Jude Knight's Blog, page 52
October 24, 2021
Tea with James, Duke of Winshire
An excerpt post, taken from To Claim the Long-Lost Lover .
Winshire looked around as he knocked on the door. The cottage had been kept in good repair, but nevertheless had an air of abandonment. He was trying to nail down what details indicated it was unloved in when the door opened. He turned to ask to be shown to his hostess, or allowed to wait for her inside until she could see him. There she stood, her warm smile the only welcome he needed.
He could feel his own smile growing in response. “Eleanor.”
The Duchess of Haverford stepped back to give him space to enter. “James. Come in!”
He followed her across a small entrance hall to a cosy little parlour, where a fire burned in the hearth and a tray with a tea set waited on a small table between two chairs. Eleanor took the seat closest to the tea pot and waved her hand to the other. “Be seated, dear friend. Would you care for tea?”
Tea was not what he hungered for. For ten years after Mahzad’s death, he had thought himself beyond desire, but Eleanor brought it roaring back the first time he saw her on his return to England. Getting to know her again had only increased his longing; she was even lovelier, both within and without, than when they had first met long ago, before her father accepted the Duke of Haverford’s suit for her hand, and rejected that of James, who was only the third son of the Duke of Winshire.
James was forced into exile and Eleanor was made to marry Haverford.
He kept his feelings to himself. If he told her his hopes, and if she shared them, he didn’t trust himself to be alone with her like this without besmirching his honour and insulting hers.
Eleanor was a married woman and virtuous, even if her husband was a monster. Even if the old devil was rotting from within and locked away for his own good and to protect the duchy. James accepted the offered seat and the cup of tea; asked after the duchess’s sons and wards and caught her up to date with his own family; exchanged comments on the war news and the state of the harvest.
“James,” she said at last, “I proposed this meeting for a reason.”
“To see me, I hope. Since Parliament went into recess and we both left London, I have missed our weekly visits to that little bookshop you frequent.”
Eleanor smiled, and James fancied that he saw her heart in her eyes for a moment, and it leapt to match his. But her smile faded and her lashes veiled her eyes. “That, too, my dear friend. I have missed you, too. But there is another matter I need to bring to your attention.”
She grimaced and gave her head a couple of impatient shakes. “It seems I am always muddying our time together with gossip and scandal. I am so sorry, James.”
“One day, I hope we will be able to meet without subterfuge, and for no reason but our pleasure,” James said. The last word was a mistake. He might be old, but at the word ‘pleasure’, his body was reminding him urgently that he was not yet dead.
Eleanor seemed unaffected, focused on whatever bad news she had to give him. “You are aware, I am sure, of the history of your niece Sarah’s ward?”
“Her son?” James queried. He had assumed Eleanor knew. She was a confidante of his sister-in-law.
“Indeed. What you may not know—what I have just found out—is that Society is making that assumption and spreading the story.”
James shook his head. “I guessed the gossips and busybodies would reach that conclusion, but without proof or confirmation, and with the family firmly behind her, the rumours will die.”
“True, if that was all. But James, you may not know—Sarah may not know—that her little boy’s father is back in England and, if my sources are accurate, seeking a bride.”
James stiffened. “The coward has returned?”
“As to that,” Eleanor said, “Grace always suspected that Sutton and Winshire had something to do with his disappearance, and it is being whispered that his father has recently bought him out of the navy, where he had worked his way up to being a surgeon.”
“And your sources are connecting Sarah and her child with this man?”
Eleanor shook her head. “Not yet. The two rumours are separate. But if the two of them meet, people may make connections. Especially if the child resembles his father.” She shrugged, even that small elegant movement unusually casual for the duchess. “It is all very manageable, James, but you needed to know.”
“I appreciate it, Eleanor.” He sighed. “English Society is more of a snake pit than the court of the Shah of Shahs or that of the Ottoman Sultan Khan.
October 23, 2021
Spotlight on Once Upon a Haunted Heart in Upon a Midnight Dreary
Many of your favorite Historical Romance authors have come together for a collection of never-before published stories inspired by true, legendary hauntings of the British Isles. These tales will give you a chill, a thrill, and have you reading them over and over. From the moors of Devon to the ballrooms of Regency London, and far north into the Scottish Highlands, these stories will bring you wistful dreams of legendary and haunting romance. You’ve never before experienced a collection like this by some of the very best authors in Historical Romance.
