I urge you to print a severe warning to all. With this horrible weather that we have been having it is bad enough that many foolish folk wander out onto the frozen Thames in search of entertainment. All must be aware that several have fallen through the ice to the detriment of their health and for some the loss of their lives. However, even more dangerous than those who traverse the ice are the young bucks who undertake to race their curricles upon the frozen waters.
As evidence of the hazards I provide you this drawing of a typical carriage accident (this one on a road). One can easily imagine the peril of such an encounter on the slippery and fragile surface of the Thames Ice.
Please, sir, urge your readers not to venture onto that treacherous surface for fools abound and those in carriages will cause much damage and sorrow.
The most unusual and upsetting of occurrences
has happened, and I wish now more than ever that Randall would leave this
forsaken place and move back to civilization. I imagine the snow is beautiful
banking along the Thames, and how I long for an outing to Mrs. Starling’s millinery
shop. I am in dire need of a new hat and there is not a one milliner worthy of
such a task here in Clun. I suppose I shall just catch cold rather than wear
such an atrocity upon my head!
But back to the urgent matter at hand, the
Constable here has up and died by his own witlessness. The man had some sort of
infirmity and ended up dying in the woods. They found him frozen through, but
thank goodness no animals had yet discovered him. Otherwise, I might have
fainted straight away.
And, the worst of it, the absolute most
obscene part of it, is that a woman, an odd although in other respects pretty
and intelligent creature, has decided to become Clun’s new layer-out of the
dead. She even enlisted her poor younger sister to aid her in such an endeavor.
I do have some semblance of sympathy for
them as they did lose their parents not long ago in another entirely different grizzly
affair, which I relayed to you last month. But to resort to such unseemly means
to provide for themselves is more than I can fathom. I have insisted that Randall
speak with her and forbid it, but he tells me there is no law against women
making foolish decisions. I told him there should be. The girls are throwing
away any chance of a future by making such a choice.
I am spent in writing this to you and find
I must now retire for a spell to regain my spirits. All this ghastly business
has worn me through.
Send my love to your sweet daughters and
please do invite me to come visit for I must escape this place. . .and soon, my
dear.
With an
urgency to be elsewhere,
Catherine
About the Book: Lovely Digits
When
two murders strike the sleepy Victorian town of Clun, England, an unlikely
partnership forms. But can the killer be found before there is a third?
Lovely Digits is the town
oddity…
But
quirky spinster Lucy Wycliffe prefers to ignore gossip and embrace her position
as the town’s layer out of the dead, despite how her parents’ deaths thrust her
into such unlikely work. Lovely Digits, as she’s known to the local
townspeople, no longer dreams of marriage, but takes pride in providing dignity
to the dead. Desperate to hold on to her family’s cottage and support her
widowed sister and young niece, an unexpected offer of employment as assistant
to the constable arrives at the perfect time.
Former sailor John Brodie is
the mysterious new constable…
But John Brodie is far from a stranger to Clun
or the events of its past. Accepting the position as constable in the small
town is a double edged sword meant to heal his past and redeem his future, but
falling for the beautiful and intelligent Lucy Wycliffe was never part of his
plan. As the killer closes in, will John reveal his secret and risk losing
everything to save Lucy’s life?
Want to
read more? Here is my Amazon Buy Link:
Excerpt from the Book:
Clun,
England
February,
1839
Old
Man Codger’s frozen toe rolled across the floor toward the door.
“Lord
above. Mind the corner, sister,” Lucy muttered. She blew an errant curl from
her cheek as they swung the man’s stiff body onto the scarred wooden table in
front of the hearth. The body landed with a thud.
Blast. Lucy scanned the floor. Nothing. Where had it gone? She lifted her
skirts.
“There
you are,” she grumbled. The rogue digit rested between the scuffed heels of her
old brown boots. Using the edge of one of the sleeves of her faded blue blouse,
she leaned down and clutched the rather putrid, large hairy toe and placed it
on the man’s chest. Now she’d have to sew on a toe, too. A frozen toe.
Perfect.
Priscilla
covered her mouth with the back of her hand and yielded a dry retch. Plugging
her nose, she rolled her eyes. “There has
to be another way.”
Lucy
eyed her pert younger sister and sighed. At thirteen, Cil was on the cusp of
womanhood. There were so many things she would miss from their parents not
being there to guide her. The guilt over the death of Mother and Father a month
past stung like a barb under Lucy’s skin. If only she’d arrived home at the
cottage sooner instead of lingering about the forest to find her pet starling.
