Friday, July 19, 2024

The alternative bride

 

Alternate Bride

Chapter 1                                                        

 

“I suppose I shall have to have Jane as a bridesmaid; it will look strange if I don’t,” sighed Madelaine Daubrey.

“Such a plain child, but she could wear a veil, I suppose,” sighed her mother. “She’s no real relation, of course.”

“But she is Papa’s stepdaughter,” said Madelaine.

Jane might wish her stepsister and her stepsister’s mother did not speak about her as if she was not there, in the manner they discussed things in front of servants. But she was no real relation of anyone except little Tommy. Her mother had married her stepfather, Henry Daubrey, and after a series of miscarriages had finally brought Tommy alive into the world, and had quietly slipped out of it herself. Henry Daubrey had remarried rapidly, to a widow with a daughter two years older than his own stepdaughter. Helen, his new wife, had made it clear that she had no intent to breed herself to death, but would raise Tommy as his father’s heir. She doted on Tommy, and found Jane an embarrassment. School had taken care of ‘that tiresome child’ for a while, but at nearly seventeen, Jane had nothing more to learn at the admittedly very good school where she had spent the last six years.

“I don’t mind being in the background,” she said.

“No, of course you don’t, Jane, dear, but it will look odd to your father’s friends if you are not part of the wedding,” said Helen.

“Stepfather,” murmured Jane. It was her mild rebellion.

“Well, I am sure he considers himself your father,” said Helen.

Jane doubted this, but said nothing.

Madelaine had snared – her own words – the season’s big prize, in Gerard, Lord Wintergreen, known to many as Lord Winterheart for his cold and haughty manner. Jane, however, knew that the soubriquet was unjustified. Lord Wintergreen had come upon her crying over being unable to persuade the servants in the house they were visiting to give her Madelaine’s choice of drink, which was not commonly available. He had swiftly intimidated the servants to obtain ratafia, and called Jane a ‘little mouse’.

“You should learn to be a more aggressive mouse,” he said, patting her kindly on the shoulder.

Jane wished she might learn to be a more aggressive mouse, and had lost her heart to the tall, dark, handsome viscount in that moment. It was an agony to know that he had picked Madelaine as a suitable bride, and to see her beautiful step-sister’s blonde curls the perfect foil for Wintergreen’s dark, crisp locks. And she doubted he had even known who the little brown-haired, brown-eyed mouse had been.

She was wrong, here, and Gerard knew exactly who the other stepsister was. However, he was under the impression that Jane was considerably younger than Madelaine, and a sweet child, but too gauche to be a viscountess.

“I suppose you will have to give up seeing Mr. Vane,” said Jane, timidly.

“Give up seeing Freddie? Why should I?” said Madelaine. “I am making a marriage of convenience, and Gerard is an excellent catch.  I will have to provide him with an heir, of course, before I let Freddie bed me, but there’s plenty one may do without risking pregnancy. And Freddie is Gerard’s best friend, so there will be plenty of opportunity to see him.”

“I don’t think it very much the act of a best friend to carry on with a man’s bride behind his back,” ventured Jane.

“If you’d stopped after three words, you would have been correct,” snapped Helen. “Marriage à la mode has nothing to do with love.”

“I was thinking more of courtesy,” murmured Jane; but she did not murmur loud enough for her stepmother to hear.

 

It bothered Jane that her sister was having an affaire with Freddie Vane whilst being betrothed to Lord Wintergreen. She wished she could warn Lord Wintergreen, but it seemed a mean, underhanded piece of spite to tell tales on her stepsister. But she was angry on behalf of the groom.

She did manage to slip out to speak to him when he had come to pay a courtesy visit.

“My lord, I... I know that my behaviour must seem strange and can but cause offence,” she whispered, “But you were kind to me, and... and I hope you do not think that my stepsister is in love with you.”

“Why, little mouse, did you suppose I entered a betrothal supposing her affection to be engaged with my person more than my title and bank account?” asked Gerard.

“Well, yes,” said Jane. “Everyone falls in love with Madelaine, because she’s so beautiful, and she has witty conversation.”

“How sweet you are to say that without the appearance of jealousy,” said Gerard.

“A mouse is a little afraid of such things as would make her noticeable,” said Jane.

“I suspect that’s habit,” said Gerard. “But do not fear; I consider your sister a suitable wife, and my heart is no more engaged than hers is.”

“Oh, how sad,” said Jane.

