An English Rose

S.K. Rizzolo author photoRelevant History welcomes historical mystery author S. K. Rizzolo, who earned an MA in literature before becoming a high school English teacher and author. Her Regency mystery series features a trio of crime-solving friends: a Bow Street Runner, an unconventional lady, and a melancholic barrister. On a Desert Shore is the fourth title in the series following The Rose in the Wheel, Blood for Blood, and Die I Will Not. Rizzolo lives in Los Angeles. To learn more about her and her books, visit her web page, and follow her on Facebook, Goodreads, and Google+.

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Readers of Georgette Heyer’s Regency novels are familiar with her references to skin care products such as Denmark Lotion or Olympian Dew. A young lady’s fair and blooming complexion could be almost as critical to her success as her dowry and social position. Then, as now, those with unsightly spots sought to avoid embarrassment. But the ideal of complexion went much deeper than that. It was, in fact, tied to anxieties about Britain’s Empire, notions of proper Englishness, and the desire to maintain boundaries of class and race.

In my novel On a Desert Shore, Marina Garrod receives every advantage of the privileged young lady. Rumored to be the heiress to vast wealth, she debuts in Society with the hope of making an eligible alliance. But to bigoted eyes, there’s a problem. All her father’s money cannot make her into a genuine “English Rose” (pink cheeks and red lips with pale skin)—for Marina is the daughter of a Jamaican planter and his slave-housekeeper. My novel is about Marina’s plight in the England of 1813, a time when attitudes toward race were hardening, in part because of growing fears of cultural and racial contamination./p>

A Rose By Any Other Complexion…
Marina’s experience as a mixed-race heiress in Georgian England was not unique. In his dissertation Children of Uncertain Fortune: Mixed Race Migration from the West Indies to Britain, 1750-1820, Dan Livesay estimates that, by the end of the 18th century, as many as a quarter of rich Jamaicans with children of color sent them home to England to live in a free society. On the whole these children were the lucky ones who had escaped the astoundingly brutal and oppressive sugar island. Still, families sometimes challenged the inheritances of their mixed-race kin, and the position of these young people would have been equivocal at best. It’s difficult to imagine how they might have felt. While Britain had halted its participation in the slave trade in 1807, slavery itself endured for several more decades in the colonies. Apologists for the institution like Marina’s father failed to justify a practice that was increasingly seen, according to the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, as “blotched all over with one leprosy of evil.” Here Coleridge refers to the arguments of West India merchants and slave owners, calling them “cosmetics” designed to conceal a horrible reality.

Deirdre Coleman asserts that the British public of the day had a “fascination with complexion.” And my research revealed that this was especially true of white Creole women (Creole is an ambiguous term that sometimes meant the Blacks of Jamaica and sometimes a person of any race who had spent a lot of time there). I encountered stories of the white Creole women’s attempts to preserve their complexions so that when they returned to England they could bloom into legitimate English roses. They wore elaborate sunshades and even flayed their skin with the caustic oil of the cashew nut! Often they created what even some contemporaries called an artificial and unhealthy pallor.

Why such rigid standards of beauty? This was a society in which all-powerful white men exploited black women at their own whim and will, a society in which wives were often confronted with the humiliating results of open infidelity—their husbands’ slave children. It was important to the Creole ladies, whose skin could become tanned or weathered in the tropical climate, to maintain strict boundaries through their complexions. In other words, “whiteness” as a marker of status and breeding. But, ironically in this racially mixed society, it might not be possible to determine someone’s precise background just by looking. There might have been little visible difference between a Creole lady and her husband’s mulatta or quadroon concubine.

Performing Gentility
When a woman named Janet Schaw traveled to North America and the West Indies between 1774–76, she wrote in her diary about putting on and off her delicacy “like any piece of dress.” To me, this points to the performative aspect of femininity. A woman can don a mask of beauty and gentility to further her ends or play her role in society. This is precisely what Marina cannot do to her tormenters’ satisfaction. And yet she is not afraid to express her fellow feeling with African slaves or her contempt for slavery. You will have to read the book to find out what happens after her failed London season. In essence, she is shipwrecked “on a desert shore” in an alien land, even though she is half English and has been mostly reared in England. She is no true English rose.

