A Tale of Two Murders (A Dickens of a Crime, Band 1) - Hardcover

Redmond, Heather

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1496717155 ISBN 13: 9781496717153

Verlag: Kensington, 2018

Inhaltsangabe

On the eve of the Victorian era, London has a new sleuth . . .
 
In the winter of 1835, young Charles Dickens is a journalist on the rise at the Evening Chronicle. Invited to dinner at the estate of the newspaper's co-editor, Charles is smitten with his boss's daughter, vivacious nineteen-year-old Kate Hogarth. They are having the best of times when a scream shatters the pleasant evening. Charles, Kate, and her father rush to the neighbors' home, where Miss Christiana Lugoson lies unconscious on the floor. By morning, the poor young woman will be dead.
 
When Charles hears from a colleague of a very similar mysterious death a year ago to the date, also a young woman, he begins to suspect poisoning and feels compelled to investigate. The lovely Kate offers to help—using her social position to gain access to the members of the upper crust, now suspects in a murder. If Charles can find justice for the victims, it will be a far, far better thing than he has ever done. But with a twist or two in this most peculiar case, he and Kate may be in for the worst of times . . .

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Though her last known British ancestor departed London in the 1920s, Heather Redmond is a committed anglophile, Dickens devotee, and lover of all things nineteenth century. She has lived in Illinois, California, and Texas, and now resides in a small town in Washington State with her husband and son.
 
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Website: www.heatherredmond.com
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A Tale of Two Murders

By Heather Redmond

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

Copyright © 2018 Heather Redmond
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4967-1715-3

CHAPTER 1

Brompton, outside of London, January 6, 1835

"Epiphany is truly the best of times," Charles Dickens exclaimed as his hostess carried a beautiful jam tart over from the sideboard. The enormous dessert, decorated traditionally for the holiday with star-shaped pastry and thirteen different-colored kinds of jam marking the six points, enticed with fruit and sugar scents.

Mrs. Hogarth's large family applauded as she set her creation in the center of the dining table, on top of an embroidered cloth depicting the Three Kings visiting the Christ child. Candlelight glittered over the egg- wash pastry, making Charles's mouth water, despite the tasty meal of roast, potatoes, and cabbage they had already finished. At the head of the table, George Hogarth hefted a clean knife, almost slicing off his bushy side whiskers.

"No, sir, it is the worst," teased his daughter, pretty Kate Hogarth, seated at Charles's side. "For, Father must bring home guests with whom we have to share my mother's lovely tart."

"You shall have your favorite jam," Charles promised, staring into the bright blue eyes of the nineteen-year-old daughter of the house. He'd been talking business with the coeditor of his newspaper all through the meal, but his eye kept alighting upon this fair maiden, despite the dozen other adults and children in the room. "Which one is it?"

"Gooseberry," she said with a blush. "But you must have your first choice. Why, you are Father's guest."

"I am only a new employee of the Evening Chronicle," declared Charles, "scarcely worth noticing."

"Fie," George Hogarth said, settling his free hand across his waistcoat. "Ye are our most promising journalist. To be so accomplished at a mere twenty-two years of age. Gives me hope, my lad."

"How exciting," Kate Hogarth said, eyes sparkling. "You must tell us what you've been writing about, Mr. Dickens."

When the initial sounds of approval from her children had diminished, the matriarch, Mrs. Hogarth, a decade younger than her graying husband, slid the tart down the table to him. Charles regaled them with the tale of a recent parliamentary debate he had reported upon, complete with a falling- down drunk Member of Parliament, a sneezing man-at-arms, and a speech that went on for three hours, until one poor elderly statesman, napping away, fell off the bench, after snoring so loudly that half the crowd was in hysterics.

By the time he had finished his tale, Miss Hogarth had clutched his sleeve to keep herself upright through her convulsive giggles. He was proud of his tailcoat with its black velvet collar. His gaze moved between her fingers, sliding on the new fabric, and the toothsome sight of the pie being sliced.

He turned guiltily toward his host, his dining companion on the opposite side. His stares were improper, but such a tempting morsel had never yet been set before a young man on the rise.

"What would ye like, Charles?" asked Mrs. Hogarth.