She banished the thought away.
After
tying back her hair, Lucy pushed up her sleeves to the elbow. “If there had
been any other option, we’d have done it. It’s either prep him for burial or
starve. It’s just us now, Cil.”
The
old man’s time in the woods had not been kind to him, but at least the extreme
cold had kept the insects at bay. A white milky maggot dropped from his nose to
the table. Lucy shuddered. Most of them.
She loathed insects, especially worms. Things that could move without legs
weren’t natural.
“Hand
me the needle and thread.” Lucy rested her hands on her hips. “I need to get
this toe sewn back on when he thaws. I’ll not be docked pay for him missing
parts.”
About the Author
Jeanine
Englert is a Golden Heart ® Finalist and Daphne du Maurier Award winner in historical romantic suspense.
After years of writing in secret, she joined Romance Writers of America and
Georgia Romance Writers in 2013 and has been an active member ever since. She
writes Scottish Highland historicals and historical romantic suspense novels.
When she isn’t wrangling with her characters on
the page, she can be found trying to convince her husband to watch her latest
Masterpiece or BBC show obsession. She loves to talk about books, writing, her
beloved pups, and of course mysteries with other readers on Twitter
@JeanineWrites, Facebook, or at her website www.jeaninewrites.com.
Her debut novel, Lovely Digits, released in June of 2019 by Soul Mate Publishing, is a Victorian romantic suspense that won the 2017 Daphne du Maurier Award and was named a 2018 Golden Heart ® Finalist for best unpublished romantic suspense.
They call me harlot.
For I got my belly full.
But I will survive.
They left me to die.
Fallen Lady in St. Giles.
A year on, I thrived.
Hunger, pain, and fear,
Kept me company at night.
My thoughts on revenge.
The prince who trained me
Coaxes vengeance in my heart.
Villains must be stopped.
This is my warning, to members of the Society for the Purification of England. We are coming for you.
Signed,
A Fallen Woman
London
5 May 1808
Have our standards truly sunk so low? Whereas once our superior paper printed articles on proper etiquette, interesting insights into the movements of Society, and important information regarding current events affecting our great nation. Must we now resort to reading the type of drivel that was posted on the 1st of May? And from a self-proclaimed Jezebel, no less? What is happening in this great nation, when the words of a fallen woman are being forced upon persons of superior standing and greater morals?
This type of behavior—nay, this type of voice—leads to women having ideas. Demands. Entitlements.
What’s next, then? Women voting? Wearing trousers? Going to school?
This must stop, before our great nation falls to ruin!
Signed,
Hester T. Smythe
4 Poston Houses
Little Nottingshire, Sussex
6 May 1808
Hester, you old hag. Put a stocking in it.
Signed,
Lady Harriett Ross
—Self-proclaimed Matchmaking Motley Meddler—Mistress of Destiny—Wielder of the Infamous Umbrella
Bloomfield Place Bath, England
I’m just an old woman with opinions. On everything.
Woman Reading Book in Wooden Landscape Edouard Jean Conrad Hamman (Belgian, 1819–1888)
Editorial Note: This packet of correspondence came to the Tattler offices when one of our reporters shared drinks with a man at the Bull and Codfish pub. The young man, who seems to be a careless footman in the employ of Mrs. Andrew Mallet of Bedford Square, left it on the table. We of course forwarded the entire packet on to its correct destination.
Mr. Clemens made copies first, but given the involvement of
the Foreign Office, he declared they were not to be published. He must have
forgotten to lock his desk. Besides, nothing here relates to matters of
national interest.
To the Duchess of Sudbury,
Lily,I am in London, but not at home to callers, family excepted of course. Andrew remains in Cambridge, make of that what you will. When I tell you what has happened you will understand my need to live apart. I beg your support.
I know you send private mail to Richard via official couriers and the packet ships. May I ask you to send the enclosed message as soon as it can be arranged? I need his help and my son must be alerted. I trust him to inform his nephew cautiously.
Athena is gone to
Italy.
I know that shocks
you, but perhaps not is much as it ought. Since the Heyworths’ visit five years
ago she has spoken of nothing but Italy, reminding me daily that in Italy there
are medical schools that admit women. The desire to study medicine is
admirable; you and I would both cheer her on if the girl was, not to mince
words, normal. Even if she could cope with strangers…but of course she cannot.