“I need an heir, and I cannot afford any sentiment,” said Gerard. He patted her cheek. “Go back inside, little mouse, and do not worry about me.”

Jane dropped a curtsey and fled.

 

oOoOo

 

The day of the wedding dawned, and Jane was run off her feet running errands for Madelaine.

“Madelaine, if I don’t have time to dress, I’ll shame you in having to support you in my old calico, and my hair in braids,” said Jane, at last. “I’ll barely have time to scramble into the bridesmaid’s dress and brush out my hair as it is. Or was that the idea, because you don’t want me there?”

“Whatever gave you the idea that I don’t want you there?” said Madelaine. “I need someone as plain as you to help me look more beautiful.  But you are right, you must dress properly, and do your hair. Having you in rags like Cendrillon is not seemly. Go! Go! I will manage.”

Jane fled to put on the new gown which matched Madelaine’s in style. It was fortunate that Madelaine had decided that she and her supporters would be in apple-blossom pink, as pink was a colour which flattered Jane sufficiently that when she looked at her image in the mirror, a rather fly-blown old thing, but good enough for the poor relation, she could almost fancy herself to be beautiful. Her cheeks held a touch of colour, doubtless from having run about all day from the time the sun rose, and nothing to do with the chance of seeing Lord Wintergreen.

After all, after today, he would be her brother.

Not that he would be her brother, being only a step-step-brother-in-law and as closely related as if he were he some Irish nobleman of long, but well-buried bog pedigree.

And it did no good to wish she had a real relation to look after her.

Well! It was nice for this Cendrillon to go to the ball, even if she must watch Prince Charming marry her sister. And Madelaine was thoughtless, but not unkind, and things could have been worse.

 

 

When they reached the church, Madelaine looked out of the coach window, and pressed her kerchief to her lips.

“Go on in, Mama, Jane, I... I want to compose myself,” she said.

“Oh, Madelaine! How will you climb out with that train without help?” said Mrs. Daubrey.

“I’ll call for someone to help me,” said Madelaine. “I... I need to be alone with my thoughts for a while.

Jane was not sure what made her look back at the coach as Mrs. Daubrey hustled her into the church; but look back she did, and saw the coach rock as if someone was climbing in on the other side. The leather curtain on the door window was pulled firmly down. Jane had a bad feeling about this.

“Don’t dawdle, child,” said Mrs. Daubrey.

Jane turned, and found that Lord Wintergreen was waiting.

“Madam, Miss Jane,” said Gerard. “My bride?”

“Oh, Madelaine merely has wedding nerves, she wished to compose herself,” said Mrs. Daubrey.

Jane hesitated. Should she speak out? Or not? She did not want to be disloyal to the nearest thing she had to family, but on the other hand, it wasn’t fair to Lord Wintergreen.

“My lord, perhaps you ought to go to her; after all, it is the middle of town, a young girl alone in a coach might be at risk,” said Jane.

“Oh, Jane, what an idea, in the middle of all these people,” said Mrs Daubrey. “It’s bad luck for the groom to see his bride in her wedding finery before the wedding.”

“Well, madam, I believe it is time for the wedding,” said Gerard, who had seen pleading in the younger girl’s eyes. Jane felt it was important to see Madelaine, and Gerard, for some reason, trusted her feelings.

He strode out of the church, nodding to Henry Daubrey, who was hovering near the door of the church, looking somewhat vexed that his daughter had not joined him to go up the aisle on his arm.

 

Madelaine had paled to look out of the coach window into the haunted eyes of her beloved Freddy Vane.

She sent her mother and stepsister on and opened the door a sliver.

“Oh, Freddy! I wish you will come and say goodbye properly,” she whispered.

Freddy Vane climbed up into the coach and twitched down both curtains.

“The hell!” he said. “I cannot give you up; but if I must think of Gerard in your bed, I’ll be damned if I let him be first with you.”

“Freddy!” gasped Madelaine, who had not yet permitted Freddy to do more than heavy petting. She was nothing loath, however, and folded the heavy train under her as he laid her down on the floor and dropped his trouser fall.

 

Gerard pulled open the carriage door to be confronted by a pair of heaving buttocks. The buttocks were surmounted by a good quality superfine coat, and were supported by legs clad in satin knee-breeches, so there was no question that this was some chance brigand.  Madelaine’s voice happily mewing ‘Freddy! Freddy!’ was also something of a clue to the identity of her lover, and the fact that she was not unwilling.

