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Crow Moon by Suzie Aspley#Extract #Giveaway #AMarthaStrangewaysInvestigationBook1

  I am delighted to introduce the first in a new series by debut writer, Suzie Aspley . The atmospheric thriller, Crow Moon was published by Orenda on March 14th. Today I have an extract for you to read and the chance to win a print copy of Crow Moon . Details on how to enter are at the foot of this post. When the crow moon rises, the darkness is unleashed… Martha Strangeways is struggling to find purpose in her life, after giving up her career as an investigative reporter when her young twins died in a house fire. Overwhelmed by guilt and grief, her life changes when she stumbles across the body of a missing teenager – a tragedy that turns even more sinister when a poem about crows is discovered inked onto his back... When another teenager goes missing in the remote landscape, Martha is drawn into the investigation, teaming up with DI Derek Summers, as malevolent rumours begin to spread and paranoia grows. As darkness descends on the village of Strathbran, it soon becomes

Ravishment: The first diary of Lady Jane Tremayne by James Walker #Extract #TheDiariesOfLadyJaneTremayneBook1

 

I am delighted to bring you an extract from James Walkers' Ravishment. Before we read some of this historical whodunnit, here's a little about the book: 

A 17th-century whodunnit - It’s 1653 and Lady Jane Tremayne has inherited the estate of her late husband. 


When a young woman is raped, as Lady of the Manor, Jane decides to investigate, assisted by her closest friend, Lady Olivia Courtney. Then the stakes are raised when the rapist strikes again.


More than just a whodunnit, this is an absorbing tale of a brave woman living in dangerous and unique times.

Extract

 

Widowhood

It was, I recall, St George’s Day, the twenty-third of April, in the Year of Our Lord 1653, a Wednesday morning, and I was at home at Altringham Manor in East Devon. I could  not possibly have known, when I woke, that it was to be a day destined to begin a transformation of my life for ever, both for good and ill.

My home was built three storeys high, in stone, in the early years of Good Queen’s Bess’s reign, nearly a hundred years previously. With its long gallery and well-stocked library, as well as a pleasing aspect, it was a place of which I had grown deeply fond.

It had been a harsh winter, with snow lingering on the ground even into late March and beyond. However, evidence that spring had properly arrived was now plain to be seen and could be heard everywhere.

I was especially taken by the profusion of primroses that had flowered on the edge of the copse to my left, beyond which lay the southern boundary of the Manor. I remembered that they had been coming up in the same spot ever since I had first arrived there, as an eighteen-year-old bride, nearly a dozen years before. Still, with each succeeding year, they had grown in numbers, and I fancied they had never previously looked  quite so dazzling in the morning sunshine.
It being St Georges day, I felt minded to celebrate that fact by going for a ride. There could be no dragons to slay, real or imagined, but I still had confidence that a gallop on my seven- year-old mare, Hera, would help to raise my spirits and give me the courage I believe I needed to look the world properly in the eye after long years of war and all the misery it had brought to my country.

Firstly, though, I needed to summon my personal maid, Mary Moffat, to help me dress, so stepping back from the window, I opened my bedroom door, and called out to her.

Mary was a diminutive, pretty seventeen-year-old minx with long brown hair, now respectfully tied up in a clasp, and hazel eyes, who had been a member of my household since she was thirteen. At that tender age she had been engaged as a lowly scullery maid by my cook and housekeeper, Alice Cowper. Mary, possessed of a naturally cheerful disposition, had proved herself to be both competent and conscientious in the performance of her duties. When, six months previously, my maid Jessica Wilkes had married a local tenant farmer and consequentially left my household, Alice had recommended Mary to replace her, and since then she had adjusted well to her new role.

‘It’s time I got dressed, Mary,’ I told her as soon as she appeared. ‘The weather looks set fair and I’ve decided to go for a ride.’

Mary dropped me a curtsey before hurrying to fetch the clothes I required. I knew that I would wish to ride astride rather than side saddle, and in order to do so would put on a man’s breeches, over which I would wear a black, velvet riding habit with split skirt. They would not be just any breeches either, but rather ones which had belonged to my late husband, Sir Paul Tremayne, who had died at the Battle of Worcester eighteen months previously, fighting for the forces of Charles Stuart, whom, as a true royalist, he had recognised as his rightful, if yet to be anointed, King.

Mary was also ready to assist me with my toilette, above all the combing of my thick, auburn hair, which would then be bunched up under a white, silk coif. Finally, whilst I invariably preferred to wear no make-up as I still possessed a fair complex- ion, unblemished by any marks of smallpox, I was content to apply a touch of my favourite jasmine based scent to both my neck and wrists.

Only the briefest of pleasantries passed between us as I was in a reflective humour, and Mary, sensitive to my moods, seemed to know instinctively when she had licence to prattle on and when she did not. She had, after all, taken on her role at a time when I was just emerging from a year of mourning for my late husband, and that my riding habit was black, bore testimony to the fact that I still grieved for him.

Ours could never be a relationship of equals, but all the same there was an easy familiarity between us; an indication that our two personalities complemented each other. I also sensed that she had grown fond of me thanks to my patient forbearance of her and was even somewhat in awe of my good looks. Certainly, I had received enough admiration over the years from both sexes to know that I was something of a beauty. Apart from my hair, I thought my hazel eyes and small, regular shaped nose, my most attractive features although I sometimes wished for more fulsome lips and smaller ears. 

If you're tempted, here is the book link: Amazon UK

 About the Author


Retired lawyer, and still active charity worker, living in Kent,with a keen interest in European history, who's published six novels including Aliza, my love and Ravishment.

 

My first book, Ellen’s Gold is a historical drama set in the early nineteenth century. This was followed by My Enemy, my love set in the First World War and I think he was George, a drama also set in that era. I then published Shamila, a story of forbidden love between a Moslem and a non-Moslem, set in the near future, before in the last year publishing Ravishment, which is whodunnit, set in 17th century England. Finally, this was followed by Aliza, my love, which is set in Nazi Germany.

Thanks to James Walker and Anne Cater of Random Things Tours for the extract and a place on the tour. 

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