Victorian mystery fiction as you’ve never read it before
–
from well below stairs.
The Belgravia Phantom
The Quill & Page Victorian Mysteries Book 1
by Ellis Blackwood
Genre: Historical Victorian Mystery
How do you prove you
didn’t scare Lady Pemberton to death with a phantom?
Such is Kate Quill’s quandary. The faked séance went horribly wrong, and now
Inspector Hartwell of Scotland Yard has her in his sights.
Kate’s poor. Seamstress poor. But what she lacks in the pocket, she makes up
for in allies.
There are her siblings. Daisy, the actress. Ned and Vi… There’s no way around
this – they’re petty thieves.
There’s Mrs McGinty, their formidable Irish landlady. There are Vi’s
Whitechapel Worthies, Little Till (adorable) and the Twins (quite odd).
And there is Frederick Page, former gentleman’s gentleman, chess aficionado,
lover of puzzles, and now reluctant partner in an unlikely Victorian detective
duo. Please, do not refer to him as Freddie, or he’ll be grasping for the
smelling salts.
Can this glorious rabble somehow band together to investigate all those lofty
lords and ladies who attended the séance?
And discover who really murdered Lady Dorothea Pemberton?
The Belgravia Phantom is the first in a series of irresistible Victorian murder
mysteries from the acclaimed author of the Samuel Pepys Mysteries. Expect
fiendish whodunits, singular characters and vivid history. Step into London’s
gaslit and swirling pea-soupers, and hear those click-clack footsteps
approach...
**New Release on July 31!**
When Kate closes the iron gate behind her
and turns onto Settles Street, she all but barges into Constable Gibb.
“Miss Quill!” His feigned surprise would
draw catcalls from a seasoned crowd.
Kate looks him up and down. His custodian
helmet sits lopsided, his acne practically throbs, and his tawdry ’tache
appears patchier than ever.
“Have you been here all night, Constable?”
Flushing, he plays with a brass button.
“Why, no, miss, not at all. Constable Blake relieved me at… And then…” He has
said too much, it occurs to him, and he clams up, transferring his attentions
to his boots.
Kate cannot decide whether to be bemused or
perplexed.
Passing him without another word, she
strides self-consciously on, the theatre in her sights. Something tells her to
stop. She does so without warning and turns.
Constable Gibb, ten paces behind, stops
also, gazing up and around, whistling.
Kate blinks back her amazement. “Are you
following me, Constable Gibb?”
He affects noticing her. “Not at all, Miss
Quill. Not at all. Merely… strolling.”
“Then perhaps you could stroll,” she
gestures back the way they came, “that way?”
He turns, strokes his chin, and after a
moment’s hesitation shakes his head. “I think I’d prefer this way,” he says,
pointing.
Shaking her head, she sets off apace. “Have
it your way. It’s a free world, after all, Constable.”
“Well,” he returns, almost to himself. “I’m
not sure about that, miss.”
Gibb is still following when she reaches
Fieldgate Street, idly swinging his truncheon. She avoids the night-soil cart,
pulled by a limping horse so glum it seems resigned to its purpose, and hurries
to the stage door.
A light drizzle is falling, so fine it
resembles a mist. It lends a kick to the air that might almost smell clean.
She knocks with no reply and turns
anxiously. Gibb is chatting to the night-soil man.
She tries again, harder, and hears movement
the other side of the door.
“Hurry up,” she urges through gritted
teeth. She cannot have the police connecting Daisy with the case.
Charlie, the old stage-door keeper, blinks
in the daylight. “Hmm?”
“Daisy Quill?”
“What of her?”
“I’m her sister. Remember? I was here…”
“Yes, I remember you. Daisy’s sister.”
She wants to punch him, but remembers her
warning to Ned. “That’s right. Can I come in and see her?”
He gazes back into the womb of the theatre.
“Can’t say as she’s here.”
“Can I check? Please. I know where she’ll
be.”
He flicks something off his coat and stands
aside. “Suit yerself.”
She motions behind. The cart has moved on
and Gibb is barely a dozen yards distant, still affecting nonchalance. “See
that copper?”
He peers through misted specs. “Just
about.”
“Can you stop him following me?”
He sucks in a breath. “Don’t see how I can
do that, miss. Officer of the law an’ all that.”
She pushes inside. “Tell him you saw a
drunkard with a knife heading that way.”
He chuckles. “Can’t see ’im falling for
that.”
“You don’t know him as well as I do.”
Ellis Blackwood writes very British historical mysteries:
fiendish whodunits packed with singular characters, vivid period detail and
plenty of wit. His completed nine-book Samuel Pepys Mysteries series is set in
17th century London. He is currently working on the Quill & Page Victorian
Mysteries, featuring a found family of East End misfits investigating the
crimes of the upper classes who cast them out.
A former journalist, Ellis wrote features for the UK's most
popular national newspapers and magazines before escaping to Cornwall with his
wife, two daughters and Spike the dog. He holds an MA in Comedy Writing, which
explains a lot.
He grew up on The Hardy Boys and Three Investigators,
graduated to Sherlock Holmes, and has never quite recovered from Columbo. He
prefers writing female sleuths, with the odd chap thrown in, and is firmly
convinced that historical settings are simply more fascinating.
"Absolutely fabulous, reek of authenticity, full of
intrigue and fun" – Amazon review of the Samuel Pepys Mysteries
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