Dido Elizabeth Belle and her cousin Lady Elizabeth MurrayHere’s the famous portrait of Dido Elizabeth Belle and her cousin Lady Elizabeth Murray. Belle was the daughter of an enslaved African woman and Sir John Lindsay, a British naval officer. After Lindsay brought his daughter to England, she lived with the Earl of Mansfield, the Lord Chief Justice, at Kenwood House in Hampstead. Much speculation has arisen in regard to this portrait, whose artist is uncertain. Why does Belle point at her own cheek in a curiously awkward gesture? Perhaps she calls attention to her contrasting complexion in order to suggest that any difference is only “skin deep.”

There’s an unforgettable scene in another novel, an anonymous abolitionist work of 1808 called The Woman of Colour, which introduces Olivia Fairfield, the natural daughter of a West Indian planter and a slave. Like Marina Garrod, Olivia travels to England. In the scene a curious little boy at a tea party compares his hand to Olivia’s, interrogating her about her skin color. Her response: “The same God that made you made me…[as well as my servant Dido, a] poor black woman—the whole world—and every creature in it! A great part of this world is peopled by creatures with skins as black as Dido’s, and as yellow as mine…”

Which leaves us with one of my favorite Shakespearean sonnets, a satiric poem making the point that, after all, what we deem beauty has nothing to do with outward show. After criticizing his beloved for her varied imperfections, including the lack of “roses” in her cheeks, the speaker says: “And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare / As any she belied with false compare.”

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On a Desert Shore book coverA big thanks to S. K. Rizzolo. She’ll give away a copy of On a Desert Shore to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET. Delivery is available worldwide for an ebook and in the U.S., Canada, and Europe for a hardcover.

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Easier than Gretna Green

Maria Grace author photoRelevant History welcomes Regency romance author Maria Grace, who has her PhD in Educational Psychology and is a sixteen-year veteran of the university classroom, where she taught courses in human growth and development, learning, test development and counseling. None of which have anything to do with her undergraduate studies in economics/sociology/managerial studies/behavior sciences. She blogs at Random Bits of Fascination—mainly about her fascination with Regency era history and its role in her fiction. Her newest novel, The Trouble to Check Her, was released March 2016. To learn more about her and her books, visit her group blog, and follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Google+, and Pinterest.

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Edmund Blair Leighton "The Elopement"A couple eloping to Grenta Green is a fairly common plot device for romances set in the early 1800s. But why was it done (other than because it sounds really romantic), and what cheaper, easier alternatives were at hand for a couple inclined to elope?

The Hardwicke Act
Starting with the ‘why’: Marriage back at the start of the 1800s was pretty different than it is today. For many years marriage only required words of consent uttered by the parties involved (at least age fourteen for men and twelve for women) in front of two witnesses.

While that approach made things fairly simple, it proved a record-keeping nightmare as there was no real way to prove a marriage did or did not exist. To rectify this dilemma, the Hardwicke Act of 1753 stipulated:

* A couple needed a license or the reading of the banns to marry
* Parental consent if either was under the age of twenty one
* The ceremony must take place within a public chapel or church, by authorized clergy
* The marriage must be performed between eight a.m. and noon before witnesses
* The marriage had to be recorded in the marriage register with the signatures of both parties, the witnesses, and the minister.

Usually parental consent was the fly in the ointment, but sometimes, the reading of the banns might raise an objection. Perhaps one of the parties was promised to marry another, or worse, had already married another. Either could put a crimp on a young couple’s plans.

An obvious solution might be to go somewhere else to get married, like perhaps Scotland. Scottish law merely required two witnesses and a minimum age of sixteen for both parties. (Of course for now, we’ll ignore the fact that whether or not Scottish marriages were legally valid in England was a matter of some debate.)

Gretna Green was just nine miles from the last English staging post at Carlisle and just one mile over the border with Scotland. The town took advantage of the situation and made something of a business in quick marriages, not unlike Los Vegas today. Hence, it was known for elopements, and it became a favorite plot device.

The Trouble with Gretna Green
If it was so simple and convenient, why not go to Gretna Green to marry? Barring the fact that elopements were a good way to get ostracized from good society, there were practical considerations that made it unsuitable for many.

