Sneak Preview of Heirs and Graces.

Heirs and Graces, The Seventh Royal Spyness mystery.
Sneak preview one.

            “Good afternoon, my lady,” the welcoming footman said, bowing. “Her Majesty is expecting you in the Chinese Chippendale room. Allow me to escort you there.”

            Oh crickey. The Chinese Chippendale room. Why couldn’t she have chosen somewhere else? Any other room in the palace would have done. But the Chinese Chippendale room was her favorite, small, intimate and decorated with far too many Chinese vases, priceless porcelain statues and her jade collection. There’s probably something you should know about me: in moments of stress I tend to get a little clumsy. I remember tripping over the footman’s outstretched foot when he bowed to usher me inside once, thus propelling me rather rapidly into the room and nearly butting HM in the stomach. I would be all too capable of turning around and knocking a priceless Ming vase flying.

            Still I put on a brave face as I was escorted up the grand staircase to the piano nobile, where the royal family actually lived and entertained. Along those never-ending richly-carpeted hallways with marble statues frowning down at me from their niches. Then a light tap on a door, the footman stepping inside and saying, “Lady Georgiana, Your Majesty.”

            I stepped past him, carefully avoiding his foot, pushing the door into an unseen table or tripping over a rug.  I stopped in surprise and thought I was seeing double. Two middle aged ladies with identical waved gray hair, upright carriage and lilac tea dresses were sitting on the brocade sofa beside the fireplace. My first thought was that I should have worn a tea dress and the cashmere cardigan was inappropriate, but then one of the ladies held out her hand to me.

            “Georgiana, my dear. How lovely to see you. Come and meet my dear friend.”

Upstairs, Downstairs

Are you addicted to the new Upstairs,Downstairs as much as you were to Downton Abbey? Me neither. I wonder why, as the story is just as much soap opera. Maybe it's just that the house is smaller, and the people are correspondingly smaller. Nobody to compare with the nobility of Robert, Earl of Grantham, or Lady Mary Crawley. Or maybe it's just that I remember the original series so fondly. That seemed to have real drama and pathos without being sleazy or reverting to shock value. I remember the episode when Lady Marjorie falls in love with a young officer, but it's just left as a romance that can never be. She doesn't leap into bed with him. And the heart-stretching triangle at the battle front in WWI when James is wounded and his cousin Georgina is his nurse, desperately in love with him, and his wife Hazel goes out to France to bring him home. Those were dramas that really moved me. The dramas in this series seem sensational or small and petty.

Am I just older and wiser now or is this series part of the new school of writing that has to go for blockbuster all the time? Or maybe it's the time frame that's different. Life in the 1930s had definitely changed for the aristocracy. Servants were no longer so subservient to their masters. Uncomfortable movements like the Black Shirts were permeating all levels of society.

Ah well. Only two months to the next Downton season. I know it's already out in England but I'm being good and not emailing relatives to ask what is happening.

And another snippet: my own new Lady Gerogie novel, THE TWELVE CLUES OF CHRISTMAS, which features quite a bit of upstairs/downstairs action in a lovely old manor house, will be in stores and on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.com tomorrow. Much more fun that the election, I promise you!

Sunday Sneak Peek

I haven't done much to my new book this week as I've been involved in the edits for my upcoming Molly book, The Family Way. But now they are done and ready to be shipped off and it's back to Lady Georgie and a murder that has just taken place.

Here's another snippet to whet your appetite:

This topic of conversation was broken off by the arrival of Darcy and Jack, both wearing proper dinner jackets and both looking rather handsome. Jack’s red-blond hair had been slicked into submission and he looked highly uncomfortable his current garb.

“Here they are at last,” Edwina said. “Come and meet your aunt and your great aunts, John.” It was clear that Edwina was not going to give up calling him by her son’s name.

Irene glowered. Princess Charlotte held out her hand in regal fashion but Virginia almost fell upon them. “Two divine young men,” she said. “What fun. If I’d been a few years younger I’d have given you both the key to my room and had you both at the same time.”

