Clemens, Editor
The Teatime Tattler
Fleet Street, London
Sam,
I don’t know if you can use this, but one of the Jarratt & Martinson tea clippers is leaving Macao in the morning. I’m coming back to London, but I can’t afford the clipper so I’m sending this ahead. It’ll get there faster. You know that favor I owed you? Consider it paid.
Your hunch was right. The Duke of Sudbury’s cub wheedled his way into the East India Company Factory in Canton. By all accounts, the worthless oaf spent more time prowling the flower boats where they provide all the delights he chased in London along with plenty of exotic local depravity tossed in. He either quit the Company or was tossed because he’s supposed to be working for Jarratt, though “work,” may not be what he’s doing. I know you don’t care about politics but Jarratt may be trying to use the pup to get to Sudbury. Bears watching.
Now you owe me because there’s more. It isn’t just the boy that washed up in Macao. A girl followed him—Sudbury’s oldest girl, the uppity one too proud to so much as dance with any gent lower than a duke, the one with the weird Arabic name. Superintendent Eliot and his wife put it out that they’re hosting her on Sudbury’s behalf, but I doubt Sudbury even knows where she is. I saw her myself going in and out of Eliot’s house as swanky and stuck up as ever she was in London, every inch the duke’s daughter, but I heard rumors.
I got myself an invitation to dinner by one of the China traders, Harold McIlroy. It cost me a pretty penny in drinks at the club where they all congregate, but it was worth it. The ladies of Macao dig dirt with the best of them. I got an earful, I can tell you. I don’t see how it can all be true, but where there’s smoke, there has to be at least an ember or two.
Ingram, Dennison, and Dean’s ladies between them told me the girl:
~wears men’s clothes
~escaped torture and worse for her crimes by convincing some big Chinese official to let her off as the ladies said, “in the way of light skirts everywhere.”
~wormed her way into Jarratt’s house with nothing but a Chinese servant. The Dennison woman said Jarratt actually admitted he had his way with her.
~threw herself at the Duke of Murnane, a married man whose “poor abused wife,” lives in a dumpy little house in the native quarter
~uses opium tar
~sneaks into the house at night even with the man’s wife in residence
The Chit has nerve. All Macao knows what she is, but she parades around town while a little servant hops along behind her holding some fancy parasol on a bent handle to keep the sun off her like she’s some short of rajah’s female. I cornered the little weasel, a Chinese boy who looks like at least one Portuguese tomcat got at his great-grandfather’s tabbies. Name’s Filipe. The boy talked about the trollop like she’s the queen herself. Calls her “Lady Zamb.” I think he’s half in love with her. Wouldn’t say a bad word. Talked about her like she’s some kind of saint, and I know for fact she isn’t that. He told me to ask the woman who runs the mission school. One of the Quakers. He had to be lying. I can’t see a prune-faced female missionary tolerating the sort those women at McIlroy’s described.
I’ve had enough of the mission crowd myself. That job my cousin promised in the newspaper here? Turned out to be the mission rag. Can you see me writing for some chapel-goers? They print it at a place they call Zion’s Quarter. Bunch of tea totalers. No thanks. I’m for home.
I hope you can use some of this because I need the money. If you print it you owe me. Just send the cash to Greaves at the Horse and Gander in Southwark. He’ll hold it for me. Sudbury will make your life hell if you do it though. I remember what he did to you years ago when he came back to London after he was trapped by the Barbary corsairs. He had a wife and suspiciously well-developed baby in tow. Wait, wasn’t that the one with the Arabic name? Apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
Don’t let him bully you. This stuff will sell papers.
See you in six months.
Garrett Mullins
___________________________________________
About the Book: The Unexpected Wife
Children of Empire Book 3
Crushed with grief after the death of his son, Charles Wheatly, Duke of Murnane throws himself into the new Queen’s service in 1838. When the government sends him on an unofficial fact-finding mission to the East India Company’s enclave in Canton, China, he anticipates intrigue, international tensions, and an outlet for his frustration. He isn’t entirely surprised when he also encounters a pair of troublesome young people that need his help. However, the appearance of his estranged wife throws the entire enterprise into conflict. He didn’t expect to face his troubled marriage in such an exotic locale, much less to encounter profound love at last in the person of a determined young woman. Tensions boil over, and his wife’s scheming—and the beginnings of the First Opium War—force him to act to rescue the one he loves and perhaps save himself in the process.
