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Charlie's latest newsletter
Oct. 25th, 2019 07:38 pmWe went to Salisbury yesterday to see a great new production of Breaking the Code, with Ed Bennett in the lead role of Alan Turing. He was excellent, as were all the cast – although I’m not sure some of the more elderly members of the audience really knew what they were in for! It’s a play (and a film) well worth catching as it gives a much more accurate and sympathetic portrayal of Turing than that travesty, The Imitation Game. Turing is the inspiration for my free Christmas story this year – not the first time I’ve written about him. He features in The Boy From Kings (along with Jonty and Orlando) which you can find on my free story page.
News
If you fancy a) being in with a chance to win a prize (either print book or a goodie bag – winners’ choice) and/or b) chatting with me, I’ll be taking part in the RGR chat on November 29th, 2pm GMT. There are loads of really cool authors taking part and offering all sorts of prizes – I’m on at the same time as my old mucker JL Merrow so that will be hilarious – but it would be a good idea to register your place in advance.
People often ask me about which of my works are out in audio book. Three of my stories are currently available on audible:
Promises Made Under Fire, Home Fires Burning and – the narration I like best of all of these – Lessons in Love. Will there be more? That's up to my publishers!
Halloween happens next week: the lovely Clare London recently asked me if I had ever written a vampire story and, of course, I hadn’t. I have written three ghost stories, though. There’s Secrets in Undeath and the Detective and Music in the Midst of Desolation in Pack up Your Troubles. However, my favourite is The Shade on a Fine Day from Wild Bells.
Curate William Church may set the hearts of the parish's young ladies aflame, but he doesn't want their affection or presents, no matter how much they want to give them to him. He has his sights set elsewhere, for a love he's not allowed to indulge. One night, eight for dinner at the Canon's table means the potential arrival of a ghost. But what message will the spirit bring and which of the young men around the table is it for?
“You wished to see me?”
Benjamin nodded. “I wanted to enquire whether I had in some way offended you.” He kept his eyes fixed on the graves. A robin sang from the yew hedge, the faint sound of organ music came from the church, and the answer seemed to take forever to come.
“Mr. Swann, if I have in any way given you that impression, then I apologise unreservedly. I’m racking my brains to think of what I could have done…”
“My father’s walking stick. I was in Harmington yesterday, visiting a friend near the almshouses by St. Benedict’s. One of the residents was out in the lane, using that stick. It is quite unmistakable.”
William took a long appraisal of the man beside him. Benjamin had a fine profile, featuring an elegant nose which was clearly a family trait. On his sister it looked too forceful—on him it gave an air of gravitas. “I didn’t realise it was your father’s. If I’d been aware of what it meant I wouldn’t have been so insensitive. I’m sorry if your sister was offended.”
“My sister? I’m not sure she even knows it’s gone.”
“But she gave it to me, last Saturday, or I thought she did.” William ran his hands through his fair hair, leaving a trail of little, green leaf fragments. “I’ve made an awful mistake somewhere, but I can’t work out what.”
“How did this man end up with my father’s cane?” Benjamin turned his gaze on the curate for the first time. His grey eyes were awash with pain, the grief of bereavement remembered combining with a sense of betrayal.
“Come, it’s cold standing here. Let’s walk awhile and I’ll explain.” William indicated the path down to the village green. “Mr. Swann, I’m not sure how it is for you up at the big house, but for a bachelor in holy orders although out of wedlock, life can be difficult. I find myself having continually to walk a thin line. Hardly a day goes by when I don’t receive a basket of cakes, a jar of jam or a scarf. If I kept them all, it would be the height of greed.”
“So you give them away?”
“I do. Every one of them, although I’m not stupid enough to do it in this parish. And I wouldn’t have done it in this instance, had I known.” William cast a sidelong glance at his companion—a slight thawing was evident. “The only thing that stops me becoming obese or overwrapped is the reciprocal arrangement I have Mr. Regan. He’s the curate of St Benedict’s in Harmington.”
