Stephanie Abbott's Blog, page 25
February 13, 2012
Goodreads Giveaway for Protection
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Goodreads Book Giveaway
by S.A. Reid
Giveaway ends March 12, 2012.
See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.
Filed under: Stephanie Abbott
February 12, 2012
Available in Paperback: PROTECTION
Protection is now available in paperback! For those who might not have taken a look, here's the blurb and a sample:
When Gabriel MacKenna enters Wentworth Prison in 1931, he promises himself two things: never to be buggered and never to turn prison queer. Tough, smart, and ruthless in a fight, he quickly makes a name for himself inside. But Gabriel, saved from the noose by a social crusader, is serving two life sentences. And life is a very long time to endure Wentworth with no comforts but prison food, card games and cigarettes. To survive endless days without the touch of another human being…
Five years after Gabriel's incarceration, Joey Cooper arrives at Wentworth. Every convict claims imprisonment through a miscarriage of justice, but Joey is truly blameless. Trained at Oxford as a physician, the young doctor is innocent of prison culture and too handsome for his own good. Facing eighteen years behind Wentworth's towering gates, Joey cannot hope to survive without protection. And protection is just what Gabriel MacKenna offers. At a price…
New inmates came to Wentworth Men's Prison on Sunday afternoons. They arrived by bus, shuffling single file down the vehicle's steps and into the exercise yard. Gabriel MacKenna knew precisely what awaited them. First they would be marched to the infirmary, where their leg irons would be unlocked and a cursory medical exam would follow. Then the new men would be led down Wentworth's long green and white halls to be kitted out. Jeers and laughter rang through the crisp spring air as the inmates emerged, but Gabriel didn't join in. He stood quietly in the shadow of the watchtower, smoking a Pall Mall and taking their measure.
Gabriel loved the taste of Pall Malls. Convicts detained at His Majesty's Pleasure in April 1936 were issued half an ounce of plain tobacco and a dozen cigarette papers each month, but Gabriel was so skilled at cards, he rarely rolled his own. Wentworth was a modern facility, host to several experimental programs and far removed from its Victorian roots. Gone were the days when prisoners were masked, referred to by number and forbidden to speak to the guards. At Wentworth, the guards were encouraged to mix with the prisoners and provide a wholesome example. Gabriel wasn't sure if gambling with McCrory, Buckland and the other F-block guards had strengthened his moral fiber, but it kept him supplied in Pall Malls. It also kept him informed about recent developments, including the details behind new inmates. None seemed likely to challenge Gabriel's supremacy in Wentworth.
The biggest, a bona fide village idiot named Benjamin Stile, kept his head down, shooting nervous looks at the gray stone walls and hugging himself tight. Apparently in the village he hailed from, idiots were treated gently. And perhaps Stile was innocent of the charges, like so many morons condemned by British justice. Or guilty only in a manner of speaking. Either way, Gabriel had no interest in him, because all Stiles had was bulk. To take on Gabriel, a newcomer needed more than mere size.
The last man in line moved slowly, forced to do a hop-step each time the chains pulled tight. He was trying to take it all in – not just the outer wall, erected in 1876, but the watch tower, manned by two guards, and Wentworth itself, old and new. "Old Wentworth" was the original building, four wings radiating off a central area called the Roundabout. A, B, C and D block were there, each cell exactly twelve foot by seven foot. The new prison, constructed in 1910, was a three-story building containing offices, a cafeteria and the infirmary. E, F and G blocks were smaller, but their cells were large enough to house two men.
"Cooper!" bawled Llewellyn, the guard bringing up the rear. "Keep up!"
Gabriel's cigarette halted midway to his mouth. Cooper? Dr. Cooper, the convict McCrory had told him about?
