Georgette Heyer's Regency World (17 page)

Among the best-known Regency doctors were Matthew Baillie, Sir Henry Halford, Sir Richard Croft and Sir William Knighton. Each of these men built large and successful practices during the period and were in great demand among members of the upper class. Dr Baillie was a famous physician and lecturer in anatomy who also served as Princess Charlotte’s principal physician until her pregnancy and confinement, when Sir Richard Croft was brought in as a specialist. A small, plain man, Baillie impressed patients and colleagues alike with his clarity of mind, good sense, and ability to communicate even the most complex medical conditions simply and effectively, and it was he who attended young Amabel in
The Grand Sophy
. A colleague of Baillie’s, Sir Richard Croft was a tall, elegantly dressed man, with an aristocratic clientele and a strong sense of his own skill and importance. A leading
accoucheur
(man-midwife), Croft was in great demand in fashionable circles although there were those who thought little of his particular methods of dealing with pregnant ladies. In
A Civil Contract
, neither Adam Deveril nor his formidable Aunt Nassington agreed with Croft’s ‘reducing diets’ (consisting mainly of liquids) for expectant mothers or with his practice of bleeding them. Adam became so concerned about his wife’s poor health that he called in one of the Regent’s personal physicians, Sir William Knighton to replace Croft. Hard-working, conscientious and empathetic, Knighton had successfully established himself as an
accoucheur
and was well known for his superb manners and keen intellect. Sir Henry Halford was another eminent medical specialist who found favour with the nobility and aristocracy during the Regency. A sound and reliable doctor, and a satisfactory rather than brilliant diagnostician, he had been physician extraordinary to George III, and established a thriving practice in Curzon Street in the heart of fashionable London. Known for his courtly manners (and referred to by some as the ‘eel-backed baronet’) Halford was physician to four British monarchs and his reputation alone was enough to convince concerned aristocratic mothers like Lady Legerwood in
Cotillion
that he should be brought in to assist the unimpressed family doctor.

The practice of medicine was still largely unregulated when the Regency began, and anyone could try his or her hand in almost any area except midwifery which was more strictly controlled. Remedies for illness and disease varied widely during the period but blood-letting or bleeding was one of the most popular. Used as a cure in almost every kind of illness, it was especially favoured by the Prince Regent who, like many others, believed that blood-letting would release the ‘bad blood’ from the patient’s body and with it the cause of the disease. In certain cases bleeding did appear to relieve pain and many among the upper class also believed in bleeding as a means of alleviating the consequences of overindulgence in food and drink. In
The Reluctant Widow
, Lord Bedlington, overcome by the tragic news of his nephew’s death, felt obliged to have half a pint of blood taken to help calm his nerves and swore by the efficacy of the ‘cure’.

In its simplest form, bleeding was achieved by opening a vein with a small knife called a lancet and letting the blood run until the practitioner felt enough had been released. The amount of blood taken varied enormously and depended mainly on the whim of the surgeon (or apothecary, blacksmith or barber) and the constitution of the patient. Leeches (sixpence each) were also used and were applied to the skin to suck the blood until enough was thought to have been taken, before they were sprinkled with salt to make them let go. Another popular method of drawing blood was cupping, whereby the practitioner placed heated cups made of glass (occasionally metal) on the patient’s body to create a vacuum which drew the skin up into the cup and brought the blood to the surface. Both dry cupping and wet cupping were common during the Regency although wet cupping—where the skin was scratched or cut to allow the blood to flow freely from the body—was more popular. In dry cupping the skin remained uncut and the benefit to the patient was felt to be derived purely from the increased circulation of the blood.

Blisters, plasters and poultices were also popular during the period as many people believed that the body could house only one illness at a time and introducing a second illness could force out the first. Burning or blistering the skin was felt to be an effective way of achieving this and a hot plaster was applied to the skin to produce a blister which could then be drained and thus remove the original illness from the body. Plasters and poultices were commonly used to treat inflammations, chest infections, abscesses, bruising and muscular soreness. In
Arabella
, Mr Beaumaris sent his groom off to buy a gum plaster and when questioned by Arabella as to why he might want such a thing defiantly told her it was for his rheumatism. Plasters usually consisted of some kind of ‘curative’ mixture spread on a bandage or dressing and placed over a wound or on the affected part of the body. Poultices such as the one made by Phoebe Marlow in
Sylvester
were often made from readily available ingredients such as bread and milk, onions, butter and flowers which could be mixed into a heated mass and wrapped in muslin before being applied to the affected area. They were mostly used for inflammation and swelling.

