Romance of London: Lord Stowell’s Love of Sight-seeing

Romance of London: Strange Stories, Scenes And Remarkable Person of the Great Town in 3 Volumes

John Timbs

John Timbs (1801-1875), who also wrote as Horace Welby, was an English author and aficionado of antiquities. Born in Clerkenwell, London, he was apprenticed at 16 to a druggist and printer, where he soon showed great literary promise. At 19, he began to write for Monthly Magazine, and a year later he was made secretary to the magazine’s proprietor and there began his career as a writer, editor, and antiquarian.

This particular book is available at googlebooks for free in ebook form. Or you can pay for a print version.

William Scott, First (and only) Lord Stowell

William Scott (1745-1836) was born in Northumberland to a father who was in the business of transporting coal. Both William and his brother John became successful jurists, William becoming a judge of the high court of admiralty and elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, and John eventually becoming Earl of Eldon and Lord Chancellor of England. William was raised to the peerage as a baron following the coronation of George IV in 1821. William was twice married, but as the only one of his four children was a female, the title became extinct after his death at age 90.

More information at Wikipedia.

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File%3AWilliam_Scott%2C_1st_Baron_Stowell_(1745-1836)%2C_by_William_Owen_(1769-1825).jpg

William Scott, 1st Baron Stowell (1745-1836, Wikimedia Commons

Lord Stowell’s Love of Sightseeing

Punch & Judy by Cruikshank, 1828

Lord Stowell loved manly sports, and was not above being pleased with the most rude and simple diversions. He gloried in Punch and Judy—their fun stirred his mirth without, as in Goldsmith’s case, provoking spleen. He made a boast on one occasion that there was not a puppet-show in London he had not visited, and when turned fourscore, was caught watching one at a distance with children of less growth in high glee. He has been known to make a party with Wyndham to visit Cribb’s, and to have attended the “fives court” as a favourite resort. “There were curious characters,” he observed, “to be seen at these places.” He was the most indefatigable sight-seer in London. Whatever show could be visited for a shilling, or less, was visited by Lord Stowell. In the western end of London there was a room generally let for exhibitions. At the entrance, as it is said, Lord Stowell presented himself, eager to see “the green monster serpent,” which had lately issued cards of invitation to the public. As he was pulling out his purse to pay for his admission, a sharp but honest north-country lad, whose business it was to take the money, recognized him as an old customer, and knowing his name, thus addressed him: “We can’t take your shilling, my lord; ’tis the old serpent which you have seen twice before in other colors; but ye shall go in and see her.” He entered, saved his money, and enjoyed his third visit to the painted beauty. This love of “seeing sights” was, on another occasion, productive of a whimsical incident. Some forty years ago, an animal, called a “Bonassus,” was exhibited in the Strand. On Lord Stowell’s paying it a second visit, the keeper very courteously told his lordship that he was welcome to come, gratuitously, as often as he pleased. Within a day or two after this, however, there appeared, under the bills of the exhibition, in conspicuous characters, “Under the patronage of the Right Hon. Lord Stowell;” an announcement of which the noble and learned lord’s friends availed themselves, by passing many a joke upon him; all which he took with the greatest good humor.

The Bonassus…proved to be a troublesome neighbour—a constant annoyance. The following letter was intended to have been sent to the “Annoyance Jury,” by the occupier of the house in the Strand (nearly opposite Norfolk-street) adjoining that in which the “Bonassus” was exhibited:—

March 28, 1822

“Gentlemen,—I Am sorry to trouble you but I Am so Anoyd By next Door Neighbour the Bonassus and with Beasts, that I cannot live in my House—for the stench of the Beast is So Great And their is only A Slight petition Betwixt the houses and the Beast are continually Breaking through in to my Different Rooms And I am always loosing my lodgers in Consequence of the Beast first A Monkey made Its way in My Bedroom next the Jackall came in to the Yard and this last week the people in My Second floor have been Alarmed in the Dead of the Night By Monkey Breaking through into the Closet and are Going to leave in Consequence this being the third lodgers I have lost on account of the Beast And I have been letting my Second Floor at Half the Rent—And those men of Mr. James are Bawling the whole Day Against My Window—and continually taking peoples attention from My Window—And I am quite pestered with Rats and I Am Confident they came from the Exhebition—And in Short the Injury and Nuisance is So Great as almost Impossible to Describe But to be so Anoyd By such an Imposter I think is Very Hard—Gentlemen your Early inquiry will oblige your Servant—T.W.—.

N.B. And if I mention anything to Mr. James He only Abuses me with the Most Uncouth Language.”

Susana’s note: Apologies to English teachers everywhere, who have no doubt suffered through many such essays in their noble careers.

Lord Stowell enjoyed attending boxing matches at Cribb’s, especially in his later years

Romance of London Series

Lillian Marek: Lady Emily’s Exotic Adventure (Giveaway)

Apr14

Hello Susana. Thank you for inviting me into your parlour today.

I’d like to talk about my Victorian Adventure series, which features the children of the Marquess of Penworth. They travel to exciting places and encounter dangerous villains, but there’s an aspect of their stories that you may not have noticed.

You see, in a previous life, before I discovered the joys of writing historical romance, I used to work on a newspaper. The part of the job I liked best was writing a weekly cooking column. That meant that I spent a lot of time thinking about food—not exactly a hardship for me!

As a result, I like to make sure my characters are well fed. You just know they must work up an appetite when they’re escaping from the thieves and kidnappers and other miscreants who pop up in their stories.

There are elaborate dinners, of course. We are, after all, talking about aristocrats! But sometimes they just have a snack.

In the first book of the series, Lady Elinor’s Wicked Adventures, the family travels to Italy to explore Etruscan ruins. Elinor has some more romantic plans as well. She and Harry have been riding through the hills where a number of Etruscan tombs are located. It’s a hot day, and they stop to rest in a bit of shade:

She heaved a sigh. It wasn’t Harry’s fault that she couldn’t win his interest. It was her own fault. She had mistaken his feelings. Although she was in love with him, his feelings were only brotherly. No passion. She had no right to complain. She wasn’t just being unreasonable. She was acting like a spoiled brat. Knowing it did not make her feel any better.

“Catch.”

She turned and put up her hands just in time to catch the object Harry had sent flying in her direction.

It almost splattered in her hands. “An orange. Lovely.” She smiled in delight and started peeling it immediately.

Harry had tossed aside his coat and neck cloth too, and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He plopped down on the ground beside her and grinned. “There’s another orange for you and some rolls. I remember how cranky you get when you haven’t been fed for a while.”

She slipped the first of the orange segments into her mouth, holding a hand under her chin to catch the drips. She held the morsel against the roof of her mouth with her tongue, letting the juices wash away the feeling of dust while the sweet-sharp scent of it cleaned the air she breathed. She swallowed and turned to him with a dreamy smile. “I forgive you.”

“Forgive me?” The grin disappeared and he looked startled. “What did I do?”

“Well, if you don’t know…” She turned away and shrugged.

There was a brief silence, and then they both began to laugh.

“Idiot!” she said affectionately.

“Ninny!” he replied.

By the time they had demolished the crusty rolls and licked up the last drop of juice from the oranges, Elinor’s mood had improved mightily. She stood up and stretched before looking around. Harry was lying back and seemed to have fallen asleep. She picked up his jacket and began checking the pockets to see if he had anything else to eat. Preferably something sweet.

