Georgette Heyer

by Jennifer Kloester

  16 Black Lamb and Gray Falcon by Rebecca West was about the causes of the Second World War.

  17 Based on the limited information available to her in 1983, in The Private World of Georgette Heyer Jane Aiken Hodge concluded that Georgette had written The Spanish Bride on her knee in the flat at Adelaide Crescent. The discovery of Georgette’s early letters, however, has revealed that the book was actually Penhallow,

  18 It is not known which of Georgette’s novels were banned by the Nazi Party.

  Part IV

  ALBANY: THE GOLDEN YEARS

  1942–1966

  22

  Well, isn’t that splendid? I feel quite elated, & have decided not to die after all.

  —Georgette Heyer

  Georgette returned to London in September 1943. She and Ronald had moved into F.3 Albany the previous year. After eleven years in Sussex they found that town life suited them very well and that Albany was their ideal home. Since its inception in 1803 as bachelor quarters, Albany had been a much sought-after address. A unique haven in the heart of London, the aim of the Trustees who administered it was to ensure residents’ privacy and maintain Albany’s long-standing tradition (described by former resident Jonathan Ray) “as a discreet bastion of the Establishment and as a refuge for the unconventional.”

  The Rougiers’ chambers were on the second floor, up two flights of narrow concrete steps (seventy in all) leading to a handsome front door with a brass knocker. Though two story, the set was not especially large, but it had an elegant dining room and a spacious sitting room (in which Georgette had her desk and her library) on the lower of its two floors. Their bedroom and bathroom were also on that level, but the kitchen was rather inconveniently located on the next floor via a narrow, winding staircase. There were also two tiny bedrooms upstairs for Richard and for Boris or Frank, should either of them come home on leave. Georgette had, in addition, taken a lease on F.1 Top, a tiny attic room with its own front door, a sloping ceiling, and one window which looked out over the Rope Walk (the main walkway inside Albany) and Vigo Street; it would become Richard’s quarters when he was older.

  There were rarely children in Albany and in 1945 a new bylaw was introduced which allowed Richard to stay there during the holidays (it read in part “Children under 13 may stay but not live in Albany”). It was a lonely place for a child and he later told a friend that his one confidant there was “the part owner [of Albany] known as the Squire of Piccadilly who had been a bright young dog of the late Victorian age.” This was William Stone, a bachelor and life-long resident in Albany who owned many of the building’s sets. On his death in 1958 Stone left the freehold of thirty-seven of Albany’s sets to his alma mater, Peterhouse College, Cambridge.

  Albany was also the London home of the Freres (they had a house in Kent where they spent weekends). They lived in E.1. on the ground floor, the set made famous as the home of the great nineteenth-century English historian, Thomas Macaulay. However, it was in F.3.—Georgette’s new home—and not E.1. that Macaulay had written his famous bestseller, The History of England. His ghost was said to haunt F.3. but Georgette always said that only Johnny the bull-terrier took any notice of it. Albany was home to a number of writers when the Rougiers moved there, including J.B. Priestley, G.B. Stern, Graham Greene, Margery Sharp, and Harold Nicolson. It was not with them, however, that Georgette formed a bond, but with Frere’s wife, Patricia Wallace. Pat or Miss Wallace (as her friends called her) had been in America with her two small children during the early years of the War and so Georgette did not meet her until after her return to England in 1942.

  Pat Wallace was a journalist, book reviewer, and theater critic who had grown up in the literary and theatrical world. As Edgar Wallace’s daughter she was used to mixing with famous writers and film people. In her youth she had worked for a time for Dorothy Sutherland at Amalgamated Press but had disliked the editor and resigned. For Georgette, her new friend’s antipathy toward the despised Dorothy Sutherland was just another point in Pat Wallace’s favor. Already predisposed to like Frere’s wife, Georgette soon discovered that they had a good deal in common: Pat Wallace was strong-minded, intelligent, and witty. She also had a keen sense of humor, understood writers and writing, and admired Georgette’s novels. At a deeper level, each woman had lost her father in her early twenties and, although Georgette rarely spoke of it, that shared understanding came to mean a good deal to her. Frere had encouraged his wife to befriend Georgette and in a little more than a year the relationship had blossomed: Pat Wallace had been deemed a kindred spirit and admitted to Georgette’s small circle of confidantes.