Authors in this anthology include:
Kathryn Le Veque
Caroline Lee
Chasity Bowlin
Hildie McQueen
Maggie Andersen
Mary Lancaster
Meara Platt
Violetta Rand
Alexa Aston
Anna Markland
Aubrey Wynne
Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Elizabeth Johns
Elizabeth Keysian
Emily E K Murdoch
Emily Royal
Heather McCollum
Anna St. Claire
Lynne Connolly
Maeve Greyson
Whitney Blake
Light your candle, lock your doors, and settle down to this smashing collection of darkly-tinged romantic stories with unforgettable heroes and magnificent ladies. Romance has never been so daring… or so haunting!
And if you hear a knock on your door… don’t answer it unless you are prepared to welcome a wandering wraith in a tattered wedding gown…
Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/upon-a-midnight-dreary-a-halloween-anthology/id1555350770
https://books.apple.com/us/book/upon-a-midnight-dreary-a-halloween-anthology/id1555350770
Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/upon-a-midnight-dreary-a-halloween-anthology
Excerpt from Anna St. Claire’s contributionOnce Upon a Haunted HeartSurrey, England
19 October 1813
The woman’s scream pierced the air as the pain of her child’s entrance into the world wracked her body.
“Please . . . I pray . . . something for the pain . . .”
“Is there something we can do to help?” begged her aunt.
The midwife tutted, shaking her head. “I am sorry, my dear.” The older woman picked up the small vial found next to the bed and held it to the light. “What ’ave ye done, my child? Who told ye to drink this? They do not use it when a pregnancy has gone to term.”
“The earl’s physician said it would ensure an easier delivery,” Melinda huffed in pain.
“The earl’s physician gave you this?” Her aunt’s eyes rounded in horror.
“No, he wrote it on paper and arranged it with the chemist . . .” her words fell off as realization of what she had done hit her and she feared for her child.
Melinda lay writhing in pain while the midwife took charge. She could not believe her stupidity. Her betrothed had promised to return after seeing his father. However, he had never returned. Nothing made sense. Daniel had seemed excited at the prospect of having a child. He had promised to wed her. He said he loved her.
Once the pregnancy had begun to show, her presence had caused speculation and her father risked losing customers. He had moved her to his sister-in-law’s home several towns away from her own, certain no one would recognize her or connect her to their family business.
The last months of the pregnancy had been difficult. Desperation had driven her to the earl’s door. She had explained her circumstances to her betrothed’s father and pleaded for a place to stay until he returned for her; his father had ridiculed her.
“He is not your betrothed,” the earl mocked her. “And there will be no wedding. Rather than wed you, he left on a trip.”
“Where did he go? Please tell me,” she begged.
The earl would not say. She had heard a rumor he had gone to fight with Wellington but could gain no confirmation.
“He made no mention of being betrothed,” scoffed the earl, staring down at her softly rounded belly.
“Please, my lord. ’Tis your son’s baby. I am carrying Daniel’s baby . . .” The door slammed shut. “. . . and I have no place to stay,” she finished, tears streaming down her face.
Several months later, she had received a visit from a man claiming to be the earl’s physician. He claimed the earl had sent him, saying the earl had reconsidered helping her and sent her funds for the comfort of her and her baby, but requested she never seeks him out again. It had been a substantial amount of money—two hundred pounds. The physician had arranged for the vial, assuring her he had secured it to gain her comfort in her pregnancy, and instructed her to take it when the pain started.
She had never shown it to anyone. When she started cramping, she tried the medicine. Almost immediately, the cramping had worsened, and the pain had grown to such an intensity, it was as if the baby was ripping itself from her womb. Her aunt had summoned the midwife and sent word to her brother-in-law.
Too late, she realized the intent of the doctor’s visit—if he had even been a physician. Melinda had allowed the earl’s offer of money to cloud her judgment, and as a result, both lives—hers and her baby’s—were threatened.
A pain like no other rent her body as the child’s head finally showed itself and the lusty wails of her daughter drowned out Melinda’s cry. Why did you leave us, Daniel? There was a strange comfort about her as her daughter emerged, and she would have sworn she could see Daniel’s face gazing down at the baby. “Daniel . . . you are here,” she cried, puzzled that his brown eyes spoke of heartbreak.