Part of the adventure when you’re far from home is the food, which can be very unlike your usual diet, especially when your travels take you to Mesopotamia and the ruins of ancient Nineveh. In Lady Emily’s Exotic Adventure, food seems especially important to Emily the morning after her family’s arrival in Mosul. She had slept through dinner, so she wakes up very early and very hungry, She gets herself dressed and then sets out to find something to eat:

Some time later, when Lady Penworth entered the courtyard, her daughter was sitting on the side of the fountain in the dappled shade of an overhanging tree.

“Good morning, Mama.” Emily waved at a tree. “The one in the corner over there is a lemon tree but this one and the others are all orange trees. And this is Shatha. She is the cook and makes the most delicious soft, flat bread.” She smiled at the small woman dressed in multicolored garments who was bent over a brazier on which something sizzled with an appetizing meaty smell.

Lady Penworth smiled at the cook and nodded her head in greeting. “As-salaam alaikum,” she said, pronouncing the Arabic greeting carefully.

Shatha beamed back and bowed. “Wa alaikum assalaam,” she said. What followed was a spate of Arabic that sounded like questions. When the only response was blank looks, Shatha popped up and directed Lady Penworth to sit on a bench in the shade of the loggia that surrounded three sides of the courtyard. She placed a folding table beside her, which was in no time filled with bowls of yogurt and dried fruit, boiled eggs, and a plate of steaming bread.

“Have some bread and honey,” Emily said. “The honey is incredibly delicious.” She was trying to be her usual cheerful self, but given the peculiar look her mother was giving her, perhaps she was not entirely successful.

Lady Penworth did not make any comment. She did, however, beam with pleasure when Shatha produced a steaming pot of tea and some cups. “Would you care for some?” she asked, as she filled a cup.

My next book, A Scandalous Adventure, will be available on August 2. It sends the third daughter, Lady Susannah, on an adventure in a small German principality in the Swabia region, where a princess has been kidnapped and villains are planning to seize the throne. In this scene, Susanna and Max von Staufen are riding through the forest with a few of his men, on their way to recuse the kidnapped princess. But they cannot manage without something to eat!

Eventually—to her relief—they stopped beside a small stream to rest the horses and themselves. She sat down on a log. It was no softer than the saddle, but at least it did not move. Breakfast appeared from Josef’s saddlebags—bread, a hard yellow cheese, and garlicky sausages that he cut into chunks with his hunting knife. To wash it down, there was icy water from the stream. Like the others, she ate with her fingers and drank from a shared tin cup.

It was a meal unlike any she had ever eaten, but somehow one of the finest. Max sat beside her, close enough for her to feel the warmth of him. It was enough to make her feel safe. He always made her feel safe.

“Do you see them smile?” He smiled too. “They are yours now.”

She blinked in confusion.

“My men,” he said, tipping his head toward Josef and the two other men—they had been introduced to her as Hans and Gustav—who had ridden out with them. “You sit here and eat with them, and do not scorn their food. You ride with them and do not complain. They would have protected you in any case because you are my wife. But now, now they will follow you because you have won their respect.”

“Because I ate a sausage?” She choked down a surprised laugh. “They are easily won over.”

He continued to smile at her, and there was pride in that smile. “Not easily. Josef will have told them that you rode with him to my rescue, that you never flinched on the journey, that you never complained. And now they see for themselves that you are prepared to ride with them, to face hardship, to do what must be done. My warrior countess.”

“Goodness. All that from a sausage?” She flushed, embarrassed by the thought. She was about to protest that she was really a very conventional person, a proper English lady, but then a smile began to spread. Was she a warrior? Was that who she really was? A warrior countess. She liked that image of herself. It was certainly better than Susannah, the dutiful daughter, who always knew the proper thing to do and never caused anyone a moment’s worry. That Susannah who had somehow become very boring.

What about you? Do you like to read about food in historical romances? Or are there other things about life in the past that you want to read about? Leave a comment telling me what you think and I’ll send a copy of Lady Emily’s Exotic Journey to a random commenter.

And just for fun, I’m adding on a recipe for Hussar Rounds, a cookie that Lady Susannah might have enjoyed with her coffee while she was in Swabia.

Hussar Rounds

1 cup butter

½ cup sugar

½ teaspoon vanilla

¼ teaspoon almond extract

3 egg yolks

3 – 3 ¼ cups flour

1 egg white

3 tablespoon chopped almonds

jam

In an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar. Add the vanilla and almond extracts. Beat in the yolks alternately with flour until firm and smooth. Shape into slightly flattened 1-inch balls and place on baking sheet. With a finger make an indentation in the middle of each cookie. Brush with egg white and sprinkle with nuts. Bake at 350° for 20 – 25 minutes. Before serving, place a dab of jam in the center of each cookie. (If you use several different colors of jam, it increases the jewel-like look of the platter.)

Note: If you are going to store them (they keep well), wait with the jam until just before serving.

Lady Elinor’s Wicked Adventure

Amazon • Apple • Barnes & Noble • Books-A-Million • Chapters • Indiebound • Kobo

Lady Emily’s Exotic Adventure

Amazon • Apple • Barnes & Noble • Books-A-Million • Chapters • Indiebound • Kobo

A Scandalous Adventure (pre-order)

Amazon • Barnes & Noble • Books-A-Million • Chapters

About the Author

Lillian Marek was born and raised in New York City. At one time or another she has had most of the interesting but underpaid jobs available to English majors, including too many years in journalism. She greatly prefers writing fiction, where the good guys always win and the villains are properly punished.

The first book in her Victorian Adventure series, Lady Elinor’s Wicked Adventures, won first prize in both the Launching A Star and the Windy City Four Seasons contests. She was also a first prize winner in the Beau Monde’s Royal Ascot contest.

Romance of London: Milkmaids on May-Day

Apr11

Romance of London: Strange Stories, Scenes And Remarkable Person of the Great Town in 3 Volumes

John Timbs

This particular book is available at googlebooks for free in ebook form. Or you can pay for a print version.

Milkmaids on May-Day

On this gay festival, the Londoners of the present century have seen little. J.T. Smith, in his amusing Book for a Rainy Day, describes the carnival of nearly a century since, May 1771: “The gaiety during the merry month of May (says Smith) was to me most delightful; my feet, though I know nothing of the positions, kept pace with those of the blooming milkmaids, who danced round their garlands of massive plate, hired from the silversmiths, to the amount of several hundreds of pounds, for the purpose of placing round an obelisk, covered with silk, fixed upon a chairman’s horse. The most showy flowers of the season were arranged so as to fill up the openings between the dishes, plates, butter-boats, cream-jugs, and tankards. The obelisk was carried by two chairmen, in gold-laced hats, six or more handsome milkmaids in pink and blue gowns, drawn through the pocket-holes, for they had one on either side; yellow or scarlet petticoats, neatly quilted; high-heeled shoes; mob-caps, with lappets of lace resting on their shoulders; nosegays in their bosoms; and flat Woffington hats, covered with ribbons of every color. A magnificent silver tea-urn surmounted the obelisk, the stand of which was profusely decorated with scarlet tulips. A smart, slender fellow of a fiddler, in a sky-blue coat, wit his hat covered with ribbons, attended; and the master of the group was accompanied by a constable, to protect the plate from too close a pressure of the crowd, when the maids were dancing.”