Gabriel stepped out of the watchtower's shadow for a better look. Cooper was no more than twenty-five, with thick ginger-brown hair and wide eyes. Of medium height, he was surprisingly well built for a professional man. The prison uniform fit snug across his broad shoulders and tight against the nip of his waist, the curve of his ass …
Within hours, the name and story came to Gabriel. Joseph Cooper was a newly qualified doctor convicted of malpractice and gross negligence. Educated at Oxford, Cooper had joined the practice of a well-respected physician in Kent. When Lady Wheaton, wife of Baron Wheaton, went into labor with her first child, Cooper had been entrusted with her care. And when the laboring woman went into distress, Cooper played the hero, attempting to save her single-handedly. He'd confessed as much in writing – his pride, his overconfidence in his own abilities, his hope to be publicly acclaimed by Lord Wheaton. But Jane Wheaton, only twenty-one, had died, and her infant son had died with her. According to rumor, Cooper had attempted an emergency Caesarian, but that, too, had been hopelessly botched. The newspapers had described the scene in loving, lurid detail: Lord Wheaton bursting in to find blood-spattered walls, his young wife slashed open and the infant dead in Cooper's hands.
Lord Wheaton had wanted Cooper charged with double murder, leaning heavily on both the home secretary and the prime minister. But Cooper's physician status shielded him from capital prosecution; the Crown couldn't credibly argue he'd attacked Lady Wheaton, or harmed her through malice. Nevertheless, Cooper had received the maximum sentence for his crimes: eighteen years inside Wentworth, no possibility of parole.
Gabriel saw Joseph Cooper again that evening, in the common time between supper and "reconfinement," as Wentworth's progressive governor, Sanderson, preferred to say. Reconfinement replaced the old term: lockdown. The guard in charge of passing out linens greeted Cooper with passable friendliness.
"C'mon, mate, get yours while it's fresh."
Cooper lifted his chin, smiling back so warmly the guard blinked in surprise. "Ah. Right-o. Thanks very much."
"Talks like a toff, don't he?" Lonnie Parker sounded impressed. During common time he was often at Gabriel's elbow, if not directly beneath his feet.
"Like he's checking in at the goddamn Ritz-Carlton," Gabriel agreed, watching Cooper collect his striped pillow and gray blanket. Cooper's eyes were a very light blue, almost the color of the standard-issue blanket, and long-lashed. He was pale, too, a fellow Celt if Gabriel had even seen one, but pink-cheeked and vigorous, with a healthy bloom to those perfectly shaped lips.
"They say he's a doctor. A bad one." Lonnie loved parceling out bits of gossip he overheard while working in the infirmary, rolling bandages and scrubbing instruments. "Dr. Royal knew all about him."
Birds of a feather, Gabriel thought darkly. He hated doctors in general and Dr. Royal in particular. Gabriel hadn't seen the inside of the infirmary since his last mandatory physical exam, and even then, they'd had to threaten him with birching to make him comply. Corporal punishment was still very much a part of the British penal system. Not even Governor Sanderson was prepared to abolish the practice – public birching against bare buttocks for misdemeanors, an old-fashioned lashing across the back for serious misdeeds. All but the most defiant personalities took the threat seriously. Not even Gabriel would choose the birch over a mere half-hour in Dr. Royal's domain.
"Gabe." Lonnie pressed closer, lips brushing Gabriel's earlobe. "Fancy visiting the library?"
Lonnie didn't want to borrow a book. In fact, Gabriel had never seen the younger man read anything except the cafeteria's daily menu. But the library stacks were good for quick bits of mischief, especially Fiction A-Br, which was tucked in the library's back corner. After three months, Gabriel was already tired of Lonnie, but that glimpse of Cooper – chin lifted, smiling – had primed his pump.
"Go on. I'll meet you."
As Lonnie headed to the library, Gabriel hung back for a judicious interval, asking Tom Cullen to keep an eye on the library's entrance and Bobby Vincent to lurk near the card catalog. F-block men traded such favors all the time, without complaint and never demanding details. Of course, allowing Lonnie to get him off within earshot of Tom and Bobby was mildly embarrassing, yet necessary. To be surprised by a guard, even one like Buckland, who would break up the action but never report it, would have shamed Gabriel far worse.