Weak but needing to touch the child, Melinda held out her arms, comforted when her aunt placed her daughter to her chest to suckle. Her body felt depleted and worn, quickly losing its strength. She could barely take a breath without effort. I am dying. But why is Daniel here? Her body shook, and the bleeding intensified.
“The bleeding is getting worse. Someone, please, help my niece,” her aunt cried, putting cold cloths on her niece’s head and frantically pushing her hair from her face.
“There is no hope for ’er,” the midwife whispered in a choked voice. “I fear the girl ’as taken too much of the vial to stop it.”
“Danielle . . . her name . . . is Danielle,” Melinda rasped. Please, Aunt, please see she is cared for properly.”
“I will do my best, sweet niece,” her aunt sobbed, brokenly.
“I love you, Danielle. I shall always be near,” Melinda breathed, before kissing her daughter’s forehead and handing the child to her aunt. Conflicting emotions washed over her—joy, pain, and anger. Daniel’s specter beckoned her against the milieu of her daughter’s wails.
She struggled to fill her lungs once more. “May the earl know no peace, and there be no further union in his line until they acknowledge my daughter,” Melinda intoned as her life faded.
Meet Anna St Claire
Anna St. Claire is a big believer that nothing is impossible if you believe in yourself. She sprinkles her stories with laughter, romance, mystery and lots of possibilities, adhering to the belief that goodness and love will win the day.
Anna is both an avid reader author of American and British historical romance. She and her husband live in Charlotte, North Carolina with their two dogs and often, their two beautiful granddaughters, who live nearby. Daughter, sister, wife, mother, and Mimi—all life roles that Anna St. Claire relishes and feels blessed to still enjoy. And she loves her pets – dogs and cats alike, and often inserts them into her books as secondary characters.
Anna relocated from New York to the Carolinas as a child. Her mother, a retired English and History teacher, always encouraged Anna’s interest in writing, after discovering short stories she would write in her spare time.
As a child, she loved mysteries and checked out every Encyclopedia Brown story that came into the school library. Before too long, her fascination with history and reading led her to her first historical romance—Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With The Wind, now a treasured, but weathered book from being read multiple times. The day she discovered Kathleen Woodiwiss,’ books, Shanna and Ashes In The Wind, Anna became hooked. She read every historical romance that came her way and dreams of writing her own historical romances took seed.
Today, her focus is primarily the Regency and Civil War eras, although Anna enjoys almost any period in American and British history. She would love to connect with any of her readers on her website – www.annastclaire.com, through email—annastclaireauthor@gmail.com, Instagram – annastclaire_author, BookBub – www.bookbub.com/profile/anna-st-claire,Twitter – @1AnnaStClaire, Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/authorannastclaire/ or on Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/Anna-St-Claire/e/B078WMRHHF?ref=.
October 21, 2021
British Newspapers Archive online
In among painting door frames and resorting cupboards so we can organise the garage, I’ve been doing a job I’ve had in mind for a while: writing a list of the types of article to be found in Regency newspapers, which I access through British newsletter archive. It’s an initiative between the British Library and Find My Past to digitise the British Library’s vast collection of newspapers, and I can spend hours reading news items, classified advertising, theatre reviews, market reports, Court news, and Society gossip. It’s a time suck, but it is also fascinating.
https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/
I’m currently reading newspapers from the week beginning 15 November 1815, when they report the news from Paris: Marshall Ney successfully argued that the Council of War had no status to try him for treason, and his case was referred to the Council of Peers. Also, the fashion leaders of Paris prescribed turbans for evening wear. White or Black, with perhaps a feather.
October 19, 2021
Animal companions on WIP Wednesday
This week’s excerpt from Lord Cuckoo Comes Home could also be called “courting with monkey”. It’s from my next novella for the Bluestocking Belles. If you have an animal companion in one of your stories, please add an excerpt in the comments.
Chloe took his hand and allowed him to aid her balance as she climbed up to the seat. “I hope you don’t mind, Lord Dom. I had to leave Rosario at home this morning while I was at Lady Seahaven’s writing thank-you letters, since the schoolroom party were not home to entertain her. Aunt Swithin promised to take her out and let her play in the garden, but she forgot, so the poor beast was shut in her cage from the time I left until I got home.”
Lord Dom went around to his side of the curricle, took his own seat, and held out his hand for Rosario to shake, distracting the monkey from her focus on the boy with the horses. “You are very welcome, Sister Rosario.” He grinned at Chloe. “She adds a certain air of adventure to our outings, do you not think?”