Gout was another intensely painful condition common during the Regency and was generally thought to be caused by too much rich food or drink. In
Charity Girl
, Lord Desford’s father the Earl of Wroxton suffered horribly from an attack of gout which was thought to have been brought on by a lavish helping of curried crab and two bottles of port. Gout was actually caused by too much uric acid in the bloodstream and although alcohol did not cause it directly, its dehydrating effect could exacerbate the condition: it accelerated the process of crystallisation which turned the uric acid into needle-like crystals in the joints and caused the extreme pain so well known to sufferers such as the autocratic Dowager Lady Stavely in
False Colours,
who had gout in her finger joints.

One of the most commonly used remedies during the Regency was laudanum. Also known as ‘tincture of opium’, it was made by mixing opium, alcohol and distilled water and was taken by men and women as a medication during illness, to calm their nerves or to help them sleep, as Lady Barbara found in
An Infamous Army
. Freely available in the form of pills, lozenges, liniments, plasters, wines, vinegars and mixtures with reassuring names like ‘Godfrey’s Cordial’ and ‘Mrs Winslow’s Soothing Syrup’, for many Regency women and men laudanum was a source of comfort and a release from the afflictions of nerves, boredom or unhappiness. It was also addictive, as Drusilla Morville in
The Quiet Gentleman
inferred from the letter written by her mama which told her of ‘poor Mr Coleridge’ and his addiction to laudanum (he was taking up to two quarts a week). As well as having a bottle of laudanum at hand, sensitive ladies often carried smelling-salts (usually in a vinaigrette), hartshorn and Hungary water in case they should faint or suffer from an attack of nerves. Also known as sal volatile, smelling-salts were an aromatic infusion made from ammonium carbonate and alcohol and scented with lemon or lavender oil. Sufferers breathed the vapours which caused them to inhale sharply and then breathe more rapidly. They often carried their salts in a vinaigrette, a small decorative box or bottle with a perforated top which held smelling-salts or a piece of gauze soaked with lavender water or vinegar. Lady Castlereagh kindly lent her vinaigrette to Jenny, Lady Lynton, in
A Civil Contract
after Julia fainted at a party at Nassington House. Ladies (and some gentlemen) sniffed the contents whenever there was an unpleasant odour or if they felt faint. Hartshorn was another popular restorative and, although originally made from carbonate of ammonia distilled from shaved or powdered hart’s (male deer) horns, by the time of the Regency spirit of hartshorn (aqueous ammonia) was simply ammonia infused with water and was another form of smelling-salts. Francis Cheviot in
The Reluctant Widow
demanded that both his hartshorn and his smelling-salts be brought to him immediately on the discovery of Mrs Cheviot’s inert form. Both hartshorn and sal volatile could also be mixed with water and drunk as a restorative. Hungary water was named after Elizabeth, Queen of Hungary, and was a sweet-smelling distilled water made from rosemary and other herbs and flowers, and used as a perfumed restorative which could be dabbed on the temples or applied to the hands and face of a person suffering from headache or an excess of nerves.

Other Diversions

By the time of the Regency, Bath was no longer the highly fashionable resort it had been during the eighteenth century—fewer of the aristocracy graced the Pump Room, baths and Assembly Rooms—yet the town still attracted the well-to-do and genteel to its elegant hotels and lodgings. There was a certain ritual to life in Bath that suited many of its inhabitants, beginning with the visit to the Pump Room each morning to drink the waters. Some people went there several times a day in order to meet friends, listen to music or take a second, or even third, glass of mineral water. In between times, as young Lucilla Carleton in
Lady of Quality
discovered while staying in the town, Bath offered other diversions such as the excellent shops on Milsom, Bond and Stall Streets, several circulating libraries, a number of coffee-shops, the Theatre Royal in Orchard Street and numerous opportunities for scenic walks, carriage rides, picnics and promenades.