Madelaine’s first session of lovemaking was rapidly terminated with her first coitus interruptus, as Freddy, breeches round his knees, was precipitated forcibly backwards and out of the coach, where he sprawled in the mud.

“Make yourself decent, madam, and have the goodness never to speak to me again,” said Gerard, coldly. “Freddy, I’m too furious to call you out yet, but I suggest you take yourself abroad. You can take your whore with you; I’ll not marry soiled goods.”

Freddy gaped.

“At least I love her, an emotion of which you are incapable,” he managed.

“You poor fool, I wonder how much love she will retain for you when your allowance is cut off as it assuredly will be when I tell your father,” snarled Gerard.  “Daubrey!  I am going to do you the courtesy of assuming you knew nothing of this betrayal, and the planting of a cuckoo into the nest of my family.”

“I knew nothing, my lord, nothing,” said Henry Daubrey. He turned to Freddy. “Young man, you will marry my daughter having ruined her. And you can buy a licence to do so straight away.  I...  I can only apologise, my lord....”

“I’ll marry the other one,” said Gerard.  “I’m to marry Miss Daubrey, but I’ll marry Miss Jane Daubrey.”

“It... she kept her father’s name,” said Henry Daubrey.

“She can be married with both as you have adopted her,” said Gerard. He strode up the aisle and grabbed Jane by the arm.

“You knew.”

“I suspected only,” whispered Jane. “I... I said she should give up her dalliance with your friend.”

“Former friend,” snarled Gerard. “I caught him planting a cuckoo in my nest.”

Jane gasped.

“I did not know they had gone so far!” she said.

“No, your sister seems to have been a sly piece all told,” said Gerard. “But I know who your father was, and I’m as happy to have one as the other. You have a better complexion than your sister, and I suspect she’ll be fat inside a decade. You’ll be married as Jane Henderson Daubrey, it will upset the clergyman less.”

“And do I get a say?” asked Jane.

“Were you going to refuse when you have the chance to escape and have the things I am pretty sure you have been denied?” asked Gerard.

“I might,” said Jane, putting up her chin. “Being picked to be a bride because ‘I’ll do’ is scarcely flattering to me.”

“The hell!” said Gerard. “It’ll be a dreadful scandal if no marriage at all goes ahead.”

“I don’t care,” said Jane.

“What must I promise you?”

She frowned in thought.

“You must promise me that you will court me as if we were unmarried, and persuade me that I want to be your wife, and you will not expect marital rights until you have made sure that we know each other, and I have accepted your suit,” said Jane.

“The mouse has roared,” said Gerard. “Madam lion-mouse, I bow to your will.”

 

The rest of the day passed in a whirl for Jane; the clergyman told that a mistake had been made because the older of two sisters had only just made up her mind to wed.  And Madelaine must suffer seeing her step-sister married to her matrimonial prize whilst she was married unexpectedly to her Freddy, who was wondering how he was to keep so expensive a wife when he could no longer rely on Gerard to touch for a loan.

It was not until she was in Gerard’s carriage, seated beside him, that it started coming home to Jane that she was married to Gerard, Lord Wintergreen, and that he had agreed to court her.

 

 

 

 

                                            

Thursday, July 4, 2024

Some Quester pics

 

Purity

Poltronis

Lucius

Herakles all dressed up, but should have a moustache

Elene


Poltronis's island palace. 







Some fashion pics:






campus of academy



the sump



The Electric Zarr


Quester






Wednesday, July 3, 2024

quester: the Absent Assassin has published

 

the second 'Quester' book is out, The Absent Assassin
 
Have done corrections on Extreme Cobra and hoping to get that out by next week

Monday, June 24, 2024

Quester amongst the flowers 1

 the good news is that I have been a bit more active, and a noticeable amount less pain. The bad news is I have been taking advantage of this to do stuff about the house rather than writing for you all. I should say sorry, but I'm not really that sorry. anyway, here it is, the third Quester story, I'm still writing it, but I have a good few chapters in hand.

Chapter 1

 

Quester regarded the Jurisprudentor with displeasure.

“You have eight girls from patrician families who are dead, or missing, and you can’t find a single fact which connects them?”

The gangling young man who was on the receiving end of his displeasure had a prominent adam’s apple which bobbed nervously as he swallowed.

“Well, apart from them all being between about fourteen and twenty-one, no,” he said. “Sex criminals usually have a type... I beg your pardon?”

“They are all the victims of sex crimes?” asked Quester.

