If you enjoyed Dark Remains, why not try ALL THAT GLITTERS!

Here is the opening chapter & blurb:

Rescued from the brutal streets of Victorian London, 14-year-old Maggie Power finds herself under the guardianship of one of London's first detectives, Samuel Blake. Living as a companion to Blake's recently widowed sister, Emily, she finds herself drawn into the world of Blake's criminal investigations.

Her older companion, Emily, becomes increasingly unhappy with her growing relationship with Blake and, as she sees it, her unfeminine interest in the dark and violent world he inhabits.

However, when a rich and powerful banker goes missing, presumed murdered, Maggie secretly aids Blake during the initial stages of the investigation. Once Emily discovers that she has gone against her advice, and is once more aiding Blake, Emily's and Maggie's relationship reaches breaking point.

Amid this domestic turmoil, Maggie seeks to escape the restrictions imposed upon her and with Blake's permission embarks on a secret mission to discover the fate of the missing man, spying on behalf of a police force which knows nothing of her existence.

As she and Detective Sergeant Blake move closer to discovering the fate of the missing banker, they uncover a world of greed, deception and murder.

ALL THAT GLITTERS is a historical mystery set in London during the 1840s.

***

Part 1

September 1842

“But what a weak barrier is truth when it stands in the way of an hypothesis!”

Mary Wollstonecraft, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman

***

Chapter 1

I blushed whenever he referred to me as his assistant.

Even now, as I begin to set these words down upon the page, after an interval of five years or more, I can still feel a crimson heat rush to my face.

All very silly, I know.

At first, he would only use that particular word when he thought nobody else could overhear, or else we were alone. It became our secret, for a time at least.

I’m sure it was meant as a silly joke, initially.

Back then his sister Emily – my latest and most attentive guardian – was unaware of my unpublicised role as Detective Sergeant Blake’s ‘assistant’. Neither, to my knowledge, was the Metropolitan Police.

As extraordinary as it all may sound, as the Summer of 1842 faded into Autumn, I began assisting one of London’s first and, without doubt, finest detectives. Over the course of those months, I was to find myself engaged in one of the most perplexing mysteries of the time. A story, which to this day, has still to be fully revealed to the world at large.

But more of that case later. First I must tell you how I became his assistant.

It’s true Blake had many avenues of enquiry, many people whom he could seek out during his investigations: ex-jailbirds; individuals known to him who still tread the faint line between legal and illegal enterprises; or a snitch who required money for his next quart of gin.

And then there was me.

Blake first called upon my assistance shortly after Jack disappeared. Back then I was still furious with him for leaving, for running away, as I saw it. Emily had placed great trust in all three of us, when she took us under her wing, and gave us a home, and Jack’s decision to run away was hurtful to all.

“There’s been six attacks in altogether.” Blake began. “Probably many others have taken place which have not been reported due to the delicate nature of the crimes. Each of the attacks seems to be more ferocious, more violent, than the previous. Almost as if the perpetrators have become unmoved to the hurt they’re inflicting upon their victims,” he said in a slow, explanatory manner.

I would later listen to how Blake spoke when surrounded by his own men: all swift orders and monosyllabic shouts. Yet, whenever he spoke to me, his voice softened, and he spoke slowly, clearly – like he was speaking to his sister, as if we females at least deserved the courtesy of clarity.

We were sat alone in Emily’s front room and he reminded me of the day we first met. That day, several months earlier, when I had walked into E Division station house at Holborn, accompanied by my brother. There I recounted to him the murder of my father’s friend, Mr William Turner.

“You remember the gentleman who cursed and insulted you so harshly on that day, I expect? The man who made you turn and run from the station house?”

I nodded.

“You remember him because you knew the exact nature of crime he’d come to report that day. Isn’t that correct, Maggie?”

Once again I nodded.

“I think all these crimes are linked. I think the same gang is responsible for all the attacks,” he said.

I thought back to that terrible night in May, of the helpless, drunken gentleman ambushed and beaten without mercy, then fleeced of all his valuables. Of my role in the crime...Of how low I had fallen that I had thought to take up with such thieves, cheats, sneaks.

“I know who they are,” I replied. “And what’s more, I know where some of them take their sleep. Not all. The leader of this gang is a slippery one. Vicious too. I’d be careful arresting him,” I added. “He bunks elsewhere.” I was about to say “lives” but the house where I once hid out with that gang could hardly be called a place to live. It would soon be demolished, like many of the squalid homes in that particular area of city.

“Can you take me to this place, Maggie?” He asked. “It’s important we put a stop to this now, before someone is more seriously injured; killed even. The last victim was slashed across the hand, as he attempted to defend himself. It left a deep, nasty cut and will probably leave him scarred. Yet, as quickly as this gang pounce, they seem to have the ability to simply disappear. We have more men on the streets in these areas,” he bent down and showed me a map of the affected area. “And we are even employing plain-clothes officers in and around The Holyland. But, alas, we still have had no luck.”

“You’ll need more than luck, detective. The attacks take place in one location, but the attackers swiftly return to another area of the city. As their captain once informed me, you don’t foul on your own doorstep. They’ll also be on the lookout for your men. They employ cross sweeping boys as look outs.” I thought of Jack, and how he had tricked us into the gang’s domain.

“I see,” he said.

