French Revolution Émigrés in England, a Guest Post from Lona Manning

Posted on July 27, 2017 by Regina Jeffers

**It is our delight to welcome Lona Manning, author of A Contrary Wind, a variation on Mansfield Park. Lona’s extensive research on the French Revolution is for our benefit today.**

Did you ever read The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Orczy? It’s a romantic and thrilling classic about the French Revolution. I’d like to share some of my research about the real lives of the refugees from that time.

Leslie Howard as the Scarlet Pimpernel, in disguise as a tricoteuse, watching the victims being brought to the guillotine. From the 1934 movie.

Between 1789 and 1794, thousands of Frenchmen and women left their native country when their lives were threatened by the turmoil of the French Revolution. Many of these refugees, known as émigrés, fled to England. Of course, France had been England’s traditional enemy for hundreds of years, despite the growing commercial ties between them. At best, France and England could be described as frenemies.

Some leading English intellectuals, notably the firebrand Thomas Paine, were enthusiastic about the French Revolution at the outset. Reform-minded Englishmen, well aware of the miserable condition of the French peasants, saw the French aristocracy as effeminate, decadent and the authors of their own destruction. But the tragic plight of the émigrés awakened much compassion from Englishmen and women from all walks of life.

It has often been remarked that Jane Austen never wrote about dramatic political events such as the French Revolution or the Napoleonic Wars. However this does not mean she was untouched by them. There was an émigré in her own family – her cousin, Eliza Hancock De Feuillide. Eliza was not a Frenchwoman, although she had an exotic childhood in India. She married a member of the French aristocracy, who met his end on the guillotine when Austen was 18 years old. Eliza returned to England where she must have made quite an impression on the imaginative teenager. The sophisticated and flirtatious Eliza, who eventually married Jane’s brother Henry, is thought to be Austen’s inspiration for the calculating anti-heroines Lady Susan and Mary Crawford.

A portrait of Madame de Fouler, Comtesse de Relingue, by Louis Boilly

Madame de Fouler’s husband was an aide to Napoleon. Women who had lost relatives during the Revolution sometimes wore red chokers or necklaces to symbolize the guillotine, and even cut their hair short, just as the victims’ hair had been cut before their executions. I liked this lady’s serene, candid expression so much that I chose it for the cover of my novel, A Contrary Wind, even though Fanny Price’s eyes are described as light blue and Madame de Fouler has brown eyes!

Eliza had family in England to help her, but of course many émigrés were not so fortunate. Those who managed to escape persecution by crossing the English channel in whatever boats they could hire, often arrived with little more than the clothes on their backs, or at best, with a few jewels to sell. Fortunately, the English sprang into action to help the flood of refugees who washed up on their shores. John Wilmot, an English MP, raised public and private funds to support them. Dr. Charles Burney, father of the writer Fanny Burney, was instrumental in helping some of the most destitute widows and orphans.

Not everyone reacted generously to the émigrés. Some Englishmen were vehemently anti-Catholic, seeing the influx of so many French Catholics — the natural allies of the Irish and Scots Catholics — as a political and religious threat. But in an act that was quite liberal-minded for the time, the University of Oxford printed 2,000 Catholic bibles for distribution to the émigré priests.

As well, some English political leaders were concerned that the unchecked flood of refugees might include revolutionaries in disguise, infiltrating England with the purpose of fomenting rebellion among England’s working class. This fear provided a convenient excuse to repress home-grown English reform movements such as trade unions and pro-democracy societies, which were labelled seditious, that is, treasonous. However, the violence, anarchy and atheism of the radical Jacobins, a clique who seized power in France in 1793, turned public opinion in England against the Revolution.

The enduring symbol of the French Revolution is the blade of the guillotine, dripping with blood, dispatching its blue-blooded victims to the shrill cries of the assembled mobs in a Paris square. Not all of the victims were titled members of the aristocracy. The increasingly bloodthirsty revolutionaries persecuted the nobility, but also priests, nuns, Jews, and eventually anyone suspected of harboring Royalist sympathies. The Terror spread throughout France; in the city of Nantes, hundreds of ordinary men, women, and children were packed aboard barges and drowned in the river Loire by the Jacobins, who were later overthrown and executed themselves.

Caricatures of England and France: the effete French dancing master meets sturdy John Bull. The punchline of this cartoon is a [pretty lame] pun. The English tax collector wants to collect tax on hops (used for making beer) and he understands that the dancing master “deals [in hops] very extensively.”

Many émigrés settled in London, which was already a multi-cultural metropolis, owing to England’s long history as a trading nation. As with expatriates everywhere, they tended to settle together, many finding lodgings and employment in the neighbourhoods of Marylebone and Soho. They learned that poverty was a great equalizer, doing away with the rigid class structure of their former lives. Former aristocrats, used to living in splendour, had to eke out a living as dancing instructors or French teachers or straw hatmakers. One of the characters in my Mansfield Park variation, A Contrary Wind, is a survivor of the Revolution who became a lady’s maid. Many great ladies turned to dressmaking and embroidery to keep body and soul together. The Duchesse de Gontaut painted miniatures, the Comtesse de Boisgelin gave music lessons, and the Duc d’Aiguillon copied sheet music for the opera house.

Then there is the sad end of Joseph De Gripière de Moncroc, Marquis de Laval, who died penniless and alone in a shabby boarding house. He’d had a long and successful military career, and in fact had been present at Yorktown when Cornwallis surrendered to the American and French forces, when the British band famously played, “The World Turned Upside Down.” Subsequently the world turned upside down for de Laval, who lost everything, including his slave plantations in what is now Haiti, and he had only the charitable handouts from John Wilmot’s refugee aid committee to live upon. When examining his body, the coroner found a small wound on his neck but no other marks of violence. The evidence suggests to me that he nicked his jugular vein while standing over his washbasin and then, growing weak, lay down on his bed to die, but a boarding house servant named Mary Nott was convicted of murdering him and was hung at Newgate. The prosecutors offered no motive for why she would murder a penniless man. The Old Bailey trial transcript is available online.

While acknowledging the generous reception they had been given in England, an overwhelming majority of the émigrés lived for the day when they might return home. When Napoleon rose to power, most of them went back to France in 1802, bringing to an end the romantic but tragic period of the émigré in England.

Primary source: Refugees of the French Revolution, Émigrés in London, 1789–1802, by Kirsty Carpenter, MacMillan Press Ltd., 1999

Lona Manning loves reading, choral singing, gardening and travel. She has worked as an administrator for several charities, and is currently teaching English as a Second Language in China. She has written true crime articles for www.CrimeMagazine.com. “A Contrary Wind” is her first novel.

