Title: The Mazzard Tree

Series: The Hartford Manor Series

Author: Marcia Clayton

Blurb:

1880 North Devon, England

Annie Carter is a farm labourer’s daughter, and life is a continual struggle for survival. When her father dies of consumption, her mother, Sabina, is left with seven hungry mouths to feed and another child on the way. To save them from the workhouse or starvation, Annie steals vegetables from the Manor House garden, risking jail or transportation.  Unknown to her, she is watched by Robert, the wealthy heir to the Hartford Estate, but far from turning her in, he befriends her.

Despite their different social backgrounds, Annie and Robert develop feelings they know can have no future.  Harry Rudd, the village blacksmith, has long admired Annie, and when he proposes, her mother urges her to accept.  She reminds Annie, that as a kitchen maid, she will never be allowed to marry Robert.  Harry is a good man, and Annie is fond of him.  Her head knows what she should do, but will her heart listen?

Set against the harsh background of the rough, class-divided society of Victorian England, this heart-warming and captivating novel portrays a young woman who uses her determination and willpower to defy the circumstances of her birth in her search for happiness.

Buy Links:

This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited

Universal Link:           http://mybook.to/TheMazzardTree

Amazon UK:               https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08R65BLQV

Amazon US:               https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08R65BLQV

Amazon CA:               https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B08R65BLQV

Amazon AU:               https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B08R65BLQV

Barnes and Noble:      Barnes & Noble: The Mazzard Tree

Allauthor:                    https://allauthor.com/author/marciaclayton/

All the books in The Hartford Manor Series can be ordered from any bookshop.

Excerpt:

Sabina dried her hands and signalled Annie to do the same, and then they followed Hannah into her house. Chickens ran in and out, leaving a mess all over the floor. Tommy, the youngest child, was crawling around in all the filth, for although he was two, he had rickets and could not walk. His face was covered in sores, and his nose was running. Rachael, at four, was sitting by her sick sister’s bed, tugging her hand.

“Come an’ play with me, Mary.”

Annie picked up Rachael and settled her on her knee. Rachael loved the attention and Tommy crawled up to sit on the other knee. Annie wiped his nose, brushed his brown curly hair out of his eyes, and gave them both a cuddle. She wondered if her own hair would be crawling with lice by the time she went home.

Sabina put her hand on Mary’s forehead, which was hot, and the child was pale and listless. “What’s the matter, Mary?  Where does it hurt?”

Mary pointed to her throat and whispered hoarsely, “It hurts in there, and my head, and everywhere.”

“Never mind, we’ll soon have you better, don’t worry. Could you eat some stew?”

Mary shook her head miserably. She was six years old, but small for her age, and Sabina could see many clusters of nits stuck to her wispy brown hair.

“Sabina, I could eat some stew if you’ve any to spare, and I’ll bet Rachael and Tommy could manage some too.”

Hannah, and her husband, John, were both fat and lazy, but the children were thin, dirty, and ill-kempt. Sabina’s eyes flashed with anger.

“I’ve plenty of food in my kitchen, Hannah because I work hard. I’ll take Rachael and Tommy home with me to have some, and I’ll bathe them too because they’re filthy. I know you’re poor but look at the state of this place. When did you last clean up, or do any cooking? Or does all your money go on that bloody scrumpy?  I’m sorry, but it’s time someone told you a few home truths; you should be ashamed of yourself. Now, I could leave Annie here with you, if she’ll stay, to help you clean up. I’ll come back at teatime, and if the place is clean, I’ll bring rabbit stew for all of you. Just this once though, for you have a man to provide for you, which is more than I have.”

“How dare you!  It’s none of your business how I keep my house. Things have got on top of me a bit, that’s all.”

“Please yourself then; it’s no odds to me. Mary certainly isn’t well, but it might just be a nasty cold. Now, do you want Annie’s help, or not?  It’s up to you.”

“Aye, I suppose the place could do with a bit of a clean, and you’ll bring enough supper for all of us?”

“Yes, I’ll bring some later, and see how Mary is. Annie, would you mind helping Hannah?”

Annie, facing away from Hannah, pulled a face and screwed up her nose, but she nodded. Sabina grinned as she left with the two children. As she entered her own cottage, Sabina called to Liza.

“Liza, could you put a couple of pans of water on the fire, please? I want to bathe these two. I don’t suppose they’ve ever had a bath, so they may not think a lot to it, but they certainly need one.”

Sabina explained about Mary, and how Annie was helping Hannah to clean up.

“She’s a lazy slut, that woman, and it will soon be like it again, you know. She’s too lazy to lift a finger to care for that family properly, and her mother was just the same. They don’t deserve to have children, and they don’t deserve your help either, Sabina. Goodness, you’ve enough to do to feed and look after your own.”

“Aye, you’re right, of course, but I felt so sorry for the children. It isn’t their fault, and Mary, poor little thing, she was so poorly.”

