![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Charlie's latest newsletter
Apr. 10th, 2020 08:23 pmHello all. I hope you are coping in these strange times. We’re managing better than expected and have hardly grazed the list of jobs we devised to get us through. Walking more than I normally do, as well! Spent last Sunday looking at local bomb craters. As you do...
News
I did a Podcast on gay mysteries with the delightful Brad Shreve. Do drop in and listen to me witter quite intelligently.
Just a reminder about upcoming releases. Lessons in Following a Poisonous Trail is now out. There will be a print version, I promise – I plead the unexpected stuff I’ve got involved in due to Covid-19 (like board meetings about furloughing staff or doing recorded readings for church services!)
Given in Evidence: A Collection of Short Crime & Thriller Stories from Lume books is up for pre order and it goes live on May 1st. My short story features poisoning in the abbey…
Then later in May the next Lindenshaw mystery A Carriage of Misjustice – hits the shelves. I’ll post the link when I have it. The cover reveal is at Love Bytes reviews – nice art, isn’t it?
Second part of the free story!
Last time we left a grown-up Tiny Tim reflecting on his early life. Let’s see what else has been happening in his life…
I promise I won’t over-spice the story of my life after Dickens wrote The End and laid his pen down. Most of it is mundane, the kind of tale that could be told by any man of my age and social status in Victorian London.
Education: yes, I had one, and a better experience than that Uncle Ebenezer endured. Ma and Pa would never have countenanced sending me away from home so I attended a local school as a day boy. I was bright, I kept out of trouble and the headmaster was a decent sort, who soon put a stop to any mention of, “God bless us.” I’ve wondered since if Ma had taken a trip to the school to have a word with him.
Career: successful. I was articled to a solicitors’ firm, learning the ropes until I could make my way into a junior partnership and from there—eventually—becoming a partner proper. I’ll continue to work there for as long as I keep my health and as I cut my hours down, I’ll still keep my hand in. For all that they say the law is an ass, it constantly changes and I like to be abreast of all the developments.
Private life: I’ll keep it mostly private, as Ma would have advised. I have nothing to hide in terms of relationships except for my private grief. When I was supposed to be in my prime, I wasn’t. My looking glass told me that I wasn’t handsome and the girls appeared to agree with it. I didn’t mind, convinced that one day the right woman would come into my life, and determined that I wouldn’t fall for anyone who was only interested in finding herself a reasonably well-off husband. As I got older, I began to grow into my face, as Ma called it. By the time I’d turned forty, my looking glass assured me that I’d turned into a fine figure of a man—and the women still agreed with its estimation.
Especially Martha.
Martha Bradley came into our office with her father, regarding a trust which her grandfather had set up for her. I’ll not go into the details of that trust, as they’re not important, but she was. What began as a matter of business developed—slowly, because both of us were rather shy—into walking out together. Her father approved, naturally, as both my existing status and prospects were solid. Ma and Pa approved, too. All the rest of their brood were married and they’d been waiting for me to do the same.
It felt natural to propose and delightful when Martha’s father gave his blessing. Martha, I already knew, was as keen as I was to enter into wedded bliss. I couldn’t have been happier.
Ma and Pa put on such a party—the last one Uncle Ebenezer ever attended, sitting in his bath chair with barely a tooth left in his head and a face as wrinkled as a prune but toasting everyone’s health. With a tear in his eye he wished me and my fiancée the very best of luck, confessing that he had a crystal rose bowl already bought and put away for this very event.
“If I don’t live to sit in that congregation to see you wed, then you’ll have that present to remember me by.”
“Oh, you will be there, Uncle Ebenezer,” Martha said, patting his arm. “It would not be a proper wedding breakfast without you.”
Uncle Ebenezer blinked back a tear. “She’s a lovely thing, Tim. Don’t you go a-losing her, like I lost my love.”
As it turned out, there was no service, no wedding breakfast and I did lose her. Although it wasn’t under the same circumstances as had affected him. I didn’t put off the wedding until a better time and never once did I show Martha anything less than my entire affection. I don’t even blame her—she was seduced away from me in the most flagrant manner. And had it not been for a sneak thief, none of this would have happened.
Martha and her friend Jane had gone in her father’s carriage to Epsom, to take the air on the downs. They would have made a pretty sight, two such lovely girls, but they’d have made a pretty target, too. Well dressed, with fur tippets and jewellery discreetly on display, they’d have caught a thief’s eye—which is exactly what happened.
