Georgette Heyer

by Jennifer Kloester

  Evans, Hall and Oliver were faced each week with difficult decisions over the allocation of the paper quota, so as to preserve a reasonable balance between the old and the new. The annual number of new titles dropped from a yearly average of 181 in the 1930s to an average of 55, viz: 1940–98; 1941–63; 1942–53; 1943–36; 1944–38; 1945–45. Among books by the established stalwarts were The Corinthian and The Spanish Bride (1940) by Georgette Heyer.13

  Georgette had less to fear from paper rationing than many writers, for as a well-known, popular author she was virtually guaranteed publication. But paper rationing affected more than just the number of books and authors published. To maximize paper usage margin widths, fonts, and book size were all gradually reduced. Headings disappeared and cheaper, lighter paper and softer cardboard covers with plain utilitarian jackets became the order of the day. Three of Georgette’s wartime books would appear with plain wrappers.

  But this was for the future. In early 1940 these stringent restrictions were yet to be put in place—although for Georgette they were just one more anxiety:

  I am pretty worried at the moment, on various counts. I don’t think my husband will find it easy to raise a loan in these days, from what we can discover, & I have been creditably informed that my heart is very weak, & my blood pressure lower than ever before. I shall write two more books, because I must write them, but I am hag-ridden by fear of collapse. My head plays me up as soon as I put pen to paper…If I crack up, god knows what will be the end of it all…Could I, do you think, raise money “on my own recognizances”? I am aware that this merely adds to the load of debt, but somehow I’ve got to struggle through this year, & if I am going to suffer a physical breakdown, I must at least straighten out this mess first…I’m under doctor’s orders…but I don’t seem to get much better. I wake tired, & am exhausted by tea-time—having done almost nothing…You can imagine what a perfect blank my mind is, as regards literary output.

  She had hoped to write two new books but the Hodder novel had languished and she could think of nothing suitable for Heinemann. Nor had her perception of Hodder’s handling of her books improved and she told her agent not to accept another contract from them until they had discussed it.

  Fed up with trying to cope with so many seemingly insoluble difficulties, Georgette decided to take action. Blackthorns had become expensive, impractical, and impossible to staff reliably. Ronald was working in London and petrol rationing limited car travel to just two hundred miles per week. A move seemed the logical solution and Georgette told Moore:

  What we wish to do is to get rid of this place, spend the summer vacation cheaply in the west, & move into the Temple in September. But to get out of this place I must settle up all debts. It seems like a vicious circle. Perhaps the best way would be for me to let go, & retire into a Home for Nervous Wrecks! I do sometimes feel inclined to throw in my hand, but I expect I shan’t. I can’t cut down any further while we remain here: already the strain of looking after Richard, & overseeing indifferent servants is getting to be too much for me.

  Her irritability was only exacerbated by her apparent inability to get on with her writing—always a vital outlet for her emotionally, quite apart from being essential for their financial survival. By April, she had managed to forward only a synopsis of the new thriller to Hodder and had barely begun the writing. She called the novel Christmas Party in a vain attempt at comic irony. But Georgette felt anything but funny and as the weeks went by, she found it increasingly difficult to write. Not even the release of The Spanish Bride on 6 April excited her. Her bookseller friend had read it in draft and liked it but had predicted that it would not “appeal to the true Heyer-friends.” Georgette’s mother had not liked it and consequently Georgette had convinced herself that her novel was “almost unbearably dull and certainly ill-timed.”

  It was unfortunate timing, for the situation in Europe was worsening and the Netherlands was already in a state of siege. Hitler’s armies appeared to be preparing for a major offensive and the only relief from the tension was having Boris home on a week’s leave. He also read The Spanish Bride in proof but, unlike their mother, was enthusiastic about the book and assured his sister it would do well. He was right. Sales were good and the Sunday Times described it as “One of her best historical romances.” But Georgette was again disappointed by what she saw as the absence of either a critical response or an enthusiastic buying public for her more serious novels.

