I’m delighted to welcome Ann Bennett and her new book, A Rose In The Blitz of the Sisters of War series, to the blog.
Here’s the blurb
Escape into the dramatic world of London during the Blitz in this sweeping family saga of love, war and betrayal.
Northamptonshire: 1980: Wealthy landowner, Hadan Rose, is dying. His daughter, May, rushes to his country estate, Rose Park, with her daughter, Rachel, to nurse him through his final days.
In the afternoons, while Hadan sleeps, May tells Rachel about her wartime experiences.
In 1940, Three of the four Rose sisters leave Rose Park to serve the war effort. May, the youngest is left behind. But she soon runs away from home to join an ambulance crew in London. She experiences the horrors of the Blitz first-hand but what happens to her there has remained secret her whole life.
In 1980, at Rose Park, Rachel wanders through the old house, looking at old photographs and papers, uncovering explosive family secrets from ninety years before. Secrets that her grandfather wanted to take to his grave. At the local pub, Rachel meets Daniel Walters, a local journalist and musician who takes an interest in her. But can she trust him, or does he have an ulterior motive for seeking her company?
As the secrets of the past gradually reveal themselves, both Rachel and May realise that their worlds are forever changed.
Fans of Lucinda Riley, Dinah Jeffries and Victoria Hislop will love this escapist wartime saga, Book 1 in the Rose Park Chronicles.
This title is available to read on #KinldeUnlimited
Meet the Author
Ann Bennett is a British author of historical fiction. Her first book, Bamboo Heart: A Daughter’s Quest, was inspired by researching her father’s experience as a prisoner of war on the Thai-Burma Railway and by her own travels in South-East Asia. Since then, that initial inspiration has led her to write more books about the second world war in SE Asia. Bamboo Island: The Planter’s Wife, A Daughter’s Promise, Bamboo Road: The Homecoming, The Tea Planter’s Club, The Amulet and her latest release The Fortune Teller of Kathmandu are also about WWII in South East Asia. All seven make up the Echoes of Empire Collection.
Ann is also the author of The Lake Pavilion, The Lake Palace, both set in British India during the 1930s and WWII, and The Lake Pagoda and The Lake Villa, both set in French Indochina. The Runaway Sisters, bestselling The Orphan House, The Child Without a Home and The Forgotten Children are set in Europe during the same era and are published by Bookouture.
Ann is married with three grown up sons and a granddaughter and lives in Surrey, UK. For more details please visit www.annbennettauthor.com.
I’m delighted to welcome back David Fitz-Gerald and his new book, Snarling Wolf, book 4 in the Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail series, to the blog with a series trailer.
Series Trailer
Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail series trailer
Here’s the blurb
Dive back into the gripping, frontier chaos. Snarling Wolf is the fourth adventurous installment in the Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail series.
The famed Snake River marks the point the wagon master claims that all the greenhorns turn loco. After twelve hundred grueling miles and four relentless months on the trail, the expedition teeters on the brink. Frayed nerves, exhausted patience, and the specter of doom cast a dark cloud over the travelers.
At every turn, new dangers emerge. A young man who is like a brother to Dorcas Moon is ravaged in a mountain lion attack. A heat wave grips the dusty, barren plains and spreads sickness. The wolves that lurk in the shadows edge closer. Even the rattlesnakes seem emboldened.
Dorcas’ daughter, Rose’s descent into madness can no longer be ignored. What began as an eerie preoccupation with death takes a shocking turn when Rose reveals her truths. Dorcas is thrust into a realm of disbelief, and her worst fears about Rose’s mysterious suitor become a stark reality.
As weary emigrants yearn for respite, tales of murderous outlaws spread like wildfire across the prairie. Passing strangers share the latest terrifying news. It’s only a matter of when, not if, the notorious highwaymen will strike. Which bend of the mighty snake shelters the feared outlaws?
Grab your copy of Snarling Wolf now and unveil the next chapter in Dorcas Moon’s relentless saga. Sink your teeth into this tale of survival, madness, and the unyielding spirit of those who brave the treacherous migration.
This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited
Meet the Author
David Fitz-Gerald writes westerns and historical fiction. He is the author of twelve books, including the brand-new series, Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail set in 1850. Dave is a multiple Laramie Award, first place, best in category winner; a Blue Ribbon Chanticleerian; a member of Western Writers of America; and a member of the Historical Novel Society.
Alpine landscapes and flashy horses always catch Dave’s eye and turn his head. He is also an Adirondack 46-er, which means that he has hiked to the summit of the range’s highest peaks. As a mountaineer, he’s happiest at an elevation of over four thousand feet above sea level.