She sailed from
Falmouth a week ago. Her brother Archie, who perpetrated this insanity,
accompanied her, which would be a saving grace if I thought he could handle her
in a crisis. Her father, the wretch, professes to be proud of him. For a
scholar Andrew can be remarkably obtuse. I can’t imagine how the poor girl
managed the ship to Rome, much less life in a foreign country. I dread the
condition we will find her in when she returns.
I discovered this
morning that Lochlin assisted Archie as well. I can forgive a young man— they
often think with body parts other than their brains—but I can’t forgive her
father. I suspect Andrew actually abetted the young fools. He denies it, but I
don’t believe him.
Enough! I will tell
you all when I see you.
Georgiana
Editorial Note: The young lady in question, Miss Catherine Mallet, known to her family as Athena, is a recluse who shuns society after some unfortunate incidents of panic and hysteria (this paper has reason to know one such incident occurred in the Pembrook’s ballroom). She rarely leaves the family home in Cambridge except to visit close relatives, and is reputed to have an unnatural interest in the anatomy of animals and humans. Rumors about this abound in that shire, where some consider her quite insane, but others merely the oddest member of a notably eccentric family.
The second missive, in the same hand, although entirely concerning a private matter, was sent through official channels to Cairo. One wonders if that is entirely ethical.
The Duke of Sudbury
Her Majesty’s Envoy to
the court of Muhammad Ali Pasha, Khedive of Egypt
Cairo
Dearest Richard,
Forgive me for presuming by sending personal mail through the foreign office channels, and troubling you when you are deep into affairs of state—although when are you not?—but time may be of the essence.
To get right to the
point, Archie has taken Athena to Rome from where she expects she can be
admitted to medical school. I don’t need to outline for you all the reasons why
this is nonsensical. Archie, the coward, sent a message from Falmouth saying
that once he had her safely settled (as if that might be possible!), he will
travel directly to Edinburgh and begin his own studies.
This will grieve
Aeneas mightily. He and Archie quarreled on the subject of Athena shortly
before he left for Egypt. Archie has the pudding-brained notion she should be
encouraged to pursue studies to be a physician. Aeneas, ever the level headed
one where his sister is concerned, knows she should be kept close where we can
protect her.
I send this in the hope that you will use your connections to ensure our officials in Italy watch out for them. If I can further impose on your kindness, please make Aeneas aware that this has happened. If it should go badly, he needs warning.
With gratitude,
Your loving sister,
Georgiana
PS
Since you have a way
of discovering things anyway, I will tell you that Andrew and I have separated
over this at least for now. Do not chastise me. I suspect Archie acted with his
father’s blessing. I am too angry to patch things over.
PPS
Aeneas may be sensible
about his sister but not his work. I count on you to keep him from doing
something foolish like plunging deep into Africa in pursuit of some previously
undiscovered crumb of knowledge. I want him back in one piece.
G.
Editorial Note: Our
readers who pay follow the doings of the haut ton know that there is little the
Duke will not manage on behalf of his family, his friends, or the Empire come
to that. They will note, however, how unusual it is to have a one of his circle
actually ask for help rather than having it thrust upon them.
About the Author
Caroline Warfield writes family centered historical romance, largely set in the Regency and Victorian eras. The saga of the Mallets, their friends, and their family began with Dangerous Works.
A
marquess who never loses control (until he does) and a very independent woman
conflict, until revolution, politics, and pirates force them to work together. (In
which Sudbury had not come into his title and was yet the Marquess of Glenaire)
When
Jamie fled to Rome to hide his shame he didn’t expect a vicar’s daughter and
her imp of a niece to take over his life, with complications from an
interfering nun, a powerful count, and a genial monk.
With
Christmas coming, can the Earl of Chadbourn repair his sister’s damaged estate,
and more damaged family? Dare he hope for love in the bargain? (A free
novella—prequel to both series)
The Children of Empire Series: the Scattered
Three
cousins (introduced in A Dangerous Nativity) torn apart by lies and deceit work
their way back home from the far corners of empire.
The Duke of Murnane expects work to heal him. He doesn’t expect to face his past and find his future in China (The heroine is Sudbury’s daughter)
The
Children of Empire Series: the Seekers
This series, expected in mid 2020 will pick up with the travels and adventures of Aeneas, Archie, and Athena Mallet as they pursue their own happiness.
From the journal of Sophie Hartford – the Tattler has received her PRIVATE Journal from Chateau de Fontanes, the Pyranees, 1818
Tuesday, 28th
April.