One of Hayman’s paintings in Vauxhall Gardens, was the Milkmaids on May-day: here the garland of plate was carried by a man on his head; the milkmaids, who danced to the music of a wooden-legged fiddler, were very elegant. They had ruffled cuffs; their hats were flat, but not Woffingtons, but more resembled those of the Billingsgate fish-women. In Larcom’s Cries of London, published by Tempest, there is “a Merry Milkmaid;” she is dancing with a small garland of plate upon her head; and her dress is of the latter part of King William the Third’s reign, or the commencement of the reign of Queen Anne.

Francis Hayman’s May Day (Supper-box) Painting

From the V & A:

One of the ancient customs observed on May Day that persisted until the early 19th century was the ‘Milkmaid’s Garland.’ The milkmaids would dress in their best clothes and dance in the streets for their customers. A donation from the customers and from passers-by was expected. A ‘garland’ – a pyramid of borrowed silver tankards, plates and flagons decorated with flowers – was paraded by the milkmaids or carried, as in this painting, by a porter. Francis Hayman also included another May Day custom in his picture: that of the young chimney-sweeps noisily beating their brushes and shovels.

Francis Hayman, Vauxhall Gardens, supper-box painting, ©Victoria and Albert Museum, London

See more about May-Day here.

So… what’s a Woffington hat?

Here’s a portrait of famous courtesan Nelly O’Brien wearing what is described as a “Woffington hat” in Great Portraits Seen and Described by Great Writers.

Actress and courtesan Nelly O’Brien in a Woffington hat

Apparently, this flat style of hat was named after Peg Woffington, Irish actress and lover of David Garrick in Georgian England.

Irish actress Peg Woffington

Oh, and about Billingsgate fish-women…

In the 18th century, fishwives frequently appeared in satires as fearsome scourges of fops and foreigners. Their vigorous and decisive mien was contrasted with that of politicians who were, by contrast, portrayed as vacillating and weak. For example, in Isaac Cruikshank’s A New Catamaran Expedition!!!, a fleet of Billingsgate fishwives sails across the English Channel to terrorise the French and shame the British Prime Minister Pitt for his inaction.

By Isaac Cruikshank (publisher- Willm. Holland, London) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Romance of London Series

Sandra Masters: My Divinely Decadent Duke (Giveaway)

Apr7

The Kiss

by Sandra Masters

“What about love and passion?” she wondered until she realized she spoke the words aloud. Enough. Everything but the one thing I want. And you think you are not cruel, Gordon?

“They shall take care of themselves with time. I will not force myself on you… unless you wish it of me. I would like the opportunity to demonstrate to you I am a good man you may wish to know better, Cassandra. Goodness knows you’ve seen many sides of me.”

Somehow the arrangement didn’t sound as insane as before. It could work. At least she wouldn’t have to marry Ashcombe, a perfect stranger. Her choices were an older gentleman, or the younger scandalous rake she loved.

Her mind spun.

Her world twirled.

She swayed.

He held her steady in his arms.

Her heart broke.

And then he did a terrible thing.

He kissed her with tender gentleness and coaxed open her lips. Their mouths melded together. Her body molded to his and it was perfect. She heard heart beats, pulse beats, thunderous beats. To be so close to him, so near, so in need—it was so unfair. She rested her head on his broad chest and made her decision.

“You are an innocent and a temptation I cannot afford, but I want you,” he murmured.

Was it better to be miserable with him than without him?

When God wants to punish you, he grants your dreams.

About My Divinely Decadent Duke (Book 2, the Duke series)

Orphaned and abandoned by family, Lady Cassandra Montgomery yearns for love. Beautiful and innocent, she attracts the attention of a renowned rake, the Duke of Althorn. When her security is threatened, she offers him a proposal for an arranged marriage in exchange for his guarantee of safety for her and her ward. After her first taste of desire in his arms, she finds the sexual attraction irresistible. Finding herself in a family way, she leaves his home, unsure of his love.

The Duke is at first enraged by the brazen behavior, yet he sees Cassandra as a captivating caregiver for his mother and impossible to resist. He agrees. The arrangement becomes inconvenient because love and sensuality enter the equation.

Will she believe her husband truly loves her and return to his waiting arms?

Will the Duke admit his love and use his rakish skills to woo Cassandra back to his bed?

Amazon

Excerpt

It was time he schemed, too. “I’ll select a gown for you, if you like. I’ll be proud to have my two duchesses by my side in their jeweled tiaras. Your maid will bring all to you as befits this special occasion. The King’s ball demands no less of us.”

“Thank you.” A smile curled her lips, her eyes glistened. “I appreciate there is no ill will between us.” She turned her face away.

“You’d be surprised at how much more there’ll be between us, my wife.” He turned to the dowager. “I do believe my mother tires.”

“Shall I have a servant escort you, Mother?”

Before she could offer to leave the table with Lady Madelaine, his brow arched in contained fury; his gaze shot across the length of the table. Cassandra’s lips stilled.

“Thank you, Gordon.” The dowager arose and a servant walked behind her as she took to the steps.

He simply stared at Cassandra, perused her body, and how her generous bosom invited his attention even in the simple frock she wore. His face couldn’t hide his anger.

“You have left my bed of your own accord. That is a serious dereliction of duty on a wife’s part in England, punishable by beatings… and other dire measures.”

“It wasn’t the intent of our agreement to chain me to you and your bed.”

He poured more cognac into his snifter. “Now that conjures a seductive thought—perhaps you would enjoy such activity?”

“Stop it, Gordon. You are like a two-sided coin. One side is gracious and the other side is lascivious.” She clasped her hands in her lap.

“Did you expect me to jump for joy at the prospect of your early departure from my house on a permanent basis? After all we’ve shared, Cassandra? Did it mean nothing to you? Did you simply use me as a connoisseur of decadent lingerie?” He rose from his chair, glass in hand and walked the long length to her position.

“No, but I did not expect you to display fits of anger. It couldn’t have been a surprise to you.”

“Cassandra, allow me to recollect. You proposed the agreement. I originally refused and because I took pity on you, I agreed to our business arrangement, as you put it.”

“You took pity on me? Is that what changed your mind? I didn’t need you as much as you needed me to care for your mother and get her well. You ass.”

“I might well be an ass since I trusted you, but you have stolen from me, my wife.”

She stood and faced him with defiance. “I have stolen nothing and only taken those items that were mine. Gowns, jewelry, coins, all are left behind.” Her napkin dropped from her lap.

“You are a thief, Cassandra. You have stolen the love of my mother, stolen the love of my dog, stolen the affection of my staff, and you claim you’re not a thief?”

“I did not steal them. It was theirs to give and I accepted—all to please you. You’re a dolt.”

“Hmm, did you take the lingerie you designed?”

“Yes, they were mine. I paid for them before I met you, Gordon.”

“Do you intend to put them to future use?” he asked, and moved an alcohol-braced whisper’s breath away from her.

“How do I know? If you want them, I’ll leave them for you to lavish on one of your other women.”

His hand slid around her waist. “There have been no other women since I met you. You are aware of that fact, aren’t you?”

“I hadn’t given it a thought. You’ve kept me so occupied, I don’t have free time to think.”

“I believe you lie to yourself, however, I indicated I wouldn’t stop you if you wished to leave, and that is so. Yet, I wonder if you would entertain one last night with me for a final end to a four month marriage of convenience that has suddenly turned inconvenient.”

“I’d rather sleep in a stable than by your side,” she spat.

“I would never force myself on you, but perhaps you could be coaxed to have mercy on your poor husband who’ll be left without any conjugal rights available to him?”

“No.”

“Then one last kiss? The memory of it will warm me on cold nights.”

