Category: historical fiction

Progress, I guess.

I finished the first draft of my latest. It’s on writeon (there’s not a way to give it a link), and maybe Authonomy.  I’ve changed the title, and have a not ready for prime time cover.

So it’s a step forward, but not as far as I’d like. Anyway, if someone is so daft as to want to read it, I’d be happy to send an advance copy.

Incoming. Extract from my next one. Steam and Secrets?

The weekend warrior post is here

This is a regency-punk? work set in 1809. It combines steam, ciphers, codebreaking, and espionage, with a chase and sweet romance. Still working on a title.  I’ve just crossed the 50K barrier, so it’s approaching the intensive edit stage.

In any case I’d love to hear what you think.

Lady Caterham’s Difficult Daughter.

“Amanda Jane Elizabeth Grace, what have you done to yourself?” Lady Caterham wailed at her daughter. “You’re covered in grease, and we must leave for the assembly in an hour.” Amanda stood in the doorway of Lady Caterham’s room, awaiting instructions from her mother. Lady Caterham sat at her dressing table while she gave instructions to her daughter. Lady Caterham’s maid was waiting to put the finishing touches on her mistresses’ gown and hair while Lady Caterham dressed down her slovenly daughter.
“I was just repacking the bearings. We don’t want the wheels to fall off our carriage, do we? The roller bearings Sam and I put together turn so much easier than the old wooden axle, and I think you’ll like the way we’ve sprung the box. It-.”
“And that’s another thing young lady. Playing around with machines. Why, look at those hands. Even if Mary can clean the grime from under your nails, what man would look twice at you with those hands?”
“There’s more to life than men, mother.”
“No there isn’t, at least not for a young lady of refinement like yourself. Do you want to die an old maid, alone and forgotten?”
“No, not as such. It’s just. Well. Oh dash it Mother, the man for me won’t be upset with a little grease and the odd broken nail.”
“One more thing young lady, watch your language. Where did you ever pick up such an expression? Keeping company with that blacksmith?”
“Oh no Mother. Sam is very polite. At least when I’m present. Ask Mary about him if you want confirmation. It’s Freddy and his friends, when they come in from the hunt, who use such expressions. I thought.”
Lady Caterham spat out, “You don’t think. That’s the problem.”
“I do. If my brother can say it, and far worse, then it’s suitable language.”
“Suitable for a man that is. Now go, get cleaned up. We must not be too late for the assembly. Not if you want a dance.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Lady Caterham ignored the tone of that last remark and watched as her eldest daughter, a striking, tall, auburn-haired young woman walked off to change into the dress of a refined and cultured young lady.
“My Lady,” Millicent, her maid, pointed out, “Miss Amanda will have no trouble attracting male attention. She’s a fine looking young woman. As you were at her age.”
“That’s true, but she’d look so much better without that black grease streak covering her forehead and staining her hair, or that house-dress. It’s just so torn and patched, stained with who knows what, and covered in grease. How can she stand to wear it?”
“I don’t know Ma’am, but she’ll be presentable, even elegant. Mary will see to it.”
“I’m sure she will, but I so wish Amanda would focus on the important things in life. Like marriage, men and children. Get her head out of the clouds.”
“Or the steam, Ma’am. I’ve heard that the 20th regiment is stationed nearby. There should be plenty of fine young men, officers in their red-coats. That should catch her eye and turn her thoughts in the right direction.”
Lady Caterham thought for a few moments and then replied, “I hope so. Although last time, she ended up talking all night to an engineering officer from the artillery. A nobody, who was a captain just because he’d been to school at the Royal Military Academy in Woolwich and knew how to move guns and build fortifications. It would have been better to leave her home. What’s the point of going to the assemblies if you don’t flirt with eligible men?”
Much to Lady Caterham’s relief, and fully justifying the expense of hiring her, Mary turned Amanda out dressed in the proper mode of a young lady. The grease was gone from her face and her auburn hair was immaculate, as were her muslins. She wore a simple string of pearls, suitable for a young woman venturing into the wilds of society. While no amount of cleaning could restore her hands and nails to the pristine state that was so important in a fashionable young woman, she would be wearing gloves. They would hide most of the damage. One did not hold hands without something between you and the young man.
Amanda did nothing that spoiled Lady Caterham’s trip. While she may have cast an eye over the bearings, axles and springs, she didn’t stop to play with them. Indeed, without the squeaks, the jarring and the shaking normal in a carriage, Lady Caterham arrived at the assembly in a remarkably refreshed state. When they arrived at the assembly, one of the officers, a captain, swept Amanda away. He led her onto the dance floor for the first country dance of the evening. All in all, it made for an outstanding start to the evening.
The vicar’s wife, Mrs. Peabody, addressed Lady Caterham, while she and the other mothers watched their daughters perform the figures on the floor. “Lady Caterham, I know you suffer in the carriage rides and I was planning to offer to chaperone your daughter, but it looks like you’re well. Did you find a cure for the travel sickness? I only ask because I suffer too.”
Despite her misgivings about Amanda’s mechanical interests, Lady Caterham’s bosom swelled with pride as she said, “It was Amanda’s doing. She redid the springs and the axles on our carriage. It was such a smooth and quiet ride that I barely noticed we were moving.”
“She did? I must say, she is a clever girl.”
“And see, she’s dancing with.” Lady Caterham stopped, “Who is that?”
“Oh, that’s Captain Williams’ cousin. He’s studying divinity, at Oxford.”
“A suitable connection?”
“Absolutely, quite nearly related to the Fairfax’s. They say he will inherit a sizable income. With his family connections, he’s bound to become a bishop.”
Lady Caterham smiled at Mrs. Peabody. “In other words, a connection to be encouraged. I do so hope Amanda will find something other than machines to tinker with.”
“I agree, a husband and children will soon put her head straight. Settle her down.”
Their happy optimism about Amanda’s prospects would have been tempered had they been able to hear her conversation with the young man. While good looking with blue eyes, dark hair and a firm visage, able to dance the figures with a natural athletic grace, polite, educated and well mannered, he was also a serious disappointment.
“Mr. Williams, you’re studying divinity?”
“A suitable study for a gentleman, honorable and in the service of both man and God.”
“If you say so, but with a chance to meet Dalton or Henry or Davy or,” and here Amanda gave a frisson of excitement, “Even Faraday. You have the chance to study natural philosophy with such masters, and you choose divinity.”
“What’s wrong with divinity?”
“Nothing, except.”
“Except what?”
“It’s so commonplace. I’d cut off my right arm to study with any one of those men and you’re just wasting the opportunity.”
Mr. Williams was nonplussed. Unable to think of anything witty, eventually he replied, “Please don’t do that. You have a pretty, indeed beautiful right arm. It wouldn’t look right, replaced with a hook.”
Amanda smiled back and laughed as she said, “I didn’t mean it literally, but I’d kill someone for the chance you have and are throwing away.”
“Please don’t do that either. I suppose I could try law.”
Amanda’s grimace suggested that option was, if anything, even less appealing than divinity.
“In my defense, none of the masters you mentioned are fellows at Oxford.”
“Still, there must be someone.”
Despite her misgivings about divinity students, Amanda couldn’t help feeling disappointed when the dance drew to a close and it was time for the supper break. Mr. Williams bowed and returned to his cousin’s company, while she found her mother.
Lady Caterham’s interests and hopes were peaked, and she asked, “So, Amanda, what did you think of him? He has real prospects.”
“About Mr. Williams?”
“Who else?”
“He seems a nice enough man. Although I wish he were doing something with his education. Something worthwhile.”
“Damning me with faint praise?” It was Mr. Williams. He had walked up behind them and was carrying two cups of punch. “Miss Caterham, I thought you could use this, after your exertions on the dance floor, and with the crush.”
Amanda blushed at his attention, then curtsied, accepted the punch from him and said “Thank you. I didn’t mean to disparage you.” Her mother beamed at Mr. Williams, but fortunately showed her good sense and stayed silent.
He replied, “You didn’t say anything that you hadn’t told me to my face. It is true, divinity is dull work, but I never had much aptitude for natural philosophy.”
Lady Caterham loudly whispered, cautioning her daughter, “Amanda, behave. Watch that tongue of yours.” Mr. Williams did not fail to notice Amanda rolling her eyes at the admonishment, nor that she kept smiling at him.
He added, “It may be a liberty, but could I ask for a third dance? That is if you are free.”
“She accepts,” Lady Caterham injected.
“Mother, please. That is so fast, to dance three dances with the same man. What about my reputation?”
“What harm can there be when the man is so obviously moral. When do you take orders, Mr. Williams?”
“Early next year, when I finish my studies at Oxford. Miss Caterham, if you would rather not dance with me, I’d be disappointed but willing to release my claim.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean that. Yes, I’d love to dance with you again. Please. Even two more times.”
“Twice more is excessive,” Lady Caterham added.
When the next dance started, another country dance that would let the participants converse between the figures, Mr. Williams asked, “So Amanda, why are you so interested in natural philosophy?”
Amanda blushed, “Not philosophy, engines, power, steam. Ever since I saw Trevithick’s engine in London, I’ve wanted to build one of my own.”
“Indeed? Tell me about it. Have you made much progress?”
“Well, I don’t have any engines, right now. Sam and I are building another one. It will be a corker.”
“Sam?”
“Mr. Perkins, my maid’s husband, a blacksmith.”
“So not a rival.”
Amanda laughed, “Good Lord, no.”
“Good. So if you don’t have an engine, what else are you interested in?”
Amanda paused until the next chance to talk, and then replied, “Bearings, bearings and springs.”
“Bearings?”
“I want to go fast, very fast, so quickly that the axles would smoke and the wheels fall off with a regular carriage. Sam and I can build the engine and the gears, but need a carriage that will handle the power.”
“I suppose your family approves?”
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
“If you say so, Miss Caterham, but I’ve found keeping secrets leads one into sticky situations.”
“What do you know of secrets? Studying for the clergy, I’d assume you lived a tame life.”
Mr. Williams stopped, stunned that she would shoot so near the mark, interrupting the dance figure for a few seconds. “More than I can tell you.” Then he quickly resumed the dance.
Amanda was piqued, “So you have a secret, or are you just offering me a nut to crack open as a puzzle?”
“I hope you’ll find the meat at the heart of this nut to your liking.”
“Are you trying to flirt with me?”
“Yes. Trying, not succeeding.”
“If you’re like most men I’ve met it’s just a conker, hard on the outside, bitter and inedible on the inside. What brings you to the wilds of Sodbury?’
“That I can answer directly. I’m on a repairing lease. Been burning the candle at both ends too long at the ‘varsity.”
“Daily Compline and Evensong too much for you?”
“One might say that.”
“From what my brother Frederick says, it’s probably the all-night drinking and parties on the Cherwell.”
Mr. Williams smiled at her, which she took for confirmation. Then he added, “It’s the all-nighter’s in any case. I was told to rest, and leave off it until I recovered.”
“Have you recovered?”
“I’ve made great strides. Dancing with beautiful women helps immensely.”
The music ended. Mr. Williams and Amanda bowed to each other. Good manners dictated that she dance with other partners. For some reason the officers who were available and willing seemed curiously flat. Good dancers, elegantly mannered, but deficient in conversation.
The evening ended well, at least the dancing did. Partway back to Caterham hall, when the carriage went over a steep bump, there was snap. It was followed by a gentle hiss and the box leaned to the right.
Lady Caterham was startled, “What was that?”
“One of the seals broke. Blast.”
“Amanda! What did I tell you about your language.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just Sam and I put such a lot of effort into building the springs. To have one fail so quickly. It’s highly annoying.”
‘”I just wish, Amanda, that you would pay attention to the important things in life, marriage and men.”
“Mother.”