The stacks had that familiar old scent, a mix of decaying paper, glue and old leather Gabriel had loved since childhood. Leaning against the steel bookcase, Gabriel unbuttoned his fly, closing his eyes as Lonnie knelt before him…
Buy Protection for just $3.59 in paperback here…
Filed under: Protection, S.A. Reid Tagged: gay, m/m romance, prison, protection, S.A. Reid
February 9, 2012
Rent Boys
Late in December I wrote a guest post for the Something Different blog tour that wasn't used by any of my hosts. It was 50% history and 50% naughtiness, about rent boys and male prostitution (dating back to the Regency) in England.
Anyway, Front Seat Romance was awesome enough to post it. For a look, go here.
Filed under: London, S.A. Reid, Something Different Tagged: Front Seat Romance, m/m romance, male prostitutes, rent boys, S.A. Reid, Something Different
February 7, 2012
Real Places in Victorian London: Rotten Row
Hyde Park and Rotten Row in 1833
To our modern (and especially American) ears, "Rotten Row" sounds like a desperate place, somewhere haunted by cut-purses and fallen women. But to prominent Victorian ladies, it was THE place to be seen on horseback in the afternoons and early evenings. Originally established in the seventeenth century as the King's private road, this long horse track along the Serpentine River in Hyde Park came to be known as "Rotten Row" — apparently a corruption of the French, La Route du Roi.
No Hacks Allowed
Hyde Park was an exclusive place; only those who kept their own horses and carriages were allowed. "Hacks," or hackney cabs, had been forbidden since 1695. Rotten Row was the place to show off your fine horses, your expensive phaeton, your new feathered hat and riding habit. And when it came to fashion on Rotten Row, the acknowledged trendsetter was Catherine Walters, better known as "Skittles."
Possibly the most famous Victorian courtesan
"Skittles"
When it came to style, flash, and all-around admiration, Catherine Walters ruled Rotten Row. Ironically, if not for her scandalous occupation — serving as the mistress of wealthy and titled men — she would have been one of those ordinary souls the "no hacks" rule shut out. Well-born, respectable ladies copied Skittles' "Princess" riding habit to the smallest detail; during the 1860s, huge crowds of sight-seers stood by the railing to watch her ride by. Her classic beauty was matched by her skill as a horsewoman.
This letter to the Times is thought to describe Skittles, though it does not name her:
"Expectation is raised to its highest pitch: a handsome woman drives rapidly by in a carriage drawn by thoroughbred ponies of surpassing shape and action; the driver is attired in the pork pie hat and the Poole paletot introduced by Anonyma; but alas!, she caused no effect at all, for she is not Anonyma; she is only the Duchess of A–, the Marchioness of B–, the Countess of C–, or some other of Anonyma's many imitators. The crowd, disappointed, reseat themselves, and wait. Another pony carriage succeeds – and another – with the same depressing result. At last their patience is rewarded. Anonyma and her ponies appear, and they are satisfied. She threads her way dexterously, with an unconscious air, through the throng, commented upon by the hundreds who admire and the hundreds who envy her. She pulls up her ponies to speak to an acquaintance, and her carriage is instantly surrounded by a multitude; she turns and drives back again towards Apsley House, and then away into the unknown world, nobody knows whither." — The Times, 3 July 1862, pg. 12 (Wikipedia)
The horse-track today
With the rise of the car, the social importance of Rotten Row faded away. But today the track is still used by the Royal Household Calvary. Celebrities like Skittles no longer frequent it, but not far away in another part of Hyde Park another iconic beauty and trendsetter, Princess Diana, is also remembered.
Princess Diana's Memorial Fountain
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Filed under: facts. victorian, History, London, Past Lives Series, Stephanie Abbott, victorian
February 1, 2012
Doré's Victorian London (and proof of reincarnation?)