BlueInk Review writes: “Many try to emulate Austen; not all succeed. Here, Manning triumphs. She has retained Austen’s spirit, while providing a stronger Fanny who will surely win today’s readers.”

Lona’s website and blog: www.lonamanning.ca

A Contrary Wind

Fanny Price, niece to Sir Thomas Bertram of Mansfield Park, is an intelligent but timid girl from a poor family, who is grateful for the advantages of education and breeding conferred upon her as result of growing up with her wealthier cousins.

But the cruelty of her Aunt Norris, together with a broken heart, compel Fanny to run away from Mansfield Park and find employment as a governess.

Far away from everything she ever knew and the one man she loves, will Fanny grow in fortitude and independence? Will a new suitor help her to forget? Or will a reckless decision threaten to destroy her own life and the lives of those she holds most dear?

This variation of Jane Austen’s novel includes all the familiar characters from Mansfield Park, as well as some new acquaintances. Note to readers: There are some mature scenes and situations not suitable for all readers.

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Posted in Austen Authors, book release, British history, Guest Post, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency, Living in the UK, political stance, Vagary | Tagged Baroness Orczy, French Revolution, Jane Austen, Lona Manning, Mansfield Park, The Scarlet Pimpernel | 6 Comments

Silhouettes, a Poor Man’s Portrait, a Guest Post from Brenda J. Webb

Posted on July 21, 2017 by Regina Jeffers

This post originally appeared on the Austen Authors’ blog in April 2015. I have chosen to recycle it here. Enjoy!!!!

Jane’s father, George Austen, in silhouette

I’ve been fascinated by silhouettes since I had one done when I was a teenager by an artist at one of the tourist attractions in Tennessee. I was going down a row of souvenir shops and right in the middle of the sidewalk was a booth. As I passed, I saw that the man in the booth was using scissors to do a portrait of a woman who had stopped in front of him. I was amazed at how much it favoured her and, having a little money to spend, I had to have one. That silhouette was left in a drawer somewhere, and I thought little of it over the years, until I began reading everything I could about Jane Austen and saw some of the silhouettes of her and her family.

The famous silhouette of Jane Austen, titled L’amiable Jane, in the National Portrait Gallery in London

In the 18th and 19th centuries, the silhouette was popular with families and individuals who couldn’t afford a more formal and expensive mode of having their likenesses made. Oil paintings required several sittings, and even pastels or watercolor portraits took time. A silhouette was created in one quick sitting which made them affordable. A popular method used to create it was to have a person sit sideways before a screen with a light on a table on the other side of him. In this manner, a clear shadow was projected on the screen, which gave a perfect image if the light and sitter were arranged properly. The shadow was then replicated by hand. Among the upper class and commoners, shade parties became de rigueur, and soon almost everyone had a copy of their unique likeness. Later machines were invented for the same purpose.

Most silhouette artists were itinerants who worked their magic in popular tourist spots, such as Brighton or Bath, or at public fairs where people were apt to buy souvenirs. They either traced profiles by hand and painted them, or skillfully snipped away at paper with sharp scissors. With an experienced artist, this second method would have been fast and accurate.

The eighteenth century is widely regarded as the revival of silhouettes, though English silhouettes in those days were generally painted, not cut-out. A life-size cut-out was usually taken from the subject’s shadow, and from this, the finished silhouette was made, using a reducing instrument known as a pantograph.

The skill of the best artists lay in the painting. After painting the face solid black with soot or lamp black on plaster or glass, the hair, hats, ribbons, frills, and other essential accessories of the day would have been dragged out, using a fine brush with progressively more and more diluted pigment. Most of us are familiar with images of Jane’s distinctive profile and that of her sister Cassandra.

Jane Austen’s mother

A complicated silhouette with painted touches, such as Cassandra’s, would take a skilled artist like John Miers a reputed three minutes to produce. With such speed, an artist working in a busy area could create enough portraits to make a decent living at a penny a likeness.

A few years ago, I read an article about a book, Shades from Jane Austen by Honoria Marsh, which was published in 1975-1976 in a series of limited editions. It contains colored illustrations, mostly silhouettes, and a few reproductions of Jane Austen’s writings. Though out of print, I managed to acquire a copy for my editor for Christmas.

Part one of the book includes ‘Jane Austen’s Family in Silhouette’, a table showing Jane Austen’s family and chronology of events during her lifetime (written by Peggy Hickman), and Jane Austen’s family tree. Part two includes an introduction and a discussion of Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park, Emma, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion.

I hope this has wetted your appetite to know more about silhouettes, for there is so much more information available than I could put in one post. What do you think? Are you a fan of silhouettes? Do you think the illustrations do the characters justice? I thought Mr. Darcy (above) should have looked a little heavier—more like Bingley—while Caroline’s silhouette is far too flattering. wink But that’s just my opinion. What’s yours?

Most of the information for this post came from Jane Austen’s World, https://janeaustensworld.wordpress.com/2012/10/09/shades-from-jane-austen/ and the Jane Austen Centre. http://www.janeausten.co.uk/period-lighting-and-silhouette-making/

via Silhouettes By Hand Lauren Muney cuts the silhouette of a young girl at a Renaissance event

Posted in Austen Authors, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency, Regency era | Tagged Jane Austen, portraits, Regency Era, silhouettes | 2 Comments

Oxfordshire St. George Play

Posted on July 20, 2017 by Regina Jeffers

http://www.wantagemummers.org.uk

Closely related to the Morris and Sword Dancers, the Oxfordshire St. George Play is considered a kind of Mummers Play. As well as possessing close elements of kinship, the characters in all these plays are largely interchangeable. That being said, the Oxfordshire St. George Play is unique because its chief character is heroic. Saint Plays and Miracles (Clifford Davidson) at Oxford Bibliographies tells us, “Shows based on the lives and martyrdoms of saints appear perhaps to have been the most widespread type of religious theater across Great Britain. There are known to have been plays or entertainments on nearly fifty saints, with well over a hundred instances of performance recorded, albeit mainly lacking extant texts. Considering that the records, both ecclesiastical and civic, that have been preserved represent only a sampling of what was once available, we can extrapolate that such plays were immensely popular with audiences—much more popular than the morality play, which barely registers historically until the early modern period. Saint plays offered scope for creativity and extravagant theatrical effect, and, linked to the cults of the saints deeply rooted in popular religion, they appealed to a common pre-Reformation religiosity. In many cases, performances seem possibly to have been projects of a parish or religious guild, each likely to have possessed a saint as its patron. Thus, the church of St. Denys in York had a play of “Sancti Dionisij,” and the Norwich St. George guild sponsored a pageant and riding of George, the latter involving a dragon, which survived the change of religion in the 16th century. Every pre-Reformation church had images, wall paintings, and stained glass, not only of the Virgin Mary but also a selection, depending on local preference, from a panoply of available saints. These ranged from the popular St. Christopher or St. Catherine to lesser known saints, sometimes venerated only locally in a particular town or region. Individual images might themselves be the focus of intense veneration because of the beliefs that devotion to the representation served to connect one in a mystical way to the actual saint and that prayers thus directed might be effective for assistance in this life or for alleviation of the pains of Purgatory.

