Genres
Adult, Historical, Mystery
In the Victorian era, a cheap and popular form of entertainment has entranced the population often known by the name; penny dreadful. Costing a penny, readers purchased the stories and entered the fantastic world of superhuman men and damsels in distress.
The stories have been popular for over fifty years and Lavinia Howard is a young woman who dreams of being such a writer. Having recently lost her father, she turns to a family friend who puts her in touch with Jasper Courtenay, owner of Courtenay Publishing.
Writing under the pen name G. R. Howard, Lavinia creates a character who becomes a huge success as her penny dreadful stories are the most popular ever printed. Her character is brash and obnoxious and has no respect for authority as he solves London murders and the working classes adore him!
But strange things begin to happen as the stories Lavinia writes start to come true. Two very similar deaths mirror those she writes about, and Detective Chief Inspector Harrison Bryce is assigned to investigate. Inspector Bryce soon discovers that Lavinia has become so popular that she has also made enemies along with her legion of fans.
He realizes that everyone surrounding Lavinia has a motive to have committed the crimes. He must work fast to determine who wants to harm her as he suspects Lavinia may be the next target on the killer’s list.
Also on audio – The Belle of London
EXCERPT:
Casimir Kimberly strode resolutely past the throng of people gathered in the alley who were trying to catch a glimpse of the body of the woman lying at the foot of the wooden stairs. His black woolen overcoat reached to his knees and he could feel the material swirl about his legs as he walked. Casimir was not a man given to fanciful dress or cologne as some dandies and French men were known to be, but damn did he love his coat.
He made eye contact with a policeman keeping the crowd under control and the man immediately motioned for Casimir to make his way through the circle of people. Casimir glanced over his shoulder and saw that Ralphie was behind him but lagging. The man was always falling behind.
As he came closer to the body lying in an odd position from the fall, a flash of lightning dominated the sky and he looked up. It was early in the morning and most people were still in bed. The crowd that was gathered now must be the dead woman’s neighbors or local tradespeople.
He felt around in his coat pocket for his John Millar & Sons tin and took out one drop and popped it into his mouth. As the delicious flavors of black currant and licorice filled his mouth, he began to study the crowd surrounding him. He first surveyed the middle-aged men, then the women. He knew what he was searching for and his heart beat faster as the lightning flashed once more through the morning sky.
He sat back on his haunches, surveying the body before him. He had been told a portion of the woman’s story when the police had summoned him. The charwoman had lived on the second floor and the stairs leading to the flat were outside in the alleyway. Sometime in the night, the woman had fallen down the stairs and broken her neck. Some in the police said it was an accident, others were not so convinced. He had been called in to look over the scene and give his opinion. Casimir wasn’t a detective with Scotland Yard nor a private investigator who worked for the Pinkerton Detective Agency, but he was blessed—or cursed, depending on whom you asked—with an abnormal understanding of crime, its victims, and most importantly the offenders.
Casimir suddenly looked up. He sniffed the air distinctly with several sniffs to the right and then to the left and narrowed his eyes.
“Ralphie,” he growled once.
“Yes, Guvnor,” came the quick reply from the man standing nearby.
“Move that fishmonger down the lane,” Casimir said simply. “All I can smell is his two-day-old mackerel.”
“Aye, Guvnor.”
The fishmonger was moved along but Casimir’s sense of smell was compromised. He swore inwardly. He always liked to get a sense of the crime scene’s smell. The blood, the vomit, the rain, the earth. Each had its own distinct smell and each told its own story. He looked down at the body and noticed the shabbiness of her nightdress, the small feet, and the hands used to hard work. The woman was probably in her forties but her weathered face looked closer to sixty. Her forehead was deeply lined, her eyes sunken into her skeletal face.
As he took in her worn hands, he noticed something peculiar. On the ring finger of her left hand there was no ring but lighter skin where a ring had once been. He knew the woman was married.
Casimir stood up abruptly, causing the onlookers around him to gasp. He shook his head and looked about at the group. He had been so absorbed in concentrating on the woman he had forgotten about the people surrounding him in the alleyway. He looked back into the group, his eyes searching for what he had seen before to assure himself that he was correct. His eyes narrowed when he saw the exchange and then he almost grinned. This was too easy, he told himself.
He strode forward, his long legs covering vast amounts of space before he stood before a stout, well-built man in the crowd. The man had the look of a stonemason, not very tall but built like a solid bull. He eyed the man quietly, looking over his beefy chest, his bulging forearms, his black hair sprinkled with gray, and the cap he held in his hands respectfully. Casimir narrowed his eyes and watched the man glance quickly to his right and then away again.
Following his gaze, he saw what the man was looking at. A small red-haired woman with a large bosom and thick ankles. She smiled shyly back at the man before he looked away.
“He did it,” Casimir said loudly and strongly, pointing to the stonemason.
Nicola is a Los Angeles native. Early in elementary school, Nicola had a great fondness for reading and began to write creatively. She graduated from university with a degree in communications and has held a variety of positions in journalism, education, government and non profit.
Nicola has traveled extensively throughout Europe, China, Central America and Egypt and loves all things historical.
She has nineteen historical romance and mystery novels on Amazon.
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GIVEAWAY!
This sounds very much like my kind of read. Just bought a Kindle copy. :-)
ReplyDeleteThank you! I love the cover, it isn't actually a genre I read, many years ago.
DeleteI agree on the cover. It's quite striking.
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