Built in 1762, Milsom Street in the centre of Bath was a bustling corridor of activity with modistes’ and milliners’ shops, Duffield’s bookstore and circulating library (where in
Bath Tangle
Lady Serena unexpectedly met the handsome Major Kirkby), and carriages and sedan chairs carrying passengers up and down and various tradesmen’s establishments offering a range of goods and services. Duffield’s and Meyler’s, in the Orange Grove (an area originally surrounded by trees and named after a visit by the Prince of Orange), were two of Bath’s main libraries in which, for an annual fee of 15 shillings or 5 shillings a quarter, subscribers could read the local and London newspapers, borrow the latest novels, and peruse various French and English periodicals. Lady Serena was a regular visitor to Duffield’s as were the Wendover sisters and their niece Fanny in
Black Sheep
. A famous Bath resident, Fanny Burney (Madame D’Arblay) once wrote that Bath was a city in which no carriage was needed and, despite the hilly topography and steep streets, many visitors and residents enjoyed walking about the town and surrounding countryside. For those unable—or unwilling—to summon the energy to climb the slopes, however, a sedan chair was usually the preferred mode of travel, carried by a pair of licensed chairmen at a cost of sixpence for 500 yards in the lower town, 300 yards on hilly terrain, a shilling for distances between 500 and 1,173 yards and 1s.6d. above that—but not exceeding a mile (1,760 yards). Mrs Floore in
Bath Tangle
was one Bath resident who refused to take a chair, however, having declared herself too stout and confessing to Lady Serena that she was afraid the chairmen might drop dead between the poles. For those content to walk, the fields below Royal Crescent were a delightful rendezvous for friends and lovers and were also popular with picnickers, while those wanting a view of the city generally found the longer walk to Beechen Cliff very rewarding. A ride up to Lansdown with its view of the Bristol Channel was an agreeable outing and one which Fanny Wendover in
Black Sheep
enjoyed in the company of her aunt and several friends. The town of Wells, with its beautiful cathedral, was another favoured destination within easy reach of Bath and made an agreeable day’s outing in a carriage or on horseback. On Sundays it was considered
de rigueur
for the well-bred and fashionable to attend services at Bath Abbey, the lovely medieval church adjacent to the Great Pump Room.

Intended as the ‘Vauxhall of Bath’, Sydney Gardens opened in 1795 and were an immediate success, with their inviting alcoves and arbours, groves of trees, formal flower-beds, gravel walks and gently sloping lawns which offered enticing views across the town and the surrounding countryside. A subscription of 10s. entitled the subscriber, not only to all the pleasures of the season’s programme of promenades, musical entertainments, alfresco breakfasts and illuminations, but also to the particular attractions of this ‘Vauxhall’ of Bath. In
The Foundling
, it was to Sydney Gardens that the Duke of Sale sent his young friend, Tom Mamble, to while away several hours enjoying all the famous attractions such as Merlin’s Grotto, the Hermit’s Cot, the ‘Ruined Castle’, waterfalls, the echo reverberating from the distant cliffs of Beacon Hill and—most famous of all—the Labyrinth, touted in a Bath guidebook as being ‘nearly twice as large as that in the gardens of Hampton Court’. For those who found their way to the centre of the hedge-lined maze (maps could be purchased showing the path), there was the added attraction of Merlin’s Swing, a ride which apparently operated on ‘Archimedian principles’. As the handsome and charming Mr Kilbride so obligingly informed Lucilla Carleton when he accompanied her and a friend to the gardens in
Lady of Quality
, fêtes and gala nights were also held during the season and crowds of 3,000 or 4,000 people would gather into the gardens to dance under the lights and watch the fireworks.

Getting About

The Regency was the golden age of the horse with enormous status attached to the ownership of horses as well as to the level of expertise in riding or driving them. Many among the aristocracy were involved in breeding and training horses for the increasingly popular sports of horse racing, hunting and carriage driving. The kudos to be gained from being judged a ‘neck or nothing rider’ in the hunting field, a ‘top-sawyer’ in the saddle, or a ‘capital whip’ or ‘Nonesuch’ in the driving seat was such that enormous prices were frequently paid for a first-class horse or ‘prime bit of blood’. Teams or pairs of matched carriage horses were also popular with driving enthusiasts and a well-proportioned pair known for their stamina, speed and high-stepping action could cost several hundred pounds.

All Kinds of Carriages

Carriages and coaches were the main form of transport during the Regency and ranged from the cumbersome public stage to the elegant town coach or barouche, the head-turning sporting curricle and the dashing high-perch phaeton. Carriages varied enormously in size, style and design but they all had two things in common: a body in which the passengers rode and a carriage or support section suspended on wheels on which the body rested. Some carriages were elegant, luxuriously appointed vehicles with velvet upholstery, silk lining and leather trim while others were purely practical, no-frills modes of transport. The basic coach was a four-wheeled vehicle, with a large, closed body hung over the centre of the suspension. It had a driving seat at the front for the coachman and a rumble seat at the back for one or two footmen with two seats inside, facing each other, which generally held two or three people each. Coaches built for the aristocracy were often built to be narrow, leaving room for only four people inside. The town coach or chariot was very similar to the coach and was often a showpiece for the aristocracy who would have their coat of arms emblazoned on the door panel and a sumptuous hammer cloth made to throw over the box or driving seat, with the footmen’s liveries to match. Kit Fancot, making a visit of ceremony in the place of his twin brother Evelyn in
False Colours
, was driven to Lord Stavely’s Mount Street house in the Denville town carriage which had the family arms on each door. A much-used form of transport was the post-chaise which was similar in design to the chariot but without the driving seat. It held two or three persons and did not have a coachman or driver but was driven or steered by one or more postilions mounted on the horses. A post-chaise was lighter than the town chariot and did not hold the road as well and this, along with the propensity to paint them yellow, led to their being nicknamed ‘Yellow Bounders’.