Dave is a lifelong fan of western fiction, landscapes, movies, and music. It should be no surprise that Dave delights in placing memorable characters on treacherous trails, mountain tops, and on the backs of wild horses.
I’m delighted to welcome Stella Riley and her new book, A Splendid Defiance, a Roundheads & Cavaliers book, to the blog with an excerpt from Chapter 2: Bargaining with the enemy.
Chapter 2: Bargaining with the enemy
Jonas did not know if he was irritated or relieved to hear that Captain Ambrose awaited him in the shop. He loathed the garrison but a review of the last quarter’s figures had revealed a far from satisfactory state of affairs which meant he needed the Captain’s business. This, however, did not make him any less uncivil than usual and he said, ‘I begin to find your persistence annoying.’
‘I’m sure,’ agreed Justin. ‘But the remedy is in your own hands. And you won’t be the first to sacrifice your principles in exchange for hard cash.’
Jonas’s gaze sharpened.
‘Is that how you would pay? No promissory notes?’
‘No. We have the money. What we don’t have is endless time to discuss the matter. If the men are to have decent coats this winter, we need the cloth – and sooner rather than later. If you won’t supply it, I’ll apply to Oxford. Your choice … but if you can’t make it, then I must. Well?’
Jonas stared at the worldly elegance before him and longed for the satisfaction of refusing. Bitter rage burned in his breast and his frustration channelled itself into hatred for the man in front of him.
‘Very well. Broadcloth or worsted?’
The Captain expressed a preference for broadcloth. Jonas named his price and the Captain laughed.
‘Oh no, Mr. Radford. I realise that the damage done to your finer feelings will require compensation – but I’m not willing to be robbed. Try again.’
‘Robbed?’ echoed Jonas. ‘Do you think I can’t guess where you get the ‘hard cash’ you boast of?’
‘On the contrary, I’m very sure that you can. But I am equally sure that you will find our transaction less painful if you avoid thinking of it.’
Jonas’s answer was a diatribe against Cavalier lawlessness and vice. Captain Ambrose waited until he paused for breath and then said, ‘This is war, Mr. Radford. The Parliament attacks our convoys and we theirs. It is unfortunate but necessary. I doubt any of us takes any pleasure in it.’
‘Pleasure is all your kind ever think about!’ spat Jonas. ‘But God sees all and is not deceived. And you might remember that, if war makes thieves –’
‘Peace hangs them. Quite.’ Bored grey eyes met smouldering black ones. ‘But I’m not here to justify either myself or my cause – and I don’t have all day to waste while you preach. Fifteen shillings the yard and not a farthing more.’
Here’s the blurb
For two years England has been in the grip of Civil War. In Banbury, Oxfordshire, the Cavaliers hold the Castle, the Roundheads want it back and the town is full of zealous Puritans.
Consequently, the gulf between Captain Justin Ambrose and Abigail Radford, the sister of a fanatically religious shopkeeper, ought to be unbridgeable.
The key to both the fate of the Castle and that of Justin and Abigail lies in defiance. But will it be enough?
A Splendid Defiance is a dramatic and enchanting story of forbidden love, set against the turmoil and anguish of the English Civil War.
She is fascinated by the English Civil Wars and has written six books set in that period. These, like the 7 book Rockliffe series, the Brandon Brothers trilogy and, most recently The Shadow Earl, are all available in audio, performed by Alex Wyndham.
Stella enjoys travel, reading, theatre, Baroque music and playing the harpsichord. She also has a fondness for men with long hair – hence her 17th and 18th century heroes.
I’m delighted to welcome Malve von Hassel and her new book, The Falconer’s Apprentice, to the blog.
Here’s the blurb
THE FALCONER’S APPRENTICE is a story of adventure and intrigue set in the intense social and political unrest of the Holy Roman Empire in the thirteenth century.
“That bird should be destroyed!”
Andreas stared at Ethelbert in shock. Blood from an angry-looking gash on the young lord’s cheek dripped onto his embroidered tunic. Andreas clutched the handles of the basket containing the young peregrine. Perhaps this was a dream—
Andreas, an apprentice falconer at Castle Kragenberg, cannot bear the thought of killing the young female falcon and smuggles her out of the castle. Soon he realizes that his own time there has come to an end, and he stows away, with the bird, in the cart of an itinerant trader, Richard of Brugge.
So begins a series of adventures that lead him from an obscure castle in northern Germany to the farthest reaches of Frederick von Hohenstaufen’s Holy Roman Empire, following a path dictated by the wily trader’s mysterious mission. Andreas continues to improve his falconry skills, but he also learns to pay attention to what is happening around him as he travels through areas fraught with political unrest.