“Is he regarded as highly eligible, too?” There was a sudden release of tension, and an unexpected hint of amusement, in Benjamin’s voice.
“Exasperatingly so, at least that’s what he tells me. I think he might have an even harder time of it. There’s a greater concentration of young ladies within the town. This way, our respective parishioners can fill their stomachs, clothe their necks, and be duly grateful to benefactors unknown.”
“You don’t tell them where the gifts come from?”
“Not specifically. The poor of the country are grateful for the generosity of the young ladies of the town and vice versa. No-one is any the wiser.”
“Does the Canon approve? Doesn’t he shudder at his curate flying false colours?”
William took another glance at the man beside him. There’d been a certain inflexion in the last remark he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “It was Canon Newington’s idea in the first place. He doesn’t want any unpleasantness among the ladies of his flock—no favouritism to be shown. That’s why I don’t retain anything I’m sent. That’s why I passed on that excellent cane, much as I would have liked to keep it.”
“You’d mentioned your need of one, just the Sunday before, when my sister and I met you out by the lych gate.”
“I remember.” William smiled. “I’d been admiring your silver topped walking stick.” He stopped, suddenly distressed. “You didn’t think I was hinting, did you? I mean to go up to London and get one of my own in a fortnight. I didn’t want charity.”
“It wasn’t charity. I wanted it to have a good home.”
“I’m sorry, I really did think it came from your sister—I couldn’t have kept it.” William gently touched his companion’s sleeve. “I can’t have favourites among the ladies, you see.”
“Why on earth did you think my sister had sent it?” Benjamin didn’t pull his arm out of the contact.
“Because it arrived with a pot of bramble jelly, borne by your footman, and a note in her hand. It never occurred to me the two items had different provenances.” William took his hand away. “I wish I could get it back. If I had known, I wouldn’t have been so callous.”
“Too late now.” Benjamin clapped William’s back. “Your intentions were honourable, that’s all I needed to be assured of. And my father would have been pleased to see some poor old codger getting the benefit of it, rather than a healthy young man.”
“Then I’m pleased, too. Only, promise me you won’t tell your sister about my ‘arrangement’. If it became common knowledge I’m not sure the scandal could be borne, not in either parish.”
And finally – from just short of a year ago. A welcome visitor to the Cochrane estate! Not welcomed by the local pigeons, though.
Charlie
News
If you fancy a) being in with a chance to win a prize (either print book or a goodie bag – winners’ choice) and/or b) chatting with me, I’ll be taking part in the RGR chat on November 29th, 2pm GMT. There are loads of really cool authors taking part and offering all sorts of prizes – I’m on at the same time as my old mucker JL Merrow so that will be hilarious – but it would be a good idea to register your place in advance.
People often ask me about which of my works are out in audio book. Three of my stories are currently available on audible:
Promises Made Under Fire, Home Fires Burning and – the narration I like best of all of these – Lessons in Love. Will there be more? That's up to my publishers!
Halloween happens next week: the lovely Clare London recently asked me if I had ever written a vampire story and, of course, I hadn’t. I have written three ghost stories, though. There’s Secrets in Undeath and the Detective and Music in the Midst of Desolation in Pack up Your Troubles. However, my favourite is The Shade on a Fine Day from Wild Bells.
Curate William Church may set the hearts of the parish's young ladies aflame, but he doesn't want their affection or presents, no matter how much they want to give them to him. He has his sights set elsewhere, for a love he's not allowed to indulge. One night, eight for dinner at the Canon's table means the potential arrival of a ghost. But what message will the spirit bring and which of the young men around the table is it for?
“You wished to see me?”
Benjamin nodded. “I wanted to enquire whether I had in some way offended you.” He kept his eyes fixed on the graves. A robin sang from the yew hedge, the faint sound of organ music came from the church, and the answer seemed to take forever to come.
“Mr. Swann, if I have in any way given you that impression, then I apologise unreservedly. I’m racking my brains to think of what I could have done…”
“My father’s walking stick. I was in Harmington yesterday, visiting a friend near the almshouses by St. Benedict’s. One of the residents was out in the lane, using that stick. It is quite unmistakable.”