Edwina raised her lorgnette. “Really Virginia, you go too far,” she said.

“Edwina. You’re such a prude,” she said. “Look at this gorgeous dark haired boy. He wouldn’t mind a roll in the hay, I can tell. One can see that he’s had his share of thrilling encounters with the opposite sex.”

Darcy simply looked amused. “If I had, I wouldn’t mention them in present company,” he said.

Virginia had seized his hand in her own claw-like ones. “Isn’t he a gem?” she said. “So is this the new heir?”

“No, Virginia. He is Mr. O’Mara--the one who escorted John from Australia.” She went over to Jack who was standing as if he wished the floor would open and swallow him. “This is your great nephew John. Isn’t he like his father?”

“One can see a likeness, I suppose,” Princess Charlotte said dubiously. “We should have a séance, young man, to see whether your father wishes to contact you. Also to find out if you’re the one the spirits warned us about. And for whom there is danger.”

“You and your spirits, Charlotte. Such rubbish,” Edwina said. “You’ll have the boy thinking we’re all mad.”

More later..... Rhys

Sunday Sneak Peek

I made good progress in the walking department this week. I can now get around using a cane and can go down stairs using the cane and the bannister. So I'm now more hopeful that I'll be back to normal soon. I realized that I have missed shopping for six weeks. May go crazy at Chicos!

Anyway, the new Lady Georgie book is progressing nicely and here's a sneak peek at what I was writing this week. If you don't like any spoilers, please don't read!

Eventually I must have fallen asleep and I awoke to a wild morning with clouds racing across a sky heavy with the promise of rain. The fire was already burning merrily in my grate, having been lit by an unseen, unheard housemaid, but the prospect outside was so unappealing that I lay under the covers until Queenie eventually arrived with my tea.

            “Sorry miss. It’s so bloomin’ dark that I overslept again,” she said. “Shall I run you a bath? And what will you be wearing?”

            “My kilt again with a jumper, I think, and yes, please do run me a bath.”

            The clock in the great central foyer was chiming nine as I made my way down to the breakfast room. My nanny back in Scotland would say that I was heading down the slippery slope getting up at such a late hour. The three sisters were sitting together at one end of the table, but there was no sign of the others.  They nodded to me as I came in, then went back to devouring kidneys. I must say they all had healthy appetites.

            “Beastly day,” Edwina said at last. “Serve Cedric right for bringing down the architect chappy for his wretched amphitheater. I hope they both get soaked to the skin.”

            “I can’t think what the boy was thinking,” Princess Charlotte said. “Hordes of people tramping over the estate. Not a moment of privacy. Didn’t you try to talk him out of it, Edwina?”

            “Of course I did, but he wouldn’t listen. I’m utterly appalled by the whole thing, especially by his callous attitude toward those cottages. People have lived there for generations—our estate people and he simply couldn’t care a fig. I don’t know how I could have raised such a selfish son. His father would give him a good talking to if he were alive.”

            “Maybe we should have summoned his father during the séance last night,” Virginia suggested.

            “I don’t wish to hear any more about that séance,” Edwina said. “News of it has quite upset the servants. In fact—“ she broke off at the sound of an anguished wail. “Now what?” she demanded. Far off we could hear what sounded like a hysterical outburst.

            “You see what I mean, Charlotte?” Edwina said. “You’ve got them all frightened.”

            We sat there, poised as in a tableau until we heard the sound of feet running in our direction. Elsie, the head parlormaid came bursting into the breakfast room. “’Beg pardon, Your Grace, “ she said.

            “What is it, Elsie?” Edwina had risen to her feet. “Who is making that ridiculous noise?”

            “It’s Lady Irene’s maid, Your Grace. She says she can’t wake Lady Irene.”

Sunday Sneak Preview

Today I achieved a milestone--which feels good when one is stuck in a chair and unable to do normal activities. I reached page 100 in my new book!