This nasty cove came up to them, brandishing a knife and demanding they give him their pearls. A modern-day highwayman without his horse, you might say. Martha had plenty of pluck and so did her friend, but that blade terrified them. They were getting ready to give the man all he wanted—and praying he’d not demand anything further, given that were secluded places he might force them to go—when they were rescued. A constable, off duty and taking advantage of a lovely day to wander over the downs, had spotted the cove approaching the girls and decided he must be up to no good. He’d loped after him, keeping an eye on what was happening and when the constable caught a flash of sunlight bouncing off that blade he broke into a run. Martha reckoned he was shrieking and hollering fit to raise any number of Jacob Marleys from the grave.
The robber didn’t hang around. He headed off like he’d been at the start of a sprint race, although the constable didn’t give chase. His duty, he said, was to ensure that the young ladies were unharmed and to see they returned home safely. By the time he’d escorted them back to their carriage they’d both lost their hearts.
You might wonder how I know all this, given that Martha wasn’t likely to confess that last part, especially soon after the event. She told me the story of the thief, naturally, and how she and Jane had been rescued but I now know that what I’d put down to lingering shock—her strange humour and reticence towards affection—must have been her attraction to Fred Atkins manifesting itself.
Fred Atkins. How I grew to hate that name, as much as I’d grown to hate, “God bless us every one.”
It was the fact that both girls had fallen for him which made the story come out quicker than Martha would have wanted. Jane begged an urgent appointment with me in my offices, although she was reluctant to tell me in advance what it concerned. I’d guessed it was to do with the attempted robbery, perhaps a desire to track down the culprit, something the police had signally failed to achieve. I was wrong.
“Miss Robshaw. Jane,” I said, as I settled her into a chair then took my place the other side of the desk. She appeared anxious, her normally rosy cheeks wan and her demeanour reserved. “How may I help you, my dear?”
“You could keep your fiancée under control, for one thing, Mr Cratchit.”
I was shocked. Jane was always such a mild-mannered, gently spoken girl. To hear her utter such things—the tone of her voice made me temporarily not register the detail of her words. “What on earth do you mean, Miss Robshaw?” I asked, when I had recovered my wits.
“What I said. She has you—and she should be grateful for the fact. Rather than trying to snatch my sweetheart.”
I was aware of working my mouth but no words were able to come out.
Jane’s voice softened. “You’re evidently as shocked as I am, Tim. It was my fervent wish that it wouldn’t come to this but I have no alternative.”
“No, I’m sure you haven’t.” I rose from my desk. “Let me call for a pot of tea. This won’t be an easy conversation, I suspect, and we will need sustenance.”
Ordering the tea and fussing over ensuring its prompt arrival allowed my poor wits to regather themselves. My Martha, trying to win over another man and her best friend’s beau at that? It seemed impossible. The office boy brought the refreshments, Jane offered to pour and we were able to continue the discussion.
“Do you recall our adventure at Epsom a fortnight ago?” she said, while preparing her drink. “The handsome policeman who rescued us?”
“I do.” Although Martha hadn’t described their champion as handsome. Come to think of it, she’d been quite scathing of his appearance.
“I have been walking out with him this last week.” She paused, cup half-way to her lips. “Please don’t tell Papa. Fred Atkins has great prospects within the force, I’m sure but I’m afraid Papa wouldn’t approve of our friendship until those prospects become reality.”
“Very wise,” I said, automatically, my mind being elsewhere. Had Martha’s recent strange demeanour been due to this incident having a totally different effect upon her than I’d assumed?
Jane didn’t appear to have noticed my distraction. “My behaviour towards Fred has been exemplary, I can assure you and he has been an absolute gentleman. But Martha—well, her true colours have emerged, as surely as those on a warship will as it goes into battle. She has been trying to win Fred affections, Tim. She who already has a worthy fiancé in yourself.”
I looked at my teacup then pushed it away. This was beyond the aid of any drink. “Is there any possibility that you have misunderstood her intentions?”
“Misunderstood?” Jane slammed her cup and saucer onto the desk. “I beg your pardon, but there is no misunderstood about it. She has been meeting him in secret. Pestering him, my Fred says. Flirting.”
“And what is Constable Atkins’s response to this?”
“He wants her to stop as much as I do. He has tried to tell her, but she is so persistent.” Jane wrung her hands. “I’ve pleaded with her, Tim, but she denies any attempt to woo him.”
“Does she deny meeting him?”
“No. She simply says that she has been expressing her gratitude for saving us that day. Seeing whether there is any way in which her father, being a man of some influence, could further Fred’s career.” Jane rolled her eyes, expression her view of that explanation. “He’s torn, you see. If he refuses to see her, then she might complain to her father and if Mr Bradley really does have influence, then he might cause trouble for Fred.”
Jane’s story hung together, although I suspected that Fred Atkins wasn’t necessarily as torn as he purported to be. Martha was as lovely a young woman as any man could hope to find and had I the choice between her and Jane, I’d choose the former every time. As I indeed had.