“If you do take to cold nights, a servant can bring you a warm brick, and perhaps you can strike yourself on the head with it.”

Then a simple thing happened. They laughed. He extended his arm. She accepted as they walked out of the room. Together.

As they ascended the steps, there were snickers and smiles. He pointed Cassandra to her chambers, opened his bedroom door, and closed it.

He would win her back, if it killed him.

Besides, the King’s Ball had many balconies, and they were dangerous together in such an atmosphere. How he loved a challenge. And the chase.

Two random commenters will win digital copies of My Divinely Decadent Duke.

The Duke Series

Once Upon a Duke

My Divinely Decadent Duke

Thorn, Son of a Duke

About the Author

Retired executive, Sandra Masters, rose from a humble beginning in Newark, NJ, a short stay at a convent in Morristown, NJ, to the board rooms of NYC, and a fantastic career for a broadcasting company in Carlsbad, California, to the rural foothills of the Sierras of Yosemite National Park, she has always traveled with pen and notebook. It’s been the journey of ten thousand miles with a few miles left. She left her corporate world behind and never looked back.

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Romance of London: Nancy Dawson the Hornpipe-Dancer

Apr4

Romance of London: Strange Stories, Scenes And Remarkable Person of the Great Town in 3 Volumes

John Timbs

This particular book is available at googlebooks for free in ebook form. Or you can pay for a print version.

Nancy Dawson

Nancy Dawson, the famous hornpipe-dancer, of Covent Garden Theatre, in the last century, when a girl, set up the skittles [a form of bowling] at a tavern in High Street, Marylebone. She next, according to Sir William Musgrave’s Adversaria, in the British Museum, became the wife of a publican near Kelso, on the borders of Scotland. She became so popular a dancer that every verse of a song in praise of her declared the poet to be dying in love for Nancy Dawson; and its tune is so lively as that of Sir Roger de Coverley. In 1760, she transferred her services from Covent Garden Theatre to that other house [Drury Lane]. On the 23rd of September, in that year, the Beggar’s Opera was performed at Drury Lane, when the playbill thus announced her: “In Act iii, a Hornpipe by Miss Dawson, her first appearance here.” It seems that she was engaged to oppose Mrs. Vernon in the same exhibition at the rival house, and there is a full-length print of her in the character. There is also a portrait of her in the Garrick Club collection.

Nancy died in Hampstead, on the 27^th of May 1767; she was buried behind the Foundling Hospital, in the ground belonging to St. George the Martyr, where is a tombstone to her memory, simply inscribed “Here lies Nancy Dawson.”

From Wikipedia:

Nancy Dawson was the stage name of Ann Newton (c.1728-1767), a famous London dancer and actress. She rose to fame performing a solo rendition of a hornpipe between acts in The Beggar’s Opera at Covent Garden Theatre in 1759.

Her early life is unclear; she may have been born at Axminster, Devon. At sixteen she joined the company of a certain Griffin, a puppet-showman, who taught her to dance; and a figure dancer of Sadler’s Wells, seeing her performance, found her a place at his own theatre. As the story goes, her figure, novelty and technical excellence made her career.

In her second summer season at Sadler’s Wells Nancy Dawson was promoted to the part of Columbine, and in the following winter she made her first appearance at Covent Garden Theatre under Edward Shuter, in The Prophetess by Thomas Betterton. On 22 April 1758 the Merry Wives of Windsor was played for her benefit. In October 1759, during the run of The Beggar’s Opera, the man who danced the hornpipe among the thieves fell ill, and his place was taken by Nancy Dawson. From that moment she became a celebrity. The production enjoyed an unusually long run, and the house was crowded nightly.

Nancy Dawson was induced by an increase of salary to move to Drury Lane, where she appeared for the first time on 23 September 1760 in The Beggar’s Opera. Here for the next three years she dance in its frequent revivals, and in a variety of Christmas entertainments, such as ‘Harlequin’s Invasion,’ ‘Fortunatus,’ and the ‘Enchanter’ in which there also appeared Joseph Grimaldi and the Miss Baker who succeeded Nancy Dawson in popular favour as a dancer. On Christmas Eve 1763 a pantomime called the ‘Rites of Hecate’ was produced at Drury Lane, and on that day and the 26^th of the month Nancy Dawson appeared; but her name is absent from the bills of subsequent representations.

The Hornpipe

From Sonny Watson’s Sweetswing.com:

The lively Hornpipe is really very characteristic of the English in nature and is a very old Celtic solo dance that is very much based on the sailor’s abilities during the dancing with the sailors originally performing it with folded arms. The steps are clearly ship wise such as hauling in the anchor, climbing or rigging ropes etc. The Sailor’s Hornpipe was most popular during the 16th to 18th Centuries but the original (Hornpipe) goes much farther back and was originally done by men only.

It is said that the English sailing ship and Royal Navy Captain James Cook (1728-1779) thought dancing was most useful to keep his men in good health during a voyage. When it was calm, and the sailors had consequently nothing to do, he made them dance —

Sailors’ hornpipe: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBU0z3xdC0o

The Ballad of Nancy Dawson*

Of all the girls in our town,

The red, the black, the fair, the brown,

That dance and prance it up and down,

There’s none like Nancy Dawson.

Her easy mien, her shape so neat,

She foots, she trips, she looks so sweet;

Her every motion’s so complete,

I die for Nancy Dawson.

See how she comes to give surprise,

With joy and pleasure in her eyes:

To give delight she always tries,

So means my Nancy Dawson.

Was there no task, t’obstruct the way,

No shutter old, no house so gay,

A bet of fifty pounds I’d lay,

That I gained Nancy Dawson.

See how the opera takes a run

Exceeding Hamlet, Lear and Lun

Though in it there would be no fun,

Was’t not for Nancy Dawson.

Though beard and brent charm ev’ry night

And female peachum’s justly right,

And filch and lockit please the sight,

‘Tis kept by Nancy Dawson.

See little davey strut and puff,

‘Confound the opera and such stuff,

My house is never full enough,

A curse on Nancy Dawson”.

Though G[arric]k he had has his day

And forced the town his laws t’obey,

With Jonny Rich is come in play,

With the help of Nancy Dawson.

*Lyrics attributed to George Alexander Stevens. Tune attributed to Thomas Arne

Hear it performed here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YTan2rliiKU

Romance of London Series

Donna Hatch: The Suspect’s Daughter (Giveaway)

Mar31

Interview with Donna Hatch

Susana: What inspired you to start writing, and how long have you been doing it?

Donna: I’ve always been imaginative—as a child, I played make-believe constantly—but when I was about eight, a little voice inside my head kept nagging me until I finally wrote what it told me to write. Later, I learned people call this little voice “The Muse.” By eighth grade, after I’d written many stories both short and long, a teacher suggested I should aspire to be a published author, something that had never occurred to me to attempt. But I didn’t know how to go about it, so I was a closet writer for years until I finally found the courage and knowledge necessary to submit my novel to a publisher. It was a long path, with plenty of rejections, disappointments, learning, and revising. But three years after getting serious about writing as a career, my first book, The Stranger She Married, Book 1 of the Rogue Hearts Series, was accepted for publication.

Susana: Are you a plotter or a pantser?

Donna: I am a combination writer. I start with a concept and characters, then form a few basic plot points in the story. After that, I write more or less by the seat of my pants.

Susana: Tell us something about your newest release that is NOT in the blurb.