Chloe blushed at the sly reference to Rosario’s escapades. Earlier in the week, she had climbed a tree in Tower Gardens and refused to come down until Lord Dom had borrowed a ladder from the gardeners’ shed, whereupon she had climbed down the other side of the tree. If Emma and Merry had not cornered her, she would have been up another before Chloe could have reached her.
Two days ago, she had stolen an ice from a passing waiter, tasted it, then thrown it with unerring accuracy at the back of the waiter’s retreating head. Lord Dom had soothed the man’s irritation with a large gratuity.
Then there was the concert, where Rosario conceived a passion for the brooch on the hat of the dowager in the next row, and reached out to snatch it when Chloe became lost in the music. Had it not been for Lord Dom’s quick action—the monkey’s hand was within an inch of the target when he jerked her back by her leash—the ensuing apologies for Rosario’s complaints would have been for a much worse offence.
“I will keep tight hold of her today,” Chloe promised.
“Or I will,” Lord Dom agreed. His smile warmed away her embarrassment. “She does not mean to cause mischief, I know. We will endeavor to keep her out of trouble, you and I.”
October 16, 2021
Spotlight on Defiant Daughter
When the old Earl of Clarion leaves a will with bequests for all his children, legitimate and not, listing each and their mothers by name, he complicated the lives of many in the village of Ashmead.
One sleepy village
One scandalous will
Four tormented heirs
The Defiant Daughter — Buy now! Only 99c until release on 21st OctoberMadelyn assumed marriage as an old man’s ornament would be better than life with her abusive parents. She was wrong.
Now the widowed Duchess of Glenmoor, she wrestles with ugly memories and cultivates a simple life. She is content. At least, she was until her half-brother returned to Ashmead bringing a friend with knowing eyes and coal black hair to capture her thoughts.
Colonel Brynn Morgan’s days as an engineer in his father’s coal mines in Wales are long behind him. With peace come at last and Napoleon gone, he makes a life for himself analyzing the reports about military and naval facilities worldwide for a shadowy government department. What income he has is committed elsewhere. He has nothing to offer a wife, much less a dowager duchess.
More lies between the duchess and the man she wants than money and class. They have personal demons to slay.
PREORDER LINK: https://bit.ly/TheDefiantDaughter
GiveawayTo celebrate the launch, Caroline will give a copy of any of her books to one randomly selected person who comments. They can choose from the books found here:
Award winning author Caroline Warfield has been many things: traveler, librarian, poet, raiser of children, bird watcher, Internet and Web services manager, conference speaker, indexer, tech writer, genealogist—even a nun. She reckons she is on at least her third act, happily working in an office surrounded by windows where she lets her characters lead her to adventures in England and the far-flung corners of the British Empire. She nudges them to explore the riskiest territory of all, the human heart.
Visit Caroline’s Website and Blog Meet Caroline on Facebook Follow Caroline on Twitter Email Caroline directly Subscribe to Caroline’s newsletter Amazon Author
Good Reads Bluestocking Belles BookBub
October 12, 2021
Fortune hunters and other reasons for marriage on WIP Wednesday
In the following excerpt, the hero of my secret project is meeting with his solicitor, who is proposing a marriage of convenience with a wealthy woman. It’s a common trope in romance, and of course, they will fall in love. Do you have an excerpt where the couple marry for reasons other than that they are in love? Please share it in the comments.
His solicitor leaned forward a little, his eyes intent on Peter. “Another of my clients has commissioned me to find her a husband, Lord Ransome. Her need is urgent and imperative.”
An obvious reason for haste occurred. “Pregnant, is she? I’ve no wish to make someone else’s son my heir, Richards.”
“No, my lord. My client is a lady and a maiden. I am authorised to explain her reasons, but only if you agree to consider the marriage. The lady does not wish her identity to be known or her circumstances to be discussed except with the candidates for her hand.”
Peter’s brows twitched upwards. “Candidates? I am not the only person to whom you are putting this proposition?”
“The lady commissioned me to select candidates and send them to her for interview, my lord. She will make the final decision.” He nodded, firmly. “After all, she will live with the results.”
“She, and her chosen groom,” Peter pointed out. “I wish the lady well, Richards, but I am not minded to sell myself in such a way.”
