shiver run the length of her spine.

'Uncle, what is it?' She struggled to find her voice. 'What has happened, is my aunt ill?'

Trying to collect her scattered wits, Melissa ques­tioned her uncle, but he merely shook his head and hurried her out of the ballroom. Lady Fryer was waiting at the door and turned to follow them. Outside, the cool of the summer night quickly washed away the remains of Melissa's stupor and as Sir Joseph hurried them through the warm streets she pulled her arm free from his grasp, demanding to know what was wrong.

'I'll tell you what is wrong, miss,' declared Sir Joseph furiously, 'you have given every tattlemonger in Bath enough fodder for a month!'

'What?'

'To dance with only one man all night, and that man the Duke of Aldringham! You are ruined, child, ruined! And you, madam. What were you about to allow Melissa to meet such a man?'

'Indeed I did not know his reputation!' cried Lady Fryer, breathless with the effort of keeping up with her husband. 'Pray you sir, slow your pace, for we are attracting even more unwanted attention by this unseemly haste.'

'Thank God I decided to look in upon you before going on to supper. Heaven knows where it was leading, with the man blatantly seducing the girl in the middle of the dance floor.'

'Is that what he was doing?' she asked, remembering. It had not felt like seduction. More like heaven.

 (c) Melinda Hammond

The Duke & the Debutante will be published on Kindle very shortly, so do look out for it.

Happy Reading!

Melinda Hammond /Sarah Mallory

By Sarah Mallory:

The Outcast's Redemption - pub. Harlequin July 2016

The Georgian Shell House at Hatfield Forest

A few weeks ago we visited Hatfield Forest, which is a rare survival of a medieval royal hunting forest. I love woods and forests because they so often have a real sense of history; the ancient trees like living sculptures, the sense of timelessness that you get when you walk between them.

Hatfield Forest was in existence at the time of the Domesday Book in 1086. Fallow deer were introduced in 1100 from Europe and their descendents still roam the woods today. Rabbits were another “foreign” introduction and a warren was set up in the woods to provide meat and fur.

In the 18^th century the forest was sold to the Houblon family, wealthy merchants and financiers from

the City of London. In keeping with the fashions of the day, Jacob Houblon had a part of the forest landscaped. He built the Georgian Shell House and the lake, surrounding it with exotic, non-native trees.

The Shell House is now the exhibition centre for the estate. It was originally built as a picnic house overlooking the lake and was decorated with flints and with British and tropical shells. Most of the shells were from the West Indies as these were used as ballast in the holds of slave ships. The decoration includes a bird sculpted out of oyster shells and blue glass, coral and coloured sands.

At this time there was a craze for collecting and purchasing shells and using them to decorate grottoes and garden features. The building of a picnic house was also a part of the 18^th century fashion for elaborate buildings in the landscape whether they were fishing temples, cold plunge baths, pavilions or grand arches. In the summer the Shell House provided a wonderful place for the family to picnic, fish and go boating. Grand parties were also held

there. It offers an insight into the leisured lifestyle of the Georgian upper classes. It is rumoured that the ghost of Laeticia Houblon, who decorated the Shell House, can sometimes be seen in and around the property! It must have taken her months to create such a detailed piece of art.

I actually found the shell decoration rather dark and not particularly appealing although I think that may be because after 250 years it has been very worn by the weather, and the bird motif was a bit sinister to my eyes! So I don't think I will be decorating my house like that any time soon, but as an example of the fashion for shell decorations in the 18th century it was well worth a visit.

WELCOME TO THE DREAM FACTORY

As a writer I am often asked where my stories come from. Clearly they have to come from somewhere, and I call it my dream factory.  Today I thought I would show you around.  So, welcome, come on in….

First there is the Creative Section, where new stories or scenarios are dreamed up. This department has several offices, including the car or even the train, for I often think out plots or ideas while I am travelling. Then there are the lanes and moors around my home. The first picture (left) is an ancient trackway where I walk regularly. The moors are particularly spectacular at the moment, with the heather in full bloom

And I also have a helper: this Willow, a member of my creative team – he doesn't say a lot but I often use him as a sounding board for my ideas. To date he has never made one negative criticism!

 

This next picture is the sort of sky that inspired my recent book The Scarlet Gown: it is set in Yorkshire and my characters are caught in a storm on the moors, easy to imagine when you have this sort of cloud hanging over you.

Then there's the Research & Development Department, where I sort out details of the setting, the historical background, perhaps find some Regency or 18th Century costumes. And of course I have to give my characters A Life. Characters need to have a back story, perhaps a career and sometimes a home. R & D involves libraries, the internet, lots of my own reference books and also places like this,

Lyme Park (aka Pemberley, for some of us!). Wandering through an old property can be very helpful in working out the layout of a character's home, or getting the feel for just how cold and draughty these stately piles must be in winter, not to mention all the hard work involved in lighting fires or getting hot water up to a bedroom!


