I know I have a new book coming out in April. It’s calledThe Faces Of The Dead, and it’s the second Cathy Marsden thriller (and bloody good and tense, if I do say so myself). I truly hope you’ll buy it; those pre-orders are important.
For today, though, I’m looking further ahead – that taste of words to come. It’ll be a while before they’re here, though. January 2027, in fact. There isn’t even a cover yet. You’re among the first to read these words. The book is called The Ascent Of Lies, with Mrs Virginia Cooper and Mr Asa Daniels, set in Leeds and York. I gave a small taste a while ago (find it here), and I thought you might like another tease. Come with me to Leeds Assembly Rooms in June 1862.
The man danced wonderfully well. William Fontaine held her politely at arms’ length and led them through a waltz as the small orchestra played. Quick and light on his feet, he had the skill to make even someone like her feel graceful. All around them, the brilliant shimmer from hundreds of candles gave a warm glow to the old assembly rooms.
As the tune ended, Virginia stepped back, eyes shining, breathless and giddy with pleasure, and curtsied to her partner. He bowed deeply, took her hand and kissed it with a smile that veered close to a flirt. Studied and smooth, but done with poise and style, the actions of a man who’d experienced the world.
In a warm accent, he said, ‘It was an honour, ma’am,’ before leading her back to the table where his wife was waiting, richly dressed in burgundy satin and sitting next to an awkward, stiff Chief Constable Broadbent, Virginia’s companion for the evening.
It had been his idea to treat the Fontaines as favoured guests in Leeds, representatives of the government of the Confederate States of America. A gracious gesture, but very carefully judged; welcoming, but not official. They claimed they were in England to travel around, conduct business, give talks and drum up support for their secessionist cause. Broadbent was suspicious; he believed there might be more to their visit. What, though, he didn’t know yet.
He’d arranged the invitation to the assembly, then asked Virginia to accompany him and befriend Fontaine’s wife. She’d accepted without a second’s hesitation; it was utterly different to anything else she’d done for the police, a chance to be swept up and carried away to a different, sparkling world.
Their table had been busy. Men kept arriving for a few quiet words with Fontaine; one or two accompanied Mrs Fontaine around the dancefloor. All the while Virginia felt as if she’d walked into Cinderella. She was glamorous, flattered by the light, plenty of partners for a country dance or a polka, wearing a luxurious gown of royal blue silk lent by Broadbent’s sister and transformed into a beautiful fit over the crinoline hoop by Ellie’s skill with a needle. Who could ever have believed the idea of Virginia Cooper dancing with an agent of the Confederacy, a Johnny Reb? And all in the line of duty, keeping Mr Fontaine occupied while her husband searched his hotel room.
Are you intrigued? I hope so. I’m despearely proud of this book. It seems to bring together everything I’ve been trying to do throughout my writing – but on a slightly broader canvas.
And I hope you’ll get in your order for The Faces Of The Dead.
Chris Nickson 