The Curious Profession of Dr. Craven is alive!

My latest book “The Curious Profession of Dr. Craven” is out.

I thought I’d add a few details of background that are too long for a footnote or to fit in the margins of the page. (Not that you have well-defined margins with a kindle.)

Disinfectants. Dr. Craven is a bit of a ‘clean freak.’  There are good reasons for that – he lost his first wife to puerperal fever and he suspects he gave it to her. If he followed medical practices of the time, he probably did. This poses a bit of a problem for an author who is trying to be historically plausible. The first disinfectants, things like Phenol, weren’t discovered until well after the book’s time frame (The novel is set in 1810, phenol was first distilled from coal tar in the 1830’s) and  so could not have been used. However, hypochlorites are widely used as fairly mild and highly effective disinfectants to this day. It’s what they sprayed for Ebola. It turns out they’re rather easy to make by electrolysis, so Dr. Craven has his ‘electrified water.’

Ordinary License. Many romances have the characters purchasing a “Special License” so they can get married without posting the Bann’s. In other words, right now and not in a month. Trouble is a special license allowed you to get married somewhere other than a church. An “Ordinary License” let you get married without the Banns. They were rather hard to get because the Banns served as protection for the happy couple. Since divorce was impossible, except for very very unusual cases, the Banns helped to make sure the decision to get married wasn’t hasty or ill-considered.

