Georgette Heyer

by Jennifer Kloester

  “May I introduce you to Mr. Black—Lady Jones, whose pen-name is Enid Bagnold.”

  “Well,” she replied, “I am not Enid Bagnold.”

  “Nor am I Mr. Black,” said Noel Baker.

  It was Georgette Heyer!

  …So this was a terrible moment. What was I to do? Run away into the bushes?

  “Well,” I said, “This is surely game and set in the Memory Stakes.”

  After this the old girl was very courteous and queenly…

  A month later, Boris married his “charming widow,” Evelyn Lyford. Georgette thought Evelyn ideal for her amusing, affable, but often ineffectual younger brother. The reception was held at Albany and Georgette footed the bill. A week after the ceremony a raft of additional expenses—including a “ghastly” dental bill and “a hideous P.A.Y.E. demand of £1200” from the Inland Revenue—forced Georgette to call in Cotillion’s advance. She had hoped “to rush off Detection Unlimited” as well as a commissioned short story for the Coronation edition of Good Housekeeping to offset some of her expenses, but had yet to write them.

  King George VI had died in February 1952 and his elder daughter, Elizabeth, had been proclaimed Queen (to be crowned in June the following year). Georgette considered it an honor to be asked to write the lead story for the magazine’s special edition. It was September when she finally sat down without “an idea in my head” to write what eventually became “The Pursuit of Hetty.” In that same month, for the first and only time in her life, Georgette consented to meet a journalist.

  24 Although Dr. Johnson’s Dictionary indicates that “stepmother” was in use in 1755, Georgette was quite correct in her use of “son-in-law” to describe her hero in The Quiet Gentleman. Under Canon Law, “in-law” was a term used to describe a relationship created by marriage—including the child of a husband or wife from a previous marriage. The replacement of “in-law” with “step” did not come into common use until the mid-nineteenth century.

  29

  You know, the extraordinary thing about Miss Heyer, who writes those Wonderful Books, is the way she manages—!

  —Georgette Heyer

  Coral Craig was a reporter for the Australian Woman’s Day, working in their London office. She had approached Heinemann about a meeting with Georgette only to be told, Miss Heyer “isn’t interviewed.” Somehow Georgette learned of the request and quite uncharacteristically invited Coral Craig to Albany for a drink. Although the ensuing article contained no information about Georgette’s novels, writing habits, or technique, it did offer readers a rare account of “one of the most widely read authors in the world.” Describing her as “a tall, dark-haired, distinguished woman, a charming hostess, and certainly the shyest of personality publicity I have seen” Coral Craig had found Georgette unexpectedly friendly. The famous author had “tossed the conversational gambits back and forth across the centuries, discussing in a most definite manner any subject except her own work…She isn’t interviewed. She made it quite clear, with a subtlety conveyed neither by word nor gesture, that this was a social occasion and no questions, please.”

  Georgette had made her guest an “excellent dry martini,” told her about Albany, claimed that she did not read reviews of her books, and that on her son’s advice she had not seen the film version of The Reluctant Widow (“Don’t go, mother. You would hate it.”). She also “spoke of poets,” especially Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning, and told Coral Craig: “I never travel without the Browning Letters.” Some weeks later, after reading the draft article (entitled “Georgette Heyer—the Shy Best-seller”), Georgette wrote to say: “I am hugely flattered by your description of me—and shall take good care it never comes under the eye of my irreverent family.” But the article was a great success in Australia where it appeared in Woman’s Day in October.

  In January Frere pronounced Cotillion as Heinemann’s first publication for 1953 and a novel which “set a fine standard for the rest of the year.” Georgette had dedicated the book to Carola’s husband, Gerald Lenanton, who had died suddenly in October. His death had left Georgette and Ronald “feeling pretty shattered…Gerald was one of the nicest people we ever knew, and we shall miss him terribly.” Gerald had read Cotillion in proof and enjoyed it tremendously. As had William Watt, the senior partner at A.P. Watt and an avid collector of Heyer novels. Since 1943 Watt had regularly rung Heinemann “to know if there isn’t another Georgette Heyer coming.” On receiving Cotillion he had written to Louisa Callender:

  Thank you very much indeed for—once again—so kindly sending me the proofs of the new Georgette Heyer. I am sure that I shall enjoy it very much and I hope that it will have a sale as big as even you would like. I am glad to see that it is a good long one and I shall quite unashamedly revel in escapism. After all I have Mr. Maugham on my side—you remember the broadcast?