Off to Gretna GreenGretna Green is three hundred twenty miles from London, the largest British population center of the early 1800s. My local highways boast an 80 or 85 mile-per-hour speed limit, so I can travel that distance in half a day, no bother. In the early 1800s those speeds were unheard of. Most people walked. Everywhere. Only the very wealthy had horses and carriages of their own.

If one were moderately well off, they might purchase tickets on a public conveyance to go long distances. While better than walking, one could still only expect to travel five to seven miles per hour. Traveling twelve hours a day, with only moderate stops to change horses and deal with personal necessities, the trip would take about four days.

Four days packed in a carriage with as many other people as the proprietors could squeeze into the space and more sitting on top of the coach.

A lovely, romantic picture, yeah?

Luckily, Gretna Green was not the only option. Other locations were available to facilitate a clandestine marriage. Towns along the eastern borders of Scotland, like Lamberton, Paxton, Mordington, and Coldstream also catered to eloping couples. In some cases, the toll-keepers along the road provided the marriages at the tollhouses.

From the south, those willing to sail might go to Southampton, Hampshire and purchase passage to the Channel Islands. The Isle of Guernsey in particular provided another alternative for a quick marriage.

Far simpler and closer to home
A far less romantic but simpler, cheaper and closer to home alternative existed. All a couple really had to do was have their banns read for three consecutive weeks in a church, then have the ceremony performed.

In a large urban center, like London, parishes could be huge and the clergy hard-pressed to verify each couple’s age and residency. If a couple could manage to get to a large town, or better London itself, they could lose themselves in the crowd and get married the conventional way, and their families were unlikely to get word of it in time to prevent anything.

After such a wedding occurred, the only recourse an aggrieved parent had was to go to the church where the banns had been called and challenge that the banns had been mistaken or even fraudulent. The process was public, inconvenient and embarrassing and thus not very common.

Despite a Gretna Green (or other Scottish) elopement being a romantic idyll, marrying in a big city parish was by far the most likely way young people married against their parents’ wishes.

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The Trouble to Check Her book cover imageA big thanks to Maria Grace. She’ll give away an ebook copy of The Trouble to Check Her to two people who contribute comments on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winners from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET.

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Education of Girls and Women in Times Past

How were girls and women educated in Tudor and Regency England and Revolutionary America? I join Relevant History author guests Anna Castle and Libi Astaire on the Historical Fiction eBooks blog for this “back-to-school” report.

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Crime Fighting in Regency London

Ashley Gardner author photoRelevant History welcomes historical mystery author Ashley Gardner, pen name for New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Jennifer Ashley. She has published nearly 40 novels and a dozen novellas since 2002. Her novels have been nominated for numerous awards, including RT BookReviews Reviewer’s Choice award for Best Historical Novel (which she won for The Sudbury School Murders). She has penned seven novels and a novella (thus far) in the Captain Lacey Regency Mystery series. When not writing books, Ashley enjoys cooking, hiking, and building dollhouses and dollhouse miniatures. For more information, check her web site and author blog, and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

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One reason I enjoy writing historical crime fiction (and indeed, reading it) is that I’m fascinated by crime detection before fingerprinting, DNA tests, police databases, and other modern technology. I’m even more fascinated by the people who did this crime detecting, often very well and with good results.

The Hanover Square Affair book coverMy mystery series (The Captain Lacey Regency mysteries, beginning with The Hanover Square Affair) is set in London in 1816 and beyond. This period predates Robert Peel’s 1829 police reform that established a regular police force.

In my time period, 1816, several bodies of men worked under different jurisdictions to solve crimes and arrest criminals: The Watch, the Runners, and the Thames River Police. The City of London (the square mile) had its own constables, who didn’t much like interference from those patrolling the rest of metropolitan London

The most famous of the pre-Peel police are the Bow Street Runners. In my series, Captain Lacey’s former sergeant, Milton Pomeroy, becomes one of these elite patrollers, loves getting his convictions, and often calls upon Gabriel Lacey, now a private citizen, to help him out.