The drama of the saints cannot be separated from these aspects of late medieval religion. From the evidence in the extant texts and descriptions, however, there is no reason to suppose that the dramas were always necessarily spiritual in their principal focus, nor were they didactic in the usual sense of teaching doctrine. For example, the St. George skits, plays, and pageants, which were widely distributed, are likely to have been usually presented as entertainment. Some of these, and other saint or miracle plays, may have been unscripted. In drama, as in music, unscripted improvisation has its place. Full and extant Middle English texts, all from East Anglia, treat Mary Magdalene, St. Paul, and the Virgin Mary, the latter incorporated into the N-Town collection. Also perhaps appropriately included in this list is the Lazarus play added to the end of the Towneley manuscript, where it follows the Last Judgment. Another East Anglian drama, the Croxton Play of the Sacrament, is a miracle play with close affinity to the saint play. Three fragments have been proposed as miracles of the Virgin: the Ashmole Fragment, the Durham Prologue, and Dux Moraud. Finally, in Cornish there is an extant play of a Breton saint, St. Meriasek, and, recently discovered, another of St. Kee, unfortunately lacking a complete text. There is also a short late medieval Welsh play of The Soul and Body. The plays that survived were those that escaped the distaste of the Protestant reformers, whose hostility also expressed itself against the images of saints in churches during the period of iconoclasm. Another, and perhaps no less important, factor was the neglect suffered by play texts both before and after the Reformation.”

Turkish knight ~ http://www.winterbourndownbordermorris.co.uk

The Oxfordshire St. George Play often includes a Morris Dance or a Sword Dance as part of the production. The central element represents the death of winter and the resurrection of the world in spring, but the incidents came to have less and less meaning to those watching the plays that the plays soon became part of the ecclesiastical feasts during the Christmas season. Father Christmas became a standard character in the plays. We also find a Turkish knight, an element of the Crusades. In most of the stories, the knight slays Prince George.

St_Albans_Mummers_production_of_St_George_and_the_Dragon,_Boxing_Day_2015-6

The Doctor brings St George back to life in a 2015 production by the St Albans Mummers ~ via Wikipedia

A modern representation of the these Leicestershire plays can be found in Thomas Hardy’s The Return of the Native, Book II, chapters IV and V. The character may be St. George or Prince George or even King George. “George” is not always successful, but when he is killed, a comic doctor revives him. After the prologue, a fight and a resurrection occur, which is followed by a comic scene and a dance, with a request for money coming from Father Christmas at the end. Occasionally, Beelzebub with a frying pan gathers the money. A clown is another substitute for the money collector. The play is always casual in their presentations, introducing themselves to the audience. Action and noise abound.

F. G. Lee printed the Oxfordshire St. George Play in 1874. In his “Notes and Queries,” we find this comment: “The text of this play was taken down by myself from the lips of one of the performers in 1853. … The man from whom I took [it] down … had performed at Brill, in the year 1807, and his father had done the same at Thame Park in the previous cemetery.”

ElfinSpell tells us, “Mr. Chambers in his Medieval Stage devotes a chapter to the Saint George Play (vol. i, 205 ff.), listing twenty-seven printed versions on which his account is based. The play is distinctively a play, with characters playing individual parts, as distinguished from the 117various sword and other dances which sometimes include dramatic features, but with few and indefinite characters, a connecting feature being that in some cases in the dances a doctor appears as in the Saint George Play. This play seems far to have surpassed other forms of mummers’ play in popularity. For the general subject of folk-plays, see the volume announced by the Folk-Lore Society under the editorship of T. F. Ordish, who has already treated it in Folk-Lore, vol. ii, 326, vol. iv, 162.

“The play consists characteristically of three parts, the “presentation,” in which the persons, as they are successively announced, come forward or “enter” from the half circle in which they stand; the “drama” proper; and the “quete,” or passing round a suitable receptacle for gifts of money, which terminates the performance. The serious presentation of the story of Saint George, forming the kernel of the play, has, as will be seen, long since merged in rustic burlesque and foolery, for which Dr. Lee felt it necessary to offer his quaint apology. That the story should have been turned into extravaganza was inevitable, if it was to be perpetuated at all, after its original inspiration had disappeared with the conditions of life and belief which originated and fostered it. Degenerate and intrinsically trivial as the modern versions of these plays are, they are, however, of real interest and value in illustrating the persistence of tradition, and above all as attesting the natural tendency of popular drama to turn to national tradition and history for themes for dramatic presentation.”

(The script for the play may be found HERE.)

Posted in British history, drama, literature, medieval | Tagged British history, drama, medieval drama, mummers, Oxfordshire St. George Play | 2 Comments

Princess Louise’s Early Years of Marriage

Posted on July 17, 2017 by Regina Jeffers

Last month, we looked at Princess Louise’s choosing to become the future Duchess of Argyll. View that post HERE. Today, we will take at look at the marriage itself.

800px-Queen_Victoria_(1819-1901),_after_Franz_Xavier_Winterhalter_-_Portrait_of_Princess_Louise_(1848-1939)

Portrait of Princess Louise (1848-1939), inscribed and dated ‘Victoria/after Winterhalter/1851’ (lower right) and with inscription ‘H.R.H. P’cess Louise, copied by Queen Victoria. (on 1st attempt in Oils) from F. Winterhalter. 1852’ (on the reverse). ~ Public Domain ~ Wikipedia ~ 31 December 1850

Just because Princess Louise had finally emerged from the shadow cast by her familial relationship to Queen Victoria did not mean Louise had completely shed the mantle she had worn for many years. In fact two days into her marriage to John Douglas Sutherland Campbell, Marquis of Lorne and heir to the dukedom of Argyll, the Queen herself paid them a visit. The newlyweds chose to spend the first part of their marriage journey at Claremont House, near Windsor. Queen Victoria’s purpose was more than motherly concerns for her daughter, for Lorne had thought to take Louise to the Continent as part of their honeymoon. One must remember, though, that Europe had recently seen the end of the Franco-Prussian War. Therefore, it was likely that Louise would not be acknowledged properly in the European courts as the daughter of the Queen of England. Miraculously, Lorne rejected his mother-in-law’s meddling, much to Victoria’s dismay.