I was about to suggest the Metropolitan Police do more to discourage a certain species of gentlemen from preying upon young girls, stop them from seeking out street girls of that age...

“Will you help, Maggie?”

“Yes. I mean I would, without a second’s hesitation, but I fear my name will be mentioned too. For I – as you have all too well realised – I have also run with this gang. Just the once, mind. And I fear that I, too, may end up on the sharp side of the law, sir.”

My fears were real. I also had Thomas to bear in mind. If I were implicated, would he not also be dragged to the courts? And he had taken so well to Mr Upson’s schooling since he had been sent off to study at Enfield.

But mostly my reluctance to help Blake sprang from a deep worry that Jack had run back to Charlie Deptford and his gang – the actors in the crimes he had been describing. What if the police arrested Jack, along with Charlie and Kitten and the rest of that wild and reckless band? He too would face an uncertain future. He too would face imprisonment and probable transportation. As angry as I was with Jack, I was still uncertain whether I was angry enough to see him locked within a jail cell or exiled for the best part of his life.

“I shall protect you, Maggie. Surely you know that? And I also understand how you were coerced into committing such a crime. I know you would not voluntary commit yourself to deeds such as this. There will be no comeback. Of that, I promise.”

I thought over his words of reassurance. I thought of the kindness both he and his sister had accorded me (and Tom) since my father fled north and left me under Emily’s care. I thought of the life which awaited us if we did not have the comfort and safety of the Blake’s home.

Then I thought of Jack, and the ungrateful manner in which he had thrown away all the kindness offered by Blake and Emily. I thought about how he had thrown away his chance of a new life – such as an education, the like of which Tom had begun to receive through Blake’s benevolence.

Thus I decided to help Blake.

I hoped and prayed that Jack, after his vanishing act, had made a better choice than rejoining Charlie and the gang. If he had not, then so be it. He was old and wise enough now to know the difference between right and wrong.

“You shall be my assistant for the day,” he said with a widening smile as he left.

And so began what I now call, somewhat elaborately I admit, my first case.

***

Later that evening, I accompanied Blake on the short journey across London to a location close to the gang’s hideout. Even in the diminishing light, costermongers still went about their business, selling wares such as fruit and vegetables, and the late summer streets teemed with people, some shuffling home drunk, others eager to return to their families after another hard day’s work.

I showed Blake where the gang lodged and gave him directions to the hideout.

I was told to wait behind in the carriage, but I could not stop myself from looking out towards the alleyway that led down to the hideout. All the while, I hoped Jack had decided to seek out a future some place else.

Soon, after they raided the hideout, Blake and his men paraded a grim line of shabby-looking children back on to the main road. I watched from my vantage point as they were first manacled, then marched back towards the station house at Holborn. I recognised many of the gang shuffling up the road towards me. I saw Kitten, not much older than I, tamed – her head to the floor, trudging towards a dismal and unimaginable future.

It was then I felt an incredible force of guilt wash over me. Afterwards, when I arrived back home, I cried for the future of those poor children, many younger than I. There would be none of the help, none of the charity, I had so fortunately received. Theirs was to be a grim future indeed.

Jack was not among their number, as far as I could see. For that, I felt some comfort and relief. There was no sign of the gang’s leader, Charlie, in that wretched chain of beings, either.

On the journey back to the station house, our carriage was held up by an overturned cart belonging to a group of night soil men. The air was full of confusion and a sickly stench quickly found its way to my nostrils. I placed a handkerchief to my nose and looked away from the labourers clearing up the foul mess.

Blake, who rejoined me on board when his men had accounted for all the prisoners, jumped from the vehicle and braved the racket upon the street in a bid to bring about some order. As I watched him disembark, and join the crowd outside the carriage, I began to understand what it was that made him such a success as a plain clothes officer of the law: it was his ordinariness, his ability to become a part of the crowd, to vanish amongst the throng.

I turned away from Blake, once he was lost to the evening crowds, and looked to the other side of the road. It was there I found a familiar face staring back at me. Motionless amongst the tumult surrounding him, Charlie Deptford eyes locked on mine. Statuesque, his gaze upon nothing but me.

Then, in a repeat of the very same gesture he’d left me with when I parted from him some months earlier, he held a finger to his throat and made a quick slashing movement, as if employing a knife.

I moved to the other side of the carriage, and jumped down to the street, despite the effluent and chaos which filled the night. I sought out Blake, all the while looking back to see if Charlie had come after me.

I could see neither.

Later, when the mess had been cleared and the carriage began to move again, I kept an eye on the roads for anyone resembling Charlie. He seemed to have disappeared – for now.

I did not tell Blake of this encounter as we made our way back home. And I did not ask him what consequences might have followed if I had not agreed to help him with his investigation. I thought about the worst outcome, had I not aided him, and then realised I had not been left with as much of a choice as I had first imagined.

Charity comes at a price, I reasoned. Although hadn’t I already learned this?

The only saving grace was Jack had not returned to his previous life of crime. He may have indeed returned to a life of crime – but one without Charlie, Kitten and the rest.

And there would always be Charlie. He knew I had been a party to the capture and imprisonment of his gang. Still at liberty and doubtless vengeful, I knew I would never be safe as long as he remained at large, out there someplace, nursing and feeding his grievance.