Dowering Doddering Dowagers

Whether you’re watching Downton Abbey, reading a novel set in nineteenth century England, or keeping up with the Royals today, sooner or later, you’ll run into a dowager.  Often times, literature and productions show them as silver-haired ladies with a will of iron.  But that wasn’t always the case.

Take the lovely Lady Hascot of my upcoming release The Husband Campaign.  Caro married Lord Hascot, who had a twin brother named John.  When her husband died, John became the new Lord Hascot.  Caro remains Lady Hascot, but once John marries, she is the dowager.  A young, curvaceous, cunning dowager who causes no end of trouble, but that’s a story for another time. 

So, what exactly is a dowager?  The term originally applied to a widow who could apply for dower, or a certain portion of her husband’s estate that would be hers to use while she lived.  So some estates had a dower cottage, a house where the dowager might live after the new title holder moved into the larger house.  Although dower was still legally supported in nineteenth century England, more often families arranged matters of what the wife would inherit before the wedding in marriage contracts.  The term dowager, then, was generally used to distinguish between two ladies whose husbands had held the same title. 

For example, if Lord Whistlewait marries Amelia Peascoat, she becomes Lady Whistlewait.  Let’s say they have a charming son named Horace.  When Lord Whistlewait dies, Horace inherits his father’s title and proposes to his one true love, Constantinople Trubadore.  Dear Connie now becomes Lady Whistlewait, and Horace’s mother becomes the Dowager Lady Whistlewait.

Now, there is some question as to whether the term was ever used to the lady’s face.  Then as now, most women who became dowagers were of a certain level of maturity to which I am currently aspiring.  As you can imagine, not all ladies of such maturity took well to being called a dowager, even behind their backs.  Certainly, if only one of the Ladies Whistlewait was present, there would be no need to mention the term dowager.  Even if the two were together at an event, conversation might easily be arranged to avoid the potentially offensive term.

Could anyone offer a restorative cup of tea while I ponder becoming the Dowager Mrs. Scott?

WWI Recipes That Don't Inspire Giggles

So I’ve been having fun being a tad snarky about food conservation recipes from the first World War and how some of them seem...ah, less than appetizing. I was looking through some WWI era pamphlets recently, however, and found a few recipes that (ssh!) sound as if they might not be too bad.

This might make lovely tea sandwiches on thin crustless bread, don’t you think? (from Everyday Foods in War Time by Mary Swartz Rose, 1917)

Fruit and Peanut Butter (for sandwiches)
¼ cup dates
¼ cup figs
½ cup peanut butter
½ teaspoon salt
1 ½ tablespoons lemon juice
¼ cup raisins
2 tablespoons light corn syrup

Wash figs, raisins, dates, and put through food chopper. Add salt, peanut butter, lemon juice, and corn syrup, and mix well.

Here’s a recipe for a chowder that doesn’t seem out of line to this New Englander, though we would use whole milk rather than skim (From Everyday Foods in War Time by Mary Swartz Rose, 1917)

Dried Fish Chowder
½ pound salt fish
4 cups potatoes, cut in small pieces
2 ounces salt pork
1 small onion, chopped
4 cups skim milk
4 ounces crackers

Salt codfish, smoked halibut, or other dried fish may be used in this chowder. Pick over and shred the fish, holding it under lukewarm water. Let it soak while the other ingredients of the dish are being prepared. Cut the pork into small pieces and fry it with the onion until both are a delicate brown; add the potatoes, cover with water, and cook until the potatoes are soft. Add the milk and fish and reheat. Salt, if necessary. It is well to allow the crackers to soak in the milk while the potatoes are being cooked, then remove them, and finally add to the chowder just before serving.

This one could maybe use some cinnamon and nutmeg (and raisins and walnuts might be good too), but I like that it doesn’t have added sugar--a good recipe for carb-counters. (from Best War Time Recipes by the Royal Baking Powder Company, 1918)

Sweet Potato Muffins
1 cup flour
4 teaspoons Royal Baking Powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup sweet potatoes (mashed)
1 egg
1 cup milk and water

Sift together flour, baking powder, and salt. Add cold sweet potatoes which have been lightly mashed or put through a ricer. Add beaten egg and liquid, mixing well. Bake in greased muffin tins in moderate oven 25 to 30 minutes.

This sounds more like a soufflé than a fondue, doesn't it? (from Everyday Foods in War Time by Mary Swartz Rose, 1917)

Cheese Fondue
1 1/3 cups hot milk
1 1/3 cups bread crumbs
1 tablespoon butter
4 eggs
1/3 pound cheese (1 1/3 cups grated or 1 cup cut in pieces)
½ teaspoon salt

Mix the milk, breadcrumbs, salt, and cheese; add the yolks thoroughly beaten; into this mixture cut and fold the whites of eggs beaten till stiff. Pour into a buttered dish and cook 30 minutes in a moderate oven. Serve at once.