An iconic image of a Victorian slum
Paul Gustave Doré
Gustave Doré (1823-1883) was a French artist best known for his engravings in wood and steel. Two of his most famous works are his illustrated Bible and London: A Pilgrimage. You can view much of his work at Project Gutenburg.
A peddlar
Note each backyard has its own outhouse.
Terrible traffic congestion and ad copy everywhere; in some ways, Victorian life wasn't so different
And finally, if they made a biopic…
… I know who should play him … Proof of reincarnation? Hmmm….
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Filed under: facts. victorian, Fun Stuff, Past Lives Series, Stephanie Abbott, victorian
January 31, 2012
Grave Robbing, or The Resurrection Men
Before Great Britain's Anatomy Act of 1832, which allowed medical schools to legally obtain a sufficient number of cadavers for study, getting a corpse to dissect was no simple matter. The Murder Act of 1752 stipulated only the bodies of executed murderers be used for such a purpose. As medical science improved, the need for fresh cadavers began to rapidly exceed the supply of executed murderers.
Enter the Resurrection Men
In the late Regency period and the early Victorian era, grave robbing paid quite well and wasn't particularly risky because it wasn't a felony. All the grave robber had to do was make certain he didn't help himself to any valuables buried along with the dead, such as an expensive piece of jewelry, and he had no fear of being executed for his crime.
Mort-Safe in Greyfriars Kirkyard to discourage grave robbing
Naturally, the bereaved fought back with vigils, watchmen, metal coffins, and even iron cages like the "Mort-Safe" above. Others may have quoted Shakespeare's own admonition to body snatchers:
victorian
January 30, 2012
The (Victorian) Experts Have Spoken
Part of plotting the Past Lives series was figuring out which steampunk inventions the Order created and used. Fortunately I came up with a specific use for goggles first!
Can't do steampunk without goggles
I tend to be skeptical of new technology, so it was hard to put myself in the place of Cassandra Masters's uncle Harry Fullbright. Harry, a very forward-thinking Victorian, has a home in Belgrave Square that's filled with blueprints, inventions, and prototypes. Writing about Harry made me wonder how the breakthrough inventions of the Victorian Era were viewed. Here's some of what I found:
"This 'telephone' has too many shortcomings to be seriously considered as a means of communication. The device is inherently of no value to us." — Western Union internal memo, 1876.
"Drill for oil? You mean drill into the ground to try and find oil? You're crazy." — Drillers who Edwin L. Drake tried to enlist to his project to drill for oil in 1859.
"Louis Pasteur's theory of germs is ridiculous fiction." — Pierre Pachet, Professor of Physiology at Toulouse, 1872.
"The abdomen, the chest, and the brain will forever be shut from the intrusion of the wise and humane surgeon." – Sir John Eric Ericksen, British surgeon, appointed Surgeon-Extraordinare to Queen Victoria, 1873.
"X-rays will prove to be a hoax." — William Thomson, Lord Kelvin, 1899.
"Everyone acquainted with the subject will recognize it as a conspicuous failure." — Henry Morton, president of the Stevens Institute of Technology, on Edison's light bulb, 1880.
"Rail travel at high speed is not possible, because passengers, unable to breathe, would die of asphyxia." — Dr. Dionysys Larder (1793-1859), professor of Natural Philosophy and Astronomy, University College, London
"Fooling around with alternating current is just a waste of time. Nobody will use it, ever." — Thomas Edison. American inventer, 1889
In the course of compiling these quotes, I discovered a rather well-known story about Queen Victoria refusing to believe in lesbians ("Such creatures do not exist") is a complete fabrication. Many of my older reference books list it as fact. But click herefor the real scoop.
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Filed under: cats, facts. victorian, Past Lives Series, Steampunk, Stephanie Abbott, victorian
January 26, 2012
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