Donna: The murder plot in my newest book, The Suspect’s Daughter, Book 4 of the Rogue Hearts Series, was inspired by a true event in England known as the Cato Street Conspiracy, which thankfully, was averted largely in part due to an undercover Bow Street Runner. This event happened in 1820, the same year my book takes place. When I read about that, I knew something like this just had to be Grant’s story.

Susana: Are you working on something at present that you would like to tell us about?

Donna: I am working on a 100-page novella for a new series, and also Book 5 of the Rogue Hearts Series about a fugitive charged with the murder of her husband. By the way, all of my books are stand-alone, so you don’t have to read the first three in the series before reading Book 4.

Susana: What author or authors have most influenced your writing?

Donna: Laura Ingalls Wilder heavily influenced me. Reading her books as a child instilled in me a love of historical novels, as well for as a romance plot. Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre helped cement my love of romance. And I couldn’t be a Regency author if it weren’t for Jane Austen’s brilliance.

Susana: What is your work schedule like when writing?

Donna: I write sporadically, whenever I can fit it in. With a busy family, I don’t have the luxury of sitting down to a clean desk with candles and music to inspire me. Most often, I write while waiting in a doctor’s office, or during soccer practice, or early afternoons when my children are gone, or even late at night when everyone is asleep.

Susana: If your publisher offered to fly you anywhere in the world to do research on an upcoming project, where would you mostly likely want to go? Why?

Donna: That’s a no-brainer—I’d want to go to England. I’ve done tons of research, but I’ve never seen it in person. Since my novels take place in England, I’m dying to go there. I could have a much better grasp on the sights and sounds and smells of England to create an even more believable setting for my books.

I’m also planning on writing a book that takes place in Italy, so I’d love to go there, too.

Susana: Who gave you the writing advice that sticks with you to this day?

Donna: Marsha Ward, author of western novels, told me once that I should set a really underwhelming daily word count goal. Hers, I believe, is twenty words. It sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? And counterproductive. But I discovered the wisdom of that advice. If I think I don’t have time to write on any given day, I think, “But I only have to write twenty words.” It’s pretty easy to make time to write a mere twenty words. Usually, those twenty words turn into a hundred, or five hundred. Even if I only wrote that very small, daily minimum goal, in a year I could write a full-length novel.

Thank you so much for hosting me!

Note: The author will be giving away e-copies of The Stranger She Married to two random commenters on this blog post.

About The Suspect’s Daughter

Determined to help her father with his political career, Jocelyn sets aside dreams of love until she meets a mysterious gentleman with dangerous secrets. Working undercover, Grant’s only suspect for a murder conspiracy is the father of a lady who is getting increasingly hard to ignore. They must work together to find the assassins. England’s future hangs in the balance…and so does their love.

Smashwords • B & N • Amazon

About the Author

Donna Hatch is the award-winning author of the best-selling Rogue Hearts Series. A hopeless romantic and adventurer at heart, she discovered her writing passion at the tender age of 8 and has been listening to those voices ever since. She has become a sought-after workshop presenter, and also juggles freelance editing, multiple volunteer positions, and most of all, her six children (seven, counting her husband). A native of Arizona who recently transplanted to the Pacific Northwest, she and her husband of over twenty years are living proof that there really is a happily ever after.

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A Home for Helena: Release Day is Here!

Mar29

The Story Behind the Story

I wrote A Home for Helena and sent it out to my critique partners and beta readers around two years ago, but as with other projects, I put it aside in favor of working on new projects. Frankly, the initial first draft writing is much more exciting for me than making revisions. If I don’t have a deadline looming, I tend to leave past projects in limbo indefinitely. Fortunately, last year I got involved in three group projects with deadlines which forced me to actually finish things. Those were Lost and Found Lady (from Beaux, Ballrooms, and Battles), The Third MacPherson Sister (Sweet Summer Kisses), and The Ultimate Escape (Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem).

The Ultimate Escape, the story of Lady Pendleton’s eldest daughter escaping to the future, revived my determination to get A Home for Helena out to readers. Because The Ultimate Escape takes place five years before A Home for Helena—even though the latter was written first—it became Book 1 in The Lady P Chronicles, with Helena becoming Book 2. As for Book 3, I’ve got a few ideas mulling about, but I’d like to get some of my other unfinished projects out there too.

Want to know how Lady Pendleton evolved? Check out my post on Caroline Warfield’s blog: http://ow.ly/ZTiNP

I really, really hate deadlines

I know I have to get started right away, but I don’t feel like it. I’ll just have another cup of coffee first. Let me finish this one episode of Dateline first, and then I’ll work on my project. OMG, I forgot to get my blog post up today! I really should take care of the credit card bill first, then I’ll get started on the project. Is it time for lunch already? I’ll just take a little break for Facebook games and then I know for sure I’ll be ready to write. The phone rings and I realize I haven’t talked to this friend for several weeks. People are more important than things, right? Suze Orman always says so. OMG, is it 5:00 already? I’m too tired to write. I’ll just get up early tomorrow and write twice as much…

But I can’t get things finished without them!

As you can see, deadlines are a necessary evil. Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em. Well, I probably could live without ’em, but I’d be a certified couch potato and a has-been writer. And no, that’s not the way I want to live.

So I am learning to set deadlines for myself. And even though I don’t always meet them exactly on the nose, I do get things done, which wouldn’t be the case otherwise. I’ve also learned that having the cover done is a great motivator. Mari Christie, who created the cover for Helena has also done several others for me, including my two stories with Ellora’s Cave that revert back to me in a couple of weeks. Treasuring Theresa will be Book 1 of the Hertfordshire Hoydens series and Book 2 will be Cherishing Charlotte, which is another unfinished project I hope to have completed by the end of the summer. And I still have several others after that, which will keep both Mari and me busy for the foreseeable future.

About A Home for Helena

After a wise woman suggests that she has been misplaced in time, Helena Lloyd travels back two hundred years in an attempt to find out where she belongs.

Widowed father James Walker has no intention of remarrying until he makes the acquaintance of his daughter’s lovely new governess.

Lady Pendleton, a time-traveling Regency lady herself, suspects that these two belong together. First, however, she must help Helena discover her true origins—and hopefully, a home where she belongs.

A Home for Helena is Book 2 of The Lady P Chronicles.

Book 1, The Ultimate Escape, originally published in the Bluestocking Belles’ anthology, Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem, will soon be available individually.

Amazon

$0.99 until April 5, then $2.99

Free on Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt

Newsome Grange

Kingswood, Kent

Later that morning

“Miss Dray is dead?”

James stared incredulously at Sir Henry, who, for once, was not wearing his normal easy-going expression. Instead, he leaned against the mantel of the fireplace of his study, studying the grate as though there were a fire blazing in it.

“Good God, what happened? Is Annabelle all right?”

“She’s fine, James.

Lady Sarah strolled through the doorway and into her husband’s arms. In spite of her words, she looked worn out. Strands of her blonde hair were falling out of her chignon, and he thought he saw the remains of tears on her cheeks.

“The girls are quite distressed, of course. They were fond of Miss Dray. As were we all,” she said with a glance at her husband, whose arm remained tightly clasped around her shoulders. “She was a dear thing, but very strict. The perfect governess. I don’t know how we shall go on without her.” Her voice broke and she buried her face on her husband’s chest.

“They found her in Abbey Wood,” Sir Henry explained. “Wednesday was her half-day, and when she didn’t return, we sent out a search party. No signs of foul play. The doctor says it was natural causes—her heart just gave out.”

His wife erupted in sobs again, and James decided he should find his daughter and leave the Newsomes to their grief, giving voice to that decision.