Sexual More’s of the Ton. Anything went in the 1780’s – 1820’s if you were in the upper class. Without being purulent, the good doctor’s parents were an excellent example of this. His mother was so notorious – not for the sleeping around – but for not hiding it, that she left England in 1780. She had a long-time affair with a Margrave, and only was married when her husband died. Even the upper class couldn’t get divorced easily. Dr. Craven’s older brother, although a successful general, is best known from the introduction to Harriet Wilson’s memoirs. He comes across as a bit of a dolt. By the way, one of the origins of the phrase “publish and be damned” is due to the Duke of Wellington’s response to Ms. Wilson’s offer to suppress her memoirs for a fee.

Manna for Authors

Sometimes when I’m developing a story I need to invent various complications. If things all seem to be going perfectly for the heroine, then it’s a dull write. Worse still, it’s a dull read, and that’s what matters.

In my latest, I needed to research the “high life” of the ton. Sexual mores and all that sort of icky stuff. Nothing I’d put in a sweet romance, but the sort of thing the characters would know.

Somehow I stumbled on the 6th Baron of Craven, his wife Elizabeth, his son the 1st Earl of Craven and the scandalous memoirs of Harriette Wilson. It was the sort of lifestyle that made the ’60’s great (or so I’m told). I needed to make a few name changes, but the dates and the people matched the story I was working out.

Harriette Wilson’s memoir starts with:
“I shall not say why and how I became, at the age of fifteen, the mistress of the Earl of Craven.”

There’s not much I can add. (Except she didn’t understand why he liked Cocoa Trees, Boats or the Carribean.)

The Berkshire Lady is out.

My latest is now on Kindle and will soon be on hard copy as well.

“Fight me or Marry me!” Frances Kendrick was not a woman willing to sit idly by and wait for her Prince Charming. An heiress, the best rider, hunter and swordsman in the Royal County of Berkshire in the last year’s of good Queen Anne’s reign, she found the men presented to her either boring, stupid, or most often both. Until she met this scapegrace of a lawyer, Benjamin Child. This sweet romance with a paranormal twist follows their developing passion and the means they used to bring their romance to fruition despite the objections of her trustees.
Set in Reading and thereabouts in 1714, the story commences with the memorial service for Frances’ older brother. Since she is the heiress to a baronet, Miss Kendrick did not want for suitors. She wanted for acceptable suitors, as the men she met were simply not up to her standards. When she finally meets one who is, a circuit-riding barrister named Benjamin Child, her trustee’s refuse their approval. He’s too much of a fortune hunter, gambler and wastrel for their tastes. Despite their difference in rank and fortune, he’s the man for her and she’s the woman for him.
Complications abound in the story, ranging from a gypsies’ curse, to highwaymen, to nobbling jockey’s before a critical horse race, and even to the activities of the Hellfire Club.

In the meantime, my next, “after the convergence” is about 2/3 there at about 33000 words.

A Dance at Prospect House.

 This is the first half of the chapter I’m working on in the steampunk novel the Mysterious Mr. Willis. Still not sure how far to go into the details of steam engines. (Treveithick’s got to 145 psi+- or 10 atm+- which was pretty darn good for a wrought iron boiler. Mr. Willis will have to do better by a fair margin for his turbine.)
This is also the first chapter where Major Hogan and Mr. Willis lock horns. They’re sort of “sparing for wind” so far in this chapter, but things will develop.

A Dance at Prospect House.