  On 9 May 1940 Hitler ordered the invasion of Denmark and Norway. The following day he launched his mass offensive and invaded Holland, Belgium, France, and Luxembourg. Code-named “Operation Yellow,” the German action was fast, lethal, and effective. Within a week Holland had surrendered. At home in Britain, the news from the Continent was all of heavy fighting and casualties. Ronald’s brother, Leslie, was in Belgium commanding his battalion, and Boris had rejoined his unit in France. Living less than twenty miles from the south coast of England, out in their garden Georgette and Ronald could hear the faint, frightening sounds of battle from across the Channel.

  As the anxious days passed they waited apprehensively for news of Boris and Leslie. The strain affected her writing and Georgette told Moore that she would manage to write only one book that year—and she wasn’t sure how she would even get that done in light of events in Europe and her own problems at home:

  I don’t seem able, at the moment, even to get on with Christmas Party. To be facetious in the face of the present situation is beyond me. I don’t know what will happen to me now. There isn’t a way out, & that’s the plain truth. My health continues obstinately poor. This wouldn’t matter, if it were not for my wretched blood-pressure, which makes my head such an unstable member. I was disappointed that you had not, apparently, been able to clear the American check. It now becomes a question how much longer the local shops will allow my credit to stretch. I don’t feel there is anything else to say: at the moment my mind is preoccupied by every kind of worry—not the least of them the whereabouts of my brother. We have not heard from him since the 11th May.

  Two weeks later Georgette and Ronald received the news that Lieutenant-Colonel Charles Leslie Rougier had been killed in action. He had died on 22 May from a shrapnel wound to the head while commanding his battalion at Tieghem Ridge in Belgium. It was an appalling blow.

  Georgette was deeply shaken by the tragedy. The news of Leslie’s death, the horrific assault on Belgium and France, and the desperate evacuation of Dunkirk were shattering, and it was weeks before she thought of her writing. When she did, it was to tell Moore that she could not possibly complete Christmas Party in the current circumstances: “The very creation of modern people, talking modern slang, immediately makes me think of what is really happening to the young men today, & I feel real nausea at my own attempt at flippancy.” Aware that she had promised Hodder the new thriller in time for spring release, she had tried to get it written and fulfill her commitment, only to find that “Every time I try to cope with Christmas Party, I find my brain either dwelling on the war, or weaving the details of a preposterous Regency romance.” She did not want to let Hodder down, but she knew that if she persisted with the thriller she would end by “writing nothing at all.”

  She decided to put off the Hodder book and begged Moore to assure Uncle Percy that she had “no intention of abandoning him.” Georgette needed a diversion: her writing had stalled and the reality of war made it impossible for her to write contemporary fiction: “There is no escape in it: my gorge rises at it, in fact. As I sat today, trying to spur up some interest in it, I found myself thinking: ‘if this were only a period book!’ well, why not? At this rate I shall get no book written at all, which would be catastrophic. But I think perhaps I could write ‘Corinthian.’” Originally conceived as a short story, The Corinthian now seemed the ideal choice for her next novel:

  Because (a) it would be a comforting book to write, all about a very different age; & (b) it is far more important to write the Heinemann bo
ok, because those are the ones I shall always write. Perhaps—since use is half the battle—I shall be in real writing swing by the time I’ve finished it, & then I could pick up Christmas Party again…I suppose the trouble is that I never do like writing detective stories, & all the clues & things bother me at the best of times, & I feel the whole thing to be fatuous, & quite shudder to think of having to read such a book. At the moment, I seem to be struggling out of a dreary period of ill-health: I feel better, but deadly tired & worried, & to have to wrestle mentally with a murder mystery merely makes me want to cry, with a feeling of sheer inability to cope. I shouldn’t (I think) feel like that about Corinthian. I shan’t have to have any blasted clues or suspects, & I needn’t be funny if I don’t feel like it. All I have to do is write a light, cheerful romance, as remote from this hellish war as possible…I might even contrive to enjoy writing an airy piece of froth—& I do do that sort of thing well, don’t I? I can’t not be interested in a period, once I get deep into it.

  Georgette had no clear idea of what the historical romance was to be about but assured Moore that “the wisps floating through my head promise well.”