  Georgette may have heard Somerset Maugham’s broadcast on books and writing for she often listened to the radio and would eventually own a television. She enjoyed listening to (and later watching) the cricket, show-jumping, and horse-racing and always had a bet on the Grand National, which she considered her “lucky race.” In the early 1950s, however, television was still in its formative years and when Joyce Weiner rang to say she’d been offered £250 for the “recording rights in These Old Shades,” Georgette told Frere: “I didn’t think you’d object to this recording thing.” He assured her that “we have no interest at all in the ‘recording rights’ (whatever they may be) in These Old Shades, so you may tell Joyce to go to it and good luck to all concerned.”

  On 2 June Elizabeth II was crowned Queen in the first-ever televised coronation. Having always “held to the true Stuart line,” Georgette was not a fan of the Hanoverians. She had been furious when baby Charles was christened, stamping her foot and declaring that “the bloody silly German princess had given the heir a Stuart name to which he had no right!”—though she really rather liked the earnest young Queen. Most of Britain was swept up by coronation fever and Georgette was relieved to get away in July for three weeks’ holiday at the Ailesbury Arms Hotel in Marlborough. She had finally finished the detective-thriller for Frere and needed a rest; she was also glad to escape the “pile of bills awaiting attention” and which had caused her to call in the advance for Detection Unlimited early.

  “Thanks largely to the antics of my accountant, my affairs are now in a chaotic state,” she told Louisa Callender. “My own account being overdrawn, and Heron’s overweighted by a huge balance I dare not touch until the Commissions of Inland Revenue (whom God assoil!) shall have decided a new Thing—of course against me. I hope to God you manage to sell the serial-rights.” But Dorothy Sutherland decided “Detection Unlimited just isn’t serial material.” It was a blow, for Georgette had been banking on the extra £1,500 from Woman’s Journal. “I only wrote the thing for sordid gain,” she explained to Louisa Callender before urging her to try elsewhere. But nobody wanted Detection Unlimited.

  Georgette received the bad news at Greywalls where she and Ronald had taken Richard for a September holiday. It was the only blight on an otherwise perfect stay. They had grown to love Greywalls, with its quiet, elegant rooms, tasteful furnishings, and excellent food. Despite feeling strapped for cash, they did not consider a few hundred pounds too dear for a month’s holiday there. Ronald and Richard spent most days on Muirfield playing golf and Georgette sometimes walked the course with them. She spent the rest of the time knitting or reading by the fire in the drawing room, playing bridge, or just sitting quietly enjoying the view. The news about Detection Unlimited was a reminder of what awaited her back in London. She pessimistically concluded: “It is a great bore about the new thriller, and I can see the Bankruptcy Court looming. I can also see my medieval book fading into the far distance. I must think out a Typical Heyer romance for instant sale.”

  Within weeks Louisa Callender was asking for an outline of the new book for Heinemann’s spring list. But Georgette insisted that she had barely made a
start: “Are you trying to be funny? Tell you about my new book indeed! How can I, when I haven’t yet worked it out for my own information?” She then proceeded to tell her that “The title will be The Toll-Gate,” that it was another Regency, set after Waterloo, and its hero was “a huge young man who has sold out of some dreary cavalry regiment or other because he doesn’t fancy the army in peace-time.” A lengthy description of the book’s characters, general plot, and several likely scenes followed. “It may sound a bit nebulous to you,” Georgette explained but “it will make a splendid serial.”