Eventually, Richard confides in Andreas, and they conspire to free Enzio, the eldest of the emperor’s illegitimate sons, from imprisonment in Bologna.
Malve von Hassell is a freelance writer, researcher, and translator. She holds a Ph.D. in anthropology from the New School for Social Research. Working as an independent scholar, she published The Struggle for Eden: Community Gardens in New York City (Bergin & Garvey 2002) and Homesteading in New York City 1978-1993: The Divided Heart of Loisaida (Bergin & Garvey 1996). She has also edited her grandfather Ulrich von Hassell’s memoirs written in prison in 1944, Der Kreis schließt sich – Aufzeichnungen aus der Haft 1944 (Propylaen Verlag 1994).
She has taught at Queens College, Baruch College, Pace University, and Suffolk County Community College, while continuing her work as a translator and writer.
Malve has published two children’s picture books, Tooth Fairy (Amazon KDP 2012/2020), and Turtle Crossing (Amazon KDP 2023), and her translation and annotation of a German children’s classic by Tamara Ramsay, Rennefarre: Dott’s Wonderful Travels and Adventures (Two Harbors Press, 2012).
The Falconer’s Apprentice (2015/KDP 2024) was her first historical fiction novel for young adults. She has published Alina: A Song for the Telling (BHC Press, 2020), set in Jerusalem in the time of the crusades, and The Amber Crane (Odyssey Books, 2021), set in Germany in 1645 and 1945, as well as a biographical work about a woman coming of age in Nazi Germany, Tapestryof My Mother’s Life: Stories, Fragments, and Silences (Next Chapter Publishing, 2021), also available in German, Bildteppich Eines Lebens: Erzählungen Meiner Mutter, Fragmente Und Schweigen (Next Chapter Publishing, 2022), and is working on a historical fiction trilogy featuring Adela of Blois.
I’m delighted to welcome Sheridan Brown and her new book, The Viola Factor, to the blog, with a book trailer.
The Viola Factor Book Trailer
The Viola Factor Book Trailer
Here’s the blurb
“The Viola Factor” takes place at a time when the country faced division and growth after the American Civil War. Viola Knapp Ruffner (1812-1903) struggled with what was just and fair, becoming a little-known confidant for a young black scholar from Virginia. But Viola was much more than a teacher; she was a mother, wife, game-changer, and friend. With her mother’s dying wish, a young woman alone, she left her New England roots. This is a story of trauma and love in the South while battling for justice and the rightful education of the enslaved and once enslaved. African American leader Booker T. Washington (1856-1915) called her his friend and model for life.
The Viola Factor is in many ways a journey of life done in baby steps, tentatively stumbling, until a galloping stride is achieved. Viola Knapp wears different shoes on different days. Heavy, mud-trekking boots to allow for aggressive steps, and daintier shoes for more rhythmic and assertive ones. She was a diligent daughter, an outspoken protector, and a progressive teacher.
Like many women in her situation, alone at seventeen, Viola must realize her own principles to fulfill her future goals. With every stride, Viola Knapp Ruffner marches around surprises, over potholes, and dodges folly after folly on her journey to be fulfilled. After ambling in one direction, plodding along in another, and wandering to find herself, a sudden halt pushes her forward until a factor of fate places her in the path of a newly freed slave with a desire to read and penchant to lead. After years of post-traumatic stress and mental uncoupling, she finds herself a woman who followed her mother’s dying wish to fight for what is fair and just.
Sheridan Brown holds advanced degrees in school leadership and is a certified teacher, principal, and educational leader. The arts have always been a central force in her life, since performing in piano recitals, school band, plays, and singing in choirs her whole life.
Ms. Brown was born in Tennessee and raised in small towns of southwest Virginia. She practiced her profession in Virginia, Massachusetts, and Florida. Upon retirement, she began volunteering, painting, writing, researching, and traveling with her husband, attorney John Crawford. She has one son, Tony Hume. She is GiGi to Aiden and Lucy. She has returned to the Blue Ridge to live and explore.
I’m delighted to welcome Heather Miller and her new book, Yellow Bird’s Song, to the blog with an excerpt.
Excerpt 1
John Rollin Ridge, Cherokee Nation West, 1850
The evening’s red sky horizon stretched its wide arms behind Judge Kell’s dogtrot, extending into the dust. A dead tree stood as an ineffectual sentry between his corn crib and smokehouse, visible through the open-framed breezeway. I salivated, smelling pork fat lingering in the air. No longer able to afford to slaughter hogs, my family could only recall bacon’s salty taste.
Inside the paddock, my appy lay on his side. Castration’s fresh blood tainted his coat of bronze and cream. Blood gathered under his hind quarters. If Kell had cut his femoral, he’d die from blood loss. That horse was Dick’s grandson, the pony I begged Papa to bring west from Running Waters.