“Well, yes; the ones we have found have all been violated and strangled,” said the Jurisprudentor.

“Mr. Villnew,” said Quester, reading off the label on the paper-pusher, “You tell me there are no points of similarity, yet you have given me three already. All nubile, violated, and killed by strangulation.  And would that be manual strangulation, or using some form of ligature?”

Villnew goggled and his adam’s apple bobbed up and down as if it wanted to escape the confining throat.

“I... I don’t know,” said Villnew. “...My lord,” he added belatedly as Burdock glared and Quester raised an eyebrow.

“And they got an idiot with delusions of moronity to brief me why?” demanded Quester. “Which  Lictor is in charge of this? Why did he not report to me?”

The adam’s apple bobbed widely.

“Uh... Lictor Cayban did not have time....” he tailed off nervously and twisted his fingers together.

“I won’t shoot the messenger if he was less than courteous, you know,” said Quester.

Villnew shuffled.

“He said that he didn’t need some poncy Justiciar doing his job for him and that if he couldn’t solve it, you hadn’t a chance, and he was damned if he gave you any consideration or time, and advised us to be unhelpful. I was given the job of briefing you this morning and I haven’t been able to go through it all yet, my lord,” he said.

“That puts a different complexion on things, lad,” said Quester.  “I take back the remark about your intellect. I won’t apologise for it, though, because you parroted what you were told to say, instead of doing your duty and telling me how it is.  Do you have all the records?  Is all the evidence recorded?”

“Uh....” said Villnew.

“Hunter,” said Quester, to his new junior, “Go with Burdock into the evidence locker and pull everything on these girls... you have a list, Mr. Villnew?”

“Oh, yes, here,” said Villnew.

Quester read it through as the two assistants headed deep into the local Judiciary building.

“Hortensia Wilburga Sagittaria; Jacintha Willema Farfaxa; Rosa Jema Basvilla; Selandina Riketa Warrena; Erica Peytona Randoffa; Zenobia Willema Avia;  Yolanda Thossa Jeffra; and Iolantha Ankakia Lea. I can see another link just by looking at the list.”

“Some of them are flowers,” said Kiliana, leaning over his arm.

“All of them are flowers,” said Quester. “Hydrangea, Hyacinth, Rose, Buttercup, Heather, Honeycup – a native of the Jinnya Isles – Violet, and Violet. Now tell me there’s no connection.”

Villnew gulped convulsively, and Killiana shuddered, worried that his voice box was going to break free and burst out of his neck.

“I... I don’t want to be fired,” he said. “I... I failed the Justiciar training, and... and went in for Jurisprudence instead. But you have to do a lot of politicking to stay still, never mind rise, and... well, Lictor Cayban was appointed to the case by the Judiciary, and I’m a very small cog and he’s a very big wheel.”

“If you do well by me, Villnew, you will find I am so much bigger a wheel than he can possibly imagine.  His actions are close to heresy, and I am tempted to have him arrested in order to find out whether he’s blocking me because he, or a friend of his, has been plucking these flowers. Copy your file once each for my assistant and me, oh, and a third time for Sub-Justiciar Hunter. Killiana, you can let Purity look over your notes.”

Killiana nodded; that was an instruction to brief Purity, who had admitted to being poor at reading, being more interested in the physical side of her training. Quester suspected that many Highbred had questionable literary skills; most of them had good to eidetic memories, which obviated the need to look up what they could memorise. Chaplains and Psions kept records so presumably had higher attainments of literacy, but as their records were secret, he could not ascertain the truth of this. He strongly suspected his friend, Chaplain Eusebius, of speaking his records into his datatab. Many people did.  And Purity had hoped to be a Sister Nightingale, one of the female Highbred units who were battlefield medics. She had failed her tests by the narrowest of margins, but had received some training, as well as a second heart, from Eusebius and his Winged Hussars. At something over seven feet tall, she was short next to the Highbred, but a nice size for Burdock, the Ogroid, whose girlfriend she was. Ogroids had grown out of the original experiments in breeding Highbred, and were usually dim-witted and slow of thought. Burdock was an exceptional character with an offbeat sense of humour, and as he also now had a second heart, he had every chance of living to a reasonable age, as well as being healthier. It was a gift which Quester had appreciated.

He scanned through the information which had been given to Villnew, which was remarkably thin.

“I hope the others find something more than this in the evidence lockers,” he growled. “This is my office from now on; requisition me two more for working in. The inhabitants can double up with others.”