  Percy Hodder-Williams’s reaction to her temporary defection was to urge her to give The Corinthian to Hodder as a substitute for the postponed thriller. But his argument that she owed his firm her next novel regardless of genre (because otherwise Heinemann would “be getting two books running”) fell on deaf ears. Georgette had no intention of letting Uncle Percy have her period romances. She hated letting him down but was certain that, unless the situation in France forced her to evacuate from Blackthorns, she would eventually finish Christmas Party. Georgette had recognized that there were limits on her ability to cope: she was convinced that if she were to continue writing through the War then she would need to follow her literary instincts.

  She was right. A fortnight after beginning The Corinthian she had written nearly thirty thousand words of the new novel and was “proceeding fairly fast.” The book was the escape she needed and it is no coincidence that the plot revolves around a hero and a heroine fleeing from the restrictions and demands of civilized society. It was also Georgette’s last cross-dressing novel and she liberated her young heroine, Pen Creed, from social constraints by disguising her as a boy. The Corinthian of the title was one of her most debonair heroes to date and, with her tongue firmly in her cheek, Georgette built a plot around the pair which included a stolen necklace,14 a murderous aristocrat, a pair of silly lovers, and a thief whose presence gave her the opportunity to use her burgeoning vocabulary of nineteenth-century thieves’ cant. She had a glorious time poking fun at romantic stereotypes in The Corinthian and passing subtle judgments on the social mores of the day:

  “I see now that there is a great deal in what Aunt Almeria says. She considers that there are terrible pitfalls in Society.”

  Sir Richard shook his head sadly. “Alas, too true!”

  “And vice,” said Pen awfully. “Profligacy, and extravagance, you know.”

  “I know.”

  She picked up her knife and fork again. “It must be very exciting,” she said enviously.

  By the end of July the book was finished and Georgette declared: “It’s very good fun, I think, & goes swiftly, & sparkles quite nicely.” It had also been a welcome respite from the War and from the news that Ronald was taking steps to enlist in the Royal Navy. He had written to the Admiralty and sought Moore’s assistance with letters of reference and recommendations to influential men.

  Although Georgette put on a brave face at home she told Moore that, while it was nice of him to help Ronald, he could not expect her “to overflow with gratitude…Quite apart from the anxiety about his safety, it appears to me that I am now to face the music alone—the bankruptcy music. That will be very jolly.” She was convinced her pecuniary affairs had reached the point where she “had got to do something drastic” to save herself from ruin. That her agent held quite a different view of her financial circumstances and wished that she “wouldn’t worry so much about money difficulties” suggests that her situation may not have been as dire as she supposed.

  It is unclear whether Georgette’s financial fears were reasonable or whether she was the sort of person who would always worry about money no matter how much she earned. Her father’s death had unexpectedly made her responsible for her family’s financial security when she was still a young woman—fifteen years later they still relied on her as the primary breadwinner and she could see no sign of the pressure easing. It did not help that, although she had a good understanding of their income and expenses, neither Georgette nor Ronald seemed capable of controlling their expenditure or maintaining a proper cash flow between royalty checks. They regularly exceeded their income which meant drawing on their overdraft. They could have lived more economically—although Georgette recognized that doing without domestic support would inevitably affect her writing and by extension her earnings. Giving up other luxuries such as regular holidays, tailored clothes, and private school for Richard was apparently not an option, even in the face of severe financial strain.

  Despite the fact that she had reliably produced an average of two books a year for the past twelve years, Georgette never felt that there was enough money to prevent anxiety. Whether it was true or not, the fact that she felt herself to be near bankruptcy made it a reality and she could not accept Moore’s assessment that she had nothing to worry about. Though he was well-informed about her money troubles (having been told of them in detail for years) and had faith in her ability to go on selling, Moore would never convince Georgette that her financial fears were groundless. From his point of view, she was a guaranteed seller whose royalty income showed no signs of diminishing, but he also had the luxury of a long-term perspective at a time when she was concerned solely with surviving in the short-term. Moore did his best to convince Georgette that her future was secure, but she always found it difficult to believe that anyone could understand or appreciate her situation better than herself. Consequently, she often resisted advice, deeming herself the only person who could solve the problem. In 1940 she decided the solution to her financial troubles was to sell the British and Commonwealth copyrights in three of her bestselling novels.