Richards set his jaw, examining the blotter on his desk as if it contained some secret he could interpret if he stared for long enough. “You will forgive me, my lord, if I point out that your other choices are untenable. You have cut your outgoings to the bone, and yet you will still not have sufficient money to pay the mortgages when they fall due, let alone the other more pressing debts.”
Peter protested, “You advised me not to let staff go nor to begin selling off everything that is not entailed!”
Richards nodded. “I advised you not to frighten your creditors by behaving as if you were insolvent. You and I needed time to come to terms with what might be done. But, my lord, you are insolvent. I must change my advice. If you will not consider an advantageous marriage, then you must make haste to sell whatever you can.”
“It won’t be enough!”
“No, my lord.” Richards sat back in his seat, his hands in front of him on the desk, keeping his gaze steady.
“I daresay I could find an heiress on my own.” He had a little time, surely? The mortgages were not due until next quarter day, and Richards could continue to put his creditors off a little longer.
The solicitor tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Yes, my lord. A wealthy merchant’s daughter, perhaps.”
Peter sighed. “You think I am cutting off my nose to spite my face. Very well, Richards. I will consider your lady. Tell me why I should agree to be one of the supplicants for her favour.” He wrinkled his nose at the thought of being interviewed by the would-be bride, like a footman or a groom anxious to win a position.
October 10, 2021
Tea with Ruth, Countess of Ashbury
The new Countess of Ashbury was the Duchess of Haverford’s only guest today. She was shown out to the terrace where her grace sat taking the sunshine while looking over the gardens that sloped to the river. Her curtsey was gracefulness incarnate, and her looks not at all in the common way, but stunning.
“Your Grace, thank you for your invitation,” she said.
Eleanor waved to the chair that had been placed next to her own, and at an angle to it so that she could keep her eyes on her visitor’s face. “My goddaughter Sophia encouraged me to do so, Lady Ashbury. She tells me you have a charitable project that I might be interested in supporting. But first, let us have tea and talk about our families and the weather.”
Lady Ashbury’s amused smile flashed. “I shall feel very English,” she said.
She stated her preferences—black, with a slice of lemon and one lump of sugar–and accepted the cup Eleanor poured. “I have not thanked you in person for your influence in the matter of my sister-in-law, and the scandal she tried to raise,” she said.
Eleanor never did anything so crass as shrugging her shoulders, but she allowed her eyebrows to do so. “You blunted the worst of the rumours when you married Lord Ashbury,” she pointed out. “You are happy, I hope? Sophia tells me it is a love match.”
The glow in Lady Ashbury’s eyes, the softening of her voice, all confirmed the diagnosis. “Yes, Your Grace. I love Val, and I love his–our daughters. We would have come to it in the end, I believe. Elspeth Ashbury did us a favour by forcing us to decide sooner, rather than later.”
“Tell me about your daughters,” Eleanor encouraged. “Lady Mirabelle and Lady Genevieve, are they not?”
Ruth needed no further encouragement, extolling the talents and characters of her girls while they drank their tea. However, when Eleanor put her cup aside, she brought her current anecdote to a close, and commented, “But I have been rattling on about my family, which is hardly good manners, Your Grace. Will you further extend your kindness to me by allowing me to rattle on about my cottage hospital instead?”
“A cottage hospital! How interesting. Please tell me more.”
***
Ruth is the heroine of To Mend the Broken Hearted. She meets the Earl of Ashbury when she delivers his two daughters to him after they are sent home from school during a smallpox epidemic. By To Claim the Long-Lost Lover, she is running the cottage hospital mentioned above.
October 9, 2021
Spotlight on The Journey of Love
Sometimes it takes getting lost to truly find one’s way home.
What happens when a blazing hot Brayden hero matches wits with a strong-willed Farthingale heroine and the mysterious Book of Love?
Camellia Farthingale, the youngest of the Devonshire Farthingale sisters, wants nothing to do with London and the Marriage Mart. However, she has agreed to go along with her sisters, Juniper and Willow, preferring to face the ordeal of a society debut with them rather than alone. But now her sisters have found love, and Cammy is on her own after all. She cannot go to London and runs away, for she harbors a secret she dares not tell anyone, not even Lorcan Brayden, the man charged with bringing her home. She has taken the Book of Love with her as she fled, but while reading it in quiet moments, she realizes that sometimes it takes running away to find the courage to face one’s fears. And that in pledging her heart to Lorcan she has found the strength to stand on her own.