“I will speak to Martha,” I promised. “I hope this can be easily sorted out to everyone’s satisfaction.”
My words were more optimistic than my thoughts.
To be continued next time…
Charlie
News
I did a Podcast on gay mysteries with the delightful Brad Shreve. Do drop in and listen to me witter quite intelligently.
Just a reminder about upcoming releases. Lessons in Following a Poisonous Trail is now out. There will be a print version, I promise – I plead the unexpected stuff I’ve got involved in due to Covid-19 (like board meetings about furloughing staff or doing recorded readings for church services!)
Given in Evidence: A Collection of Short Crime & Thriller Stories from Lume books is up for pre order and it goes live on May 1st. My short story features poisoning in the abbey…
Then later in May the next Lindenshaw mystery A Carriage of Misjustice – hits the shelves. I’ll post the link when I have it. The cover reveal is at Love Bytes reviews – nice art, isn’t it?
Second part of the free story!
Last time we left a grown-up Tiny Tim reflecting on his early life. Let’s see what else has been happening in his life…
I promise I won’t over-spice the story of my life after Dickens wrote The End and laid his pen down. Most of it is mundane, the kind of tale that could be told by any man of my age and social status in Victorian London.
Education: yes, I had one, and a better experience than that Uncle Ebenezer endured. Ma and Pa would never have countenanced sending me away from home so I attended a local school as a day boy. I was bright, I kept out of trouble and the headmaster was a decent sort, who soon put a stop to any mention of, “God bless us.” I’ve wondered since if Ma had taken a trip to the school to have a word with him.
Career: successful. I was articled to a solicitors’ firm, learning the ropes until I could make my way into a junior partnership and from there—eventually—becoming a partner proper. I’ll continue to work there for as long as I keep my health and as I cut my hours down, I’ll still keep my hand in. For all that they say the law is an ass, it constantly changes and I like to be abreast of all the developments.
Private life: I’ll keep it mostly private, as Ma would have advised. I have nothing to hide in terms of relationships except for my private grief. When I was supposed to be in my prime, I wasn’t. My looking glass told me that I wasn’t handsome and the girls appeared to agree with it. I didn’t mind, convinced that one day the right woman would come into my life, and determined that I wouldn’t fall for anyone who was only interested in finding herself a reasonably well-off husband. As I got older, I began to grow into my face, as Ma called it. By the time I’d turned forty, my looking glass assured me that I’d turned into a fine figure of a man—and the women still agreed with its estimation.
Especially Martha.
Martha Bradley came into our office with her father, regarding a trust which her grandfather had set up for her. I’ll not go into the details of that trust, as they’re not important, but she was. What began as a matter of business developed—slowly, because both of us were rather shy—into walking out together. Her father approved, naturally, as both my existing status and prospects were solid. Ma and Pa approved, too. All the rest of their brood were married and they’d been waiting for me to do the same.
It felt natural to propose and delightful when Martha’s father gave his blessing. Martha, I already knew, was as keen as I was to enter into wedded bliss. I couldn’t have been happier.
Ma and Pa put on such a party—the last one Uncle Ebenezer ever attended, sitting in his bath chair with barely a tooth left in his head and a face as wrinkled as a prune but toasting everyone’s health. With a tear in his eye he wished me and my fiancée the very best of luck, confessing that he had a crystal rose bowl already bought and put away for this very event.
“If I don’t live to sit in that congregation to see you wed, then you’ll have that present to remember me by.”
“Oh, you will be there, Uncle Ebenezer,” Martha said, patting his arm. “It would not be a proper wedding breakfast without you.”
Uncle Ebenezer blinked back a tear. “She’s a lovely thing, Tim. Don’t you go a-losing her, like I lost my love.”
As it turned out, there was no service, no wedding breakfast and I did lose her. Although it wasn’t under the same circumstances as had affected him. I didn’t put off the wedding until a better time and never once did I show Martha anything less than my entire affection. I don’t even blame her—she was seduced away from me in the most flagrant manner. And had it not been for a sneak thief, none of this would have happened.
Martha and her friend Jane had gone in her father’s carriage to Epsom, to take the air on the downs. They would have made a pretty sight, two such lovely girls, but they’d have made a pretty target, too. Well dressed, with fur tippets and jewellery discreetly on display, they’d have caught a thief’s eye—which is exactly what happened.
This nasty cove came up to them, brandishing a knife and demanding they give him their pearls. A modern-day highwayman without his horse, you might say. Martha had plenty of pluck and so did her friend, but that blade terrified them. They were getting ready to give the man all he wanted—and praying he’d not demand anything further, given that were secluded places he might force them to go—when they were rescued. A constable, off duty and taking advantage of a lovely day to wander over the downs, had spotted the cove approaching the girls and decided he must be up to no good. He’d loped after him, keeping an eye on what was happening and when the constable caught a flash of sunlight bouncing off that blade he broke into a run. Martha reckoned he was shrieking and hollering fit to raise any number of Jacob Marleys from the grave.