In Florence, for example, Louise and Lorne used one of the marquis’s secondary titles, that of Lord Sundridge, and the pair was able to avoid many of the obligatory calls on foreign royalty required of a British princess.

When the couple returned to London, they originally stayed at Argyll Lodge, a mansion north of Kensington High Street. The estate bordered Holland Park. The estate was connected to Westminster by a turnpike road. The time at Argyll Lodge provided Louise time to become more intimate with the Campbell family: Argylls, Sutherlands, Westminsters, Leinsters, Northumberlands, Blantyres, and Carlisles. The Duke and Duchess of Argyll oversaw what went on at Argyll Lodge, but Louise noted later in life that she had been happy there. Eventually, when Lorne became the Duke of Argyll, they would reside at Inveraray Castle in Scotland, a massive castle that would prove to be a “money hole” for the Argyll family.

The engagement photo of Princess Louise (Marchioness of Lorne and Duchess of Argyll) and John, Marquess of Lorne and 9th Duke of Argyll ~ Public Domain ~ via Wikipedia

When Lorne first escorted Louise to Inveraray, the couple was greeted with a crowd of Campbells from the surrounding villages and towns and farmlands to welcome the Queen’s daughter. Pipers reportedly played “The Campbells Are Comin’.”

In London, the couple had to find a suitable home of their own. They leased a five-storery townhouse in Belgravia’s Grovenor Crescent, a relatively new enclave for the wealthy. The house was quite expensive, and Lorne only acceded to taking it, for he recognized his wife’s position in society.

Needless to say, Victoria did not leave her daughter to Louise’s duties. She often begged for Louise’s assistance, keeping Lorne and Louise apart for long periods of time. Even so, Louise was the only one of her sisters who was able to enjoy a certain level of normalcy. Despite Victoria’s efforts to convince Lorne to accept a dukedom, Lorne consistently refused, saying he preferred to remain in the House of Commons and that he would not dishonor his father or the Argyll dukedom by accepting the Queen’s offer. Victoria wrote to Louise: “… if I approved of Lorne marrying MY daughter, he ought to have rank as her husband.”

The largest issue with which the couple dealt was the lack of children. Later, people questioned whether Lorne was a homosexual, but Louise’s writings regularly mentions their sexual encounters. By Victorian standards, Louise’s inability to conceive was a “stigma” on her character. Louise traveled to Germany to partake of medicinal baths and the Queen instructed the senior royal physician, Sir William Jenner, to offer advice to the princess. For more than a dozen years, Louise attempted several homeopathic “cures.” In retrospect, most experts believe her bout of meningitis was the cause of her remaining childless.

According to Jerrold M. Packard, author of Victoria’s Daughters (©1998, St. Martin’s, New York, 182), “Vicky [the Queen’s eldest daughter] also fretted about Louise’s lack of children, wondering in a letter to Louise when ‘a host of small Campbells’ might be available to keep their various cousins company. When later complimenting her daughter on a new country house she had taken, Vicky commented not very tactfully how much nicer it would be there were a ‘few little fair heads looking out the windows.’ Their mother told Louise to ‘be careful of your diet and in not omitting aperient medicines….’ The queen also weighed in with the view that no children were preferable to ‘wicked’ ones. Leopold [Duke of Albany, Victoria’s son and Louise’s brother] tactlessly wrote his congratulations to Louise when her sister-in-law (the wife of Lord Archie Campbell, Lorne’s younger brother) had a son, with the inane observation that the birth was of a ‘possible future (I hope not) Duke….'”

Posted in British history, Church of England, customs and tradiitons, family, history, marriage, royalty, Scotland, titles of aristocracy, Victorian era | Tagged British history, Princess Louise, Queen Victoria, royal family, royalty, Scotland, Victorian era | 2 Comments

A Closer Look at “Mr. Darcy’s Fault: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary”

Posted on July 13, 2017 by Regina Jeffers

Mr. Darcy’s Fault was my first foray into what is known as JAFF (Jane Austen Fan Fiction). Since 2009, I have been known as a Jane Austen-inspired writer. Of my 30 published books, I have written 17 Austen-related titles (with #18 to make an appearance in August 2017). Eight of those books are considered retellings and sequels, with all but one based on Pride and Prejudice. Nine are vagaries. Mr. Darcy’s Fault is a vagary, which is also known as a variation in writing circles. By definition, a vagary means 1. an unpredictable or erratic action, occurrence, course, or instance: i. e., the vagaries of weather; the vagaries of the economic scene. 2. a whimsical, wild, or unusual idea, desire, or action. Vagary came into use between 1565-75, in sense a “wandering journey”; apparently Latin vagārī , meaning to wander.

In fan fiction circles, to write a vagary/variation, the author makes a change in the original story that creates a whole new story line. The challenge is to bring the characters back to a similar conclusion as the original at the book’s end. Fan fiction novels are so popular that one can also find vagaries, retellings, and sequels for authors such as Charlotte Bronte, Charles Dickens, Elizabeth Gaskell, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, etc. Some of you might scoff at this idea, but permit me to provide one major statistic: in March 2017, there were 85 books released related to Jane Austen, and all were snatched up by Jane Austen readers. Needless to say, some were more successful that others, but all were received by an insatiable block of readers, who ignore all the predictions of publishers who say the market is overloaded with Austen stories. They simply keep purchasing books.

For those authors who, like me, who also write Regencies romances and romantic suspense, Austen readers often follow me over to the Regency market. Is the transfer complete. Absolutely not. But there is a steady crossover from both my Austen market and my Regency market.

So, what is the set up for Mr. Darcy’s Fault? It begins with Darcy waiting in the grove at Rosings Park to give Elizabeth Bennet his letter – the one he wrote after his disastrous first proposal – the one in which he makes his explanations regarding separating Jane Bennet from Mr. Bingley and the one in which he relates the truth of his dealings with Mr. Wickham. As in Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth reluctantly accepts the letter and when she leaves Mr. Darcy behind, she reads it. The change comes when Darcy spots Wickham in the vicinity of Rosings Woods. He makes the assumption that Elizabeth and Wickham planned an assignation. He thinks to leave her to her misery, but the dogs set up a howl. He follows the sound to find Elizabeth unconscious in the woods. In his hurry to see her to safety, he does not think of the letter she carried. When he does think of it, he can find no traces of it. As he treated her leg injury and carried her back to Rosings, Darcy has “ruined” Elizabeth’s reputation. She has no choice but to agree to marry him, but as far as she is concerned Jane’s misery, Mr. Wickham’s penury, and her accident are all Mr. Darcy’s fault.