Enjoy! And let us know if you try making any of them!

Behold the Horseman, and His Bride

I must deeply apologize, my dears!  Normally, I share with you the cover for my upcoming books as soon as I receive them.  But it appears with all the excitement of the holidays and the busyness of winter that I completely forgot to share the cover of my April release, The Husband Campaign, here on Nineteenteen!

Today I rectify that.  I’m sure some of you have already spotted this cover around the web.  The Husband Campaign is the final installment of my Master Matchmakers series, where downstairs servants play matchmaker for upstairs aristocracy.  I think the artists did a great job connecting Lord Hascot’s love of horses with quieter pursuits of his bride, Lady Amelia.  There is something wistful in the way Lady Amelia regards him that fits with the theme perfectly.

The book is due out April 1, and you can be sure we’ll have a celebration here that week.  In the meantime, as I have traditionally done, let me give you a few hints as to who was in my mind when I sent information to the Art Department for this cover.

The role model for my hero has acted in a period piece at various points of the compass, but his talent lately appears dwarfed in a royal way.  My heroine was an actress who set out to catch a thief before her own brush with royalty.

Anyone want to guess?

Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A Smuggler's Life for Me (Part 2): Guest Blogger Jo Ann Brown

Today we welcome back Jo Ann Brown, author of A Bride for the Baron, who has some interesting tales from the smugglers of the Yorkshire coast.

Smugglers developed unique and intriguing ways to bring their illicit goods ashore and to their customers. In some communities, there were elaborate methods developed to hide the merchandise from excise officers. Robin Hood’s Bay, a tiny village south of Whitby in North Yorkshire, is a prime example of such a town. Set on a cliff in a broad cove, it offered smugglers an excellent view of the sea as well as plenty of hiding places.

           

Many of the smugglers in Robin Hood’s Bay were also in legitimate businesses like fishing. The local fishermen used a deep, oared boat called a coble, which could just as easily carry illegal goods. The smugglers rowed out to a waiting ship and loaded the cargo into their cobles and brought it ashore.

           

Many of the residents of the bay village were eager participants in the smuggling trade. The houses, which were built into the steep sides of the cliff, often had places hollowed out beneath them to stash contraband. This happened in many villages, but the smugglers of Robin Hood’s Bay took it a step further.

           

The village built a tunnel beneath its steepest street. Ostensibly it was intended to channel the stream coming down the cliff so it could reach the sea without eroding the cliff and endangering the structures along it. However, legend has it that the tunnel had a more unlawful purpose. 

Houses were constructed over the top of it, making it invisible from higher on the cliff. The tunnel opened at the foot of the street, and the water from the stream trickled out to meet the sea. However, the tunnel was tall enough for a man to walk without bending, far taller than a conduit would need to be. It is rumored that doorways once opened off from it into cellars of the nearby buildings...including the parish church when an 18th century parson was counted among the smugglers.

Though it sounds like fiction, it may all be the truth. According to the Scarborough Maritime Heritage Centre, the smugglers in Robin Hood’s Bay confronted excise officers on several occasions, usually to the officers’ detriment. One raid was on the home of the owner of a local inn. Brandy and weapons were found, but the excise officers were driven away by a large group of smugglers who came to their comrade’s assistance. On another occasion, the battle was at sea, and the excise officers’ ship was forced to retreat.

           

