Map of London

Painting of Hyde Park by Camille Pissarro

Hyde Park was opened to the public by Charles I. Rotten Row, a track on the south side of the park, was a fashionable meeting place for the aristocracy.

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons.

The Idle ‘Prentice Executed at Tyburn by William Hogarth (1747)

Tyburn Gallows was the place of public execution for all of London until the late eighteenth century. Prisoners were taken from Newgate Prison and processed through London to the cheers and jeers of the London public for whom an execution was a source of entertainment. The distinctive Tyburn Tree—a large triangle on top of three tall pillars—stood in the middle of a junction and could accommodate several—sometimes dozens—of hangings at once.

Source: Wikipedia

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Excerpt from Scandalous Desires

The cart ride was a trip through hell. The cart rocked into Oxford Street and they were already waiting. People lined the streets, calling to him, some in sympathy, some in derision. They were three and four deep, packed as full as the street would allow. The condemned man stood, head held high, feet braced wide apart so he wouldn’t stagger as the cart began its journey through London to Tyburn. A young girl threw a wreath of flowers into the cart at his feet and he stared down blindly at them. He was notorious in London, and there were those among the poor who thought him something of a hero.

A hero, he who had done naught but steal all his life.

Finally, the tall Tyburn gallows came into sight, the distinctive triangle top foreboding against the gray sky. Tall wooden platforms had been built to one side with viewing seats, but the majority of the crowd milled about on foot. A woman with a tray of pies on her head was steadily making her way through the mass of people. She was shadowed by a pickpocket who took advantage of her customers while they paid for the pies. A pack of boys with several dogs ran alongside the cart, shouting. Farther on, a juggler entertained a small circle, handily tossing a man’s hat, an orange, a knife, and a posy of flowers into the air. He was quite good, but a group of drunken apprentices to the side were calling insults anyway.

The condemned man descended the cart and was led up the gallows steps as the chaplain murmured prayers. The crowd was loud, a yammering, shouting, mass of mindless idiots.

He nodded to the hangman, a tall, bent figure, and handed him a guinea. The hood was put over the condemned man’s head and his legs tied together. He felt the heavy noose drape over his shoulders and then tighten. He breathed in and out, calm and steady, his breath hot under the hood.

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The north side of Grosvenor Square in the 18th or early 19th century.

Grosvenor Square was developed around 1721 and was one of the most fashionable—and expensive—London residential areas.

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Etching: High-change in Bond Street by James Gillray, 1796.

Bond Street was a fashionable East End shopping district.

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Engraving: A View of St James Palace, Pall Mall etc by Thomas Bowles,1763.

Built by Henry VIII, St. James’s Palace was the London residence of the monarch from William and Mary through King George III.

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Four Times of the Day: Noon by William Hogarth, 1738 note: the steeple in the background is St. Giles in the Fields Church.

St. Giles was one of the worse slums of London in the Georgian, Regency, and Victorian eras, and encompassed the infamous Seven Dials area. It was estimated that during the height of the gin craze, every fourth building in St. Giles sold gin.

The 1665 London Great Plague started in St. Giles. So many plague victims were buried in St. Giles in the Fields Church and churchyard that it was thought the rotting bodies led to a mildew problem in the building. The church was demolished and rebuilt in 1730-34.

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Sources: George, M. Dorothy, London Life in the Eighteenth Century, Academy Chicago Publishers, Chicago, 2000 & Wikipedia: St. Giles, London

Excerpt from Wicked Intentions

Temperance stopped before a crooked door, set two steps down.

Lord Caire looked at the door, his blue eyes narrowed with interest. “What is this place?”

“This is where Mother Heart’s-Ease does business,” Temperance replied just as the crooked door popped open.

“Out wi’ ye!” A tall gaunt woman bawled. She wore an old red army coat over leather stays so filthy they were black. Beneath was a black-and red-striped linsey-woolsey petticoat, the hem ragged and caked with mud. Behind her dim firelight flickered giving her the appearance of standing at the mouth of hell. “No coin, no drink. Get out of me ‘ouse, then!”

The object of her ire was a thin woman who might’ve been pretty had it not been for her blackened teeth and an open sore on one cheek.

The pitiful creature cringed and held up her arms as if to ward off a blow. “I’ll gi’ ye a penny an’ a ha’penny tomorrow. Just gi’ me the gin tonight.”

“Go ‘an earn yer pennies,” Mother Heart’s-Ease said and shoved the unhappy woman into the alley. She turned and propped her large, red-knuckled fists on her hips, looking Lord Caire up and down with greedy eyes. “Now then, what’re ye doin’ here, Mrs. Dews? I don’t reckon this’s yer part of St. Giles.”