Mr. Darcy’s Fault: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

What if an accident prevents Elizabeth Bennet from reading Mr. Darcy’s letter of apology? What if said letter goes missing and ends up in the hands of George Wickham? What if Mr. Wickham plans to use the evidence of both Georgiana Darcy’s ruination and Darcy’s disdain for the Bennets to his benefit? How will Darcy counter Wickham’s plans and claim happiness with the woman he loves?

When he notices his long-time enemy in the vicinity of Hunsford Cottage, FITZWILLIAM DARCY means to put an end to an assignation between ELIZABETH BENNET and Mr. Wickham, but Darcy is not prepared for the scene which greets him in Rosings Woods. Elizabeth lies injured and crumpled beneath the trees, and in order to save her, by Society’s standards, Darcy must compromise Elizabeth. Needless to say, Darcy does not mind being forced into claiming Elizabeth to wife, but what of the lady’s affections? Can Darcy tolerate Elizabeth’s regard being engaged elsewhere?

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Chapter One

“THERE IS NOTHING FOR IT,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I will gather Georgiana from London and set a course for Pemberley.”

Attempting to clarify his thoughts, Darcy stood under the trees of the well-groomed grove of Rosings Woods. He had spent a long night, a night in which his saw his dreams of marital happiness dissolve as quickly as the mist drifting in from the Swale. He spent the hours of darkness composing a letter of apology and of parting for Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and a few minutes prior in the new day’s early hours, he placed it in her hands with a plea for the lady to read it.

Darcy sank down upon a wooden bench that his aunt placed along the carefully cleared path. Darcy doubted Lady Catherine ever walked in this part of the grove, but it was very much of his aunt’s nature to maintain carefully tended lawns and enchanting pathways leading to a nature walk.

“It is my fault,” he told a rabbit, which scurried into the opening. “I sorely misjudged the lady. I assumed my consequence would secure Miss Elizabeth’s approval.” Darcy shook his head in disbelief. “I certainly acted in a gormless fashion. I desired the woman because she did not easily succumb to the allure of my family’s position, and then I knew surprise when Miss Elizabeth acted as she always does. My fault…” he groaned before burying his head in his hands.

With his eyes closed, the scene of last evening’s horror replayed across his imagination.

“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Darcy expected Miss Elizabeth’s immediate agreement, but was met instead with her cold response.

“In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express an obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot–I never desired your good opinion, and you certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to occasion pain to anyone. It was most unconsciously done, however, and, I hope will be of short duration. The feelings which you tell me long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation.”

A second groan escaped Darcy’s lips.

“Certainly I did not show well before the lady,” he whispered harshly. “I should have guarded my words. The colonel will have a sound laugh when he learns of my folly.”

His cousin’s words in describing Darcy’s lack of social skill to Miss Elizabeth still echoed in Darcy’s memory.

“It is because he will not give himself the trouble.”

“Yet, even so, how could Miss Bennet be so misguided as to think I would quickly recover from my professions of love? Did she not realize my declarations honest?”

Another would never fill the hole in his gut. Emptiness always followed Darcy about, but after taking the acquaintance of Elizabeth Bennet, he had thought she would make him whole. Now the yearning was stronger than ever, as if his Soul reached out, only to have its hands slapped away for being imprudent.

“How do I begin again with the image of Miss Elizabeth etched upon my heart?”

With acceptance of the impossible, Darcy stood slowly before sucking in a steadying breath.

“Lady Catherine and Ann are likely to be in the morning room. Her ladyship will not be happy to learn I mean a speedy exit from Rosings.”

Returning his hat to his head, Darcy squared his shoulders. Yet, the sound of hurried footsteps had him spinning in the direction of the gate where he had encountered Miss Elizabeth earlier to observe a familiar figure weaving his way in the direction of Hunsford Cottage.

“What the devil is he doing in Kent?” Darcy growled.

* * *

If Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the letter, did not expect it to contain a renewal of his offers, she formed no expectations at all of its contents. No longer encumbered by his sudden appearance or his equally speedy exit, she could now stomp her foot in annoyance and complain under her breath, both of which brought little relief to her anxiousness.

“Dratted man! I should have thrown his letter at his too stiff back.”

Yet, instinctively, Elizabeth clasped the letter to her chest.

“It is not as if the man plans to offer you his hand a second time,” Elizabeth told the rising hopes she fought hard to quash. “Foolish girl,” she warned her racing heart. “A man of Mr. Darcy’s importance could not be made to beg for my acquiescence.”

After Mr. Darcy’s withdrawal last evening, the realization of what she had done made inroads into Elizabeth’s resolve.

“Even though the connection would benefit my dearest family, my esteemed father would never have permitted me to marry purely for the bond.” Elizabeth sought justification for what others would perceive as a moment of pure foolhardiness. “And God knows I could never tolerate the man’s control of my life. I am not cut of the same cloth as Jane: I cannot act the martyr.”

Thoughts of the pain Mr. Darcy brought to her sister’s door only riled Elizabeth further.

“I have no wish in denying that I did everything in my power,” Mr. Darcy had replied to Elizabeth’s accusation with assumed tranquility, “to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Toward him I was kinder than toward myself.”

Elizabeth looked in the direction Mr. Darcy had walked: The gentleman had turned once more into the plantation. “I should follow him, tear up this declaration of his superiority, and throw it into his face. How would you like that, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth taunted the spot where she last saw the gentleman.

Although she would never admit it aloud, recovering from Mr. Darcy’s proposal had not yet been achieved: Since his hurried departure from Hunsford Cottage last evening, Elizabeth had thought of little else. Such was the reason she had begged off assisting Charlotte in the garden to indulge her need for air and exercise.

“After last evening’s headache, I fear I am totally indisposed for employment,” Elizabeth had told her friend.

When she left upon her walk, she purposely chose the lane, which led farther from the turnpike road rather than to face the possibility of encountering Mr. Darcy in the parkland. But Elizabeth’s efforts proved fruitless for Mr. Darcy appeared suddenly from a grove, which edged the park. She had thought to retreat, but he had seen her, and Elizabeth was not of the nature to cower; therefore, she stood her ground, moving again toward the gate, which led to the groomed grounds.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he called while she refused to acknowledge his approach with either a curtsy or verbal reply. Mr. Darcy held out the letter, which she took without thought. He said with what Elizabeth termed as haughty composure, “I was walking in the grove some time, in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honor of reading that letter?”

