Norfolk windmills are very real, however. The windmills, or wind pumps, were constructed throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, on into the twentieth century, to drain lands for farming, some also grinding grain. The use of windmills was discontinued in the early twentieth century in favor of electric pumps. However, many windmills are still standing throughout Norfolk, and can be visited.
Please continue reading for a preview of Captain Lacey's next adventure
A Disappearance in Drury Lane
By Ashley Gardner
Book 8 of the Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries
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Chapter One
London, 1817
Marianne Simmons came to me on a cold December day when I was packing away my old life in order to begin my new.
Tomorrow, I would journey through sparkling frosts and possible snow to Oxfordshire. I would go via warm, private coach, but no amount of luxury could keep away the winter winds that were decidedly blowing now.
Marianne walked into my rooms and looked about with critical interest. She was resplendent in an ensemble created for winter afternoons--a gray skirt topped with a black and silver, long-sleeved bodice, a silver-gray spencer, gray leather gloves, a bonnet trimmed with feathers and ruched black ribbon, and a large fur muff. A far cry from the rather desperate, tawdrily dressed young woman who used to come down the stairs from her rooms above mine and filch my candles, my coal, my snuff, and anything else she could carry.
Marianne was now the mistress of Lucius Grenville, one of England's wealthiest men, and he believed in turning his ladies out well. The dressmaker he employed was the most sought after in London.
"I need your help, Lacey," Marianne said without preliminary.
"On the moment? I am rushing off to be married, as you can see."
"I thought you did not leave until tomorrow."
"I do not, but Bartholomew and I must clear everything from these rooms and have my baggage ready for Lady Breckenridge's coach tomorrow. Her coachman is not the most patient of beings."
"Good. Then you have this evening."
I looked up from where I was packing the contents of the drawers of my chest-on-frame into a wooden box. When I'd moved in three and more years ago, I'd had little in the way of possessions, but things tend to accumulate, especially in drawers.
"I have this evening to pack," I said. "You would not wish me to be late to the happiest day of my life, would you?"
Marianne plunked herself into my wing chair and slapped her muff to her lap. "Well, if it will be the happiest day of your life, then all the others can only be worse, can't they? Perhaps you ought to miss it altogether."
"I fear that my good lady would not see it in that light. Besides, her mother is going to much trouble with this wedding."
"To which I am not invited."
I ended up simply dumping the entire contents of the drawer into the box. "No one is invited but members of the immediate family. Donata's immediate family, that is. Pembrokes, all. The only Breckenridge attending is Donata's son, Peter, and he with his nanny."
"Grenville will be there."
We came to the heart of her sour mood. "Grenville will be there because he is standing up with me. I assure you, the rest of the party will be elderly matrons and gentlemen related to Lady Breckenridge's mother and father. My family will be represented by my daughter."
And my heart sang.
I had not seen Gabriella since the summer, when she'd come for a too-brief visit to the country house of Lady Aline Carrington, where I also had been staying. Gabriella had arrived at Dover a few days ago, chaperoned by her French aunt and uncle. Earl Pembroke had dispatched his personal carriage to take them straight to Hampshire.
Marrying Donata Breckenridge was one reason I hurried away from dank London, but seeing my daughter again put wings on my feet.
"The matter is a simple one," Marianne said. "I am sure you could clear it up in a trice. You always do."
Not quite. The last problem I'd cleared up had taken nearly two weeks, and I'd ridden miles and been battered and beaten for my pains. I'd also done things, and looked the other way at things done by others, that still made me uncomfortable at night.
"What matter?" I asked. I knew that trying to put Marianne off would never work. She could be persistent to the point of madness.
"A friend has gone missing," Marianne said. She stroked the fur of her muff as she frowned, the short, jerky movements telling me she was more worried than she wanted to let on. "One I knew when I was in the company at Drury Lane. I thought you might look into it for me, since you excel at finding the missing."
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About the Author
Award-winning Ashley Gardner is a pseudonym for New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Ashley. Under both names--and a third, Allyson James--Ashley has written more than 35 published novels and novellas in mystery and romance. Her books have won several RT BookReviews Reviewers Choice awards (including Best Historical Mystery for The Sudbury School Murders), and Romance Writers of America’s RITA (given for the best romance novels and novellas of the year). Ashley’s books have been translated into a dozen different languages and have earned starred reviews in Booklist.
More about the Captain Lacey series can be found at
http://www.gardnermysteries.com
Or email Ashley Gardner at
[email protected] Books in the Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries series
The Hanover Square Affair
A Regimental Murder
The Glass House
The Sudbury School Murders
The Necklace Affair (novella)
A Body in Berkeley Square
A Covent Garden Mystery
The Gentleman's Walking Stick (short-story collection)
A Death in Norfolk
A Disappearance in Drury Lane
And more to come!
Jennifer Ashley, A Death in Norfolk
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