“I wasn’t aware St. Giles was divided into territories,” Temperance replied stiffly.

Mother Heart’s-Ease flicked beady eyes at her. “Weren’t you, then?”

Temperance cleared her throat. “My friend would like to ask you some questions,” Temperance replied.

Mother Heart’s-Ease grinned at Lord Caire, revealing missing front teeth. “Best come inside, hadn’t you then?”

She didn’t ‘d never once glanced at Temperance again, her avarice obviously focused on Lord Caire. Nevertheless he stood back to allow Temperance entrance first. She ducked inside the door and descended the steep wooden steps leading to a cellar.

The front room was low, long, and dark, lit only by a fire roaring in the rear. Above, the rafters were blackened by smoke. To one side a warped board was thrown over two barrels to make a counter. Behind it stood a one-eyed girl, the only barmaid. Here Mother Heart’s-Ease sold her namesake: gin, a penny and a half a cup. A score of soldiers in tall meter hats were laughing drunkenly at a table in the corner. Beside them, two shady-looking fellows hunched their shoulders as if trying to become invisible. One wore a triangular leather patch to hide a missing nose. Across the room a quarrel had broken out between three sailors playing cards while nearby a solitary man in a too-large wig smoked serenely. A man and a woman sat together against the wall on the bare dirt floor, their small tin cup cradled in their hands. They might sleep the night here—if they each paid Mother Heart’s-Ease another five pence for the privilege.

“Now then, ‘ow can I ‘elp a fine lookin’ gent like yerself?” Mother Heart’s-Ease shouted over the din of the arguing sailors. She rubbed her fingers together suggestively.

Lord Caire took a purse from beneath his cloak and opened it. He smiled as he extracted a half crown and placed it in the woman’s hand. “I’m interested in the murder of a woman in St. Giles. Her name was Marie Humes.”

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Engraving of Westminster Hall, 1810

Westminster Hall was built in 1097 and is the oldest part of Westminster Palace where both British Houses of Parliament meet.

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Painting of Covent Gardens by Flemish painter Pieter Angillis, 1726

Covent Gardens started out as a vegetable and flower market and evolved to add theaters, coffee houses, and prostitution in the eighteenth century.

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Etching of Vauxhall Gardens by Thomas Rowlandson, 1785

Harte’s Folly is the fictional pleasure gardens in the Maiden Lane series. Pleasure gardens—such as Vauxhall Gardens and Cuper’s Gardens—were popular in the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries. Patrons usually bought an entrance ticket and could attend plays, operas, and symphonies, as well as order meals and explore the gardens. Often there were nightly fireworks. Pleasure gardens were attended by both the upper class and middle class and could be a place for assignations and to hire prostitutes.

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Exerpt from Notorious Pleasures

A platform over the river was ablaze with lights, strung on poles. As they neared, Hero could see footmen in fantastic livery helping the rest of their party from their boat. The footmen wore a purple and yellow costume, but each was different: one man was in a striped coat, with checkered stockings. Another wore a saffron-colored wig and a purple coat with yellow ribbons. And yet another had a bright yellow coat over a purple spotted waistcoat. They were all whimsical variations on a theme.

Their boat pulled into the dock and a fellow in a lavender-powdered wig bent to help her from the boat. “Welcome to Harte’s Folly, my lady.”

“Thank you,” Hero said as the rest of her party disembarked.

Phoebe came to stand beside her. “Did you see the primrose in his wig?”

Hero turned and indeed the footman wore a bright flower over his ear.

“I do hope that’s not a catching fashion,” Reading murmured. He caught Phoebe’s eyes. “I’d look rather foolish with tulips about my ears.”

Phoebe smothered a giggle with one hand.

“You’d look a right ass,” was Huff’s pronouncement.

“Thank you, Huff, for your opinion,” Reading said gravely.

Huff snorted.

Mandeville cleared his throat. “Shall we?”

He offered his arm to Hero and she took it as they entered a wooded path. The trees about them were hung with fantastical fairy lights. Hero peered closer and saw that each was a blown glass globe, no bigger than her palm, encasing a light. Music drifted through the decoratively trimmed trees and hedges, growing louder as they advanced. The path suddenly opened and they emerged from the trees into a wondrous theater.

A paved area spread out before them as if sprung from the forest floor. Behind that were artfully decaying ruins. If one looked closely, one could just see the orchestra playing between crumbling pillars. On either side, luxurious boxes rose, four levels high, some open, some curtained to give the occupants privacy.

A pretty maidservant, her hair intertwined with lavender and primrose ribbons, led them behind the boxes and up a carpeted stairs to a high box right on the stage.