The announcement letters arrived on Monday. The Child’s were finally having a dance at their mansion just outside of Reading, Prospectpark place. The ball would be in honor of the local militia and the imminent reconstitution of the second division of the 62nd foot in Devizes. These brave men were all that stood between Napoleon’s hordes and English civilization. Ample opportunities would be available for men of good character and sound body to sign up and join their brave comrades. There would be martial music and country games for the common folk during the day followed by a civilized evening for the gentry in the evening. Weather permitting, the affair would start at on Saturday morning and feature a balloon ascent from the wide field that spread below the house.
Early Tuesday morning, Marianne broke her fast with the guest at her home, Major Hogan. While her Monday had been one of chores broken by anticipation after receiving her invitation, his had been one of accompanying Henry as he explored his new parish. Having carefully buttered his roll and spread it with jam, he paused before eating it to ask Marianne, “What do you do for entertainment around here?”
“I don’t know. I like to walk. We could explore the countryside.”
“Is that all? How boring.”
“Boring? Maybe for you, but I haven’t had time to be bored yet. Ruth and I must go to Reading soon, to furbish our gowns for the ball. They suffered sadly on the trip from London.”
“Fabrics? I suppose I could accompany you to the milliner’s, that’s if you don’t wish to walk along the river.”
“I would love to walk along the river, but.”
“But what?”
“There’s something odd going on upstream. I found a warning sign last time I tried to walk there.”
“Is that all?”
“A balloon, and someone knocked me out.”
“Knocked you out?”
“With a chemical. It sort of smelt like cheap gin, only not quite. It was sweeter.”
“Interesting. If you’ll excuse me.” Major Hogan left and a returned in a few minutes with a small bottle that contained a clear liquid. He put a tiny drop on a napkin and gave it to Marianne. “Did it smell like this?”
“Why, yes! That’s the smell exactly. What is it?” Her head swam from the small amount she inhaled.
“Ether. Dehydrated alcohol. It makes people unconscious.”
Marianne frowned, “But why? Why me?”
“Evidently you were about to discover something you shouldn’t.” Major Hogan gave her a serious look, then said, “There is something dangerous afoot. It could be treason. One reason I’m here is to investigate it.”
“What?”
“A secret Bonapartist camp. The French are a dangerous and subtle foe. This Frenchman you saw, Mr. Fournier, was he a short chap with black hair?”
“No. He was short, but brown-haired, and he had an impressive mustache.”
“Then he’s not the man I’m thinking of. Shall we try a stroll upstream to Goring this morning?”
“I would love it. We can stop at the Cross Keys and see if Millie can come.”
“Millie?”
“Miss Ellis, the inn keeper’s daughter. She’s a bit common, but likes to walk with me. She knows the countryside and is great fun otherwise.”
“If you insist.”
“Major Hogan, I will not go walking with you without a chaperon. What would people think?”
“That you were extremely fortunate.”
“That I was fast, and I’m not. Besides, I’m the vicar’s sister and must set a good example for the community.”
Major Hogan was less than thrilled with the idea, but agreed.
They walked to the Cross Keys and asked Mr. Ellis if his daughter was interested in a walk, ideally upstream towards Goring. Before he could answer, Millie popped her head in and said, “I’d love to, but you’ll have to give me a few minutes to finish hanging out my washing. This is such a nice day that I washed my aprons.”
“Are you sure I can’t help you?”
“No, Miss Milton. It isn’t your place. Besides that, I think the gallant Major desires your company – not my father’s.” She smiled at Marianne, curtsied and started up the stairs.
Major Hogan caught the hint, and said, “Miss Milton, why don’t you help your friend, or at least keep her company. The faster she finishes the sooner we can walk.”
“If you don’t mind.” Marianne called after Millie, “Let me help.” Then she started up the stairs after her. Millie waited, then when she caught up said, “I’m glad you came. This is much more fun with a friend.” Marianne asked, “Where are you hanging them?”
“On the roof?”
“It’s out of the way, with plenty of wind and sun.”
Millie pushed open a hatch and they climbed out onto the roof. They attached the aprons to the line and started back down. Marianne didn’t notice the flag dip and raise on a house to the north of town, nor did she see the rider start off for the park. Millie did.
Once back at the bar, Millie asked Major Hogan, “I hope my father hasn’t been tedious.”
“Nay lass. We’ve had an interesting and informative discussion. He says that the recruiting should be good over towards Wallingford or up near Dorchester.”
Marianne said, “Good. Now should we go for a walk. I’d like to explore upstream if we could.”
Millie replied, “I don’t see why we shouldn’t.”
They followed the Oxford Road and then when it veered away from the Thames, the river bank path. Unlike last time there were no warning signs or strange noises. Indeed, it was a thoroughly boring walk. Boring that is, until they were about half-way to Goring where they met Michael and Mr. Willis. Mr. Willis and his companion were carrying fishing rods and working their way downstream. When they met, Mr. Willis bowed and said, “Miss Milton, how fortunate that we met. I was hoping to see you soon, at least before this Saturday’s fete at Prospectpark House.”
She curtsied to him and said, “Are you going to it?”
“Going?” He laughed, “I’m one of the main attractions, at least during the afternoon. I’m hoping to dance in the evening with you, that is if Major Hogan can spare you for a dance?”
Major Hogan shot Mr. Willis a venomous glance, then said, “I think Miss Milton will be fully occupied.”
“Oh well, I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t believe we have been introduced.”
Marianne said, “I’m so so sorry. Mr. Willis, this is Major Hogan.”
Major Hogan gave his new acquaintance a short stiff bow, which Mr. Willis returned. Mr. Willis said, “Major Hogan, now where have I heard that name?”
“I’m raising the 2nd division of the 62nd foot.”
“That’s right. In Devizes in a few weeks. Dashed exciting, what. Why are you in Pangbourne?”
“I am a friend of Reverend Milton.”
Mr. Willis looked from the Major to Marianne and then back again. Then he said, “Oh, I see. Still, I intend to have a good time at the dance even if I cannot pay you attention Miss Milton. There should be plenty of partners and I’m in the dire need of diversion.” He paused, “As is Michael.”
Marianne asked Mr. Willis, “What exactly do you do here?”, and Major Hogan listened carefully to his response.
“Not much. Right now I’m looking for a good place to catch some Dace or other coarse fish.”
“You said you were one of the attractions in the afternoon, so you must do more than that.”
“Since you ask.” He paused and looked at Michael. Michael nodded his head. Then Mr. Willis said, “I work on gases. I have ever since I was at university.”
“So?”
“We’re planning an ascension and as I’m the expert on gas, I get to fill the balloon.”
Major Hogan gave him a skeptical look, “No steam engines?”
“Steam engines?” Mr. Willis looked around himself and then said in a quiet conspiratorial voice, “We’ll have a steam engine and things like that. A copy of Trevithick’s puffing devil if you must know. But please keep that quiet, it’s quite a secret and we don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
“The surprise?”
“She, I guess technically, it moves by itself. We’ve made a few changes in the design and can move a little faster than the nine miles an hour Mr. Treveithick achieved.”
Major Hogan asked, “What changes?”
“Now that would be telling. Patent applied for and all that. Still she does well enough. Scares all the horses though.”
“If you say so. Now if you’ll excuse us, we were headed upstream, to Goring.”
“You won’t get far that way. The bridge is out.”
“What bridge?”
“Over the stream at Basildon. It’s too big to jump across. Best to take the Oxford road until you’re past the little village, then cut down to river if you want.”
Marianne asked, “Are you sure? I so much want to explore the river bank.”
“That’s the way we came isn’t it, Micheal?”
Micheal nodded. Mr. Willis continued, “Still if you wish, we’ll escort you there.”
The combined party started upstream. It wasn’t long before Major Hogan asked Mr. Willis, “Why haven’t you signed up?”
“Signed up, for what?”
“The army or at least the militia. Are you scared?”
“No. It’s just I’ve been rather busy.”
“Busy? Isn’t that what they all say?”
“I supposed, but I really have been detained with other activities.”
“What other activities?”
Micheal watched Mr. Willis struggle for the best words, then relaxed when he found them. “This and that, but fishing mostly.” He left unsaid that he was fishing with explosives and not a line.
“Fishing?”
“Yes. A noble pursuit, fishing.”
They arrived at the mouth of a small stream that fed into the Thames. It opened into a wide area away from the bank, where two run-down buildings served as boat houses. They conveniently screened the rest of the wide area from view. As Mr. Willis said, the stream was too wide for jumping. The whole scene projected an air of neglect and decay.
Marianne asked, “Could we try fording it?”
Millie replied, “Swimming more likely Miss Milton. I think we must turn back.”
Micheal and Mr. Willis escorted them back to where they’d met. Then Mr. Willis bowed to the two woman and said, “Delighted to have assisted you, but we must stick the line in the water if we’re to catch anything.” They curtsied in return. Then he offered his hand to Major Hogan, and said, “See you some other time, perhaps, when there are fewer,” he paused, “ah distractions, say what?”

The curse, revised.

This is a revised chapter.  The curse and its consequences were less that clear. I hope this helps.

Frances Makes a Choice.