Zambak Hayden seethes with frustration. A woman her age has occupied the throne for over a year, yet the Duke of Sudbury’s line of succession still passes over her—his eldest—to land on a son with neither spine nor character. She follows her brother, the East India Company’s newest and least competent clerk, to protect him and to safeguard the family honor. If she also escapes the gossip and intrigues of London and the marriage mart, so much the better. She has no intention of being forced into some sort of dynastic marriage. She may just refuse to marry at all. When an old family friend arrives she assumes her father sent him. She isn’t about to bend to his dictates nor give up her quest. Her traitorous heart, however, can’t stop yearning for a man she can’t have.
Neither expects the epic historical drama that unfolds around them.The Unexpected Wife, will be released on July 25.
https://www.amazon.com/Unexpected-Wife-Children-Empire-Book-ebook/dp/B07FGGC918/
Here’s a short video about it:
About the Author
Carol Roddy – Author
Traveler, would-be adventurer, former tech writer and library technology professional, Caroline Warfield has now retired to the urban wilds of Eastern Pennsylvania, and divides her time between writing and seeking adventures with her grandbuddy. In her newest series, Children of Empire, three cousins torn apart by lies find their way home from the far corners of the British Empire, finding love along the way.
She has works published by Soul Mate Publishing and also independently published works. In addition, she has participated in five group anthologies, one not yet published.
For more about the series and all of Caroline’s books, look here:
https://www.carolinewarfield.com/bookshelf/
Mary Fisher went about her business as her mistress directed, even with the house in an uproar and the mistress preoccupied with worry. The whole staff had more work than usual, what with a wedding the day before. She carried her bucket and rags carefully up the servant stairs to the third level with great care so as not to spill a drop, an effort that proved futile when a hand snaked out, grabbed her free arm, and pulled her into the linen closet. The door slammed shut.
Reclusive businessman Rand Wheatly finds his solitude disrupted by a desperate woman running with her children from an ugly past. But even his remote cabin in Upper Canada isn’t safe enough. Meggy Blair may have lied to him, but she and her children have breached the walls of his betrayed heart. Now she’s on the run again. To save them he must return to face his demons and seek help from the family he vowed to never see again.
For more about the series and all of Caroline’s books, look here:
“But Maud, all men have their bit of muslin on the side. My sister told me she knows from experience.”
Harold Wagner might, if what the man got up to was exotic enough. Unfortunately, this Maud creature hadn’t much imagination.
When all else fails, love succeeds…
Private Pratt,
Here is the report you requested. Of late, I’ve been exploring the rumors of gold to be found in the Wyoming territory of the former colonies. While the rumors are true, the location of the gold fields is on lands belonging to the Sioux nation. Relations are hostile between these aborigines and the somewhat more civilized government of the United States of America. In addition, the area of the gold fields, known as the Black Hills, is exceedingly difficult to access. Thus, few white men and fewer white women have traveled through the place. I have determined to do so, myself. Not for greed of gold, but for greed of experience. I have never denied my eagerness to see what is around the next corner, tree, rock, or river bend. Be that as it may, I am currently in the boomtown of Cheyenne seeking a guide of good reputation to shepherd my little party [Yes, despite her megrims, my maid Analisa is still with me, but more of her peccadillos at another time.]
The third man, Mr. W. Hickock is also quite famous. He is very colorful wearing pistols holstered on each hip and having long, locks of hair, which were kept scrupulously clean, unlike Mr. Bridger. I had almost agreed to accept Mr. Hickock’s services despite his exorbitant fees when the most unruly and oddly dressed female I had ever seen burst into the room and drew her pistol, holding me and Mr. Hickock at gunpoint.
This character, one Skinner Jones, I might have rejected instantly. Jones personal hygiene looked and smelled no better than Mr. Bridger’s. However, the educated speech that came from Jones’s mouth roused my interest, so I invited my guest to share tea with me as we discussed the possibility of escort from Cheyenne to the Black Hills.
About the Book
About the Author