Lorcan Brayden has been charged with finding Cammy and delivering her safely to London. He is determined to fulfill his mission since he is one of the Crown’s best agents and this is what he is trained to do. But he soon realizes there is more to Cammy’s fears than making her society debut. There is a killer waiting for her in London and she is the only one who can identify him. Lorcan has fallen in love with Cammy and will never let anyone hurt her. But even with all his training and prowess, can he protect the woman he loves? Especially as Cammy gains the courage to stand on her own?
Not every journey is measured in miles. Join Lorcan and Cammy as they take their Journey of Love.
Buy link: https://bit.ly/TheJourneyOfLove
October 6, 2021
Announcing the Grand Prize winner
Congratulation to Zara
Zara’s name was drawn from nearly six hundred entries in the draw. She has won a print copy of To Wed a Proper Lady, a US$50 Amazon gift card, a personal card from me posted from New Zealand, and a made-to-order story. Zara got to decide on one character, one object, and a story trope. She has asked for a spirited heroine that is loyal to those she loves, adores animals and books. Her object is a locket, and the story trope is friends to lovers. I’m looking forward to coming up with something that uses those ingredients.
Thank you to all the people who entered. I hope you’ve had fun. I certainly have. And I think we can agree that Aldridge’s happy-ever-after has been well and truly celebrated.
October 5, 2021
Where does the story start–WIP Wednesday
Sometimes, the start comes first. Sometimes, I write my way towards it. Sometimes, I have to go back and tack one on when the book is nearly done. How about you? Do you have a work-in-progress beginning to share? My excerpt is from the story I’m putting in next week’s newsletter. It’s called The Abduction of Lydia Fernhill, and is not exactly a romance. (If you don’t get my newsletter, subscribe now for this and other exclusive stories.
In the village of Pluffington-on-Memmerbeck, the old folks still remember Lydia Fernhill’s wedding. How could they forget when the little ones still beg for the story? There they are, all wide eyed, when night draws in and the fire sinks low, and bedtime beckons. “Please, Granny (or Gaffer, as the case may be), tell us the story of the stolen bride?”
And Granny (or, as it might be, Gaffer) will tell what they witnessed with their own eyes, though how much the story was shaped by each onlooker, and how much it has grown with time, who can tell?
Certainly, it differs from house to house. So much so that Peggy Whitlow has not spoken to Maggie Cutler in ten years since they came to hair-pulling and scratching when they were only nine over whether the white rider was an angel or the elf king. And many a promising pugilist has got his start in a dusty lane defending the honour of Miss Lydia from the accusation that she planned the whole thing.
Still, every child in the village knows the essence of the tale. The bride, plain, pale-faced and drooping. The groom with his face set like stone. The bride’s uncle chivvying them up the aisle. Then the north transept doors crashing open (some say exploding, but if so, someone did a good job of repair, for there they are today for any child to see, ancient oak, worn by time).
The storytellers agree on the troop of riders. Did they trot or gallop or merely walk in through the great doors?
They were beautiful, all make that clear, and the man (or angel or devil or elf-king) at their head was the loveliest of all. Dressed in white, crowned in gold, with long flowing locks. Jewels glittering from rings and brooches and even the cuffs of his boots. A long cloak (or perhaps wings) streaming behind him.
The old folks are in unison again on the bride’s reaction. “She came alive,” says Granny Smithers. “Straightened. Smiled with such joy that she looked beautiful for the first time in her life, poor lady.”
The rider, without stopping, stretched out his hand and Miss Lydia reached up and took it, put her foot on his in the stirrup, and was riding into the south transept before the groom had picked up his dropped jaw.
Some say he stood there, frozen. Some that he tried to drag her down and was shouldered aside by the following riders. However it might have been, the southern doors opened as mysteriously as those to the north, and closed behind the riders. “With a loud bang, and open they would not, not for all the trying in the world.”
Somehow, all the doors of the church had been closed and jammed. By the time someone had thought to put Gaffer Parslow, who at the time had been a skinny lad of ten, out the vestry window, so he could run around and remove the branch that had been shoved through the handles of the nearest doors, the riders were long gone.
Which proves, say some, that the invaders were human. Surely supernatural beings would have used magic, not branches. Others scoff, and point to the fact that Miss Lydia Fernhill had disappeared without a trace, never to be seen again. But whether to heaven or hell or to the land of Fairie, none of them can tell.