The porch door squeaked, then slammed behind him. Kell expected me. He rolled tobacco in paper, sealing it closed with his tongue. His eyes squinted from the western prairie’s sunlight sliding low behind me.
He struck a phosphorus match against the porch post, lit the end of the rolled tobacco, held it in his lips, tilted his head to the side, and inhaled. Through smoke, he said, “Look at you, Rollin, standing on my land like some Mexican bandit. I believe your post is south of here.” Kell’s sarcasm snarled like poisoned saliva foaming from the jaw of a rabid dog.
“I’m in the right place,” I said, more confidently than I felt, flying on vindication’s wind alone.
“That is where you and I agree. Not much else, but that singular point.”
He sauntered, with spotless leather boots, to the edge of the steps extending into the western dirt, just dust over the granite under Indian land.
I nodded left toward his painted paddock fence. “Kell, you take my Appaloosa stallion? His markings are unmistakable.”
Kell gestured with his smoking hand, pointing the two fingers toward my injured animal. “You mean that gelding?”
“Who made him so?”3
“I did and am willing to stand by my deeds with my life.4Found him in pastureland. Horse bucked and rammed me. Without balls, he’ll settle right down.”
“As a judge, you should know Cherokee don’t own open tribal land. No reason he should be here.”
Judge Kell gripped his porch rail but remained atop its planks on the high ground. Then, his unoccupied, dominant hand recognized his bowie knife’s handle, sheathed, and slung low on his hip. He said, “Can testify to nothing.”
His lies didn’t dampen my resolve. I saw through him. We both knew the real reason I was there. I shouted, “My sister can.”
He leaned against his porch post with carefree nonchalance. “The deaf and dumb sister? I don’t know what that feeble-minded woman could mean.”
I touched the leather strap of Clarinda’s whistle around my neck. “She doesn’t need to speak to witness. She is a medicine woman.” Then I separated my boots, furthering my stance against the inevitable explosion of powder and ball from the iron under my palm.
Kell scoffed. “Thenremind me to stay well. That woman’s a witch.”
Wouldn’t be illness that killed him. I couldn’t allow Kell’s wit to move me to fire first, no matter what insults he hurled at my sister. To make justice legal, Kell must first try to take my life, although that didn’t mean I couldn’t provoke the inevitable.
I matched his sarcasm. “Now isn’t the time to insult my family. Come down off that porch. Clarinda and Skili followed you, saw what you did. You’ve cost me far more than future foals. That blade in your grip took my father’s life.”
I spoke the Cherokee words fast, having memorized their phrases from a thousand daydreams. Still, this time, the words echoed in the abandoned cave of my chest with heavier resonance—measuring the phrase’s increased weight by speech.
He spoke his smug reply through smoke. “Your father’s signature on that treaty stole nearly four thousand Cherokee souls. So, I believe, son, both that horse and your father,” he smiled before finishing his thought, “got what they deserved.”
“According to whom? Your justice? Chief Ross’? It’s his bloody hands you’re hiding.”
Kell pulled a rogue piece of tobacco off his tongue with his thumb and pointer finger. “See now, truth rests in each man’s perception. Your father knew that, at least.”
“Papa understood Cherokee sovereignty could not exist in the East. My family stood in the way of Chief Ross’ greed; Ross sent you to kill him for it.”
Kell’s searing sarcasm furthered his attempt at intimidation. He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “By accusing Chief Ross of such crimes, you make a steep accusation for a raven so young.” But then, his snide tone became more cynical. “Your family received lawful Cherokee blood vengeance. So’s I heard.”
It wasn’t only his voice; every crack of bare earth mocked me. But what he didn’t know, what the ground couldn’t predict, was that this time, his blood would run. Cherokee Nation’s rocky soil would soak in it, dilute him in its groundwater, and spit his remnants through every winding river and well.
Kell offered an aside, turning his face from me. “You’re still breathing.” He looked back, continuing his threat with closed-tooth menace. “When this knife reaches you, that’ll end. How ironic—” He stopped short, mid-thought, and exhaled a chuckle before inhaling again from his lit tobacco. His eyes looked at me from my worn boots to my mother’s pale eyes.
I finished the sentiment on his behalf, “That the same knife would assassinate a father and murder his son? Admit your part. You were there in ‘39; the same knife hangs at your side.”
Kell unsheathed and admired the blade in his hand as if he hadn’t seen his distorted reflection in it for years. “She’s a beautiful weapon, don’t you think? Buckhorn handle. Metal inside the bone. Streamlined and strong. Son, this weapon ended many a man’s life with its peaceful vengeance.”