I hadn't intended to start the book until next month, but since I'm incapacitated and a virtual prisoner I decided I might as well start it early. It's the seventh Lady Georgie book, called Heirs and Graces and can be described as Crocodile Dundee meets Downton Abbey.

So I've decided to start a new feature on my blog and give readers a sneak preview of what I'm writing each Sunday. Here is page 100:

I was making my way down again when I heard a scream. I started to run. The descent seemed to take forever and by the time I reached the gardens around the house a group of people was gathered.

“It’s all right. They are quite safe,” I heard Edwina’s powerful voice. “Do stop making such a fuss, Irene.”

“But he was throwing a knife at Katherine,” she said. “He missed her by that much.”

I joined the group. Jack was standing sheepishly off to one side with the twins. I went over to them. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“Jack was demonstrating how he could throw a knife,” Nick said. “It was brilliant, actually. So Kat said could he hit an apple on her head, like William Tell. And he told her to stand still and then he threw the knife into the tree right above her head. Pretty impressive only mummy was looking out of her window and absolutely had a fit.”

“I might have done too,” I said. “It was rather silly, Jack. If you want to make a good impression you don’t try and kill your relatives.”

“They were perfectly safe. I didn’t even throw it that close to her.”

“And what’s more..,” Irene was still shrieking. “He was teaching them to sharpen sticks and spear fish in the Koi pond. He’s dangerous, mother. You know how impressionable the children are. For God’s sake send him away before he does anyone real harm.”

“Irene, do calm down. I remember your brother Johnnie doing rather the same sort of thing when you were young.”

“Yes, and look what happened to him—fathered a child with a common nobody in the back of beyond and then got himself killed by being too damned heroic.”

“He acted honorably in both instances, which is more than can be said for your husband.”

“That’s a cruel blow, Mama. I’m not staying here any longer. I want the children away from this place right now. We’re going up to London. Nicholas, Katherine, come with me.”

And she stalked off into the house.

e's a peek at page 100:

Looking Back on Left Coast Crime

What will I remember about this year's Left Coast Crime in Sacramento, I wonder? Chicken garlic soup. Cheerleaders. Special moments with Jackie Winspear. The Armani Jacket disaster.
Oh, and it was a great convention, extremely well run by Cindy Sample and Robin Burcell. Everyone loved the panels and the hotel with its big bar area. They thought the food in the restaurant was good. I wouldn't know. There was an hour's wait any time I wanted to eat.
I arrived in Sacramento with a nasty cold--the type in which my head and chest felt stuffed and heavy. Then I discovered the Hungarian/Romanian/Greek restaurant across the street and a bowl of their chicken garlic soup opened all those blocked sinuses and led the way to feeling better.
On Saturday I had to interview Guest of Honor Jacqueline Winspear. The interesting thing for the audience was how much we have in common: lived in the same county in England, studied in London, came to America, married a man called John and now live FIVE MILES APART. We also write about strong young women in the 1930s. We've won the same awards. Our work habits and approach to writing is identical and we even look quite similar. One woman said we sound so alike that if she closed her eyes she couldn't tell who was speaking. (I'm thinking clone)
Jackie was an absolute trooper at the interview and the whole convention as her father in UK has major health problems and she was worried about him.

There was a cheerleader competition going on across the street. Little girls with HUGE bows in their hair and too sexy outfits were looking really stressed.  Their mothers were fussing around looking way too involved. Can somebody tell me why little girls have to look provocate and sexy in order to compete? Surely cheerleading is all about the athletiticism?

Oh, and the story of the Armani jacket. I found a fabulous Armani jacket in a designer resale store. Pale blue. Gorgeous. And being the creator of Lady Georgie (just a little clumsy by nature), I managed to drop a piece of salmon in a gooey sauce down my front. On my way to the dry-cleaner.

Now it's back to work trying to finish my new Molly book to deadline.