  Georgette never sought to be part of a large social group. She was happiest in her own company, with Ronald, or with a small group of intimates (Richard described his mother as “very, very shy” and “to hide this, she would talk nineteen to the dozen to strangers”). Although she was interested in people it was more often as an observer of human nature than as someone who wished to befriend them. Those, like Pat Wallace, who penetrated her outer reserve found her a kind, caring, and generous friend, but to the rest of the world she could appear grand and formidable—someone who could hold people at a distance with a word or a look. This was one way of maintaining control. Georgette found a certain safety in her reclusive lifestyle and in keeping her circle of friends small and manageable.

  Back in London after her holiday Georgette felt refreshed and ready to start writing again. Within weeks of her return she was well on the way to creating what was to become her own personal favorite among her many novels. She originally called the new book Cophetua but neither Frere nor Moore considered it a “selling title” and preferred her alternative: Friday’s Child. By November she had written fifty-five thousand words and was enjoying herself. The novel “is very lively indeed,” she told Moore:

  a laugh on every page, & people ought to lap it up. I have a new sort of character in George, Lord Wrotham, who amuses me tremendously. He is a beautiful & turbulent young man, always trying to call his friends out to fight duels, & never succeeding. He’s in love in a very romantic & despairing way with the Beauty, & I’ve got him well & truly embroiled in the Heroine’s affairs too.

  Once again she wrote out a dozen excerpts for Moore’s amusement.

  She finished Friday’s Child in December and optimistically prepared a copy for Dorothy Sutherland. At 135,000 words, Georgette thought it probably too long for serialization but suggested Moore tell the editor that “this is the book for which all my feeble-minded fans have been waiting a year, & pestering me to write. It should increase the sales of W.J. hugely, in fact!” Surprisingly Dorothy Sutherland turned down Friday’s Child and incurred Georgette’s wrath by writing to tell her “what was wrong with the book & how it could be improved!” But this time it was Dorothy Sutherland who was wrong. Readers loved the new novel. Within weeks of its release in July 1944, Georgette had her first instant bestseller.

  Friday’s Child quickly sold out its first twenty-five thousand copies. A fortnight after publication Georgette reported that “Harrods have sold [out], & say they could sell any number more, & are sick & tired of telling people they have no longer got it. Isn’t that fine?” The numbers continued to climb and she was delighted to learn from Frere that, even with the novel’s dull wartime jacket and smaller size, “he could have sold 75,000 of my book merely by filling the orders; & 150,000 by exerting himself a little.” Within the next three years, Friday’s Child would sell nearly a quarter of a million copies. And this time it was not only the readers but also the critics who were enthusiastic. Georgette could not ignore the huge difference in the public response between Friday’s Child and Penhallow. She had found a style of book that eminently suited her and which allowed her to use her vast fund of historical knowledge. Friday’s Child was a sparkling romp of a novel with a cast of characters that also let Georgette fully indulge her Austenesque sense of humor. The love affair between her unlikely hero and heroine and the various imbroglios cr
eated between them and their three foolish but endearing friends also brought something new to historical fiction. An achievement which Georgette wryly acknowledged to Moore: “Careful perusal of this work leads me to the ineffably conceited conclusion that No One can do this sort of thing Quite Like Miss Heyer. It’s an Art, L.P., that’s what it is.” Her self-mockery was characteristic, but in fact she was right.

  Georgette never admitted her particular genius—but she came close with Friday’s Child, telling Louisa Callender at Heinemann:

  You’ll be quite safe to tell your travelers to spread the glad tidings that it will not disappoint Miss Heyer’s many admirers. Judging from the letters I’ve received from obviously feeble-minded persons, who do so wish I would write another These Old Shades, it ought to sell like hotcakes. I think myself I ought to be shot for writing such nonsense, but it’s unquestionably good escapist literature; & I think I should rather like it if I were sitting in an air-raid shelter, or recovering from flu. Its period detail is good; my husband says it’s witty—& without going to those lengths I will say that it is very good fun.