Elizabeth looked down at the letter held tight in her grasp.

“I suppose I should read the poisonous missive and be done with it,” she grumbled.

Reluctantly she returned to the path leading further into the woods. As she walked, Elizabeth broke the wax seal and opened the letter, two sheets of foolscap, written quite through, in a very close hand covered by an envelope, itself likewise full.

“Rosings. Eight of the clock,” she read aloud the first line. Her steps slowed, but Elizabeth continued along the prescribed path. “Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of the sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you.”

As I expected, she thought, there will be no renewal of Mr. Darcy’s proposal. Elizabeth did not know whether that particular fact disappointed her or brought gladness for the finality of the man’s regard.

“I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten; and the effort which the formation and the perusal of this letter must occasion should have been spared, had not my character required it to be written and read.”

Elizabeth paused suddenly to huff her indignation.

“Naturally Mr. Darcy’s unbridled pride would demand the last word on the matter. Heaven forbid Mr. Darcy practiced the idea of going one’s own way and letting others do likewise. I wish he were before me so I might bring the gentleman more clarity upon the subject.”

With a growl of resignation, she returned to both her walk and the letter.

“You must therefore pardon,” she read through tight lips, “the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice. Demand?” she hissed. “When did you not demand, Mr. Darcy? And do not flatter yourself to think you know my disposition!”

Despite the fact she unwillingly gave into her strong curiosity to read what would amount to nothing but untruths, Elizabeth was not about to give the gentleman an inch of rightness.

With anger’s bile rising to her throat, she raised her eyes to the heavens, saying a quick prayer for patience. Elizabeth stood perfectly still, seeking the goodness Jane would practice in this sham, but she could not seem to bring her emotions into check. In frustration, she sat a bruising pace, knowing she could not return to the Cottage and her friend without first burning away some of her animosity toward the man. If Mr. Collins learned of Mr. Darcy’s proposal, her cousin would likely drag Elizabeth by her hair to Rosings Park to apologize to Lady Catherine for having drawn the attention of Her Ladyship’s nephew.

“It is very unladylike of me to think so, but I would enjoy throttling the gentleman!” Elizabeth fumed as she marched along smartly while ignoring the beauty of God’s hand, which she would customarily cherish. “How is this madness ever to end? How may I face Mr. Darcy and his aunt when all I can think upon is the gentleman’s umbrage? It will be a difficult fortnight before I can escape to Longbourn.”

Elizabeth glanced at the pages she held tightly to her cloak.

“Should I continue with this deceit or place it in one of Mrs. Collins’s replaces?” she mocked.

She shook the offending letter harshly. Determined to have no more to do with Mr. Darcy, with trembling fingers, Elizabeth began to refold the pages. Yet, before she could complete the task, her eyes fell upon the lines from which she last read.

Her pace slowed once more, and unwittingly, Elizabeth read, “Two offenses of a very different nature, and by no means of equal magnitude, you last night laid to my charge. The first was that, regardless of the sentiments of either, I detached Mr. Bingley from your sister.”

The man possessed a way of forthright speaking, which always challenged Elizabeth’s best efforts of equanimity. Never having fully subsided, her anger roared again.

“Do you mean to deny your involvement, Mr. Darcy? You bragged of your success in the matter only last evening,” she huffed.

Ignoring where her steps led her, as well as the thickening of the vegetation surrounding her, Elizabeth bit out the words as she continued reading Mr. Darcy’s recitation aloud:

“My second offense, that I had, in defiance of various claims, in defiance of honor and humanity, ruined the immediate prosperity and blasted the prospects of Mr. Wickham. Willfully and wantonly to threw off the companion of my youth, the acknowledged favorite of my father, who had scarcely any other dependence than on our patronage, and who was brought up to expect its exertion, would be a depravity to which the separation of two young persons whose affection could be the growth of only a few weeks, could bear no comparison. But from the severity of that blame which was last night so liberally bestowed, respecting each circumstance, I shall hope to be in the future secured, when the following account of my actions and their motives are read. If, in the explanation of them, which is due to myself, I am under the necessity of relating feelings, which may be offensive to yours, I can only say that I am sorry. The necessity must be obeyed, and further apology would be…”

“Absurd!” Elizabeth screeched as she stumbled upon a tree root, pitching forward. Before she could right her stance, a loud click announced she wandered too far from the customary path through the woods. All she could do was scream as the trap meant for a fox snapped shut about her ankle. Her half boots did not prevent the sharp claws of the leg trap from piercing her skin.

~ ~ ~

Darcy quickened his pace, but even so, by the time he reached where the lane leading to the turnpike road marched along with the parkland’s paling, he lost sight of the figure. In frustration, he turned in a circle to survey the various paths leading to Hunsford Cottage, the woodlands, and the park.

“Which way did the scoundrel flee?” He ground out the words. “I thought the dastard in Meryton.” But then the obvious connections arrived. “Could Mr. Wickham’s presence in Kent be the reason for Miss Elizabeth’s refusal?”

Darcy’s mind became a red-hot haze.

“Has Miss Elizabeth renewed her interest in the gentleman?” he whispered in harsh tones. “Perhaps an elopement is afoot. Would than not be the pinnacle of irony?” A deep sigh of acceptance escaped Darcy’s lips. “If the lady’s heart is engaged elsewhere, you escaped a miserable marriage, Darcy.”

More determined than ever to be quickly fromRosings, Darcy crossed to the gate to return to his aunt’s manor house. He knew he should make the effort to ensure the unwelcome visitor left the area, but he could not engender the effort. He would instruct Lady Catherine’s head groom to send out men to drive Darcy’s long-time enemy from the estate’s land.

“And if Miss Elizabeth chooses to follow Mr. Wickham, then more the pity for the Bennets.”

The sound of a dog barking somewhere off to his right had Darcy’s ears straining to locate the noise. Lady Catherine’s games keeper used several Springer spaniels and bloodhounds to keep poachers at bay, as well as to rid the parkland of the creatures Her Ladyship deplored.

“Perhaps the hound cornered a different breed of poacher,” Darcy declared with a wry twist of his lips. “As much as I hold no desire to come upon a lover’s tryst, my pride demands I know the truth.”

~ ~ ~

Face first, Elizabeth smacked the ground hard. With nothing upon which she could catch a handhold, she struck the earth with a resounding thud, one that drove the air from her lungs and literally, shook every bone in her body.