"One of the red ones, please," he enthused. "Miss Hogarth would love the green."

"Same as her mother," Mr. Hogarth said comfortably. "She does make an excellent gooseberry."

"Did you have a good Christmas, Mr. Dickens?" Miss Hogarth asked. Her Scottish accent was less pronounced than that of her parents. "Did you see your family?"

Charles took his plate of tart. The red jam was tucked inside a triangle of pastry. "My father is out beyond Hampstead, but the rest of the family is nearby. My brother Fred lives with me, in fact. I'm to supervise his education. My mother has her hands full with my two sisters and the two youngest, both boys."

"How nice to have family with ye," Mr. Hogarth said, as a child, perhaps four years old, climbed into his lap and burped loudly. "How old is Fred?"

"Fourteen." Charles grinned. "We had an excellent meal for my mother's birthday just before Christmas. But mostly I worked through the Twelve Days. I write for more than one newspaper, and since I am not a family man, it seemed best to take all the work I could, and relieve those with little children at home."

"Very decent of ye, sir," Mrs. Hogarth said, from the opposite end of the table, where she bounced a babe with enormous dark eyes on her knee. "But I am so glad ye could be with us tonight."

"Thank you for having me," Charles said, before turning irresistibly to the girl at his side. "Tell me, Miss Hogarth, when did you come here from Edinburgh?"

"About four years ago," she said. "I don't seem to have lost any of the Scottish in my voice."

"I find it charming," Charles declared. "It is easy to see that your family is a musical one, with the sweet tones of your voice and those of your sisters."

"We should have music when we are finished," Mr. Hogarth said, removing the child from his leg and finishing his dividing of the tart. "But you have a long walk home, I know."

"Where do you live?" Miss Hogarth asked, as her father passed out the final plates.

Charles watched the tart spread across the table. He had nothing like this in his bachelor lodgings, and his mother didn't have the money to prepare such treats either, with her husband on the run from his financial difficulties. "I live in Holborn, at Furnival's Inn. It's a quiet, rather gloomy place, nothing like here, with all the gardens and orchards surrounding your house. We live in close contact with our fellow man."

"As do we," Miss Hogarth said, pulling at a red ribbon that had come untied on the sleeve of her green dress. "See how many brothers and sisters I have?"

"My family is not small either," Charles said. "But how wholesome is it to feed your family from your own plot?"

"That is why I can make such lovely jam," Mrs. Hogarth said. "With Kate's help, of course."

Her daughter's lips curved with her mother's praise, but then her eyebrows went up and her mouth rounded into shocked surprise.

Charles heard the disturbance as well. It came from outside the snug house. "What was that?" He swiveled around toward the heavily curtained windows.

"Sounded like a scream." Mr. Hogarth set down his knife and rose.

He, Charles, and Miss Hogarth went to the window. Mr. Hogarth tied back one side of the winter-weight curtain so they could see. Charles cupped his eyes with his hands, trying to peer into the gloom, but mist had risen, undulating over the fallow vegetable beds. He couldn't see anything but the ghostly branches of distant, leafless apple trees, waving in the breeze.

Another scream. Miss Hogarth jumped and shivered.

"Who lives in the next house?" Charles asked.

Mr. Hogarth frowned. "It's a fine mansion. Lady Lugoson, a baron's widow, returned from France with her two children a few months ago."

"A widow alone?" Charles's voice sharpened. These houses were spread apart. Any amount of mischief might take place with no one noticing.

Mr. Hogarth nodded, his expression concerned.

"We must go to them," Miss Hogarth said, with an admirable sense of purpose.

"Mrs. Hogarth, will you light us a couple of lanterns?" her father suggested.

"Of course." Mrs. Hogarth tucked a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear and hurried away.

The younger children chattered as Charles and Miss Hogarth went to find his outer coat and her mantle. She pulled off her evening slippers, and he stealthily admired her small, narrow feet in the moment it took her to find her boots and pull them on. How perfectly made she was, and how far above...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Kensington
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2018
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1496717155
• ISBN 13: 9781496717153
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 352
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Dietmar Rusche; 15110751138; rusche.dietmar@gmx.de; ; Dr.-Willi-Bergmann-Str. 13; St. Andreasberg; 37444; Deutschland