  Twenty years later she still thought the novel “the best I ever wrote. Perhaps because it wrote itself. Perhaps because it contains Ferdy Fakenham, who not only stole it, but inspired me, years later, to write Cotillion.”

  Georgette’s gift for storytelling, her ironic wit, and her passion for historical detail found the perfect outlet in her Regency novels. Friday’s Child marked a watershed in her life: for the next thirty years—with just two exceptions—she would write only Regency novels. And with those twenty-two books she would create a genre.

  23

  When you have a free morning you should invite me to lunch with you, and when I have eagerly accepted this invitation, should devote several hours (or days, according to your imaginative powers) in thinking up all the ways in which I am a superb novelist, an asset to your firm, and Just As Good As Ever I Was.

  —Georgette Heyer

  The success of Friday’s Child made it clear where the money lay—always a primary consideration for Georgette. Although the financial pressure had eased a good deal in recent years, she still found it difficult to relax about money and she and Ronald resented the ever-increasing taxation demands. In 1944 they finally lost the tax case over the sale of her copyrights and were required to pay over £1,000 in taxes and court costs. It was a bitter blow. The High Court ruling reinforced their view of the tax man as their enemy and the taxation system as one which unfairly penalized hard-working and successful people.

  Concerned about the possible implications for other writers of the judgment against her Georgette wrote to the Society of Authors to request their help with an appeal. The Society’s reply was courteous but bluntly realistic: “In our opinion, given an accurate statement of the present legal position, there would be no hope of [t]his decision being reversed.” Georgette took the response as a perfunctory dismissal of her concerns and did not write again. Four years later she instructed her agent to terminate her Society of Authors membership.

  Apart from the disastrous tax ruling, 1944 had begun well for the Rougiers. In January, despite the cost of the court case, Ronald had decided to fulfill a long-held ambition and bought “a magnificent Rolls, Hooper-body-&-all.” In February Georgette had rejoiced to learn that Frere was returning to Heinemann. Evans was unwell and Frere had been running things at the firm while still working for Ernest Bevin. His return to the helm was good news, but even better was hearing that Boris was safely back in Britain: “I am treading on air just now,” Georgette told Moore, “for at 12:45 a.m. two nights ago my telephone rang, & Scotland wanted me. And while I was thinking what-the-hell…a voice said “Is that you, Sis?” & it was my elder brother! Just landed, with his battery…He’ll be home on leave in about a week’s time.”

  Boris was soon installed in the upstairs bedroom at F.3. Albany. He had done well in the military. Army life suited him. Georgette rejoiced to see him again and was encouraged to think that Frank, too, might soon be home. By the middle of the year it was apparent that the tide of war was turning in favor of the Allies. The D-Day landing began on 6 June and brought renewed hope that hostilities would soon be over. “The Powers that Be are terribly pleased with Monty’s wedge,”19 Georgette observed in July, “& everything is going a treat.” Although it was winding down, the War continued to make life difficult, however. Rationing was still stringently enforced and there were regular power outages across London. Ronald was busy with the local Home Guard and sharing duties with the other Albany residents, including J.B. Priestley who “wandered in for air-raid duty last night, in an odd-looking tin hat, & saying that he felt like something left over from the Thirty Years War!”

  When bombing began in the capital again Georgette responded with characteristic stoicism and good humor, refusing to allow even the advent of the German V1 Flying Bombs to perturb her: “We had a doodle-bug in Regent Street today. No glass blown here, but a bit of plaster fell down, & it was one of Those Moments.”20 The bombs killed thousands and occasionally Georgette and the other Albany residents were compelled to withdraw to the cellars (where the great stage actress and fellow resident Edith Evans would sometimes entertain them with a selection of dramatic turns). Both Moore and Sylvia wanted Georgette to leave London, which annoyed her. Irritated by her agent’s earlier departure from the city she eventually lost patience with him: “Oh, do stop girning [sic] at me about leaving London! I get so tired of it. The latest is from my mother, who thinks it would be nice if I moved into a different flat. Useful! I daresay the bombing will have an effect on me. So what? Maybe the war will have an effect on the men who are fighting it, too. You never know, do you?”