Lady Sarah turned to face him, accepting her husband’s handkerchief to dab her eyes with.

“Oh no, James, you needn’t do that. The nanny will manage until Mother can send us a replacement. Emily and Theodosia simply love having Annabelle around, and it will only distress them further if she leaves as well. And as for Colin, I’ve no doubt he thinks Annabelle’s his mother by now. She has a way with babies, it seems.”

James was not convinced. “Still, it takes time to find a governess.” He should know—the agency he’d consulted in London had yet to send him information on any potential candidates.

Sir Henry chuckled. “Have you met my mother-in-law?”

Lady Sarah smiled in spite of herself. “We sent an express requesting her aid. If I know her, she’ll come herself if she can’t find someone suitable to fill in until we find a permanent replacement.”

Sir Henry winked at him. “Perhaps she’ll bring along that pretty Miss Lloyd she has residing with her. I think she liked you well enough.” He chuckled. “Not looking for a husband, though. Or so she says.”

James frowned. He’d nearly succeeded in forcing the image of the forthright Miss Lloyd out of his mind, and now she had installed herself right back in again. If he were truthful with himself, he’d admit he wouldn’t be sorry to see her again. She was quite an eyeful.

It was really too bad he hadn’t been able to visit Violet while in London. It seemed her new protector demanded exclusivity, and he’d not been able to get past her burly butler. He hadn’t been near an attractive woman in ages, and this Miss Lloyd was proving strangely difficult to dismiss from his thoughts.

Lady Sarah looked thoughtful. “What do you know about this Miss Lloyd, Henry? Where did she come from? I don’t believe Mother has ever mentioned her before.”

Sir Henry grinned as he looked down at her. “She’s your mother, my dear. Surely you know by now how unpredictable she can be.”

Lady Sarah drew a deep breath. “I do know that. That’s precisely why I’m—concerned.”

James cleared his throat. “I appreciate your kindness in offering to keep my daughter, but you obviously have more than enough to deal with at present. If you would be so kind as to call her down… I can send for her things later.”

But the Newsomes wouldn’t hear of it. Lady Sarah was so vehement that he could see she was almost ready to burst into tears again, and after Sir Henry shook his head in warning, James visited his daughter briefly and left without her.

As he rode home, no matter how he fought it, his mind’s eye kept reverting to a pair of bright green eyes and the lovely face that went with them. Would he be seeing them again?

Susana’s March Events & Giveaways

A Home for Helena Rafflecopter: through March 31st

http://www.susanaellis.com

Susana’s March Quiz: through March 31st

http://susanaellis.com/Susana_s_Quiz.html

Susana’s Newsletter Subscriber Drive: through March 31st

http://www.susanaellis.com

A Home for Helena Release Party: March 29, 2016, 4:00-11:00 p.m. EDT

Guest authors • Prizes • Fabulous gowns • Swoonworthy heroes • Fun for everyone

https://www.facebook.com/events/534215620086552/

About Lady Pendleton

Lady Pendleton is a frequent guest of Susana’s in the 21^st century, both in Toledo and Florida, where Susana splits her time. She began appearing in Susana’s blog, Susana’s Parlour, in 2013.

Lady Pendleton’s Social Media

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Romance of London: The May Fair and the Strong Woman

Mar28

Romance of London: Strange Stories, Scenes And Remarkable Person of the Great Town in 3 Volumes

John Timbs

This particular book is available at googlebooks for free in ebook form. Or you can pay for a print version.

Mayfair

From Wikipedia:

Mayfair was mainly open fields until development started in the Shepherd Market area around 1686 to accommodate the May Fair that had moved from Haymarket in St. James’s.

Mayfair was part of the parish of St Martin in the Fields. It is named after the annual fortnight-long May Fair that, from 1686 to 1764, took place on the site that is Shepherd Market. The fair was previously held in Haymarket; it moved in 1764 to Fair Field in Bow in the East End of London, after complaints from the residents.

Sir Thomas Grosvenor, 3rd Baronet married Mary Davis, heiress to part of the Manor of Ebury, in 1677; the Grosvenor family gained 40 hectares (100 acres) of Mayfair. Most of the Mayfair area was built during the mid 17th century to mid 18th century as a fashionable residential district, by a number of landlords, the most important of them being the Grosvenor family, which in 1874 became the Dukes of Westminster. In 1724 Mayfair became part of the new parish of St George Hanover Square, which stretched to Bond Street in the south part of Mayfair and almost to Regent Street north of Conduit Street. The northern boundary was Oxford Street and the southern boundary fell short of Piccadilly. The parish continued west of Mayfair into Hyde Park and then south to include Belgravia and other areas.

Present-day Mayfair Neighborhoods

May Fair a Century Ago

We find a curious picture of this west-end carnival by that painstaking antiquary, John Carter, who, writing in 1816, says: “Fifty years have passed away since this place of amusement was at its height of attraction: the spot where the Fair was held still retains the name of May Fair… The market-house consisted of two stories: first story, a long and cross aisle for butchers’ shops, and, externally, other shops connected with culinary purposes; second story, used as a theatre at Fair-time for dramatic performances… Below, the butchers gave place to toy men and gingerbread-bakers. At present, the upper story is unfolded, the lower nearly deserted by the butchers, and their shops occupied by needy peddling dealers in small wares; in truth, a most deplorable contrast to what once was such a point of allurement. In the area encompassing the market building were booths for jugglers, prize-fighters both at cudgels and back-swords, boxing-matches, and wild-beasts. The sports not under cover were mountebanks, fire-eaters, ass-racing, sausage-tables, dice-ditto, up-and-downs, merry-go-rounds, bull-baiting, grinning for a hat, running for a shift, hasty-pudding-eaters, eel-divers, and an infinite variety of other similar pastimes.”

Tiddy Doll, Gingerbread Baker (NYPL Digital Library)
Tiddy Doll was a famed 18th century gingerbread vendor, a well-known sight amongst the butchers and toy-men, jugglers and fire-eaters at London’s Bartholomew Fair and Shepherd’s Market in Mayfair. He was even known to ply his wares at public executions, and can be seen in the lower right-hand corner of Hogarth’s Idle Prentice Executed at Tyburn, waving a spicy cake to the boisterous mob. His real name was apparently Ford, acquiring his nickname from a habit of ending his addresses to the crowd with the last lines of a popular ballad, “tid-dy did-dy dol-lol, ti-tid-dy ti-ti, tid-dy tid-dy, dol.” Wearing a white apron over his customary white gold laced suit, ruffled shirt, laced hat and feather and silk stockings, “like a person of rank,” his name was associated for many years with a person dressed out of character, as “you are as tawdry as Tiddy-doll; you are quite Tiddy-doll,” etc.