  She had thought of selling a copyright to Heinemann as early as 1935, when her pressing overdraft had forced her to consider ways of raising a lump sum. At that time she had told her agent that she “would accept a Mere Pittance (£250) for any other [than Regency Buck] of my noble works, not excluding T.O.S. [These Old Shades].” Five years later she still felt that £250 would be reasonable compensation for one of her copyrights. Moore tried to persuade her against taking such an imprudent step and advised a different approach. She appeared to agree with his suggestions and in late June assured him that in putting her proposal to Frere she had “said nothing of copyright, but used the phrase underlined in your letter” (none of L.P. Moore’s letters to Georgette have survived). Whatever her agent may have suggested, ten days later on 8 July 1940, Georgette sold the British and Commonwealth copyrights in These Old Shades, Devil’s Cub, and Regency Buck to Heinemann for £750. The contract also included a clause giving to Heinemann fifty percent of any film rights in These Old Shades and twenty-five percent of the film rights to the other two novels (in 2000 Random House voluntarily agreed to cancel the 1940 contract and return full rights for the three novels to the Heyer Estate).

  The £750 was a paltry amount for the rights to three books that would continue selling long after she was dead, but this was a time of war and England was under threat of invasion. It was almost impossible to imagine a future without worry or fear or to think that anything might endure. Most people lived in the here-and-now and Georgette rarely allowed herself to believe that her books might last. Ironically, the War created a demand for her novels that saw sales far outstrip peacetime figures as blackout conditions, rationing, constant tension, and tragedy made people eager for books. In 1940 Georgette could not know that the
War would last nearly five more years and that sales of her future novels would reach into the millions.

  13 Some publishers, such as Macmillan and Penguin, had a much easier time during the War because their sales in the previous year had been so large. In 1938/39 Penguin had sold millions of copies of their Pelican and Penguin Specials editions while Macmillan benefited from the enormous sales of Margaret Mitchell’s bestseller Gone with the Wind.

  14 This was a humorous tribute to P.C Wren’s sentimental bestseller Beau Geste (1924) in which the theft of the famous Brandon family sapphire—although meant as a chivalrous gesture—brings tragedy and the eventual revelation that the jewel was only paste. In Georgette’s story a different Brandon necklace is stolen, but its theft is quite dishonorable and the fact of it being paste becomes a source of comedy rather than tragedy.

  19

  I’ve coincided, so far, with a Printers’ Strike, a General Election, & the Invasion of Norway, & I can’t say I think these distinctions desirable.

  —Georgette Heyer

  Two days after Georgette had signed over her copyrights to Heinemann, the Battle of Britain began as the Luftwaffe attempted to wipe out Britain’s ships and defenses and pave the way for Hitler’s invasion force. In Horsham great ditches were dug and a long barbed wire fence erected across gardens, allotments, and fields. Ronald sent off his application to join the navy and told Moore:

  Very many thanks for your activities on my behalf. With such backing some result of value shall crown my application. I can only hope that the Admiralty will act promptly & not leave me kicking my heels too long, but with all the French fleet to man perhaps things will move.

  Denied his chance at active service in the previous War, Ronald was eager for a second opportunity to defend his country. Georgette remained stoical but she was not happy about his plans for war service—or Frere’s, who was leaving Heinemann “to become Mr. Bevin’s Public Relations Officer.” Winston Churchill had appointed former trade unionist Ernest Bevin to the Ministry of Labor and Frere was to assist him in ensuring the support of a heavily unionized workforce for the duration of the War. Georgette was concerned at what Frere’s departure would mean to her but was comforted by his assurance that he would always be available for her to “unburden myself to him if I want to!” Frere would retain his position as joint managing director (on a half salary) and for the duration of the War he would never be completely out of touch. He also reminded Georgette that Charles Evans knew all about The Corinthian and would look after her.