  A week later she reported that she had “got it pretty well taped now, thanks in some measure to my Life’s Partner who suddenly uttered the cryptic word ‘specie!’” She had thought to embroil her hero in a smuggling ring or a bullion theft but Ronald had demurred and suggested an alternative: “Having a pachydermaton’s memory he recalled, out of the blue, that I once read him a long spiel about coinage after Waterloo, when, for the first time in years, we issued new gold and silver coins, and—which is important—minted the first sovereigns and half-sovereigns, calling in the guineas. So what could be better?”

  In mid-November a partial manuscript and a synopsis arrived on Louisa Callender’s desk with a note warning her that the novel “might not work out quite like that.” After failing to sell Detection Unlimited as a serial, Georgette was keen to ensure that Woman’s Journal bought The Toll-Gate. She had also been recently jolted when Dorothy Sutherland had informed Louisa Callender that she had “bought another historical romance which she would begin in July of next year, and may not want to run two consecutively.” The editor had offered space “in another of her magazines” with an assurance that “it would be a magazine of high standing,” prompting Georgette to ask: “What high-class periodical, other than Woman’s Journal, does A. Press run? I suspect the S.B. is going to ask us if we’d mind coming out in that frightful weekly paper of hers—Woman’s Something or Other. It’s far from high-class, but as I don’t think Persons of Taste and Refinement read any magazines, I don’t much mind—provided she pays the same price as she would for the Journal.”

  The price was £1,500 and Dorothy Sutherland planned to run the serial through the summer with an October publication for the book. But to this Georgette could not agree. If The Toll-Gate missed Frere’s proposed July publication date she would fall a book behind and create a gap in her income that she simply could not afford:

  You see, I fell into this trap once before in my career, and I know that the effects, not immediately visible, are cumulative and far-reaching. It is snatching at two birds in a bush instead of holding tight to the one in your hand. Even if you were to say to me, Detective fiction is different: do another for the spring! It wouldn’t solve the difficulty. Initially these books earn exactly half what my “real” books earn; after the first royalties, nothing approaching half. I regard them as a pleasant addition to my income, that’s all. And I find them damned hard to write. My object in having written TOLL-GATE was to get ahead of myself (so to speak) so that I could with a quiet mind return to my big medieval book for the best part of next year. To do that I must make sure of royalties rolling in steadily.

  She lay awake through the small hours thinking about the problem and finally concluded: “If the S.B. likes to go straight ahead, and serialize in time for a June publication, I should be perfectly content to accept £1500…If she doesn’t—well, I’m sorry, I shall perhaps find things a bit awkward in the immediate future, but I shall know that they’ll be fine by the time I receive the royalties you pay me in the autumn.”

  To her surprise, Dorothy Sutherland agreed. “Please tell the S.B. that I am most grateful to her for meeting me halfway,” Georgette told Louisa Callender, “and have done what I can, by way of a quid pro quo, to meet her wishes with regard to the story itself. I have eliminated the succession, and the wicked cousin, and have reduced the book to more reasonable proportions.” Only a month earlier, Georgette had been “thrilled” in being told by aspiring author, Christopher (Kipper) Landon, that Dorothy Sutherland found her “‘terribly hard,’ and ‘hell to work with!’” Now, the editor’s graciousness softened her a little and she did her best to accede to her suggestions for the story.

  She delivered the manuscript two weeks before Christmas, having finished it “against the odds” which included a skin condition, liver trouble, and her sole surviving aunt’s broken femur. Aunt Jo had died a few years earlier and Aunt Cicely was now eighty-eight and “A Holy Terror.” Georgette found it impossible to “remain aloof from these events as I could wish.” It was not all bad news: Detection Unlimited came out in December and Georgette had her short story, “The Quarrel,” published in the Christmas edition of Everywoman. But far better was their departure for Rye, where they would spend Christmas with celebrations that would largely consist of “Golf for the boys and a Rest for Mother!”