“Lord in Heaven,” she groaned when a breath was finally possible, as she attempted to shove her body upward upon her elbows, only to collapse again from the pain shooting up her calf. She sputtered against the clump of grass and dead leaves at her lips. “What have you done, Elizabeth Bennet?” she chastised. The pain coursed through her leg, and tears formed in her eyes. Raising her head to claim her bearings, she made a second attempt to right her position, only to be held firmly in place.

“A trap,” she pronounced aloud, as the blackness fogged her thinking.

In her distracted state, Elizabeth stepped into a trapper’s lure, which was bad enough, but the leg trap also caught part of the bowl of her day dress, essentially locking her right side in place. She could not bend her knee, nor could she sit to remove the trap. Elizabeth laid upon her stomach in a wooded area of the estate, a place few would think to look for her; there was no means of escape unless she created one.

“It is not as if God means to send you a rescuer,” Elizabeth grumbled as she fought for a lucid thought.

Even though, she realized the futility of her efforts, Elizabeth dutifully emitted several loud calls for assistance. She waited after each for an answering response, but when none came, the fear returned to her heart. Moisture ran down her temples and formed upon her upper lip. With difficulty, Elizabeth worked her right arm free of her cloak to wipe at the droplets away, only to come away with blood smears upon her glove.

“What else, God?” she grumbled, realizing her nose and forehead seeped blood.

With a concentrated effort, Elizabeth raised her head to look over her shoulder to the trapped ankle; again, she attempted to move her injured foot only to be met with more excruciating pain.

“I cannot simply lie here,” she groaned in frustration.

However, as the blackness staked its claim upon her sensibility, Elizabeth succumbed to the need to rest her forehead upon her arm, thinking she simply required a few moments to construct an idea for escape. The calm of her surrounds lured her closer to unconsciousness, but the sound of something moving through the woods had her alert with apprehension.

When the two dogs came bounding into the path ahead of her, Elizabeth did not know whether to celebrate or know more fear. The animals stilled with a warning growl and a barring of teeth.

“Easy,” she whispered. Her heartbeat hitched higher. “Is your master about?” She turned her head slowly to look for the animals’ owner. The hound put his nose to the ground and began to sniff her cloak and arm. “I am not your enemy,” she said in soothing tones.

And then the dog did the unthinkable. He sat beside her and lifted his voice to the trees. The spaniel joined the hound in setting up an alarm, and if the sound were not so ear piercing, Elizabeth would applaud their efforts in her behalf. Instead, she covered the ear closest to the dog with her free hand.

“This is all Mr. Darcy’s fault,” she added her complaint to the mayhem, as the hound took up the call once more. “Him and his dratted letter.”

~ ~ ~

With a couple of miscues, Darcy followed the sound of dogs’ pleas. Yes, there were two: a hound, which split the air with his long, mournful howl, and the deep, resonant ‘woof’ of a working dog. Periodically, Darcy paused simply to listen to the animals ring an alarm. They evidently cornered either a two-legged intruder or a four- legged one. Darcy was betting on the former, but either way, he meant to learn the truth of the racket. However, he did not chase the sound without first removing the Queen Anne pistol he carried in his jacket and then checking the hidden blade in his walking cane.

Prepared for action, when Darcy rounded the curve in the narrow path, he did not expect the sight, which greeted him.

“Miss Elizabeth?” Darcy stumbled to a halt when the spaniel sat low in his haunches to growl a warning against Darcy’s approach.

“Easy,” Darcy said without the anxiousness rushing through his veins. He glanced to where Elizabeth Bennet lay unmoving upon the ground. Instinctively, he knelt to the dog’s level. “I mean the lady no harm.”

Darcy permitted the animal to sniff him before he stood again. Edging closer to Elizabeth, he cautiously examined the situation. Her crumpled form brought an ache to his heart. Seeing her such reminded Darcy of the petite fragility her frame claimed; often, Elizabeth’s personality made her appear larger than she was.

“Elizabeth?” Darcy knelt to whisper into her hair. “Speak to me.”

Although muffled by the earth into which she spoke, Elizabeth weakly chastised him.

“I never gave you permission, sir, to use my Christian name.”

Despite the dire situation, Darcy smiled. “That is my darling girl,” he taunted.

Raising her upper body upon her elbows, Elizabeth protested his familiarity.

“I am not your ‘darling girl,’ Mr. Darcy. Not your darling anything.”

Darcy thought, Not yet, but instead he asked, “Where are you injured?”

She turned her head stiffly to glance at him over her shoulder. “My right ankle. While reading your cursed letter, I stepped in a trapper’s lure.” Her lips were tight, and there was blood caked upon her forehead and chin.

“My God, Woman!” Darcy exclaimed as he flipped Elizabeth’s cloak from his way. “Why are you not caterwauling in pain?” Darcy’s fingers trembled as they lightly brushed the steel trap, while his admiration for the woman increased substantially.

“I promise I will fill several handkerchiefs with my tears once this is over,” she quipped.

Elizabeth gasped, biting hard on her lip to sti e the cry of pain, when Darcy attempted to loosen her skirt tail from the mechanism.

“I apologize, Miss Elizabeth,” he mumbled as he examined the situation from a different angle.

Elizabeth heaved a heavy sigh. “I would like to say I am your champion, but I fear my patience is dwindling. You will know success in this matter, will you not, Mr. Darcy?” she asked breathlessly.

Darcy’s mind filled with unbearable pressure to yank the offending lure from her sight, but he said, “Bear with me. I promise to free you.”

Elizabeth returned her head to her forearm. “I am at your disposal, Mr. Darcy,” she said wearily.

Darcy suspected her supposed calm came from a bit of delirium. He wished he fetched a groom or Lady Catherine’s grounds’ man before he set out upon this task, but his pride told him Elizabeth Bennet refused him because she preferred Mr. Wickham. Little did he think a letter of explanation could bring her more pain.

Darcy caught the rent in the hem of her gown and gave it a mighty yank to open the tear further. Unsurprisingly, Miss Elizabeth did not protest, a sign the lady succumbed to her peril. Gently, Darcy ran his hand along her back to check her breathing. Although weak, her breaths were as if she were sleeping.

Assured, his worse fears would know another day, Darcy reached behind him to find his discarded cane lying beside the pistol upon the ground, before giving Elizabeth’s shoulders a tender shake to arouse her. “I mean to pry the trap open,” he explained. “Do you possess the strength to lift your leg free of the contraption while I hold the lure open?”

Elizabeth raised her chin from the ground. “Tell me when, sir.” For a split second, Elizabeth’s body stiffened with alertness, and then she went completely limp.

From beside him, the spaniel whined. “I agree,” Darcy grumbled as he crawled on all fours to check her breathing once more.