“I say, this is cracking,” Lord Bollinger exclaimed. He was a quiet young man who seemed slightly overawed by Mandeville’s rank.

Lady Margaret squeezed her escort’s arm. “It’s simply wonderful, Thomas.”

Mandeville grinned, suddenly looking boyish. “Glad you’re pleased, Meg.”

Hero smiled up at him as he held a chair for her. “Thank you for arranging this evening.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He bowed, but as he rose his eyes went over Hero’s shoulder and he seemed to stiffen.

The curtains parted at the back of their box and a troop of servants entered with supper. Mandeville settled in the chair next to Hero as thinly sliced ham, wine, cheese, and prettily iced cakes were laid before them.

“A toast,” Huff mumbled, raising his glass. “To the beautiful ladies present tonight.”

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Jack Shepherd (known as “Gentleman Jack”) a thief and burglar escaped from Newgate four times before eventually being hung at Tyburn Gallows.

Newgate was a prison in London from the twelfth century until 1902 and was next to the Old Bailey, the famous London court of law. It was originally built as an extension of Newgate, one of the old medieval gates in the city wall.

Source: Wikipedia

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Excerpt from Scandalous Desires

Silence shivered and pulled her cloak about herself more firmly as Newgate Prison loomed suddenly in the dark, hulking and ominous. The ancient gate spanned the road, but next to it was the slightly newer prison. A guard with a light was dozing by the big double doors. He woke and glared at them as they approached.

“We’re ’ere to see Mickey O’Connor,” Harry said pleasantly.

“No one’s to see the pirate,” the guard snapped.

Harry tossed a coin at the man, which the guard caught easily.

The guard looked at the coin and sneered. “A shillin’?”

Bert bristled. “A shillin’s quite fair!”

The guard started to say something more, but Harry sighed and gave him another coin.

This time the guard smiled. “Ye’ll be gettin’ closer.”

“’Ighway robbery is what this is!” Bert exploded, advancing on the guard.

“All right! All right!” the guard said, backing a step. “I’ll let ye see ’im, but I’m makin’ a special deal jus’ for ye.”

Bert muttered something rather offensive about “deals” and the guard’s parentage, but fortunately the guard didn’t seem to hear. He opened the big door, leading them inside a gloomy corridor. It was still dark and so the inmates of this place were mostly asleep. But here and there could be heard the sounds of humanity: sighs, mumbles, snores, and coughs.

The guard led them through a courtyard with sleeping forms and up a series of steps. On the upper level were barred cells to one side of the corridor and a locked door at the end. The guard opened it to reveal a small anteroom and a dozen or more armed soldiers, standing or dozing in chairs.

The guard went to the cell door at the back of the room and scraped his huge key ring across the window bars, making them rattle. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, peering, and shouted, “Oi! O’Connor! Ye got—”

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Wood engravining, circa 1840-90, of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London

Saint Paul’s Cathedral’s gorgeous dome is one of the landmarks of London. The original building burned during the Great Fire of London in 1666. The building now standing was designed by Christopher Wren and was finished about 1720.

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Bedlam from A Rake’s Progress series by William Hogarth, 1735

Bethlem Royal Hospital—colloquially known as Bedlam—was a hospital for the insane in London. Originally the building stood near Bishopsgate, but by 1675 it was moved to this location near Mooresfield where it stood until 1815 when it was moved again. The treatment of mental illness was simply horrific during this time period and gawkers could pay to come and stare at the inmates of Bedlam for entertainment.

Source: Wikimedia

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Excerpt from Lord of Darkness

If hell existed on earth, Artemis Greaves was walking into it. Her shoes crunched on fine gravel in a huge, nearly empty courtyard. Behind her were the tall iron gates. Before her, the baroque facade of a magnificent, beautiful building. White Corinthian columns marched in paired rows along the facade, crowned by a central dome with a clock, the Roman numerals picked out in gold. The gilding was repeated on the top of the dome, a spinet with the figure of a veiled woman.

Artemis shivered and glanced at the front doors.

Hell might have a gorgeous shell, but it still roasted the damned within.

She passed the porter and paid him her precious penny, though she wasn’t here to sightsee. Under the dome was an echoing hall with two long galleries leading off to her left and her right. It was early yet and the visitors were few, but that didn’t mean the inhabitants of hell weren’t awake. They moaned or babbled, if they could make utterance, except for the few who simply howled.

Artemis ignored the galleries, walking straight on. Beyond the dome two staircases curved away into space. She mounted the one to the left, holding her covered basket carefully. It wouldn’t do to spill her few, meager offerings.

