Charlie's latest newsletter

What a May we’re having. Hail, thunder, high winds, freezing cold and just a smidge of sunshine. I’ve been reading a book of diary entries from a real life Dad’s Army leader during World War two and I’m reassured that the English weather was just as bad and as variable back then!
 
News
 
The latest Lindenshaw will be finished and submitted today. The last few weeks have been plagued by my brain coming up with new solutions to whodunnit on a regular basis. I think I’ve at last established “What really happened”. In other writing news, I’ve done a couple of short things for RNA competitions, which I’ll share here exclusively as soon as they’re available for me to do so.
 
Event wise, I’m taking part in two panels at the Bold Strokes Books UK Bookathon on Sunday June 6^th. You can now book your places to watch the panels you’d like to virtually attend.
 

 
Free story -
 
I’ve decided to share some of my older free stories here, having realised that not everyone saw them first time around (which is some cases is a long time ago.) There’s a whole page of downloadable tales on my website, all of which will cost you not a sausage to read.
 
A Man Lay Dead in Winter was my first stab at a murder mystery and I hope it stands the test of time. 
 
The fortified manor at Pain’s Wyke had been one of the Countess of Gloucester’s favourite retreats; when her husband had been away fighting, or in happier times attending to business, then she would take the chosen ladies of her household there. Were it high summer they could enjoy the clean air and the good honest country smells. It was an added advantage that the Lord of the Manor was such a handsome and courteous young man, and the unattached ladies (and one or two respectable matrons who should have known better) were content to flirt with him. It never came to anything, much to their regret, but it made for a pleasant pastime.

England had seen many an unhappy hour during the time that the King and his sister had fought for the throne and nearly torn the country apart in the process. Now, with the return of Maud to France, it was hoped that some sweeter times might be ahead, although not for the Countess, who found she had too many memories of happier times to let her be entirely at ease anywhere in England. Other people might come and stay at the manor, nonetheless; connections of the Earl or well bred travellers who couldn’t complete the journey to the city of Gloucester before nightfall. The lesser folk might seek refuge with Roger, who had the church and served his flock with humility and humour, but the finery stayed with Horace Dumanoir.

Just such a fine young man had sought accommodation one summer morning and been welcomed heartily, his recommendation from Gloucester being impeccable. He was making a slow journey home from the crusade, in the steps of his natural father though determined to let him get home first. This man was second son of an Earl, born the wrong side of the blanket and dearly beloved of his sire, if not of the man’s wife. They had felt it politic to let the nobleman return home first, to rapturous delight, before the by-blow made his appearance. The son might then be greeted rather more warmly, his half brother and step mother having had their fill of the Earl’s affection. The arrangement suited the younger man admirably as it gave time for reflection and rest, something which had been sorely lacking these last few years of hell. Johannes Fitzrichard had taken up arms in his saviour’s cause and regretted almost every moment.
 
You can read the rest here.