I barked, “Vengeance is a fickle whore. She strains her rulings through a sieve she calls morality, leaving behind rocks and politics. Justice’s bullet is fair and fast. Even blindfolded, her shooter doesn’t have to stand close to hit where he’s aiming.”
Years ago, the image of Kell’s bowie knife forged in my mind. Its craftsman burned the bone handle with the image of an arrowhead—no shaft, no flight feathers—only a killing point. Kell’s knife required wind and aim, powered by his quick reach, and forged will. My twelve-year-old eyes remembered his blade. At twenty-two, my memory dripped in images of Papa’s blood.
Impatient and blinded by the reddening dusk, Kell spoke with vigorous staccato, hefting his significant weight down the stairs. “Take your thumb off that trigger, boy, before you start a war.” Then, with sight restored, he dirtied his spotless boots, kicking a wandering rat snake slithering between us, seaming a dividing line in prairie dust.
I shook my head in disgust. “War began ten years ago. Your whiskey breath is as rancid as your soul. I can smell it stronger now.” I studied his smirk, offering my own in exchange. “Stinks so bad,I thought someone died.”
Kell and I stood in paradox: I, in the shadow of a tree, him in the dying sunlight. His age to my youth, wealth to my poverty, appointment to my banishment, and vengeful intent opposing my righteous confidence.
He cocked his head and smirked, glanced over to my horse, and crushed the remnants of his smoke into the dust. “You think this will end with you? Cousin Stand leading your teenage brothers and Boudinot’s boy against my grown sons and Chief Ross’ men in some unsanctioned feud? The few against the many?”
“No, justice ends with me. If you approach, you will lose your life.”5I wouldn’t retreat from his taunts, knowing them for what they were. If Cousin Stand and I took down Chief Ross, it wouldn’t be a feud; it would escalate an already brewing Cherokee civil war.
Here’s the blurb
Rollin Ridge, a mercurial figure in this tribal tale, makes a fateful decision in 1850, leaving his family behind to escape the gallows after avenging his father and grandfather’s brutal assassinations. With sin and grief packed in his saddlebags, he and his brothers head west in pursuit of California gold, embarking on a journey marked by hardship and revelation. Through letters sent home, Rollin uncovers the unrelenting legacy of his father’s sins, an emotional odyssey that delves deep into his Cherokee history.
The narrative’s frame transports readers to the years 1827-1835, where Rollin’s parents, Cherokee John Ridge and his white wife, Sarah, stumble upon a web of illicit slave running, horse theft, and whiskey dealings across Cherokee territory. Driven by a desire to end these inhumane crimes and defy the powerful pressures of Georgia and President Andrew Jackson, John Ridge takes a bold step by running for the position of Principal Chief, challenging the incumbent, Chief John Ross. The Ridges face a heart-wrenching decision: to stand against discrimination, resist the forces of land greed, and remain on their people’s ancestral land, or to sign a treaty that would uproot an entire nation, along with their family.
As a veteran English teacher and college professor, Heather has spent nearly thirty years teaching her students the author’s craft. Now, with empty nest time on her hands, she’s writing herself, transcribing lost voices in American’s history.
I’m delighted to welcome Rosemary Griggs and her new book, The Dartington Bride, Daughters of Devon series, to the blog with Refugees in Elizabethan England.
Refugees in Elizabethan England
Current media coverage sometimes gives the impression that refugees and asylum seekers are a recent concern. Yet, throughout history, people have sought refuge in safer, more welcoming nations to escape persecution and conflict.
While researching for The Dartington Bride, I came across fascinating similarities between the difficulties encountered by refugees in Elizabethan England and those faced by asylum seekers today. Empathy for their predicament often became overshadowed by skepticism and doubt. This was particularly evident in difficult times, like the 1590s, when consecutive poor harvests led to higher prices and a scarcity of food.
The inspiration for my latest novel was a young Huguenot woman named Roberda, who married Gawen Champernowne in 1571. Her father, Gabriel de Lorges, Count of Montgomery, a Huguenot military leader, gained fame in 1559 for accidentally killing King Henri II of France in a jousting accident. Gawen’s father, Sir Arthur Champernowne, was the brother of Queen Elizabeth’s childhood governess and Chief Lady of the Privy Chamber, widely known as ‘Kat’ Astley.
After the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre in Paris in 1572, Gawen’s father, the Vice Admiral of the Fleet of the West, opened his doors to Roberda’s family at Dartington Hall in Devon.
An Elizabethan Lady at the door of Dartington Hall
Sixteenth century French Huguenots, like Roberda’s family, were not the first people to seek a haven in England.