Finding her unconscious, but breathing normally, he scrambled to his feet to straddle her booted ones. Stripping away his caped coat and tossing it to the ground, he edged Elizabeth’s left foot from his way; anxiously, he placed the toe of one of his Hessians on the right side of the trap, loosening the tension of the mechanism as it eased from her skin. Even so, Elizabeth did not move, a fact that worried Darcy greatly. Miss Elizabeth was likely the most strong-willed woman of his acquaintance. Her resting docilely was not a good omen, in his opinion.

Slowly and carefully, Darcy wedged the cane into the small opening. His heart told him to hurry, but his mind kept repeating the need for great care.

“Do not wreak more damage upon the woman,” Darcy said aloud. “If the trap is sprung again, it will likely do irreparable harm to Miss Elizabeth’s ankle.”

He swallowed hard before he placed the toe box of his left boot upon the opposite side of the trap. Using his weight to lower the left side of the lever, Darcy paused only long enough to suck in a steadying breath. Squatting awkwardly over the device, Darcy reached down to capture the curve of Elizabeth’s ankle in his gloved hand. He wished he could shift his weight to keep his balance, but any swift movement could release the trap again.

Patiently, he lifted Elizabeth’s foot, bending her leg at the knee. There were several jab wounds in the creamy skin of her exposed calf, and her ankle appeared badly bruised and swollen. Inch by terrifying inch, Darcy lifted her foot higher. When he cleared her limb of the trap, Darcy removed his right foot, and the lever slammed against his cane. Keeping a tight grasp upon her foot, he released the left side. This time, his cane cracked and bent. Free to rest Elizabeth’s foot again upon the ground, Darcy gently lowered her leg to rest upon the grassy area. Standing to look upon his work Darcy’s eyes fell upon the trap. In anger, he caught the bent metal of his hidden sword and tossed the trap against the side of a nearby tree.

Clear at last, Darcy dropped to his knees beside Elizabeth.

“I have you,” he chanted as he rolled Elizabeth to her back. Darcy used his handkerchief to wipe away the trickle of blood from her nose. Unconscious, Elizabeth did not fight him, and Darcy took a perverted pleasure in having the right to tend her.

“You shall have a black eye, my love,” he observed as Darcy checked her arms and legs for any broken bones. With the release of the pressure upon Elizabeth’s ankle, the puncture wounds began to bleed, and Darcy stripped off his cravat to wrap about her leg. He would like to remove her boot, but he suspected he could cause Elizabeth more injury if he did so.

Instead, Darcy loosened the fastenings of Elizabeth’s cloak to toss it upon his discarded coat. He would leave both garments until later.

“Come, Love,” Darcy spoke in soft tones as he lifted Elizabeth to him. Her breathing was even, which gave Darcy hope. “Like it or not, Elizabeth Bennet, after your recovery, you will be Mrs. Darcy. You are thoroughly compromised, my girl.”

Darcy turned his steps toward Rosings Park. Lady Catherine would disapprove of his actions, but he would not permit his aunt to hush up his actions. One way or another, Darcy meant to have Elizabeth as his wife. Darcy assured his pride that she would learn to return his affections once he had her alone at Pemberley. His ancestral estate would work its magic on Miss Elizabeth’s heart, and he would have her in his bed each night.

“My wish is for you and children,” Darcy whispered into Elizabeth’s hair.

With tails wagging and playful yips, the dogs rushed ahead of him as Darcy wove his way along the tree-rooted path. Neither he nor the animals took note of a dark figure stepping from behind a tree. The man scooped u[ Darcy’s coat and pistol from the ground. Turning to where he had hid while Darcy tended Miss Elizabeth, the interloper bent to gather the pages of the long-forgotten letter.

With a smile of conniving, the man saluted Darcy’s retreating form. The interloper refolded the pages and slipped them into his jacket pocket, along with the pistol, before disappearing the way he came.

Posted in Austen Authors, Bells, book excerpts, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency, marriage, Pride and Prejudice, reading, reading habits, Regency era, romance, Vagary | Tagged book excerpt, Jane Austen, Mr. Darcy's Fault, Pride and Prejudice, Regency romance, Vagary | Comments Off

“Whiskey in the Jar,” a Traditional Irish Ballad

Posted on July 12, 2017 by Regina Jeffers

A traditional Irish song, “Whiskey in the Jar,” is about a Rapparee or Highwayman, whose wife/lover betrayed him. It is a widely popular tune that had know a number of professional recordings including: Séamus Ennis, Burl Ives, The Highwaymen, the Limeliters, the Seekers, Peter, Paul, and Mary, Darby O’Gill, Metallica, Celtic Thunder, Roger Whittaker and the Irish Rovers. The sound’s “action” takes place in the County Cork and County Kerry in the Mangerton Mountains, with specific mention of Fenit, a village in Kerry.

The song likely dates back to the 17th Century and deals with the exploits of Patrick Fleming, a highwayman. Poems have been written about Fleming’s deeds named, including The Ballad of Patrick Flemming or Patrick Flemmen he was a Valiant Soldier. These poems are said to be the foundation for Whiskey in the Jar. Many believe that the song and legend inspired John Gay to write The Beggar’s Opera in 1728. The song’s origins come from the traditional folk song “The Highwayman and the Captain.” The song became a “signature song” of the Irish folk band, the Dubliners. It appears upon three of their albums.

Fair Use ~ via Wikipedia ~ This is the cover art for the 7-inch single “Whiskey in the Jar” by the artist Thin Lizzy. The cover art copyright is believed to belong to the label, Decca Records, or the graphic artist(s).

According to Wikipedia, “Whiskey in the Jar is the tale of a highwayman or footpad who, after robbing a military or government official, is betrayed by a woman; whether she is his wife or sweetheart is not made clear. Various versions of the song take place in Kerry, Kilmoganny, Cork, Sligo Town, and other locales throughout Ireland. It is also sometimes placed in the American South, in various places among the Ozarks or Appalachians, possibly due to Irish settlement in these places. Names in the song change, and the official can be a Captain or a Colonel, called Farrell or Pepper among other names. The protagonist’s wife or lover is sometimes called Molly, Jenny, or Ginny among various other names. The details of the betrayal are also different, being either betraying him to the person he robbed and replacing his ammunition with sand or water, or not, resulting in his killing the person. The song appeared in a form close to its modern version in a precursor called “The Sporting Hero, or, Whiskey in the Bar” in a mid-1850s broadsheet.”

LYRICS: As I was a goin’ over the far famed Kerry mountains
I met with captain Farrell and his money he was counting
I first produced my pistol and I then produced my rapier
Saying “Stand and deliver” for he were a bold deceiver