“Er... I don’t think they’ll be happy,” said Villnew.

“They don’t have to be happy; they only have to comply,” said Quester. “Well, jump to it, man! I want the offices today, not when your drool has had a chance to dry. And then you can see about finding me a house to rent nearby.”

“Y... yes, my lord,” said Villnew, who had almost forgotten in his office job how much power a Justiciar had.

Almost limitless.

Villnew straightened.

If he did right by this Justiciar, he would be distributing close to the word of the Blessed Abe himself. And that would settle a few old scores.

He smiled beatifically.

Hickenbak had the best office, with the morning sun and a panorama of the city; the justiciar would doubtless like that. It had a helipad too. Hickenbak could go in with that miserable old sod, Parkson, and may each of them hate it. There was good reason, too, the Justiciar needed helo access at all times. Yes, that would work nicely; it was a shame to upset Miz Lewis in the office between, but  it would be sensible for the space to be contiguous.  And she’d love to see the up-to-the-minute fashions the Justiciar’s assistant was wearing, and might keep a corner of her office if she made herself useful. She had the kitchen right opposite, after all....

Villnew went to talk Miz Lewis into supporting him in evicting Hickenbak.

He saw the Sub-Justiciar and the Ogroid coming back with a truck full of boxes.

Hickenbak first, then.

“In here, if you please, Your Honour, and Mister Burdock,” said Villnew. “I have not yet removed the current incumbent, but it’s a larger office for the Lord Justiciar; and the Jurisprudentor in the office between able to be useful, I am sure, as his lordship does not object to women.”

“Him in de big room a problem, huh?” said Burdock.

“He thinks he’s Abe’s gift to everyone,” said Villnew.

“Leave it to me,” said Burdock. “What’s his name?”

“Hiram Hickenbak,” said Villnew.

Burdock considered for a moment, then a smile came over his face, showing his snaggletoothed grin.

He kicked the door open.

“Which of you is I-ram Stick-in-back?” he demanded.

“I’m Hiram Hickenbak, and you can get out of my office, you dirty stupid Ogroid,” said the haughty tones of the senior Jurisprudentor.

“Ho, well, it ain’t your office no more, Stick-in-back, it’s been requisitioned for his lordship, Lord Justiciar Quester,” said Burdock. “You may have half an hour to gather your personal effects and what you are working on, and move elsewhere. Where should he go, Mr. Villnew?”

“If you knew how tempted I was to answer a straight line like that,” muttered Villnew; and almost fell over when the Ogroid winked at him.

Villnew came into the office.

“I think you’d better move in with Parkson,” said Villnew.

“What about your office, or Lewis’s?” said Hickenbak.

“Requisitioned,” said Villnew. “We’ll be acting as gophers for the Justiciar, and Abe help you if you irritate him, he has a nasty tongue.”

“’S’ all right, you got twenty-two minutes to get out,” said Burdock, clearing Hickenbak’s desk with a casual swipe of his arm.  “This will do, I suppose,” he said. “Where do you make coffee?”

“Opposite Lewis’s office,” said Villnew. “I’ll go and apprise her of the rearrangements.”

Hunter went to collect Quester who looked round the larger office with approval.

“Well, this beats some of the places I’ve had to work,” he said. “Well done, Villnew, and I’m sure Burdock had a hand here too.”

“What’s the worst office you ever had?” asked Kiliana.

Quester gave a rueful smile.

“The  senior officers’ toilet on a war Zeppelin,” he said. “It locked, and there was someone on board out to disrupt my investigations.” He smiled whimsically. “It had lovely shiny surfaces to set up infra red sensors for when the miscreant tried to ambush me by coming through the skylight.”

“You lead an exciting life, my lord,” said Purity. “I’ll be ready to run errands, shall I move in with Miz Lewis and see what the gossip tree says?”

“Why not,” said Quester. “Burdock in charge of the kitchen, I need you helping me, Kiliana, and Hunter, who can retire with the aid of Mr. Villnew on side projects. Set me up a white board, and a map of where those girls came from, Hunter. Did you have any trouble?”

“Not for long,” said Hunter, dryly.

“There was a fellow called Hopping-Weener but we persuaded him to leave us alone,” said Burdock.

“Otherwise, one Vigilior Oppenheimer,” said Hunter. “Burdock asked him if he was a heretic to try to oppose the will of a Justiciar, and he just about wet his pants and fled.”