Today, Robin Hood’s Bay is a sleepy tourist town, but the cobles and the tunnel are still there...to remind visitors of a time when strangers who liked to look around and ask questions would not have been so welcome.

~~~

Jo Ann Brown has been creating characters and stories for as long as she can remember. Her earliest stories starred her friends and sisters. She wrote her first novel in high school, and it happily resides in the very back of her file cabinet. Fast forward through college, serving in the US Army as a quartermaster officer, getting married, and increasing her blessings with three children...and Jo Ann sold her first book (a western historical romance) in 1987. Since it was published in 1988, she has sold over 100 titles and has become a best-selling and award-winning author. Romantic Times calls her "a truly talented author." She writes romance, mystery, and paranormal under a variety of pen names.  

Her books have been translated into nearly a dozen languages and are sold on every continent except Antarctica. A sought-after speaker, she has been teaching creative writing for over 20 years, and she established several popular fiction courses at Brown University.  She has always lived on the east coast, but now resides in Nevada with her husband, who is always her first reader, and a chubby tiger cat.  You can reach Jo Ann at her website: www.joannbrownbooks.com or by email: jo@joannbrownbooks.com. A Bride for the Baron is her March 2014 release.

Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A Smuggler's Life for Me (Part 1): Guest Blogger, Jo Ann Brown

Please join me in welcoming prolific author Jo Ann Brown to Nineteenteen.  I have the highest respect for Jo Ann, from her impressive list of publications (more than 100 books across her pen names!), to her wonderful stories, to her impeccable research.  Her March book, A Bride for the Baron, is the third in her delightful Sanctuary Bay series for Love Inspired Historical, all set along the Yorkshire coast in the early nineteenth century.   And what Jo Ann learned about the coast of England just might surprise you!

Smugglers were a vital part of British commerce in the early nineteenth century...just an illegal part of it. Readers (and authors) love smugglers in a novel. Sometimes as good guys. Sometimes as villains. Perhaps it is the allure of a moonless night with the heroine standing on a craggy cliff, gazing out to sea.

In reality, smuggling was an industry that stretched far inland as illegal wares were transported throughout Britain. Smuggled goods were any that had been brought into the country without tax/duty being paid. The primary concern during the early 19th century was excise tax, because that was by law set aside to pay for England’s wars. There was a customs tax as well that could be placed on items going in and out of the country. Obviously if a shipper avoided paying the taxes, there would be more profit on the shipment. Some commodities were simply illegal to bring into the country during the Napoleonic wars, including many French products that the ton adored like brandy and silk fabrics and ribbons like the ones in this bonnet.

           

The smugglers depended on a vast network. Ships were needed for sailing to the Continent to collect the goods. Even during the wars with Napoleon, English smugglers could be found in every French port. The smugglers also acted as an underground system for spies on both sides of the conflict by transporting information and messages. Transactions were handled with money or barter of English products for merchandise that could not legally be brought into Britain or should have had a duty paid. Once the ship was laden, it headed back to its home port while trying to avoid the excise officers both on land and sea.

           

England’s coast with its many coves and inlets offers many opportunities for smugglers to sneak their goods ashore. Caves were often used, though the smugglers also hid their illegal goods in cellars and in barns or wherever they could be stored unnoticed. 

           

Sometimes a shipment was broken into several parts because a smuggler might bring in over a thousand cases of brandy on a single trip. Tea and fabrics and laces must be kept where they were not get damp. Once ashore, the goods had to be transported to customers without any excise officer discovering they did not have the proper stamps. At that point, cash changed hands, or occasionally the smugglers might use barter to obtain more goods to trade across the Channel.

The system must have been very successful. At one point, it is believed that almost 80% of the tea drunk in Britain had been smuggled into the country.

           

And smugglers were also very resourceful...as will be discussed in the next segment which focuses on one smuggling town along England’s eastern shore.

~~~

Jo Ann Brown has been creating characters and stories for as long as she can remember. Her earliest stories starred her friends and sisters. She wrote her first novel in high school, and it happily resides in the very back of her file cabinet. Fast forward through college, serving in the US Army as a quartermaster officer, getting married, and increasing her blessings with three children...and Jo Ann sold her first book (a western historical romance) in 1987. Since it was published in 1988, she has sold over 100 titles and has become a best-selling and award-winning author. Romantic Times calls her "a truly talented author." She writes romance, mystery, and paranormal under a variety of pen names.  Her books have been translated into nearly a dozen languages and are sold on every continent except Antarctica. A sought-after speaker, she has been teaching creative writing for over 20 years, and she established several popular fiction courses at Brown University.  She has always lived on the east coast, but now resides in Nevada with her husband, who is always her first reader, and a chubby tiger cat.  You can reach Jo Ann at her website:  www.joannbrownbooks.com or by email: jo@joannbrownbooks.com. A Bride for the Baron is her March 2014 release.

More on Needlework...

Back at the end of February, Regina posted about the genteel pastime of fine needlework for ladies. This week, I’m following up with some of the sources young ladies might have consulted for their fancywork: magazines!

La Belle Assemblee, The Lady’s Magazine, and of course Ackermann’s Repository all published needlework patterns in every monthly issue. Many were for specific items, as you can see below in this pattern for a collar from La Belle Assemblee:

Others were just nice patterns that could be used anywhere. Here are several for your viewing pleasure. I've supplied dates where I have them…enjoy!

Muslin Patterns from Ackermann's Repository, 1813:

Needlework patterns, Ackermann's Repository:

Muslin Patterns, Ackermann's Repository, 1818:



La Belle Assemblee, 1815:

La Belle Assemblee, 1812:

Number One London

Doesn’t that sound like a cool address?  It ought to be where the king lives, or perhaps the prime minister.  But it just so happens to be the former home of the Duke of Wellington, and a fete there was one of the most sought after invitations in nineteenth century England.

Originally built by the famous architect Robert Adam for the first Baron Apsley Henry Bathurst, Apsley House sits at the north side of Hyde Park Corner, with a commanding view over some of London’s busiest streets.  Lord Apsley sold it to Wellington’s older brother, who in turn sold it to Wellington.  The duke had it enlarged and remodeled to suit his needs.

