Courtesans Katie Hickman HarperCollins, 363pp, £20 ISBN 0007113919

What is it with all these naughty ladies? We've had a spate of books about them recently. Virginia Rounding's Grandes Horizontales: the lives and legends of four 19th-century courtesans followed hot on the heels of Dennis Friedman's Ladies of the Bedchamber: the role of the royal mistress. In 2001, the American feminist Susan Griffin published The Book of the Courtesans. Given the available material, there are surely limits to how much more we want unearthed, however juicy. I am beginning to feel I know Cora Pearl better than my own mother.

Katie Hickman established her credentials with the excellent Daughters of Britannia, which lauded the little-known army of diplomatic wives who kept the flag flying in the far reaches of the empire. Strange heroines, perhaps, but Hickman's research produced not only a sparkling slice of history, but a remarkable and original contribution to the study of women. This time, she dishes up five English courtesans in the 18th and 19th centuries. Again, the result is superbly readable and full of insight; as before, she persuades us to admire her subjects and to take their side.

I have become quite fond of that minx Harriette Wilson, who wrote her salacious memoirs with a view to blackmailing clients, including the Duke of Wellington ("Publish and be damned!" was his memorable response). She "could almost be a creation of Jane Austen", Hickman suggests. More like a stylish Moll Flanders or a Becky Sharp. Harriette was seduced by a noble rake at a tender age, and then, with her sisters, set up an alternative salon in London to which aspiring men of fashion would beg an invitation. No respectable women would ever be seen within a mile of her. Spirited, clever and bewitching, Harriette wrote that, at the age of ten, she had decided "to live free as air from any restraint but that of my conscience"; her profession was her choice, freedom and independence being preferable to boring domesticity. "I was made for love!" Harriette once cried. Sex was her forte. In a marriage, she would be expected to behave with decorum and modesty, her lusts unsatisfied. Who today could fail to sympathise?

Me, for one. This is where I begin to part company with the philosophy behind these books. There were, it is argued, too few opportunities for capable women of little fortune to have useful, interesting lives; their wit and intelligence could not easily be put to use in a totally patriarchal society. If a girl was seduced - "spoiled" - then she would never make a successful marriage, even if she came from good stock like Julia Johnstone, Harriette's friend; she would be forced to take up prostitution to survive.

That was certainly the case for some, such as Emma Hamilton and Dora Jordan, mistress of the future George IV. It was true for many on the unsavoury Harris's List, the "Man of Pleasure's Kalendar" published annually throughout the late 18th century. Alongside names, addresses and physical descriptions were detailed specialities which suggest that male tastes have not changed much: flagellation, dressing up, virgins, "rites . . . according to the equestrian order", a mouth "prepared to swallow up whoever may have courage to approach her" were readily available. But Hickman's subjects were not in the gutter. Far from it.

We're talking stardom here. If a woman was beautiful, ambitious and casual in her morals, a glittering world beckoned. If she wanted to, she could aspire to exert influence in the highest circles. Charles James Fox's "beloved Liz", Elizabeth Armistead, had been at the top of the tree for ten years by the time they met, with "a string of fashionable and aristocratic lovers - including two dukes, an earl, a viscount and the Prince of Wales himself". Sophia Baddeley refused the Duke of Northumberland until he came up with an offer "to discharge all her debts and be her friend for life"; a cheque for the equivalent of £30,000 followed. To be painted by Joshua Reynolds, to be a style icon, to be (above all) recognised at the theatre or out driving, crowned their endeavour. The motives of many who audition for Fame Academy and Pop Stars are not dissimilar.

But there is always a more worthy option. For every bejewelled "actress" in any age, there's a Jane Austen, an Elizabeth Fry, an Edith Cavell or an Ellen Wilkinson. For every Cora Pearl, there's a Marie Curie. In reality, these women were seduced by a love of clothes, property and conspicuous consumption. They loved being loved. Their stories are deliciously entertaining but leave an odd taste in the mouth. The smartest of these dames certainly did have a choice. And they chose the money.

Edwina Currie's novel This Honourable House is out in paperback from Time Warner

Post your comment

Please note: you will need to login or register before you can comment on the website