The Woman and the Anvil

18th century anvil

One of the marvels of May Fair, in its latest revival, was the performance of a strong woman, the wife of a Frenchman, exhibited in a house in Sun Court, Shepherd’s Market. The following account is given by John Carter, and may be relied on, as Carter was born and passed his youthful days in Piccadilly [Carter’s Statuary]. He tells us that a blacksmith’s anvil being procured from White Horse Street, with three of the men, they brought it up, and placed it on the floor of the exhibition-room. The woman was short, but most beautifully and delicately formed, and of a most lovely countenance. She first let down her hair (a light auburn), of a length descending to her knees, which she twisted round the projecting part of the anvil, and then, with seeming ease, lifted the ponderous mass some inches from the floor. After this, a bed was placed in the middle of the room; when, reclining on her back, and uncovering her bosom, the husband ordered the smiths to place thereon the anvil, and forge upon it a horse-shoe! This they obeyed: by taking from the fire a red-hot piece of iron, and with their forging hammers completing the shoe with the same might and indifference as when in the shop at their constant labour. The prostrate fair one seemed to endure this with greatest composure, talking and singing during the whole process: then, with an effort, which to the bystanders appeared supernatural, she cast the anvil from off her body, jumping up at the same moment with extreme gaiety, and without the least discomposure of her dress or person. That there was no trick or collusion was obvious from the evidence: the spectators stood about the room with Carter’s family and friends; the smiths were strangers to the Frenchman, but known to Carter, the narrator. She next placed her naked feet on a red-hot salamander, without injury, the wonder of which was, however, understood even at that time.*

Blacksmith’s shop

*Mr. Daniel, of Canonbury, thought the Strong Woman to have been Mrs. Allchorne, who died in Drury Lane in 1817, at a very advanced age. Madame performed at Bartholomew Fair in 1752.

Romance of London Series

Cerise DeLand: Masquerade with a Marquess (Giveaway)

Mar23

Cerise DeLand gives you a Marquess, a Baron,

and a little fact with your romance for 99 cents!

We all love a historical that gives us a bit of the period. Some fact with our entertaining fiction. In Masquerade with a Marquess, I give you a few real mysteries taken from the period of my story.

My heroine, Sophia di Contini searches for two paintings by famous French painter Fargonard taken from her family by Pauline Bonaparte. That lady, like her brother, was infamous for appropriating art works from others. Here, Sophia has good reason to know who might be responsible and she gets help from our hero, Victor Cameron. As the two rekindle their romance of five years before, Sophia finds more than her paintings. She finds lost treasures that belonged to Pauline!

Those treasures (and I won’t tell you what they are) were truly lost by Pauline and their loss may indeed have changed the circumstances of her brother, Napoleon’s life. In fact, he may have never lost at Waterloo and never lost his imperial crown!

But I will tell you that she did indeed sell her Paris house to the British agents in 1814 and that house became and still is (drum roll!) the residence of the British Ambassador to France! In fact, the money she earned from the sale bankrolled Napoleon for much of Waterloo campaign! Yes, ironic and true.

I do hope you read Masquerade with a Marquess, #3 in my Regency Romp series, and #4 Interlude with a Baron!

And now, for a nibble of my newest cherry!

Excerpt

Victor made his way toward the threesome—and stopped in his tracks.

Across the room, a woman stood near the wall. Attired in a simple gown of cream, she portrayed a Greek or Roman queen. Her half mask was white, covering a straight nose and framing eyes that darted and scanned, settling here and there and moving on. Her hair glowed like pale sunlight. Beneath a headband of gold and white satin, her tresses curled in a braid high around her head. In a bow to current fashion, delicate wisps dangled at her ears. But the disarray made her more elegant, more classically beautiful. He could not drink in enough of her—and his mind stalled.

His stomach clenched. Oh, most definitely, this was the elusive housemaid. Or more accurately, Sophia di Bertolla di Contini, the daughter of the famous Italian courtier and poet, Marco di Bertolla.

Why would she come here to this party disguised?

The irony that she should appear here in plain sight when he had searched for her for weeks had him setting his teeth. What game did she play?

The woman had disappeared from Whiting’s house that night in December. He’d run out into the streets to search for her, to no avail. He’d hired men he often employed to track thieves or those who owed him money. But they’d found no one answering her description in any lodgings in greater London. He’d extended their territory to search for her in Dover and Calais, assuming she might seek refuge there to book a packet across the Channel. They had come up short.

But here she was.

No maid’s drab cloth for her tonight. The opposite. Poised, shining and polished as a marble goddess, she surveyed the guests, all grace and purpose. She spoke with no one. In truth, she seemed to hug the walls. Was she here alone?

He made his way across the ballroom. In the crowd, that took him time. Too much, in fact. And as he wove his way among his guests, she left her secluded spot to wander toward the central hall. Odd, that. The ladies’ retiring room was on this wing. If she wondered precisely where, she need only ask a servant who would redirect her. But she didn’t.

She continued toward the foyer. Scurrying, really.

Then she froze. Her eyes rounded.

Victor followed her line of sight.

Dray appeared straight ahead of her in the doorway, his ginger hair mussed by the wind and the half-black mask he wore. She turned aside, deftly weaving around Dray with not so much as a nod of greeting. That easily, she slipped out.

Victor hastened to catch her. But damn the crowd.

Threading his way through the throng required more greetings and diplomacy than he had expected. Next year, by god, he’d stay home. He wished to speak only to this intruder who appeared here as a guest. A creature who perennially danced in his memory like Salome.

Muttering to himself about his failure to eradicate her from his thoughts, Victor picked up his pace toward the hall.

But in his path stood Dray.

“I must speak with you.” Dray stepped toward him, straightening his tailcoat but looking oddly agitated.

“Later.” Victor clasped his step-brother’s hand. “Wait for me, please.”

“This is important. Where’re you going?” He turned as Victor passed him by.

“A guest.” He’d explain her identity later. “She’s headed the wrong way to the retiring room.”

“Put a footman to the task. I have news from Windsor—”

“Dray, wait.”

“I can’t!”

Victor ignored him and hurried away.

At the first floor landing of the staircase, he came to a stop. He turned to one side, the movement of a figure catching his eye. But it was a man, not Sophia.

In a stealthy move, the man shut the door behind him. As the latch clicked, so did knowledge of who the man was.

Otis Underwood. A degenerate of the first order.

Was he stalking Sophia? Was she in that room?

The reason that she might have gone there rose like bile in his throat. Did she seek an assignation with Underwood?

Preposterous. She had better sense than that. Or had years ago. Why would she consider alliance with such a man as he? She had no reason.

But he squeezed his eyes shut a second. Of course, it was her looks. The soft blue eyes that mesmerized a man. The lush rosy lips that inspired erotic fantasies in any man who gazed upon her. Young, old, infirm, any man with blood in his veins took one long look and coveted her.

Distaste for Underwood and his nefarious actions washed away all condemnation of Sophia.

Still, why was she floating around Winterbourne’s house?

She wasn’t a thief. Or hadn’t been that night at Whiting’s.

But was she in that room and if so, what did she want?

Flummoxed, he ripped off his mask and swung about, once more in complete review of the hall. No doubt of it. Unless she’d left the house, she was in that room where she should not be.

He’d root her out. He would.

He took the hall on cats’ feet. With utmost care, he turned the knob and thrust open the door.

Ah.

Across the moonlit room she stood in profile to him facing Underwood. The man advanced on her, a salacious smile upon his fleshy lips, his hawk-like nose hooked like the predator he was.

Giveaway

Cerise is giving away a digital copy of Her Beguiling Butler to one random person who comments and Masquerade with a Marquess to another random person.

A BIG SALE!

LIMITED TIME!