Samuel took charge of Jeremy and his little sister when they arrived back at Whitley Park. He knew his mistress well enough to know something was bothering her, and equally well not to ask her about it. She’d tell him when and if she was ready. In the meantime, he handed the girl over to Martha. Martha was a sensible woman and she would know what to do with the creature. He had to deal with Jeremy. That dratted boy needed a wash and clean clothes, again.
Frances headed for her room, and shut the door firmly behind her. She felt like lying in bed and crying over that blasted lawyer. Instead, she pulled her chair to the window and watched the field across from the house while she felt sorry for herself. A murder of ravens gathered in the trees on the far side of the field. Then they flew off to mob a kite.
Her sorrow didn’t last. It changed into anger and her anger into action. She shouted to the winds, “There is no way I’m going to stay here and mope myself to death for that damned bastard of a lawyer.”
Martha knocked on her door, “Miss? Are you well?”
“Absolutely. Please come in Martha.”
“Miss Frances, what you were shouting?”
“Nothing. I just decided I’m not going to let myself get upset about any damned man. Especially a barrister from London, even if he is handsome, rides well.” She paused, then said, “And has a nice smile.”
“If you say so. This girl you brought back, she won’t talk. Just stands in a corner downstairs in the kitchen and glares at me. Cook is upset, and dinner may be late.”
“I was going to see Mr. Jones in Reading about Calcot house, but it sounds like you need a hand with her. Have you tried asking Jeremy to talk to her?”
“No Miss.”
“Try that first. I’m going to look at my horses, then maybe ride into town. I’ll send him to you before I go.”
“Yes Miss.”
“I’m sure the girl is just a bit scared. I’d have been at that age or don’t you remember?”
“Miss Frances, I remember a bouncy, talkative little thing who was the apple of her father’s eye, even when she climbed trees and played with the stable-boys. She was called Frankie and hit a cricket ball through the parlor window more than once.”
Frances smiled at the memory, but said, “I was never taken from my parents and threatened the way she was.”
Despite what she told Martha, Frances brought Jeremy to the kitchen herself. Samuel suggested she send a message to Mr. Jones instead of riding into town. “That way neither Mr. Dalbey nor Dr. Brewer will be aware of your visit.”
“You’re right, Sam, as usual. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Please see to it. Where’s that boy? I need him to talk to his sister. Maybe he can get her to speak.”
“Miss Frances,” he said, “I’d be careful if I were you. Some of these travelers have powers. She could have the eye.”
“Come on, Sam, this is the eighteenth century. Witches were just made up stories to scare children and explain things that we didn’t understand. We are rational creatures living in a rational and enlightened age.”
“If you say so Miss, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He called, “Jeremy” and the boy came running. Jeremy was clean again and back in decent clothing.
“Jeremy,” Frances said, “I need you to talk with your sister. We don’t even know her name, and she needs to talk to us if we’re to help her.”
“She won’t talk to you, at least not in English. Not if she won’t tell you her name.”
“Will you tell us her name?”
“Sorry Miss, but no.”
“But will you talk to her with us?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Frances led the boy to the kitchen where Martha stood by the girl. Martha greeted her and said, “Miss Frances, she still won’t talk. Took a roll and ate it, but she just stands there glowering at us. It’s upsetting cook.”
Frances said, “Jeremy, could you talk to your sister? Let her know we’re decent people and mean her no harm.”
Jeremy started in English, but the girl said something in a strange language. He switched to it and they talked for a few moments.
Frances asked, “What did she say?”
“She’ll only talk in the old language, at least for now. She-” The girl shouted at him, in the same incomprehensible babble.
“I’m not to say anything more.”
Frances shrugged at Martha, who returned her gesture, and said, “The water’s ready if you are.” Then Frances said, “We’re going to bathe your sister, and put her in clean, decent clothes. Then we’ll feed her if she wants to eat. It’s best if you leave, young man. Would you tell her what we’re going to do?”
Jeremy said, “She understands what you said.” before he turned to leave. He stopped in the door, looked back at them and said, “You know she’s going to put you under a curse if you do that.”
“What curse?”
The girl said something to him, and then he added.
“You and the man you are fated with will be bound to this earth, forever through time.”
“I’ll risk it. I won’t have a slatternly noisome servant who is dressed like pile of rags.”
“Then it’s on your own head, I’m sorry for you.” He crossed himself, backwards from the Catholics, the way the Greek Orthodox cross, and shut the door behind him.
Martha stated, in a matter of fact voice, “All right, young lady. I’ve cleaned my share of recalcitrant children, and that includes Miss Frances here when she was your age. Let’s get those rags off you and get you into the warm water. My rule has always been bath first, then dinner.”
The girl stood there, defiant and, for her size, regal. Her posture made it clear that her definitive and final answer to this request was ‘no’.
“Well, Martha,” Frances said, “We’ll let cook and her maids get on with dinner. Shall we? If you’ll take one arm, I’ll start on the other.”
The girl stiffened as they stripped the rags from her. Frances held the rags she removed at arm’s length and said, “Martha, make sure these are burnt. They’re filthy and crawling with lice or worse.” The girl’s body, revealed from underneath the rags, was bone-thin, extremely dirty, bruised from a beating Captain Tom’s gang had administered, and scarred from her scratching at the bites and rashes her lack of hygiene engendered.
Martha looked the girl in the face and said, “Young lady, you’ll feel ever so much better for the wash.” The girl stood there, shivering in her nakedness. She stared back at them and said “Naked I came into this world, naked I will leave it. Such is the way of life.”
“Well,” Frances said, “that’s one way of looking at it. Shall we Martha?” Together they lifted the girl into the tub and forced her to sit in the water. As they poured warm water over her and scrubbed her clean, she muttered, at first quietly, then loudly, and finally shouting in that same incomprehensible tongue.
Martha said, “You know Miss Frances, I wish I knew what she was saying.”
“It’s probably not suitable for genteel ears.”
“Still.”
The girl stopped her rant, then glared at her tormentors. Her eyes seemed to fill with a red light. Then in a clear ringing voice, using precise well-enunciated English, she said, “You, Lady Whitley, Miss Frances Kendrick. You are bound to this world. To see heaven and never to go there. I pronounced this doom on thee and thy kin. Only another of my kind can remove this curse.”
Frances stepped back, examined her and Martha’s handiwork, and said, “I pronounce my doom on thee, young lady. Stand thee up and get dried off. There’s a clean mended corset and dress for you. Then you can learn to be a maid. You’ll be fed well and taught civilized manners. Even, if you want, to read and write.”
The girl slowly stood. It looked like she was trying to preserve what little dignity she had left. Then she took the towel that Martha offered her. With as much grace and condescension as a princess of the blood, she stepped out of the water, started to dry herself and said, “You think this is funny, don’t you My Lady?”
“I do.”
“It isn’t. I am serious in this pronouncement.”
“Fine, so was I, now what should we call you?”
“You can call me many things, but I’ll not answer to them. My real name thou shall not know.”
“What language. I’m not going to call you girl. Come on now, what’s your name?”
The girl paused, then said, “We will answer to Seanan.”
“Good grief. I think Dr. Brewer is going to have his hands full when he instructs you miss. Is that your real name?”
“Call me Seanan or nothing.”
Martha, matter of fact as always, said, “Well Seanan, if you’re dry enough, here are your clothes. Then we’ll get something in your stomach so you can think about learning your place.”
Seanan glared at her, but took the clothes and, with a little help because they were unfamiliar, put them on. While the girl dressed, Frances said, “Seanan, should I send for Jeremy?”
“That’s not his name.”
“It’s what he answers to. Whatever you think, I treat my servants well. This is by and large a happy establishment. You could have done far worse than land in my service.”
Seanan replied, “I could have done worse, and I thank you for that My Lady. Still, that is not an excuse or justification for your actions. This house and all that is in it will perish in time. Except you My Lady Frances, you, your kith and your man, the one who lives by talking and law. Bound together forever. Let Jeremy attend to his horses, they complement his spirit.”
Frances rolled her eyes, and swore “Good Lord.” before she said, “Martha, I think we’ve got our hands full with this one. Samuel said Jeremy’s coming along well. I suppose one out of two isn’t bad.”
“She’ll do Miss, once she’s had a full stomach and a little kindness. This is just the rant those travelers use to scare the gullible. I must say, she’s got it down pat. Seanan, art thee hungry? Miss Kendrick’s dinner isn’t ready, but I’m sure cook will let me take a roll and some cheese to sate your hunger.”
Seanan stared at the wall, then up at the small kitchen window. A sudden sharp breeze blew through the room and she shivered despite the warmth from the fire. When she finally turned to face Frances and Martha, she was deathly pale. She shook and said, “My Lady, in my anger I did something terribly wrong.”
Frances chuckled, “I would say you did several things wrong, but you’re just a little girl who was hungry and tired. I forgive you. Just don’t make it a habit.”
“No, My Lady. You don’t understand, do you?”
Martha added her bit and said, “Young lady, you won’t be the last child to lose her temper when she’s cold, hungry and tired. I’m glad you’ve calmed yourself. Now come get something to eat so I can go on about my chores. After you’ve eaten Jane can show you where the other maids sleep.”
“It’s not that at all, My Lady. Do you any other of the old ones?”
“Seanan, I am losing my patience with you. This nuisance has to stop. What old ones? Mr. Dalbey is the oldest person I know well.”
“Not him. He’s not an old one. I made a mistake when I cursed you. I bound myself to you in my anger. We must find another old one to remove the curse. I can’t do it myself.”
Frances rolled her eyes, then said, “If you say so. I’m off to see if there’s still time for a ride or if Samuel or a groom will practice fencing with me. Martha, I hope you can handle her without my help.”