  Wartime tragedies had become an intrinsic part of everyday life and Georgette usually took a fairly pragmatic approach to life and death. There were occasions, however, when she was reminded of her own loss and the grief she had so sternly suppressed after her father’s death. In May 1944 Pat Wallace’s brother was killed in action. He was only twenty-seven. News of the tragedy prompted Georgette to write to her friend:

  Frere has just told me about your brother’s death, & although I think letters at such a time are perhaps worse than useless, I couldn’t but write to say how dreadfully sorry I am, & how very deeply I feel for you. I know what it is to care very much for a brother, & the thought of what you must be going through now makes me feel quite sick. Which sounds silly, but you’ll understand. The best thing I know about death is that one never forgets. It would be too awful if one did. And that sounds silly too, but again you’ll probably know what I’m trying clumsily to convey. I don’t expect you to answer this, & I beg you won’t. It’s only to tell you how deeply both Ronald & I sympathize with you.

  Charles Evans also died that year—he had never recovered from the death of his youngest son or from his experiences in war-time London. His death was a loss felt by many in publishing. In a Times obituary J.B. Priestley described him as “one of the most influential publishers of our time” and someone “to whom hundreds of thousands of readers owe a great deal.” Evans had discovered and nurtured some of the greatest literary talents of his era and he would long be remembered in publishing circles.

  But Frere was also a force to be reckoned with. The famous literary agent Lawrence Pollinger once described Frere as “the cleverest man in London” and he now had sole command at Heinemann. Frere had left Bevin in July and as the War slowly came to an end he began making plans for a future without paper rationing. Georgette was elated to discover that he intended to reissue all of her earlier novels in order to “cash in on them.” Frere was convinced that her sales would not lessen after the War. Her only proviso was that he “drop Roxhythe and Simon out of the list” for reprinting as “they never did very well & they’re the worst books I wrote.”

  Georgette wrote nothing in the second half of 1944 and, owing to the severe paper shortage, Heinemann did not press her. She was busy with domestic matters an
d had suffered a recurrence of her old dental problems earlier in the year that meant the extraction of several teeth. A photograph taken of her in early August at Dmitri and Dorothy Tornow’s wedding (Dmitri was Ronald’s cousin) shows her looking gaunt and frail. Soon afterwards, she and Ronald took Richard for a fortnight’s holiday to Aberdovey in Wales followed by another fortnight at their favorite Hotel in Cleeve Hill near Cheltenham. She returned home in better health and to increasingly positive War news.

  In September the Allies finally silenced the cross-Channel guns and after three long years Britain’s southeast coast was at peace. Three months later the King told the Home Guard “You have fulfilled your charge,” and the entire volunteer force was formally stood down. Increasingly busy in his legal practice, Ronald relinquished his Home Guard duties with some relief. He was now attending Quarter Sessions in places as far apart as Walthamstow in north London, Bury in Lancashire, and Ipswich in Suffolk. He would eventually make use of his knowledge and experience as a mining engineer and specialize in utilities law with a particular interest in water.

  Georgette was ill again in the new year and it was April before she pronounced herself “a good deal better…though still not in very robust health.” She had been cheered by an invitation from Peter Watt, the literary agent (and grandson of A.P. Watt, the founder of the world’s first literary agency), to lunch at his club. Watt’s father, “a Heyer-addict” would also be there and hoped to discuss the Duke of Avon’s family tree with her. Georgette was flattered by the invitation, and wondered if it might not “be a plot to lure me” from her own agent. There was no hint of it on the day, however, and afterwards she was able to tell Moore that there was “not a word uttered you could Take Amiss!”