Then  we come to the hard work – putting it all in order and turning it into a story with a beginning, a middle and an end. This cluttered space is the assembly line, where the dreams and nebulous ideas are pulled together into a (hopefully) coherent whole. (Notice the two stars in pride of place on the top - my Rona Rose Awards from the Romantic Novelists Association. They inspire me to keep going).  I spend so many hours here, typing away, until at last I am happy enough with the result to send it off to my editor.



If we are sticking with this analogy, then Harlequin must be the production line, because they take my typescript and after a bit of judicious editing my dreams are whisked away and turned into a book, not only a digital version but a lovely printed paper version, and here's a selection of recent titles that now sit proudly on my shelf.

So, I hope you enjoyed your whistle stop tour: I am going to get back to work now, but before I go just one more picture – at the end of the day, I put my feet up and relax after a hard day being creative and my assistant needs his rest too: he likes to be covered up cosily so he can sleep, ready for another hectic day in the dream factory!

Sarah Mallory / Melinda Hammond

Never Trust a Rebel – Sarah Mallory, Harlequin Historical, pub. September 2014

A Lady at Midnight – Melinda Hammond – published as an e-book.

Monsoon Mists

This month has seen the publication of the final part of my Kinross trilogy, Monsoon Mists. Set mostly in India, in 1759, the story follows the adventures of Jamie Kinross, younger son of the couple in Trade Winds (book 1) and brother of Brice from Highland Storms (book 2).  It feels like I’ve come full circle now, although there are other members of the Kinross family trying to invade my mind so who knows?  I may return to them in the future.  In the meantime, here is the blurb and a short excerpt from Monsoon Mists:-

Sometimes the most precious things cannot be bought …

It’s 1759 and Jamie Kinross has travelled far to escape his troubled existence – from the pine forests of Sweden to the bustling streets of India.

Jamie starts a new life as a gem trader, but when his mentor’s family are kidnapped as part of a criminal plot, he vows to save them and embarks on a dangerous mission to the city of Surat, carrying the stolen talisman of an Indian Rajah.

There he encounters Zarmina Miller. She is rich and beautiful, but her infamous haughtiness has earned her a nickname: “The Ice Widow”.  Jamie is instantly tempted by the challenge she presents.

When it becomes clear that Zarmina’s step-son is involved in the plot Jamie begins to see another side to her – a dark past to rival his own and a heart just waiting to be thawed. But is it too late?

Monsoon Mists, excerpt:-

The smile Mr Kinross sent her this time was nothing short of dazzling. Zar was glad she was sitting down as it definitely did something strange to her innards. Then a teasing glint flashed in his eyes.

            ‘So have you thought any more about my proposition?’ he asked.

            ‘Which proposition would that be?’ Zar frowned, caught off-guard by his question.

            ‘To, er … amuse you if you’re in need of a diversion.’

            Zar couldn’t stop her mouth from falling open, but shut it quickly again as she sent him her most quelling glance. ‘Really, Mr Kinross, I don’t know to what you are referring.’

            ‘Oh, I think you do.’

            He was still smiling and Zar felt unaccountably hot all of a sudden. But she was also outraged. She would make it clear to him she was not that kind of woman.

            ‘I’ll have you know I’m a respectable widow. Neither you, nor anyone else, will ever set foot in my bedroom and I’d thank you not to refer to such things again.’

            She turned to stare out the window while she tried to force her breathing to return to normal. For some reason she was having trouble inhaling enough air and it was making her chest heave unbecomingly.

            ‘Now that sounds distinctly like a challenge to me. Would you like to bet on it?’

            ‘What?’ Zar swivelled round and stared at Kinross. The effrontery of the man.

            ‘I’ll wager one hundred rupees that I will. Set foot in your bedroom, that is.’ He raised his eyebrows at her, as if daring her to accept. ‘Say, within the next two weeks?’ he added, a teasing note in his voice.

            ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing―’

            ‘Very well, two hundred rupees. Deal?’

            ‘Now see here, Mr Kinross―’

            ‘You drive a hard bargain, Mrs Miller. Three hundred it is.’

            Zar almost stamped her foot in frustration, but managed to restrain herself at the last minute. ‘I’m not making a wager with you!’

            ‘Ah, you’re afraid you’ll lose. I thought so.’

            His smug expression made Zar see red. She clenched her fists by her side and scowled at him. ‘I am not.’

            ‘Well, then, you almost certainly stand to gain three hundred rupees. That can’t be bad, can it?’

            Zar took a deep breath and tried to think, but Kinross’s quicksilver gaze held hers and jumbled her thought processes. He was right. It would be the easiest money she’d ever earned. But then why was he even proposing such a thing? There must be a catch … For the life of her, she couldn’t think of one though. ‘Oh, very well, I accept your wager. But I’m not meeting you anywhere private for you to hand over my winnings, is that clear?’

            ‘Perfectly.’ He bowed. ‘I will allow you to decide entirely. If you win, of course.’

            Zar was about to insist that she would, but just then her step-son came back into the room and she didn’t have a chance to say anything else.

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