William took a long appraisal of the man beside him. Benjamin had a fine profile, featuring an elegant nose which was clearly a family trait. On his sister it looked too forceful—on him it gave an air of gravitas. “I didn’t realise it was your father’s. If I’d been aware of what it meant I wouldn’t have been so insensitive. I’m sorry if your sister was offended.”
“My sister? I’m not sure she even knows it’s gone.”
“But she gave it to me, last Saturday, or I thought she did.” William ran his hands through his fair hair, leaving a trail of little, green leaf fragments. “I’ve made an awful mistake somewhere, but I can’t work out what.”
“How did this man end up with my father’s cane?” Benjamin turned his gaze on the curate for the first time. His grey eyes were awash with pain, the grief of bereavement remembered combining with a sense of betrayal.
“Come, it’s cold standing here. Let’s walk awhile and I’ll explain.” William indicated the path down to the village green. “Mr. Swann, I’m not sure how it is for you up at the big house, but for a bachelor in holy orders although out of wedlock, life can be difficult. I find myself having continually to walk a thin line. Hardly a day goes by when I don’t receive a basket of cakes, a jar of jam or a scarf. If I kept them all, it would be the height of greed.”
“So you give them away?”
“I do. Every one of them, although I’m not stupid enough to do it in this parish. And I wouldn’t have done it in this instance, had I known.” William cast a sidelong glance at his companion—a slight thawing was evident. “The only thing that stops me becoming obese or overwrapped is the reciprocal arrangement I have Mr. Regan. He’s the curate of St Benedict’s in Harmington.”
“Is he regarded as highly eligible, too?” There was a sudden release of tension, and an unexpected hint of amusement, in Benjamin’s voice.
“Exasperatingly so, at least that’s what he tells me. I think he might have an even harder time of it. There’s a greater concentration of young ladies within the town. This way, our respective parishioners can fill their stomachs, clothe their necks, and be duly grateful to benefactors unknown.”
“You don’t tell them where the gifts come from?”
“Not specifically. The poor of the country are grateful for the generosity of the young ladies of the town and vice versa. No-one is any the wiser.”
“Does the Canon approve? Doesn’t he shudder at his curate flying false colours?”
William took another glance at the man beside him. There’d been a certain inflexion in the last remark he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “It was Canon Newington’s idea in the first place. He doesn’t want any unpleasantness among the ladies of his flock—no favouritism to be shown. That’s why I don’t retain anything I’m sent. That’s why I passed on that excellent cane, much as I would have liked to keep it.”
“You’d mentioned your need of one, just the Sunday before, when my sister and I met you out by the lych gate.”
“I remember.” William smiled. “I’d been admiring your silver topped walking stick.” He stopped, suddenly distressed. “You didn’t think I was hinting, did you? I mean to go up to London and get one of my own in a fortnight. I didn’t want charity.”
“It wasn’t charity. I wanted it to have a good home.”
“I’m sorry, I really did think it came from your sister—I couldn’t have kept it.” William gently touched his companion’s sleeve. “I can’t have favourites among the ladies, you see.”
“Why on earth did you think my sister had sent it?” Benjamin didn’t pull his arm out of the contact.
“Because it arrived with a pot of bramble jelly, borne by your footman, and a note in her hand. It never occurred to me the two items had different provenances.” William took his hand away. “I wish I could get it back. If I had known, I wouldn’t have been so callous.”
“Too late now.” Benjamin clapped William’s back. “Your intentions were honourable, that’s all I needed to be assured of. And my father would have been pleased to see some poor old codger getting the benefit of it, rather than a healthy young man.”
“Then I’m pleased, too. Only, promise me you won’t tell your sister about my ‘arrangement’. If it became common knowledge I’m not sure the scandal could be borne, not in either parish.”
And finally – from just short of a year ago. A welcome visitor to the Cochrane estate! Not welcomed by the local pigeons, though.
Charlie