“Wise of him,” said Quester.

The evidence, which Hunter had signed for, held film pictures of those girls who had been found, since film could not be corrupted, or duplicated by AI. Digital pictures could be made to show almost anything. The girls had been bound with a most unusual twine.

“What do you make of this?” he asked Kiliana, passing her a sample.  Any DNA had been removed by now.

Kiliana regarded it thoughtfully.

“You know we had a kitchen garden on the Pinch Eddard Isles?” she said. “This is like the twine we used for growing beans on, threaded back and forth on a fence.”

Quester nodded. “I can’t find any suggestion that this twine has been identified; the report says, bound with heavy duty green twine, perhaps for tying parcels. Ask Purity to go round any garden or hardware malls, with her pass as my assistant, and ask if she can match it to any brand, and see how common it is. We are probably out of luck, and it’s probably as common as muck itself, but it’s worth a try. Give her enough out of petty cash to buy samples, and to pick up a meal on the way back.”

Kiliana ran off with a sample, bagged and signed for by Quester. Purity must sign it too, and then chain of evidence was maintained.

 

oOoOo

 

Quester recognised Lictor Cayban when he burst into the office.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing, stealing all my evidence?” he howled.

Quester looked up at him, briefly, and continued making notes, and looking at the photographs, to all appearances ignoring Cayban. Cayban strode forward and planted two meaty fists on the well-polished desk of the former occupant of the office. Quester looked up again from where he was examining a photo with a jeweller’s loop. He took the loop from his eye.

“Ah, Cayban, this saves me the bother of sending for you. Do sit down, and let us discuss how long you have been facilitating paedophiles with a liking for aristocratic debutants,” he said.

“I came to... what?” Cayban was rocked back.

“Well, either you are some kind of heretic to interfere with the duties of a Justiciar, or you are hiding the evidence for personal reasons,” said Quester, in his reasonable tone of voice. “You have failed to identify the linking factor between the girls, and a very pertinent link that has to the twine used to bind them.”

“There is no link between them save of social class and age,” said Cayban. “You are making it up to rattle me!”

“I hardly need to do that,” said Quester. “I find it astonishing that a supposedly capable and experienced Lictor like yourself should miss such obvious clues, without considering that you must be covering up for someone you know.  I was wondering whether I should put you to the question over it.”

Cayban fell back into the chair Hunter had set for him, and if he did not actually faint, his grey pallor and sweating brow showed how close he had come to it.

“I... I am a lictor, you cannot....”

“If I suspect heresy I can put anyone to the question,” said Quester. “Now, answer my question, if you please; confession is good for the soul and can save you much unpleasantness.” He steepled his fingers, and sat back, quizzically.

“But... but I am not a heretic!” cried Cayban. “I observe all the offices scrupulously! And... and I am not a deviant, nor do I know any!”

“Then why did you ignore the link between the girls and the link with the twine used?” demanded Quester. 

“I... there is no link! I cannot see one!” sweated Cayban.

“You do not think it significant that every one of those girls is given the name of a flower?” said Quester, in apparent astonishment. Cayban stared.

“But... they aren’t, are they?” he asked.

“Plainly botany was not on your curriculum. Your bafflement is genuine enough. Each of the girls bore the name which has grown from that of a flower; and the twine used to tie them up is garden twine. A tenuous enough link, perhaps, but further than you have got.”

“I’ll find out who does their father’s gardens, and have them brought in for questioning,” said Cayban.

“You will not,” said Quester. “Do you think I have time to waste, breaking each and every little  perrin who cuts lawns and pulls weeds.  By all means, have your men find out who does the gardens of each, and then we can cross correlate any features between them. Also any gardeners at any school or college they may have been attending, any public gardens nearby, and see if the same name of the same firm comes up more than once. Preferably in all eight cases.  And remember, it may be a blind, by a botanically minded member of their own class. Or a teacher of botany. Once we are certain, then we can act. Are there any other young girls of similar age range who have not been molested? Find me a list of debutants. Bring that to me, too. This will stop, hopefully before another young girl has to suffer. Well what are you waiting for? I have given you a sufficiency of tasks to get on with; go!”

Cayban stumbled out of the office wondering where he had lost the plot of his complaint so badly.

 

Saturday, June 15, 2024

Too Many White Roses now live

 so, the next Felicia and Robin book is live in pb and ebook. 

UK & US and any other market place. 



re writing, I'll be posting soon with another Quester story.