The robber didn’t hang around. He headed off like he’d been at the start of a sprint race, although the constable didn’t give chase. His duty, he said, was to ensure that the young ladies were unharmed and to see they returned home safely. By the time he’d escorted them back to their carriage they’d both lost their hearts.
You might wonder how I know all this, given that Martha wasn’t likely to confess that last part, especially soon after the event. She told me the story of the thief, naturally, and how she and Jane had been rescued but I now know that what I’d put down to lingering shock—her strange humour and reticence towards affection—must have been her attraction to Fred Atkins manifesting itself.
Fred Atkins. How I grew to hate that name, as much as I’d grown to hate, “God bless us every one.”
It was the fact that both girls had fallen for him which made the story come out quicker than Martha would have wanted. Jane begged an urgent appointment with me in my offices, although she was reluctant to tell me in advance what it concerned. I’d guessed it was to do with the attempted robbery, perhaps a desire to track down the culprit, something the police had signally failed to achieve. I was wrong.
“Miss Robshaw. Jane,” I said, as I settled her into a chair then took my place the other side of the desk. She appeared anxious, her normally rosy cheeks wan and her demeanour reserved. “How may I help you, my dear?”
“You could keep your fiancée under control, for one thing, Mr Cratchit.”
I was shocked. Jane was always such a mild-mannered, gently spoken girl. To hear her utter such things—the tone of her voice made me temporarily not register the detail of her words. “What on earth do you mean, Miss Robshaw?” I asked, when I had recovered my wits.
“What I said. She has you—and she should be grateful for the fact. Rather than trying to snatch my sweetheart.”
I was aware of working my mouth but no words were able to come out.
Jane’s voice softened. “You’re evidently as shocked as I am, Tim. It was my fervent wish that it wouldn’t come to this but I have no alternative.”
“No, I’m sure you haven’t.” I rose from my desk. “Let me call for a pot of tea. This won’t be an easy conversation, I suspect, and we will need sustenance.”
Ordering the tea and fussing over ensuring its prompt arrival allowed my poor wits to regather themselves. My Martha, trying to win over another man and her best friend’s beau at that? It seemed impossible. The office boy brought the refreshments, Jane offered to pour and we were able to continue the discussion.
“Do you recall our adventure at Epsom a fortnight ago?” she said, while preparing her drink. “The handsome policeman who rescued us?”
“I do.” Although Martha hadn’t described their champion as handsome. Come to think of it, she’d been quite scathing of his appearance.
“I have been walking out with him this last week.” She paused, cup half-way to her lips. “Please don’t tell Papa. Fred Atkins has great prospects within the force, I’m sure but I’m afraid Papa wouldn’t approve of our friendship until those prospects become reality.”
“Very wise,” I said, automatically, my mind being elsewhere. Had Martha’s recent strange demeanour been due to this incident having a totally different effect upon her than I’d assumed?
Jane didn’t appear to have noticed my distraction. “My behaviour towards Fred has been exemplary, I can assure you and he has been an absolute gentleman. But Martha—well, her true colours have emerged, as surely as those on a warship will as it goes into battle. She has been trying to win Fred affections, Tim. She who already has a worthy fiancé in yourself.”
I looked at my teacup then pushed it away. This was beyond the aid of any drink. “Is there any possibility that you have misunderstood her intentions?”
“Misunderstood?” Jane slammed her cup and saucer onto the desk. “I beg your pardon, but there is no misunderstood about it. She has been meeting him in secret. Pestering him, my Fred says. Flirting.”
“And what is Constable Atkins’s response to this?”
“He wants her to stop as much as I do. He has tried to tell her, but she is so persistent.” Jane wrung her hands. “I’ve pleaded with her, Tim, but she denies any attempt to woo him.”
“Does she deny meeting him?”
“No. She simply says that she has been expressing her gratitude for saving us that day. Seeing whether there is any way in which her father, being a man of some influence, could further Fred’s career.” Jane rolled her eyes, expression her view of that explanation. “He’s torn, you see. If he refuses to see her, then she might complain to her father and if Mr Bradley really does have influence, then he might cause trouble for Fred.”
Jane’s story hung together, although I suspected that Fred Atkins wasn’t necessarily as torn as he purported to be. Martha was as lovely a young woman as any man could hope to find and had I the choice between her and Jane, I’d choose the former every time. As I indeed had.
“I will speak to Martha,” I promised. “I hope this can be easily sorted out to everyone’s satisfaction.”
My words were more optimistic than my thoughts.
To be continued next time…
Charlie