To celebrate the release of my 2 new Regencies, Masquerade with a Marquess and Interlude with a Baron, I put on sale all of the following for a limited time:

Lady Varney’s Risque Business, Regency Romp #1

Amazon • ARe • NOOK • KOBO

Rendezvous with a Duke, Regency Romp #2

Amazon • ARe • NOOK • KOBO

Masquerade with a Marquess, Regency Romp #3

Amazon • ARe • NOOK • KOBO • iTunes

Interlude with a Baron, Regency Romp #4

Amazon • ARe • NOOK • KOBO • iTunes

Her Beguiling Butler, Delightful Doings in Dudley Crescent #1

AMAZON • ARe • NOOK • KOBO • iTunes

About the Author

Cerise DeLand loves to cook, hates to dust, adores traveling…and lives to write! She is #1 Bestselling Regency Author of spicy romances starring dashing heroes and sassy women. Her box set The Stanhope Challenge was recently on the bestseller list for ONE solid YEAR!

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Romance of London: Bartholomew Fair

Mar21

Romance of London: Strange Stories, Scenes And Remarkable Person of the Great Town in 3 Volumes

John Timbs

This particular book is available at googlebooks for free in ebook form. Or you can pay for a print version.

The vow of a jester

Rahere, jester to King Henry I

This famous Fair, formerly held every year in Smithfield, at Bartholomewtide [August 24], and within the precinct of the Priory of St. Bartholomew, originated in a grant of land from Henry I., to his jester Rahere, who, disgusted by his manner of living, repented him of his sins, and undertook a pilgrimage to Rome. Here, attacked by sickness, he made a vow, that if he recovered his health, he would found a hospital for poor men. Being reinstated, and on his return to England to fulfill his promise, St. Bartholomew is said to have appeared to him in a vision, and commanded him to found a Church in Smithfield, in his name… The site, which had been previously pointed out in a singular manner to Edward the Confessor, as proper for a house of prayer, was a mere marsh, for the most part covered with water; while on that portion which was not so, stood the common gallows—”the Elms,” in Smithfield, which for centuries after continued to be the place of execution.

The Bartholomew Fair

St. Bartholomew’s Church

The Priory, however, looked to temporal as well as spiritual aid, for his foundation; and therefore, obtained a royal charter to hold a Fair annually at Bartholomewtide, for three days—on the eve, the fête-day of the saint, and the day after; “firm peace,” being granted to all persons frequenting the Fair of St. Bartholomew. This brought traders from all parts, to Smithfield: thither resorted clothiers and drapers, not merely of England, but all countries, who there exposed their goods for sale. The stalls or booths were erected within the walls of the priory churchyard, the gates of which were locked each night, and a watch was set in order to protect the various wares…

At the dissolution of religious houses, the privilege of the Fair was in part transferred to the Mayor and Corporation; and in part to Richard Rich, Lord Rich, who died in 1560, and was ancestor of the Earls of Warwick and Holland. It ceased, however to be a cloth fair of any great importance in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. The drapers of London found another and more extensive market for their woolens; and the clothiers, in the increase of communication between distant places, a wider field for the sale of their manufactures. It subsequently became a Fair of a very diversified character. Monsters, motions, rolls, and rarities were the new attractions to be seen; and the Fair was converted into a kind of London carnival for persons of every condition and degree of life. The Fair was proclaimed by the Lord Mayor, beneath the entrance arch of the priory; and its original connexion with the cloth trade was commemorated in a mock proclamation on the evening before, made by a company of drapers and tailors, who met at the Hand and Shears, a house of call for their fraternity in Cloth Fair, whence they marched and announced the Fair opened and concluded with shouting and the “snapping of shears.”

With respect to the tolls, Strype tells us that “Each person having a booth, paid so much per foot for the first three days. The Earl of Warwick and Holland is concerned in the toll gathered the first three days in the fair, being a penny for each burthen of good brought in or carried out; and to that end there are persons that stand at all the entrances into the Fair…

The Fair lengthens to fourteen days

“In the reign of Charles II., as might be expected, the Fair was extended from three to fourteen days, when all classes, high and low, visited the carnival.” Pepys mentioned walking up and down the fair grounds on August 30, 1667, and discovering Lady Castlemaine at a puppet-play, “and the street full of people, expecting her coming out.” In 1668, Pepys went to the fair “to see the mare that tells money, and many things to admiration, and then the dancing of the ropes, and also the Irish stage play, which is very ridiculous.”

(c) Dover Collections; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

Theatrical booths were very popular. “Ben Jonson, the actor (says Dr. Rimbault), was connected with the booth before 1694, in which year he joined Cibber’s company; he was celebrated as the grave-digger in Hamlet…

Here were motions or puppet-shows of Jerusalem, Nineveh, and Norwich; and the Gunpowder Plot played nine times in an afternoon; wild beasts, dwarfs, and other monstrosities; operas and tight-rope-dancing and sarabands [dances]; dogs dancing the morris; the hare beating the tabor; and rolls of every degree.

Bartholomew Fair 1825

From a newspaper in 1734:

At Goodwin’s Large Theatrical Booth, opposite the White Hart, in West Smithfield, near Cow Lane, the town will be entertained with a humorous Comedy of three acts, called ‘The Intriguing Footman, or the Spaniard Outwitted;’ with a Pantomime entertainment of Dancing, between a Soldier and a Sailor, and a Tinker and a Tailor, and Buxom Joan of Deptford.

At Hippisley and Chapman’s Great Theatrical Booth, in the George Inn Yard, Smithfield, the town will be humorously diverted with an excellent entertainment; Signor Arthurian, who has a most surprising talent at grimace, and will, on this occasion, introduce upwards of fifty whimsical, sorrowful, comical, and diverting faces.”

The fourteen days were found too long, for the excesses committed were very great; and in the year 1708, the period of the Fair was restricted to its old duration of three days.

Hogarth 1733

Three days of revelry

The influence of the fair in the neighborhood was to make general holiday… We read that in Little Britain, “during the time of the Fair, there was nothing going on but gossiping and gadding about. The still quiet streets of Little Britain were overrun with an irruption of strange figures and faces; every tavern was a scene of rout and revel. The fiddle and the song are heard from the taproom, morning, noon, and night; and at each window might be seen some group of loose companions, with half-shut eyes, hats on one side, pipe in mouth, tankard in hand, fondling, and prosing, and singing maudlin songs over their liquor. Even the sober decorum of private families was no proof against this saturnalia. There was no such thing as keeping maid-servants within doors. Their brains were absolutely set maddening with Punch and the puppet-show; the flying horses; Signior Polito; the Fire-eater, the celebrated Mr. Paap; and the Irish Giant. The children, too, lavished all their holiday-money in toys and gilt gingerbread, and filled the house with the Lilliputian din of drums, trumpets, and penny whistles.”

V0014666 Bartholomew Fair, site of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, London Credit: Wellcome Library, London. Wellcome Images images@wellcome.ac.uk http://wellcomeimages.org Bartholomew Fair, site of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, London, pictured in 1721. Aquatint with etching, c. 1800. Published: - Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons Attribution only licence CC BY 4.0 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

Bartholomew Fan

The end of Bartholomew Fair

The Lord Mayor and Aldermen had, for 300 years, tried by orders, proclamations, juries, and presentments to abolish the Fair, but without effect; when the Court of Common Council took the work in hand. Having obtained entire control over the Fair by the purchase of Lord Kensington’s interest, they refused to let standings for shows and booths; they prevailed upon the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs to give up the practice of going to open the Fair in state, with a herald to proclaim it, and officers to marshal the procession; the posting of the proclamation about the streets, interdicting rioting and debauchery during the days of the Fair and within its precincts, were discontinued… In 1852, not a single show was to be seen on the ground; and in 1855 the Fair expired… and Bartholomew Fair was extinct.

Author’s Note: I’m thinking of having my Regency characters attend the fair, even though it was rather scandalous. What do you think?