Contents (52)
- praise for
- The Siren of Sussex
- Also by Mimi Matthews
- belles of london novels
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Epilogue
- Author’s Note
- Literary Inspiration
- Victorian Views on Novel Reading and Bloodletting
- False Names, Marriage, and the Law
- The Fall of Sebastopol
- Acknowledgments
- Discussion Questions
- What’s next on your reading list?
A HERO OF THE CRIMEA
Success has at length crowned the endeavors of France and England in the Crimea; the mighty fortress of Sebastopol is in the possession of the allied armies. The victory has come with a fearful cost. While gallant hearts were toiling outside of its walls, there were brave defenders inside, who staked everything upon the issue. Among them, Capt. J. Blunt of the 10th Royal Hussars will surely be remembered as one of the conflict’s greatest heroes. Along with a scouting party of four of his valiant men, Capt. Blunt came under fire from an enemy sharpshooter during the fall of the city. Lieut. J. Marshland, son of the late Rev. Marshland, Vicar of Cadenham, was killed instantly. Blunt’s remaining men, Lieut. R. Grainger, brother of Viscount Ridgeway, and Lieutenants T. Akers, son of Mr. L. Akers of Wimbledon, and W. Vaughn, son of Mr. M. Vaughn of Newcastle, succumbed to a hail of bullets. Severely injured himself, Capt. Blunt disabled the sharpshooter, and when an enemy patrol descended and might have made away with valuable intelligence secreted on Lt. Marshland’s body, Capt. Blunt single-handedly dispatched the enemy at great cost to his own life. Blunt is recuperating from grievous wounds at Scutari Hospital. He is being considered for a special medal of bravery to be awarded by Queen Victoria.
The blood drained from Julia’s face as she read. By the time she’d finished, she felt clammy and faint, much like she had after a visit from Dr. Cordingley and his scarificator.
“There, you see,” Anne said triumphantly. “Your husband was a hero. I misjudged the man; I freely admit it.”
“Yes, I see,” Julie answered.
But it wasn’t all she’d seen.
A name had leapt out at her from the newspaper article: Lieutenant J. Marshland.
Jasper had lied to her. J. Marshland wasn’t his pen name. J. Marshland wasn’t anyone’s pen name. He’d been one of Jasper’s men. A soldier serving under him. The son of a country vicar.
“He was a dreamer. He loved novels—reading them and writing them.”
Jasper’s words in the Claverings’ garden echoed back to her.
No wonder the style of James Marshland’s books had changed after the war. It was because James Marshland was no longer writing them.
Thirty-Four
Jasper stood back as Lady Arundell investigated the dark interior of the stable. He was well aware of Goldfinch Hall’s haunted reputation. Rumors had plagued the estate long before he’d arrived and would no doubt linger long after he was gone.
It was nonsense, of course.
There were no ghosts at the Hall. No spirits cursed to wander the earth. Only rot and decay—the lingering effects of all-too-human neglect.
“I feel it here quite strongly,” Lady Arundell declared, coming to a halt in front of the empty loose boxes. “There’s a cold shaft coming through. A presence.”
“The floor has rotted away,” Jasper said. “So has the roof. What you’re feeling is the damp.”