Over two hundred years earlier, in 1336/37, King Edward III welcomed a substantial number of weavers from Flanders, where they were being mistreated by the aristocracy. However, compassion for their situation wasn’t the King’s only motive. He wanted them to bring their expertise in wool spinning, carding, and weaving to Kent. Instead of exporting wool as a raw material to be fashioned into cloth overseas, he wanted Kentish wool to be woven in England. As well as encouraging the settlers, King Edward banned the export of wool to the Netherlands and stopped the import of foreign cloth. As a protectionist measure, this scheme had limited success. However, the local population remained unsettled for a century because of the sudden arrival of so many newcomers.
The Black Death ravaged the whole of Europe in the mid-fourteenth century. As communities recovered, industries flourished again and trade became buoyant. By the time the Tudors came to power in England in the late fifteenth century, people were choosing to move around more, seeking opportunities or escaping hardship.
For example, Breton carpenters arrived in the west of England during the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. We can still see examples of their work can in churches in Devon and also in Cornwall, where a common language and culture may have smoothed over potentially difficult situations.
Throughout this time, the incomers came as a trickle, not a flood. But during the reign of another Edward, Edward VI, a larger wave of refugees made their way to England. They were Protestants seeking to escape persecution in the Low Countries and France. King Edward permitted them to settle in England and granted them the right to establish their own ‘Strangers Churches.’ (The term refugee was unknown in Tudor England — people called the new arrivals ‘strangers’ or ‘aliens’.) In 1550, the King gave the predominantly Dutch-speaking incomers the church at Austin Friars, while another church, in Threadneedle Street, served French-speaking immigrants. The Strangers Church in Soho, where a slightly higher class of refugees settled, soon followed.
After Edward’s death in 1553, Mary became queen. She ordered the Protestant immigrants to leave the country. But in 1558, she too died. Elizabeth I was more welcoming. She offered asylum and protection to all seeking to escape persecution, but was particularly keen to welcome Protestants from the Spanish Netherlands. In 1568, King Philip of Spain sent the Duke of Alba to the Spanish colony to impose his Catholic authority there, causing many Protestants to seek refuge elsewhere. Later that same year, the Duchess of Parma, who was acting as regent, told her brother, King Phillip, that around 100,000 people had fled to England, taking their goods and money with them. She expressed concern that this would enrich England at the expense of the Spanish Netherlands.
But when they arrived in England, the newcomers had to settle in designated towns and worship in their own churches. These churches were required to provide for the poor sick in their own congregations. The churches also had to enforce stringent regulations to govern the conduct of their community. The immigrant communities thus became somewhat isolated from their neighbours.
By 1572, the French Wars of Religion had been going on for ten years, periods of fierce fighting interspersed with intervals of uneasy peace. The treaty of St Germain-en-Laye, signed in 1570, brought the third war of religion to an end. It secured some concessions for the Protestants, but some catholics felt it went too far. Tensions were again rising.
Many Huguenots were in Paris on August 24, St Bartholomew’s Day, to celebrate the wedding of their leader, Henry of Navarre, to the catholic king Charles’ sister, Marguerite. The hope was that the marriage would cement the peace between the two religious factions. It’s thought that the French King, Charles IX, sanctioned murdering several Huguenot leaders accused of planning rebellion.
The targeted assassinations ignited an unprecedented massacre, when mobs roamed the streets hunting down Huguenots. They killed everyone who did not show their catholic allegiance by wearing a white armband or a white cross in their hats. Some sources suggest that as many 3,000 Protestants perished in Paris alone. The mobs did not spare even the women and children.
The Queen Mother of France, Catherine de Medici, has historically blamed for the atrocity, although recent scholars, including Estelle Paranque, argue that she is unlikely to have plotted a massacre of the people with whom she has been trying for decades to negotiate peace.
The St Bartholomew’s Day Massacre by Francois Dubois ( c 1572 – 84 ) sourced via Wikimedia Commons
Violence soon spread beyond the city. Throughout October, mass killings persisted in various French cities, including Rouen, Lyon, Bourges, Bordeaux, and Orleans, leading to around 70,000 additional deaths across France.
After these tragic events in France, refugees flooded into England. They arrived in Dover, Canterbury, London, and Norwich. Others may have entered through Devon ports such as Dartmouth and Plymouth, which had, for generations, traded with Normandy and Brittany.
Initially, the tragic events in France led to a massive surge of solidarity with the Huguenots. Queen Elizabeth and all the court wore mourning clothes.