Frances was to have neither a ride nor a chance to practice her swordsmanship. As she walked out of the warm kitchen into the cool air outside, she realized that her gown was soaked and she itched from the fleas that Seanan carried. She turned back into the kitchen and shouted, “Martha?”
“Miss?”
“Bring a new gown to my room. I’ll need a change.”
By the time she was changed, and had her flea bites dressed, a carriage had pulled up in front of the house. Eliza and her husband were admitted to the front parlor. It was a large antiquated room with a huge, inefficient fireplace. Soot from the smoke stained the ceiling, and the dark carved oak furniture was best described as only something a Puritan, a man focused on the next world rather than this one, could enjoy. Frances met them there.
“Eliza and James. What a surprise. Why are you here so soon after the ball?”
Dr. Brewer said, “Mr. Jones came to us. He said you were inquiring about the price of Calcot house.”
“Did he tell you?”
“Two hundred poundsi.”
“That all?”
“Neither Mr. Dalbey nor I will allow you to charge it to your estate. How will you raise the funds?”
“I guess that’s my problem. I could always sell a few horses, and with the wool-money due from the spring shearing.”
“How would you pay for your current establishment?”
Frances smiled as she said, “James, I have my ways.”
“Frances, please don’t. Why can’t you be a demure normal young lady of refinement?”
Eliza added her bit, “Frankie, James, please let’s not argue. Could we stay for supper and discuss this calmly?”
“Eliza, your husband has to learn that I’m an adult. That I have my own ideas about the estate.”
Before Dr. Brewer could respond and turn what was a heated discussion into a full-blown argument, Martha used a discreet knock on the door to call attention to her.
Frances said, “Martha, what is it?”
She pushed Seanan into the room and followed afterwards. “It’s this little piece of baggage. I found her in your room. She was looking at your jewelry. I think she took something.”
“Seanan, is this true?”
“We need a token of our binding.”
“That was very wrong. Do you know these people?”
Seanan studied them, and said “Dr. Brewer, the priest of the new God, and his wife. We are pleased to meet you.”
“Frances,” Eliza said, “who is this girl?”
“Jeremy’s little sister. Captain Tom’s gang stole her when they took him. He rode off to find her, and.” She paused, unsure of how much to tell her guardian, “Well, it’s a long story, but here she is.”
Dr. Brewer knew his ward well. He said, “Frances, did you have another duel?”
“Me? No not a duel. More like self-defense. Let’s just say there’s one less rogue in Wargrave tonight.”
“Frances, how do you expect to find a husband if you keep acting like this?”
“The man for me won’t be upset with me when I defend my honor.”
Seanan spoke, “No, he won’t be. We can go tell him if you would like, he hasn’t left for London yet.”
“No young lady, I want you to act like a normal young girl and learn your role in society. What were you doing in my room?”
“I was looking for this.” She held out a small broach. It was made of silver and garnets.
“That piece of trumpery?”
“I told you we are bound to you by the same curse that binds you to this world. We can be bound together in friendship or as enemies.” Seanan’s eyes began to glow as she shifted from the first person to the regal we.
“Seanan, I would prefer you to be my friend.”
“You have offered us food, comfort and shelter. We have broken bread with thee. This gift will seal our friendship and my service. You will know us by it.”
Frances thought for a moment, then asked Martha, “Would it upset the other servants if I let her have it? If she promises to be good.”
“Miss Frances, if she’ll promise to stop with this traveler evil-eye language, I’d give it to her myself. I’ve been itching to give her the back of my hand all afternoon, ever since we bathed her.”
“I understand. Cook and the other maids are all in a tizzy, aren’t they?”
“Yes Miss.”
“Damn.”
Eliza said, “Frances, language.”
“Oh bother, then. Is that better?” It was, but not by much.
“Seanan,” she continued, “if I give you this token, will you undertake to be a normal maid?”
“I will.”
“Seanan, I accept your promise of friendship.”
“My Lady I promise my friendship and my service as long as you deign, to the end of time if need be.”
Seanan seemed to wilt and lose her defiant stance. The glow seemed to leave her eyes. Martha asked her, “Seanan, are you ready to come with me?”
“I will and you may call me Susan if it is easier on your tongue.”
Frances said, “Martha will you tell cook that Dr. and Mrs. Brewer will dine with me tonight? Assuming you still want to stay for dinner, Eliza.” Eliza nodded her acceptance. Dr. Brewer looked lost in thought, unsure of what he had witnessed.
Martha replied, “Yes Miss Frances. I’ll see to it.”
“Thank you. Was Cook planning turkey or turkey fowlii?”
“I believe turkey fowl, Miss.” Martha curtsied and left on her errand.