A short history of the Bow Street Runners: In 1750, Henry Fielding, magistrate of the Bow Street house (as well as the author of Tom Jones), put in motion a plan to employ six permanent constables at the Bow Street magistrate’s house. Unlike parish constables, who took up constable duties for a year (or paid others to do it for them), “Mr. Fielding’s People” would be more or less permanent employees.

The first Runners (who were not called “Runners” until about 1790) were not paid a salary or stipend; they received rewards for the conviction of criminals. They did not patrol, but investigated crimes that were reported to them.

Sir John Fielding, Henry Fielding’s half-brother, took over the Bow Street office in 1754 and remained there until 1779. Blind since the age of 20, Sir John Fielding took “Mr. Fielding’s People” and built them into an elite, highly respected detective force.

Under Sir John, the Runners were paid a salary in addition to collecting rewards; the magistrates began to receive stipends and sit regular hours. The Bow Street office also began to be used as a clearinghouse for information. Newssheets and journals (including The Hue and Cry or Weekly Pursuit, established by John Fielding in 1772), listed information on wanted criminals and stolen property, and was distributed throughout the country.

A quote from the Weekly Pursuit:

John Godfrey, pretends to be a clergyman, middle-sized, thin visaged, smooth face, ruddy cheeks, his eyes inflamed, a large white wig, bandy-legged, charged with fraud at Chichester.

Bow Street Runners were allowed to pursue criminals or track down missing persons outside of London, something that parish constables or the Watch could not do.

In 1792, the Middlesex Justices Act established seven magistrates houses in addition to Bow Street. Each house had three magistrates and six constables (called Runners in Bow Street, in other houses they might be referred to as Runners, constables, or officers).

The Runners issued warrants for arrest, brought in suspects, and investigated reported crimes. They did not patrol or walk a beat—the Runners only investigated or arrested a suspect once someone (usually the victim or friend/family of the victim), arrived at the magistrate’s office to report a crime.

Runners/constables at the magistrates’ houses were often hired by victims of crimes to hunt down offenders, or to find missing persons. Runners also continued to be given rewards by the magistrates’ office for the conviction of criminals. They were rewarded only when the suspect was convicted of a crime, not simply caught and arrested (although private citizens could pay the Runner for bringing a suspect to the magistrate).

Each magistrate’s house by 1815 employed foot patrollers who assisted the magistrates and the Runners. The foot patrollers actually patrolled in the streets of metropolitan London, while mounted patrollers covered the roads leading to London.

Another branch of crime fighters that greatly interests me is the Thames River Police. In The Glass House (Book 3 of the Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries), I introduce a Thames River Policeman who asks Captain Lacey to help him identify a body pulled out of the river.

The Thames River Police, sometimes called the Marine Police, or simply, the River Police, was sponsored and formed in 1798 by West India merchants and based at Wapping New Stairs. The Marine Police would patrol the Thames River and prevent theft from the merchantmen and docks along the river as well as the warehouses in which goods were stored.

The new police were so successful that, in 1800, the merchant companies (including the East India Company, the West India merchants, United States traders and others), backed a bill to let the government take over the running of the operation. Patrick Colquhoun, a magistrate who had many ideas for police reform, lobbied the government and persuaded them to bring the Thames River Police under their jurisdiction.

The Thames River Police continued to operate throughout the Regency and were incorporated into Robert Peel’s metropolitan police in 1839. (Note that though the metropolitan police began in 1829, the Thames River Police ran under the old system until 1839.)

And the Watch? The much-maligned Watch was created in the late 17th century in London and its boroughs. Unlike the magistrate system, which was set up and regulated by the Home Office, each parish within London was given full control over their Watch. Each parish decided how many men to hire, how much to pay them, how much to supervise them, and what the watchmen would do.

The quality of the Watch in any given part of London depended, of course, on the financial ability of that parish. The Watch system was completely replaced in 1829–30 by the new constables of the Metropolitan Police.

I thoroughly enjoy researching crime-fighting in Regency London—there is much more to it than the little bit I’ve touched on here, but I hope I’ve provided an interesting overview.

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A Death in Norfolk book coverA big thanks to Ashley Gardner. She’ll give away a print or electronic copy of the first Captain Lacey mystery, The Hanover Square Affair (re-released edition) or the newest book, A Death in Norfolk, to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Sunday at 6 p.m. ET. International delivery is available.

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