The English Protestant community, people like Sir Arthur Champernowne, were sympathetic to fellow believers fleeing France. They saw the tragic events in Paris as a signal that they must be vigilant against a perceived Catholic threat. Elizabeth and her chief adviser, William Cecil, Lord Burghley, continued to extend a welcome to skilled refugees. The authorities protected them from local opposition, regulated their activities and taxed them to the full. By the 1580s, new arrivals had to navigate tough social, legal, work, and tax conditions.
The refugees received a warm welcome in Norwich and other eastern towns. They brought special skills and new techniques in weaving, helping to revive the cloth trade, which was in serious decline. Large numbers of weavers settling in Kent received a similar welcome as they could create lighter fabrics made from a mix of fibres (not only wool), for export. The queen gave the growing immigrant population in Canterbury permission to use the undercroft of the Cathedral for their worship. Later they were allowed to use the Black Prince Chantry, still in use to this day.
The Eglise Protestant Francaise
Against all the odds, Roberda’s father made a dramatic escape from the Paris massacre and Sir Arthur welcomed the Montgomery family to his home. However, not everyone showed the same level of acceptance. The queen’s government gladly received the incomers, dispersed them into various parts of England, and encouraged to resume their occupations. But for many English working people, sympathy and welcome would quickly turn into suspicion and distrust.
‘Foreigners’ were not popular in Tudor England. At the start of King Henry VIII’s rule, the number of immigrants was small, possibly two per cent of London’s population. However, the court and aristocracy favoured foreign merchants who provided luxury goods like silk, wool, and exotic spices. The exemption of Flemish cobblers from Guild design provisions gave them a competitive edge over English workers. Resentment grew amongst English merchants and the working population. In 1517, an inflammatory xenophobic speech by a preacher known as Dr Bell brought already simmering discontent to a boiling point. On 30 April a mob of 2,000 looted buildings, and caused chaos on the streets of the City. Hundreds of rioters were arrested for disturbing the peace and for treason. Fourteen men were executed before the King heeded Queen Catherine of Aragon’s pleas for mercy and granted pardons. This event became known as the “Evil May Day riot” — see also below.
After Queen Mary married Philip of Spain in 1554, Simon Renard, the Ambassador to the Holy Roman Empire and an employee of Emperor Charles V, observed,
‘It will be very difficult to foster good relations between Spaniards and Englishmen. There is the barrier of language, and… the English hate strangers.’
People harboured a particularly deep dislike for the French, whom they referred to as ‘the old enemy,’ after enduring centuries of wars. When Roberda’s family came to England in 1572, there were many Devon families who still had memories of fathers and grandfathers who never returned from King Henry VIII’s last campaign in France. That campaign and the loss of the Mary Rose were within living memory.
While some believed immigrants would take jobs from locals, others argued they sought better lives and higher-paying jobs, not just to escape persecution. But England needed the important skills they brought with them. Elizabeth’s reign saw many skilled craftsmen arrive — weavers and cloth workers, silversmith, watchmakers — as well as clergymen, doctors, merchants, soldiers, and teachers. It has been tentatively suggested that French Protestant refugees may have played a role in establishing the bobbin lace industry in Honiton, Devon.
It was probably the newcomers’ ability to use their skills for monetary gain that caused a resurgence of resentment, distrust, and fear. In 1576 the cordwainers (shoemakers), concerned about long-term competition from the newcomers, complained to the queen asking whether she would allow the ‘strangers’ to remain in the country with full rights of citizenship.
The population of England rose by around one million during the Elizabethan period. According to historian W. G. Hoskins, Devon, the most sparsely populated county in England in the fourteenth century, had become one of the most densely populated by the end of the sixteenth. A string of poor harvests in the 1590s caused flour prices in London to nearly triple between 1593 and 1597. Hostility towards immigrants rose as the number of unemployed individuals, or ‘vagabonds’, increased.
English working families struggled with rampant inflation while businesses resented what they saw as unfair competition. In 1592, London shopkeepers complained the strangers could sell their goods in areas forbidden to others. Unrest spilled onto the streets in riots amongst the London apprentices. Curfews were imposed and several royal proclamations sought to prevent riots. In December 1593, the Mayor prohibited football playing or other unlawful assemblies, and in June 1595, another directive required ‘apprentices and servants to be kept within their masters houses on Sabath dayes and holy dayes,’ and ‘idle persons’ to be committed to Bridewell’. London citizens even accused immigrants of causing a plague outbreak in 1593 and attacked their homes. Soon the French and Dutch were being blamed for all the problems in England.
It is thought that William Shakespeare may have collaborated with others on a late Elizabethan play, ‘The Book of Thomas Moore.’ The authors composed and revised the manuscript from 1593 to 1600. A scene in the play is significant as it portrays Londoners calling for the expulsion of the ‘wretched strangers’ in their community. This refers to the 1517 ‘Evil May Day riots’, mentioned above. Including this scene implies that intolerance towards immigrants persisted in late Elizabethan England.