Liza pulled the old tin bath in front of the fire and filled it with warm water. Rachael and Tommy sat wide-eyed, anxiously watching the activity around them. Sabina decided to start with Rachael and sat her on her knee.

“Now, Rachael, I’m going to take off these dirty clothes and bathe you. You’ll like it in that lovely warm water, and afterwards, you’ll feel much better. Then we’ll see if we can find you something clean to wear, while I wash your clothes.”

Sabina gently undressed the little girl, chatting all the time as she lowered her into the bath. Rachael went stiff with fright and kept her legs rigid. She started to thrash about and scream.

“No, no, don’t. I don’t wanna get wet. No, don’t. Let me go! Mummy, I want my mummy. Don’t.”

Sabina held her gently, but firmly. “Come on, Rachael, I want you to show Tommy what a big, brave girl you are. You’ll like it in the water when you sit down, and if you let me wash you, I’ll find you a bowl of rabbit stew, with a big slice of bread. Are you hungry?”

At the mention of food, Rachael immediately became more cooperative and sat down gingerly. She still seemed frightened, but as Sabina began to splash the warm water gently over her tiny body, she began to relax. It saddened Sabina to see that she was covered in flea bites, and her hair was crawling with lice. There were also a few suspicious bruises. Gently, Sabina soaped the grime from the child’s body, cut her hair short, and then washed what was left to get rid of the lice. Rachael began to enjoy herself and suddenly grinned at Sabina.

“This is nice like you said. I like it in here. Can I stay a bit longer?”

Sabina let her stay a few minutes longer, then lifted her out and dried her. She reached for an old blue dress and popped it over Rachael’s head.

“There, you look beautiful now. Liza will give you some stew for being so brave. Right then, Tommy, it’s your turn now, but I think we’ll need some clean water first.”

About the Author:

Marcia Clayton was born in North Devon, a rural and picturesque area in the far South West of England. She is a farmer’s daughter and often helped to milk the cows and clean out the shippens in her younger days.

When Marcia left school she worked in a bank for several years until she married her husband, Bryan, and then stayed at home for a few years to care for her three sons, Stuart, Paul and David. As the children grew older, Marcia worked as a Marie Curie nurse caring for the terminally ill, and later for the local authority managing school transport.

Now a grandmother, Marcia enjoys spending time with her family and friends. She’s a keen researcher of family history, and it was this hobby that inspired some of the characters in her books. A keen gardener, Marcia grows many of her own vegetables. She is also an avid reader and mainly enjoys historical fiction, romance and crime books.

Social Media Links:

Website:                                 https://marciaclayton.co.uk/

Twitter:                                   https://twitter.com/MarciaC89111861

Facebook:                               Marcia Clayton – Author | Facebook

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Book Bub:                               https://www.bookbub.com/authors/marcia-clayton

Amazon Author Page:            Amazon: Marcia Clayton

Goodreads:                             Marcia Clayton: Goodreads

Title: A Turbulent Peace

Author: Paul Walker

Blurb:

January 1919.

Following the armistice, Mary Kiten, a volunteer nurse in northern France, is ready to return home to England when she receives a surprise telegram requesting that she report to Paris. The call comes from her Uncle Arthur, a security chief at the Peace Conference.

Within minutes of arriving at the Majestic Hotel in Paris, Mary hears a commotion in the street outside. A man has been shot and killed. She is horrified to earn that the victim is her uncle. The police report the attack as a chance robbery by a known thief, who is tracked down and killed resisting arrest.

Mary is not convinced. Circumstances and the gunshot wound do not indicate theft as a motive. A scribbled address on Arthur’s notepad leads to her discovery of another body, a Russian Bolshevik. She suspects her uncle, and the Russian, were murdered by the same hand.

To investigate further, Mary takes a position working for the British Treasury, headed by J M Keynes.

But Mary soon finds herself in the backstreets of Paris and the criminal underworld.

What she discovers will threaten the foundations of the congress.

Buy Links:

This book is available to read on #KindleUnlimited

Universal Link: mybook.to/ATurbulentPeace

Amazon UK: https://amz.run/5nFO

Amazon US: https://amz.run/5nFM

Amazon CA: https://amz.run/5nFS

Amazon AU: https://amz.run/5nFT

Excerpt:

I wrote a letter to Bonnet to outline why I suspected the involvement of Fournier and Crozier. I detailed how I chanced upon Crozier but offered nothing on the source of Fournier’s name. Surely, Bonnet would understand why. I sealed my note in an envelope, addressed it as, “Privé et Confidentiel”, and “Seulement Pour le Destinataire” on the reverse, then hand-delivered it by taxi during my lunch break.

I expected to hear back from Bonnet, but perhaps not so quickly. It was shortly after five that same day. Most had just left the schoolroom. Keynes, Pinchin and two others had departed earlier that afternoon to meet French and American finance teams at the Quai d’Orsay, leaving me to finish and tidy up the main office with Jack.