Part of that remodeling involved moving the entrance hall to one side.  Then as now, portions of the house were open to visitors, so a room just off the entrance was made into a museum showcasing some of Wellington’s trophies and mementoes.  Of course, even at the time, his friends remarked that the entire house felt like a museum because so many pieces of furniture, paintings, and plate were in fact gifts for Wellington’s services in putting down Napoleon. 

Napoleon is a large part of the house, beginning with a larger-than-life marble statue of him as Mars, which takes up much of the main stairwell.  Then again, one of the most beautiful rooms at Apsley House is the Waterloo Gallery, named after the battle where Wellington finally triumphed.  Over 90 feet long and two stories tall, the room boasts walls covered in silk damask, gilded doors and ceiling, and mirrored shutters for the windows.  As the story goes, Wellington and his designer argued over how the room would look.  In the end, Wellington insisted on yellow damask for the walls, although today it can be seen in scarlet.  The grand gallery was the scene of many an entertainment, including an annual banquet to celebrate the victory at Waterloo.

Because something that big needs to be celebrated annually in a room that gorgeous in London’s first residence.

And speaking of celebrations, I’m delighted to report that next Friday will see the beginning of a special two-part guest post by Jo AnnBrown, author of this month’s A Bride for the Baron, who promises to tell all about smuggling in early nineteenth century England and the secrets of Robin Hood’s Bay! Join us!

Victoria’s Grandchildren: Queen Ena of Spain

Princess Victoria Eugenie Julia Ena was born at Queen Victoria’s beloved Balmoral Palace in Scotland on October 24, 1887. One can only hope that the Queen, who notoriously did not allow bedrooms at Balmoral to be heated above 60° F, made an exception for the baby’s mother!

As daughter of the Queen’s stay-at-home daughter Princess Beatrice and her husband, Prince Henry of Battenberg, little Ena (as she was called—the name is Scots Gaelic, in honor of her place of birth) and her three brothers grew up in close proximity to the Queen (whom they called “Gangan”), who doted upon them and was almost a second mother to them. This was a good thing: just like her grandmother and mother, Ena lost her father at an early age when he joined the Ashanti Expedition in 1896 and died of typhoid en route to Africa.

Ena grew into a pretty, golden-haired girl; her uncle, King Edward, was very fond of her as well and took an interest in her future. Her matrimonial possibilities were slightly tarnished; her father was not of royal blood as his mother had been a commoner. But that didn’t stop the young King Alfonso XIII of Spain from being very interested indeed when he met Ena on a visit to England in 1905. Alfonso was on the hunt for a bride; when his first choice, Princess Patricia of Connaught, another granddaughter of Victoria, turned him down, he set his sights on Ena. She accepted his proposal in January 1906, began to prepare herself to convert to Roman Catholicism (which angered both English Protestant extremists and Spanish Catholic extremists), and set herself to falling in love with her not-very-prepossessing but very royal husband-to-be.

Unfortunately, it would not be a happy marriage. Ena’s wedding was nearly destroyed—literally—by an anarchist’s bomb; her wedding dress was soaked with the blood of her murdered guards. Within a year she bore a son and heir for Spain; but it was quickly found that the baby boy was a hemophiliac, as were several of Queen Victoria’s grandsons. The knowledge soured the relationship between Ena and Alfonso, and though she went on to bear him six more children (one was sadly a stillbirth), they were never again close and Alfonso became serially unfaithful. Also sadly, the Spanish people never took to their calm, phlegmatic, very British queen, who held herself as befit a granddaughter of Queen Victoria...but who never appealed to the dramatic Spanish temperament. Though she worked tirelessly on behalf of the Spanish Red Cross and for other causes such as poor relief and education, she was always regarded with suspicion by most of her subjects.

Moreover, European politics were in turmoil both during and after the first world war, and Spain was no exception; unrest through the twenties finally led to Alfonso’s voluntary exile (though not abdication) in 1931 after national elections swept the anti-monarchy Republicans into power. The family went to France; and soon after Ena and Alfonso separated.

Ena eventually settled in Switzerland after time in England and Italy. Her eldest and youngest sons, both hemophiliacs, died in car crashes in the late 1930s; her husband followed in 1941. Ena’s son Juan was the theoretical king of Spain, but the country itself remained firmly in the grip of Generalissimo Franco. Ena returned to Spain only once, a year before her death, to attend the christening of her great-grandson, son of Juan Carlos. She died a year later in spring of 1969, exactly 38 years to the day that she’d left Spain...but on her visit, she was gratified to be rapturously received by the Spanish people as La Reina...an acclamation she never received. Sadly, she didn’t live to see Franco declare her grandson Juan Carlos as his successor, nor to see him become King Juan Carlos I in 1975.