At the top of the stairs a man sat on a wooden stool, looking bored. He was tall and thin and Artemis had amused herself–rather morbidly–on previous visits by noting his resemblance to Charon.

She paid Charon his due—a tuppence—and watched as he took out his key and unlocked the depths of hell.

The stink hit her first, a thing so solid it was like wading into filth. Artemis held the handkerchief she’d sprinkled lavender water on up to her nose as she made her way. The inhabitants here were chained always, and many could not or did not make it to their chamber pots. To either side were small, open rooms, almost like stable stalls, though most stables smelled better and were cleaner than this place. Each room held a denizen of hell, and she tried to avoid looking in as she passed.

She’d had nightmares in the past from what she’d seen.

It was actually quieter up here than the vast galleries below, whether because the inhabitants were fewer or because they’d long since given up hope. Still there was a low droning of something that once might’ve been song and a high giggling that stopped and started fitfully. She knew to skip swiftly past a cell on her right, dodging the foul missile that flew out, hitting the wall opposite.

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A View of London Bridge in the Year 1616, from an Engraving by John Vischer

During the Maiden Lane series London Bridge still had shops and houses crowded along its span—and the heads of those executed for treason were impaled on pikes on the south side.

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Etching of the Tower of London by Wenceslaus Hollar

The Tower of London was the original fortress for London and for years was used to imprison and execute aristocrats and royals.

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

The 10th Whitechapel Crime. Fortuné Méaulle’s engraving after a drawing of Henri Meyer.

Whitechapel was part of the notorious East End slums of London. In Victorian times it was where Jack the Ripper murdered his victims.

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Color engraving of Wapping, London by Thomas and William Daniel, 1803

Whapping is where many of the London docks were located. It was frequented by sailors on shore leave—and the prostitutes who serviced them.

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Excerpt from No Ordinary Duchess

Freya hurried along the London street toward Wapping Old Stairs. At the last cross street she’d realized that they were being followed. She glanced at her charges. Betsy was a nursemaid only just turned twenty. The girl was red-faced and panting, her mouse-brown hair coming down around her damp cheeks, her eyes wide with terror. In the nursemaid’s arms was Alexander Bertrand, the seventh Earl of Brightwater.

Aged one and a half.

Fortunately His Minute Lordship was asleep in Betsy’s arms, round cheeks pink and tiny rosebud mouth pursed.

Behind them were two disreputable men not even bothering to pretend anymore that they weren’t stalking Freya and her charges.

Freya wracked her brain, trying to think of a plan of escape. The day was sunny. Seagulls screamed above the Wapping streets. She and Betsy walked parallel to the Thames, only blocks away, and the fetid smell of the river was strong in the air.

She estimated that it was less than a quarter mile to Wapping Old Stairs. The street was busy at this time of day. Carts rattled by, filled with foreign goods brought in to the port of London. Smartly dressed merchants and ship captains bumped shoulders with staggering sailors already in their cups. Working class women made sure to avoid the sailors while women who worked the streets made sure to accost them.

Freya chanced another look behind.

They were still there.

The two men might simply be traveling in their direction. Or they might have been sent by Gerald Bertrand, Alexander’s paternal uncle, with orders to bring back the baby earl. If they took him, she wouldn’t have a second chance to rescue the toddler.

Or, of course, they might be Dunkelders.

Freya’s pulse picked up at that last thought. The Wise Women had long been hunted by Dunkelders—nasty, superstitious fanatics who knew about the Wise Women and believed they were witches who should be burned.

If the followers were either Dunkelders or Bertrand’s men, she had to do something soon or they’d never make it to the stairs.

“What is it?” Betsy asked breathlessly. “Why do you keep looking back?”

“We’re being followed,” Freya told her as a huge black carriage came around the corner, moving toward them at a snail’s pace due to the crowded street.

Betsy moaned and hitched His Lordship higher in her arms.

The carriage door bore an ornate gold crest Freya didn’t recognize. Not that it really mattered. They needed safety and a place to hide from the men. Whoever the aristocrat in the carriage was, Freya was certain she could stall him for a minute or two.

That was all they needed.

She seized Betsy’s arm. “Run!”

Freya darted behind the carriage, pulling Betsy along with her. There was a shout from the followers and the carriage shuddered to a stop. On the far side of the carriage she dragged Betsy to the door, wrenched it open, and shoved both nursemaid and baby inside. Freya leaped in, slamming the carriage door behind her.

She landed on hands and knees and looked up.

Betsy was sitting on the floor of the carriage, cowering away from a large yellow dog, who appeared to be regarding the maid with surprise. Miraculously, Alexander The Tiniest Earl in All the Land hadn’t woken.

The gentleman beside the dog stirred. “I beg your pardon?”

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