  Richard often joined his parents on holiday. Having completed his National Service he was now up at Cambridge studying Classics and Law. He had turned twenty-one the previous February, was as tall as Ronald, and shared his father’s passion for golf and bridge. From his mother he had inherited wit and a flair for a well-told story. Richard had his own gift for writing, but had recognized at an early age the difficulties attached to being the progeny of an international bestseller. Consequently, he deliberately chose never to attempt becoming a published author (Richard was an accomplished letter writer and at one time expressed an interest in writing about the Belle Époque, but never did). Instead, he developed his skill as a raconteur and frequently amused his friends and family with his gift for mimicry and his ability to tell a good joke (undoubtedly inherited from his Heyer ancestors). Georgette adored her son and had a pride in his achievements which no amount of mockery, assumed indifference, or pretended disdain could hide.

  She returned home from Rye to mixed financial tidings. The good news was that her Book Club editions were selling in ever-increasing numbers and she was now being published by both Foyle’s and Odhams. With a membership between 150,000–175,000 each the book clubs offered an enormous guaranteed sale to their selected authors. Royalties were usually only two pence a copy, but the huge volume ensured that Georgette received over £1,000 for Odhams’ edition of The Quiet Gentleman and even the Foyle’s edition of Duplicate Death brought in £400. Foyle’s were now offering to buy Cotillion with a first printing of 140,000 copies and a four-pence royalty—a potential return of more than £2,000.

  Unfortunately the good news was offset by a new communiqué from Georgette’s accountant, Rubens, who had written to inform her that she had drawn more money from Heron Enterprises than she should have. Consequently, the Inland Revenue had

  dug up a 1923 law not even Barclays’ tax expert had ever heard of, and said these sums were undisclosed dividends. There has been a year’s enquiry and argument, and we are now appealing against the decision. According to what Rubens somewhat cryptically writes, I may have to pay I.R. £3000 over and above all other and customary taxes, but it may be less, and it may not arise in the immediate future. He was so soothing when I last saw him that he left me with the impression that the amount I might have to disgorge would be very small, so that when I received his last letter…and saw this £3000 figuring on the list, I nearly had heart-failure!

  It was another blow in a long series of financial setbacks which, if Georgette and Ronald had been better able to manage money, could have been avoided. It was one thing to be a successful author and quite another to make the most of the opportunities a royalty income offered. So far they had proved inept at the latter. Once she had employed Rubens Georgette tended to leave him to his own devices and become a relatively passive participant in the management of her money. It wasn’t that she did not try. She certainly kept accounts (in her own idiosyncratic fashion) and would sometimes venture into Rubens’s office for an explanation of the latest tax demand. This was rarely successful, however, for she would find herself defeated b
y his verbiage, emerging an hour or two later none the wiser.

  Over the years, she and Ronald had shown themselves to be far more reactive than proactive where their finances were concerned. It was this inability to act quickly and decisively which, time and again, proved to be their financial undoing. When Georgette felt she was paying far too much tax and could not see the value in running Heron, she took no action. And when things began to go wrong and Rubens grew lax in his administration of the Heron accounts she did nothing. In the end, it would be nearly fifteen years before she and Ronald finally changed accountants and put their financial problems behind them.

  30

  I thought we should get lots of publicity if Frere invited me to lunch at the Savoy Grill, & I came with my Irish wolfhound—33½ inches at the shoulder—& refused to be separated from her.

  —Georgette Heyer

  By 1954 Georgette had begun to make a great deal of money. She was writing steadily, producing a novel a year, the occasional short story (Good Housekeeping published “The Duel” in February), and more recently, had turned her hand to a series of short articles. In March and April Punch published two of her articles: “Books about the Brontës” and “How to be a Literary Critic.” Five other unpublished articles reflected some of Georgette’s ideas about men as fathers, publishers, the state of the nation, and Jane Eyre’s Mr. Rochester’s continuing appeal:

  Charlotte [Brontë] knew, perhaps instinctively, how to create a hero who would appeal to women throughout the ages; and to her must all succeeding romantic novelists acknowledge their indebtedness. For Mr. Rochester was the first, and the Nonpareil, of his type. He is the rugged and dominant male, who yet can be handled by quite ordinary a female: as it might be, oneself! He is rude, overbearing, and often a bounder; but these blemishes, however repulsive they may be in real life, can be made in the hands of a skilled novelist extremely attractive to women. Charlotte Brontë, immensely skilled, knew just where to draw the line.