We returned to the chateau today. I was sorry to say goodbye to my friends in
Ax-les-Thermes but the marquise assures me we’ll go back there soon. For now,
we’re going to spend a quiet few days here in the mountains, and I’m going to
be watching my sister closely. I sense she’s attracted to Joachim. Indeed, who
wouldn’t be, so handsome and warmhearted as he is. With those big brown eyes
and that smile like sunshine, he’s most alluring. But Nell is Nell and she hides
her feelings behind a cool composure. On the other hand, Joachim is making it
plain he likes and admires her.
This afternoon we went down to the stables and the two of them started talking together. I may be four years younger than Nell, but I’m grown up enough to see that Joachim only had eyes for her. So I dawdled around, stroking my horse, petting the stable cat, and then sat down on a bench. Joachim’s lurcher dog, Flocon, came and sat by me. They didn’t notice they were alone as they wandered off down the paddock, talking all the time. At several points they stopped, I could see them waving their arms around as they discussed something. Surely they must be coming to an agreement. Indeed, all the stableboys and grooms found excuses to come out and watch them as well.
My romantic hopes were sadly dashed when
they returned, and I found they’d spent the entire time talking about educating
the poor children of the estate. But tomorrow is another day and I’ll think up
a scheme to bring them together. Why is my 22 year old sister resisting such
charm?
Wednesday
29th April. This morning Nell was in the music room, helping a
little boy with his lesson. I casually told Joachim of this and soon I saw him
rush along to the music room. The little boy came out, and I pretended to be
arranging flowers in a vase in the corridor, so as to keep an eye on the door, in
case anyone else tried to go in. Flocon has become attached to me and he sat
watching as I fiddled with the flowers. A rather long time went by and I began
to worry that our kind hostess might come in search of us. So I tiptoed up to
the door, which wasn’t quite shut.
The Chateau de Fontanes
Somehow I stifled a gasp on seeing them
locked in a very passionate embrace
on the windowseat. As I peeped, they
slid down until Joachim was lying almost on top of her. Oh, my stars! What
lightning progress from yesterday’s formal behaviour. But I had to stop them before
they forgot themselves utterly. Suddenly I had a brainwave. I nudged the door a
little further open and pushed Flocon into the room. He started barking and ran
to jump up at his master. I saw Joachim jerk his head up, so I pulled the door
shut again and fled.
This evening. At dinner I
was expecting an Announcement but they both behaved as usual. Such a
disappointment. And later, when we came up to go to bed, Nell didn’t say a word
about her relationship with Joachim. She’s being very sly but tomorrow I shall
tell her that I KNOW!
About the book: TheOutcasts
Joachim is the youngest of the three Montailhac brothers.
Always close to the land, he now manages his father’s estates and
livestock. Athletic and handsome, Joachim seems to have an
ideal existence. But he has a guilty secret and it suddenly reappears to
cause havoc. His life is further complicated by dealing with an accident at the
iron mine on the estate just as visitors arrive, bringing yet more problems.
Nell and Sophie Hartford are cousins of Joachim’s sister-in-law, Olivia [see Scandalous Lady]. In the Spring of 1818 they find themselves outcasts from their officer father’s home in Paris, and are forced to accept Olivia’s assurance that her mother-in-law, the Marquise de Fontanes, will make them welcome. After all, says Olivia, life in the family chateau in the Pyrenees will be a tonic for them. Two unhappy girls struggle to fit into the very different lifestyle of the large and slightly exotic Montailhac family. At the same time, danger threatens from a deranged criminal bent on vengeance against their hosts.
Read an excerpt from The Outcasts
Nell seemed to have grown even prettier while he was away. Joachim joined his family in the Assembly Rooms and gazed appreciatively at her while she exchanged greetings with several of her new friends. Her primrose yellow dress brought out the russet gleams in her hair. She looked elegant and appealing. Glancing towards his mother he found her watching him with a twinkle in her eyes. She raised an eyebrow and he stepped close.
‘Mother, you’ve wrought a miracle. When she first arrived, dressed all in grey, I called her ‘Miss Dismal’ to myself. Now, I wonder if even her own father would recognise her.’
The marquise squeezed his hand. ‘Poor girls. Cast out as they were, no wonder they were so dejected. It is a pleasure to see them thrive here.’ She smiled at the buzz of light hearted chatter coming from the group. ‘Now you can keep an eye on them. I want to talk to my friends for a while.’
‘Hey, Joachim,’ one of the young men greeted him with a horrified air, ‘Did you know what’s in store this evening? Old Deschamps is going to recite one of his endless poems.’
There was a general muttering and some groans.