iAbout L 1-2,000,000 today based on comparative economic value. In 1730 the prince spent L1460 on gardens which was estimated to be the equivalent of L20,000,000 today. Prices in the Regency would have been 10-20x higher than at the start of the century. In any case it was a fair bit of cash for Frances to raise.
iiTurkey originally referred to what is today called a guinea hen. Hence, Europeans were eating ‘Turkey’ well before they stumbled into the Americas. The turkey we know as turkey would have been available by this period, but the language wouldn’t have completely changed.

The Chicken Barons

My next release The Chicken Barons is available for preorder on Kindle.
This is the second installment of “From the Ashes” and will be released one month after the first. 

From the short blurb:

1870. The war may be over, but its consequences are not. Mary Cummings can’t raise cotton without her ‘servant’s, but she and her half-sister Sally scrape by with chickens, eggs, and vegetables. Rebuilding the South requires Northern capital and expertise. Ex-officers from Sherman’s vandal hoards are in demand because they know the land and have the organizational skill to run the railroads. A loose shoe strands one at the Cummings strangely familiar farm.

and a bit more:
Daniel Patrick is using his organizational skills and local knowledge to rebuild the railroads in the south. He and his good friend from the army, George Oats, survey the line from Atlanta to Augusta. The line runs (and still does) just north of Covington. While fording the Yellow River, his horse loses a shoe and becomes lame. He walks it to a nearby farm and waits for the occupants in the hope that they can point him to a smith or farrier.
The farm seems familiar from his time as one of “Sherman’s Vandals”, but 1864 was a long time ago. Nonetheless the woman who has haunted his dreams is there and they quickly make up for lost time.

There’s more action than this, but I’d like to leave something out of the blurb to keep the mystery of the book.

The Berkshire Lady continued, Another Draft chapter.

This is another chapter (again draft) where Frances realizes she can’t quite pull off the purchase of Calcot house. (The real-life Frances did this before she met Mr. Child, I’m not sure how as her trustee’s did not  approve of it.) This chapter describes one mechanism she could have used, and sets the stage for more action.

 

Martha Makes a Suggestion.

A month after the Mayor’s ball, Frances was sitting in the day room while Martha mended the washing and instructed the new maid, Susan, in her needlework. While her maids worked on their never ending task, Frances studied her accounts. The results were not what she hoped. It didn’t matter whether she summed them forwards or backwards, the total available for her to use was only about £20. This was despite excellent returns from the wool-money. Far less than she needed to purchase Calcot House. Not even enough to take gambling with any chance of success. Especially since neither Whist nor Quadrille were her forte and Faro was too easy to rig. She looked up, and saw Martha watching her with concern. She said, “Martha, there’s not enough for Calcot House here. Not even enough to secure a loan.”
“What will you do now Miss Frances?”
“I’m sure I can sell a few horses, which will raise a few quid. See what Samuel thinks of the new colts.”
“I know how much you care for your horses. It would be like selling your own children.”
Frances gave her maid a wry grin, “Not quite Martha, but it’s not my favorite idea. I only need about £80 more, to be close enough to bargain. That may take my best horses, and not the yearling’s I usually sell. I suppose I could put some jewelry up the spout, and hope my trustees would redeem it.”
“Miss, there is another way.”
“What?”
“I hesitate to say this, but.”
“What?”
“I could fit Sir Charles’ old clothes to you.”
“Me, wear Charlie’s clothes, why?”
“You’ve always boasted that you’re the fastest rider and breed the best horses in Berkshire.”
“It’s not a boast, Martha, not if it’s true.”
“Why don’t you prove it at the Newbury races?”
Frances was struck by the idea. After a few moments thought she said, “I could, you know. I’d make a tidy sum, but only if the punters didn’t know it was me or my horses.”
“That’s why I suggested Sir Charles’ clothes, Miss. I know it’s highly irregular, but I know you too. Irregularity never bothered you did it?”
“No it never did. I couldn’t take Sam. The punters would know immediately that I was involved, even if they didn’t recognize me.”
Susan said, “My Lady,” she paused and corrected herself, “Miss Frances, Jeremy could go. He told me yesterday that Mr. Phillips thinks the world of him.”
“Does he?”
Susan continued, “If Jeremy goes, may I come as well?”
“We’ll see. First though, I’d best talk with Sam. See what he thinks of the idea.”
Martha said, “I know Sam, he’ll approve of the racing, but not your conduct.”
“He is a bit of a stick in the mud about my doings. Would you be willing to come with me Martha?”
“Not to Newbury Miss. They’ll know me too, and you need someone here to watch the house.”
“I know that. I mean to talk to Sam. I’d like his blessing if I could get it.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that Miss, but I’ve the mending to finish and then this young piece of baggage needs her lessons.”