One of the most elegant town carriages was the barouche. An open carriage drawn by two, four or six horses, it was designed mainly for town use in the warmer months and had a cup-shaped body and a high driving seat at the front with room for both the coachman and footman to sit together. It also had a folding hood covering one half of the carriage which could be lifted from the rear during inclement weather. In
Friday’s Child
, Lord Sheringham bought his new bride a smart, yellow-bodied barouche for town use and a stylish travelling chariot for longer journeys. Another elegant town carriage, the landau maintained its popularity throughout the Regency although some among the younger set, including Lady Buckhaven in
Cotillion
, thought it dowdy and more suitable for the older generation. Although similar to the barouche in shape, the landau had a double folding hood which met in the middle and offered passengers greater protection from the weather. The phaeton, on the other hand, was one of the most popular vehicles of the Regency. Named for the son of Helios, the Greek god who allowed Phaeton to draw the chariot of the sun across the heavens for a single day until he almost set the world on fire, Phaeton meant ‘the shining one’. Considered by many to be the height of elegance, the phaeton was a light, four-wheeled vehicle with seating for two which came in a wide range of designs from the stylish high-perch model, such as the one bought by Sophy Stanton-Lacy in
The Grand Sophy
with its seat high above the front wheels, to the famous and elegant Highflyer with its seat evenly suspended between its large rear wheels and smaller front ones. Usually drawn by two horses, the body could be hung forward or back, depending on the design, and was owner-driven by both men and women, often with a groom in attendance on the box. The Prince Regent was himself a notable whip and in his younger years was famous for driving not only a phaeton and four, but also a high-perch phaeton and six, a feat which appears to have been considered a royal prerogative and was not generally imitated.

The term ‘gig’ could be used to describe any two-wheeled carriage with a fixed seat. Designed to carry the driver and one passenger, and usually drawn by one horse—although two could be harnessed to the shaft in tandem—it was a popular form of conveyance throughout the nineteenth century. Its open design and cane or wooden railing around the seat made the gig a fair-weather carriage ideal for day trips, shopping or a summer tour. Jenny, Lady Lynton, in
A Civil Contract
, found a gig the ideal conveyance when driving herself about the estate and visiting the tenantry at Fontley Priory. Similar to the caned whisky and the chair-back gig, the tilbury was named after its maker, the famous designer and builder of coaches John Tilbury, and was a common sight on Regency roads. A lightweight two-wheeled vehicle with seating for only two persons, no boot and no roof of any kind, it was drawn by a single horse and used mainly for shorter distances rather than overnight travel. It was particularly popular among the gentry. Among two-wheeled carriages, the curricle was considered the epitome of style during the Regency and was much favoured by those sporting men with a penchant for speed. In
The Quiet Gentleman
, Lord Ulverston arrived at Stanyon Castle driving a curricle and four which, as the Earl of St Erth told his cousin Theo, marked his friend as a veritable Nonesuch. Named for the ‘curriculum’ or Roman racing chariot, the curricle had a fixed forward seat and was drawn by two horses harnessed side by side to the carriage using a curricle bar, which made it essential for them to be of equal height and gait. The presence of a groom on the rear rumble seat meant there was no weight on the horses’ backs which gave them an easy forward movement. Racing curricles were frequently pulled by a perfectly matched pair of high-stepping steeds with the ability to reach speeds of up to sixteen miles an hour when driven by a skilled driver on a good road.

The four-in-hand, also known as a drag, usually referred to a closed carriage pulled by four horses such as the Mail and the public stagecoach. Similar in design to each other, these carriages were built to accommodate both people and freight, with a solid central body suspended over a wooden perch undercarriage with springs, a large boot at the rear with a seat for outside passengers and another space for luggage under the driver’s box. The roof was also built to hold passengers as well as luggage and the total weight of a four-in-hand could sometimes exceed three tons. A sizeable coach had room for six people inside and eight to twelve persons could find room on the back, on the roof and on the coveted seat next to the driver.

Although not a coach, the pedestrian curricle or ‘hobby horse’ was a popular recreational vehicle in the last years of the Regency. An early form of bicycle, the curricle tempted many a daring and intrepid rider to experience the thrill of propelling himself along London’s streets and reaching speeds of up to ten miles an hour. The pedestrian curricle had no pedals or brakes but was pushed along with the feet as the rider leaned forward to grip the handlebars while resting his elbows on a small padded block. Jessamy Merriville in
Frederica
became extremely skilled on his hired machine and enjoyed the heady excitement of lifting his feet from the ground and coasting down Piccadilly before coming to grief with a man mending chairs.