Nell gave a choke of laughter and looked enquiringly at Joachim.
He crossed his eyes at her, which made her laugh aloud. He sobered suddenly, staring into her green-grey eyes. She really was lovely, especially with that wash of pink colouring her cheeks. He wanted to get her away from the others.
‘Do you play cards? Then we could escape to the card room.’
‘No, neither of us plays.’ She looked round for her sister, but Sophie had disappeared.
‘She doesn’t like poetry recitals, I take it?’ said Joachim, amused.
‘No, but this is rude. I must find her.’
‘I’ll come with you.’ They slipped off towards the other room. ‘Well,’ said Joachim, ‘it seems we don’t care for poetry recitals either.’
She gave him a glance full of mischief, and laughed again, making him want to get her right away from everyone. ‘Let’s hope we don’t find Sophie too quickly, then.’
However, ten minutes later, Sophie was nowhere to be seen and Nell was showing signs of alarm.
‘I’d better see if she’s returned to the recital,’ she decided. They stood in the doorway, peering in. The marquise saw them and beckoned. Nell went to her and sat down. The poet was in full flow, and Joachim shook his head at his mother, who shrugged. He turned back into the card room and came face to face with Sophie. She smiled naughtily.
‘I saw you looking for me,’ she told him. ‘Bertrand spotted me but he didn’t say anything.’
‘Bad girl.’
She tossed her head. ‘You had more fun looking for me with Nell than being bored to death in there. Let’s play cards.’ She spun away, towards a table at the back of the room, where Bertrand was shuffling a pack of cards. He rose to his feet and pulled out a chair. Sophie sat down, casting a look of triumph at Joachim.
‘Nell said you don’t play,’ he protested.
She bit her lip, looking shamefaced suddenly. ‘Not really,’ she mumbled, ‘but I can watch you.’
A few of the older players were casting disapproving looks their way, although there were other ladies in the room. It was simply that Sophie was so very young. His mother would give him an earful later but until the poet finished his recitation, they would stay here.
‘Vingt-et-un?’ suggested Bertrand, dealing. The luck went against him for several games. He slammed his cards down. ‘Let’s have a drink. It might turn the luck in my favour.’ He beckoned to a waiter and held up three fingers.
‘Have they still not finished next door?’ he asked. He smiled at Sophie. ‘There’ll be some folk-songs later. You’ll enjoy that.’
She agreed and glanced at the approaching waiter. She stared for a moment and gave a gasp of surprise.
Joachim heard her and looked up. It was that toothy lad, and something was wrong. He saw the boy’s face change as he looked at Sophie. He set the tray down awkwardly, keeping his head bent down.
Bertrand picked up a glass and offered it to Sophie.
‘Er, no, no, sir,’ spluttered the waiter, jerking his hand out, but Sophie had already raised the glass to her lips.
‘Don’t drink,’ said Joachim sharply. Too late.
She set the empty glass down and tossed her head. ‘I’m old enough to drink wine, you know.’ Then the blood drained from her face. She put a hand to her throat. ‘Aargh,’ she croaked.
Both young men were on their feet. Joachim seized Sophie by the arm. ‘Get Nell,’ he shot at Bertrand and pulling Sophie’s arm round his shoulders he half-walked, half-dragged her towards the back door, which was close by.
‘Open it, you,’ he panted.
The rabbit-toothed waiter darted to obey.
They barely made it outside before Sophie began to retch. Joachim pulled out his handkerchief and was turning to look for some water when something struck him on the back of his head. He saw a mighty flash of red and then nothing more.
About the Author
Beth Elliott
Beth Elliott loves speaking different languages and traveling to out of the way places. A Welsh mother and a Lancashire father mean she has a complicated mix of imagination and practical common sense. After a teaching career in several countries, she settled in the Thames Valley. Settled, that is, except when the traveling bug takes her. An excuse for this is that she has published a number of travel articles, and of course, she can use the settings for her novels.
Her Regency Tales are
stories of intrigue, adventure and romance, with a few real people in among the
cast of characters who find themselves caught up in events that rather upset
their normal lives. She hasn’t yet put Napoleon himself in a story, but he’s on
the waiting list. On the principle of ladies first, especially in the Regency
era, Lady Hester Stanhope played a small but vital role in ‘Scandalous Lady.’
From her own experience of life in Turkey, Beth likes to add a
touch of exotic to some of her stories. But adventure and romance can – and do
– occur just as easily in London, Bath or Brighton as in Constantinople.
For more information, visit her at the following links.