Sam was not surprised when his mistress popped Martha’s idea on him. Martha and he had already discussed it and reluctantly come to the conclusion that it was the only course of action that would keep Miss Kendrick from becoming notorious. Frances had already jokingly hinted at highway robbery, and anything, even going to a racing meet dressed as a man, was better than that.
“Miss Frances,” he said, “I’m not sure I like the idea of you wearing men’s clothes.”
“It will be a lark. I’ve wanted to race for years.”
“About racing, Miss Frances, you’re too big. The jockeys are all about Jeremy’s size.”
“Can he ride?”
“Like he was born in the saddle. Never seen someone, except yourself, take to it so well. None of the other stable-boys are near as good.”
“It sounds like he and I should go.”
“It’s best if I’m along, Miss.”
“The punters will know something is up if you’re there as my groom.”
“I thought about that. There’s that gangling colt you want to sell. The rangy brown one.”
“Out of Bess, the time she was served by our neighbor’s loose stallion. He wasn’t exactly just a ‘proud cut’ was he?”
“I don’t think he was cut at all.” Sam laughed, it was an unplanned mating which resulted in a less than thorough-bred colt. He said, “That one.”
“Could work. There are a couple other horses we could do without.”
“Exactly, Miss. Since you cannot attend yourself as a delicate and refined female.” He paused while Frances guffawed, “I would be your representative at the sales. No one would suspect anything.”
“That’s rich. But it would work. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Sam.”
“Find yourself neck-deep in the muck without a shovel, that’s what. I also thought that mayhaps you could invite your friends the Brewer’s towards the end of the meet. When the course opens to the fair company.”
“I see, Martha could bring my dresses, and I’d re-appear. Throw sand over my tracks.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t know what Eliza would think about it. She’s a bit hide-bound about these things, and Dr. Brewer. Well, he’d have me put in Bedlam if he found out.”
“Just say in the invitation that you’re riding separately with one of your grooms, and will meet them there.”
“I suppose that would work. Now you’re going to tell me I still need to bring a maid.”
“You should. You can’t sleep with Jeremy in the room. He’s a nice enough boy, but”
“It would be highly improper, even if nothing happened. Good Lord, the thought that he and I would. Never, never, never. I suppose I could take Susan. Do you think she’d be steady enough?”
“Probably.”
“Sam, she’d have to dress like a boy.”
“I doubt she’d mind. She’s a bit bored as a housemaid.”
“The other thing Sam. I’d like to find a way to get my horses to Newbury without taxing them. Did you think they’d tolerate a ride in the cart?”
“No Miss, but?”
“But what?”
“I could get the carpenter to knock up a stall on the cart. They’d not care about that.”
“It’s worth a try. If they balk, I can always walk them the same as everyone else does.”
“I’ll see to it.” Samuel gave his mistress a respectful salute.
Frances explained the plans to Martha and Susan. Susan immediately agreed. “Miss Frances, I’d do anything to go to Newbury with Jeremy. What should I be called as your page?”
“Would Sean be acceptable?’
“John. That will do. We are pleased with you My Lady.”
“Susan.”
“Yes, Miss Frances. I’d like to be called John.” Susan smiled at an inside joke, “Not now, but if I were a boy.”
“God knows why, Susan, but John you shall be. We both need to get our clothes measured and fit.”

The stall on a cart was finished quickly. Partially this was because the estate carpenter was excited by the idea of a ‘cert’ for a bet and asked Sam to place a few side bets for him, but mostly because it was simple to build. Sam suggested that the horses be led into it several days before they left for Newbury. At first the horses were unsure about this novel idea, but they quickly decided that this was yet another thing that those strange two-legged creatures did and a stall was a stall. That Miss Frances hid a few apples or carrots in the hay at the far end of the stall helped.
The other thing Frances decided was that Jeremy must be able to drive a team. He’d shown remarkable progress at riding horses. It was as if he could talk to them. Frances had him tootle her around the farm in her gig until she was comfortable that he could take the leads.
“Miss Frances,” he asked, “Why must I drive?”
“I don’t see any way to get you, Susan, and me to Newbury without it.”
“There’s room for us all on the cart.”
“I’d like to have my mount as well. It’s best to be flexible about things. I might need you to take Susan and the horses home without me.”
Jeremy was pleased that Miss Kendrick would trust him. He said, “Miss Frances, I’ll do my best.”
“Jeremy, I’ve had boys your age do things like this before. It’s nothing special.”
“But never, I’ll warrant, ones as new to your service as me.”
“That’s true, but you’ve done well.” Jeremy smiled at the compliment.

Since Susan was still a young girl, Martha had little trouble fitting boy’s clothes to her. Outfitting Frances, on the other hand posed some problems. The latest men’s style was too form-fitting, and even with her breasts strapped uncomfortably tight, it was obvious that she was not a man.
Frances gazed at herself in the mirror and said, “Martha, what am I going to do? This is simply not going to work. I must admit the style becomes a fit young man, but?”
“I’d say, Miss Frances, that it becomes you as well.”
Frances primped herself in the mirror and said, “That’s true, but I need to look less like a woman.”
“I suppose, if you didn’t mind looking a bit dowdy, you could.”
“I could what?”
“You’ll look a bit rustic, but the way your father dressed would let you hide more of your build.”
Frances laughed, “Well Frank is supposed to be a rural horse-trainer, my poor cousin. So he wouldn’t be dressed in the latest fashion of silk suit. He’d look a lot like Sam, wouldn’t he?”
“If you added a sash and your sword belt, it could work.”
“In any case, I wouldn’t wear a fancy suit to work with horses. The older fashion, with its coarser woolen cloth would be correct.”
“I’ll also pad your waistcoat. It will be hot, but make your bosom less obvious.”
The next iteration of clothing fit better. Instead of trying to follow the latest style, Martha pieced together a looser coat, a padded waistcoat, breeches and stockings that were respectable but not revealing. Frances put them on, and found that she didn’t need the sash. Looking at herself in the mirror she said, “Martha, I think this will work.”
“I think so too, Mr. Kendrick.”
“Although?”
“What?”
“I should test it first.”
“Not Reading Miss.”
“No. Somewhere I’m not so well known. Wargrave?”
“Frances, please no. Imagine what would be said when you’re recognized.”
“Martha, even if I don’t try it in society, I do need to practice riding astride.”
“If you must.”
Frances walked out to her stables, without changing and found Sam. “Can you saddle one of the horses with a man’s saddle?”
Sam looked at her, smiled, and said, “Yes Mr. Kendrick. I’d say Martha has done her job well.”
“I hope so. Do you think I could pull this off, I mean looking like a man?”
“We’ll see, Miss, sorry Mr. Kendrick. I think as long as you’re not well known it will work.”
“I’d so like to try walking down Broad Street, or try the service at St. Mary’s in the Butts.”

Pulling a Dickens

I’ve been slowly working on a book set in the American Civil War and it’s immediate aftermath (the “reconstruction”). I decided to try releasing semi-monthly serial installments as Amazon “short reads”. I just released the first volume, “Caught by the Blue-Coats.”

The eventual goal is to write a series of 5-10 volumes, and then bind them up as a final work.
In the meantime, here’s the book’s blurb.

1864, Atlanta has fallen and the vandal hordes of Yankee mudsills are spreading through Georgia on their way to the sea. What is a patriotic young Southern woman, like Mary Cummings, to do? Stain herself dark brown with walnut juice and spy on them, of course. The trouble with walnut juice is that it doesn’t wash off. Normally, time would clear Mary’s skin, but she doesn’t have time. A detachment of union cavalry is on the way to her plantation outside of Covington.