‘Mademoiselle Kiten.’

I heard Bonnet before I saw him. I turned and saw his bulky frame filling the open doorway, standing with sad, wide eyes gazing around our schoolroom, slowly rotating a bowler hat in front of his middle.

‘Chief Inspector Bonnet, this is a surprise. Welcome to the British Treasury’s temporary home, or as we like to call it, our “research library”.’

He nodded his head slowly, then started towards me with his curious, lumbering and unhurried gait. ‘I attended this school as a young boy.’ He shook his head. ‘More years have passed since than I care to count. Of course, it is a school no longer. I was thinking; the place had hardly changed until I opened this door.’ He lifted his head and circled a hand in a wide arc to encompass the entire space. ‘The assembly hall has quite transformed from my memories of morning worship, the headmaster’s daily oration and his… special punishments.’

I made no comment, not wanting to disturb his recollections and musings. The way his body appeared to shudder as he spoke the last words led me to wonder if he was the subject of one or more of those “special punishments”. When he finally directed his attention at me, I asked, ‘Did you receive my letter?’

‘Yes, of course. May we talk; somewhere more private?’

I signalled to Jack that it was alright for him to leave. I arranged a couple of chairs by my desk, and we waited in silence until Jack closed the door behind him, and we were alone. Keynes had got into the habit of locking his office when he wasn’t there. I apologised to Bonnet, explaining that I couldn’t get into Keynes office to offer him more comfort and a drink. He looked at his watch and shook his head vigorously as though a drink at that hour was an absurd suggestion. He was in no hurry and continued to contemplate his surroundings before delving into the ample folds of his suit jacket to retrieve a sheet of paper. I guessed it was my letter.

‘Thank you for the name and address of the photographer, Miss Kiten. Have you visited Mr Crozier in his studio?’

‘No.’

‘As I understand from your letter, you recognised this man when he came to the Majestic some two days past. Later that day, you came to my office, but you failed to mention him then. Was there a reason you delayed the disclosure of his name?’

‘I wasn’t absolutely sure it was the same man I had seen at the incident on Rue Lauriston. I had a half-formed plan to meet him again, to settle the matter one way or the other, but I thought it better to inform you now and delay no further.’

‘It is a great pity you did not advise me of your suspicions the same day.’

‘Why?’

He placed the paper on my desk and smoothed it deliberately and gently as though stroking a lover’s hair. ‘An unnecessary death may have been avoided; a life saved.’ Finished with the paper, he directed his gaze at me. ‘When my men arrived at Crozier’s studio, they found him dead.’

‘Dead. How? How did he die?’

‘Crozier was known to be a morphine addict. An initial report stated that circumstances indicated a probable accidental overdose of the drug using a hypodermic syringe. I went to Crozier’s studio myself with a doctor and came away with a different interpretation. There was bruising around Crozier’s wrists and neck, with traces of blood and skin under his fingernails. Taking account of broken glass and overturned furniture as signs of a struggle, we were left in no doubt that an overdose was the cause of death, but it was not self-administered.’

‘A murder?’ I knew from experience how quickly addiction came and how easy it was to end a life with an over-generous measure of morphine. I had dispensed a fatal dose myself once, out of kindness to relieve horrific suffering when there was no chance of recovery. But why would anyone murder Crozier, and was his killing connected to the attack on Keynes? ‘You mean… he was murdered by… injecting with morphine?’

‘Exactly, Miss Kiten. You will understand now why you should have given me his name as soon as you were able.’

‘Yes, I see I was foolish, and I am sorry.’ I hesitated before asking, ‘Do you think his killing was linked in any way to the attack and entrapment planned in Rue Lauriston?’

He puffed air through his lips and looked at me as though I should be ashamed to ask. ‘Why not? Of course, it may have been a coincidence, and he was involved in another dangerous intrigue that led to his killing.’ He shrugged. ‘But until and unless we learn of an alternative explanation, we must assume he was murdered to make sure he could not inform on his partners in the crime against you and Mr Keynes.’

About the Author:

Paul lives in a village 30 miles north of London where he is a full-time writer of fiction and part-time director of an education trust. His writing in a posh garden shed is regularly disrupted by children, a growing number of grandchildren and several dogs.

Paul writes historical fiction. The William Constable series of historical thrillers is based around real characters and events in the late sixteenth century. The first two books in the series – “State of Treason” and “A Necessary Killing”, were published in 2019. The third book, titled “The Queen’s Devil”, was published in the summer of 2020.

Travel forward a few hundred years from Tudor England to January 1919 in Paris and the setting for Paul’s latest book, “A Turbulent Peace”. The focus of the World is on the Peace Conference after WW1 armistice. Add a dash of Spanish Flu, the fallout from the Russian Revolution, and you have a background primed for intrigue as nations strive for territory, power and money.

Social Media Links:

Website: https://paulwalkerauthor.co.uk

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