In The Dartington Bride, scarred by her own childhood experiences in France, Roberda is determined to help others whose lives have been blighted by conflict. After considering the evidence that the ‘strangers’ were not universally accepted, I realised she might face an uphill struggle. It seems those seeking refuge in Elizabethan England met with obstacles, attitudes and sentiments very similar to those facing the asylum seekers of our time.
Rosemary Griggs
21 March 2024
I have drawn this article together from a wide range of sources including:
W.G. Hoskins: Devon
Estelle Paranque — Blood , Fire and Gold
Jane Marchese Robinson: Seeking Sanctuary -—A History of Refugees in Britain
H. J. Yallop: The History of the Honiton Lace industry
British Library Medieval manuscripts Blog. 13 November 2021: ’Strangers’ in Tudor England and Stewart Scotland
Two articles form ‘The Conversation’: ‘Refugees and riots in Shakespeare’s England’ published March 17, 2016, and ‘The asylum seekers who frightened Elizabethan England’ published January 21.
Here’s the blurb
1571, and the beautiful, headstrong daughter of a French Count marries the son of the Vice Admiral of the Fleet of the West in Queen Elizabeth’s chapel at Greenwich. It sounds like a marriage made in heaven…
Roberda’s father, the Count of Montgomery, is a prominent Huguenot leader in the French Wars of Religion. When her formidable mother follows him into battle, she takes all her children with her.
After a traumatic childhood in war-torn France, Roberda arrives in England full of hope for her wedding. But her ambitious bridegroom, Gawen, has little interest in taking a wife.
Received with suspicion by the servants at her new home, Dartington Hall in Devon, Roberda works hard to prove herself as mistress of the household and to be a good wife. But there are some who will never accept her as a true daughter of Devon.
After the St Bartholomew’s Day Massacre, Gawen’s father welcomes Roberda’s family to Dartington as refugees. Compassionate Roberda is determined to help other French women left destitute by the wars. But her husband does not approve. Their differences will set them on an extraordinary path…
Author and speaker Rosemary Griggs has been researching Devon’s sixteenth-century history for years. She has discovered a cast of fascinating characters and an intriguing network of families whose influence stretched far beyond the West Country and loves telling the stories of the forgotten women of history – the women beyond the royal court; wives, sisters, daughters and mothers who played their part during those tumultuous Tudor years: the Daughters of Devon.
Her novel A Woman of Noble Wit tells the story of Katherine Champernowne, Sir Walter Raleigh’s mother, and features many of the county’s well-loved places.
Rosemary creates and wears sixteenth-century clothing, a passion which complements her love for bringing the past to life through a unique blend of theatre, history and re-enactment. Her appearances and talks for museums and community groups all over the West Country draw on her extensive research into sixteenth-century Devon, Tudor life and Tudor dress, particularly Elizabethan.
Out of costume, Rosemary leads heritage tours of the gardens at Dartington Hall, a fourteenth-century manor house and now a visitor destination and charity supporting learning in arts, ecology and social justice.
I’m delighted to welcome Alison Morton and her new book, EXSILIUM, part of the Roma Nova series, to the blog with a guest post.
Guest Post
When we think of Romans, two images immediately spring to mind. The first is a fierce helmeted solder wearing iron bands of segmented armour across his torso over a red tunic that only just covers his knees and with hobnail marching boots on his feet. He carries a spear, gladius ad dagger as weapons and a large rectangular shield which he uses in clever formations with his comrades.
The second is a man draped in a splendid toga making a clever speech in the Senate. His ‘womenfolk’ would be demurely dressed in tunic and mantle, often accompanied by a slave in a simple tunic.
Well, yes and no.
Let’s look at the military
The earliest proven use of this segmented armour is in 9 BC with a suggestion of possibly as early as 53 BC; the latest in the last quarter of the third century AD. In some later depictions, such as on the Arch of Constantine (AD 315), segmented armour is seen, but scholars seem to think it was more for ceremonial show rather than reflecting what was used at the time by soldiers in the field.
Rome had become a republic in 509 BC after throwing out its kings who had – according to legend – reigned for two hundred and fifty years before that. So for the first seven centuries of its history, there was no ‘typically Roman’ segmented armour. The very early republican soldiers would probably have worn bronze helmets, breastplate and greaves and carried a round leather or large circular bronze-plated wooden shield, and fought with a spear, sword and dagger.
According to the ancient Greek historian Polybius, whose Histories written around the 140s BC are the earliest substantial account still existing of the Republic, Roman cavalry was originally unarmoured; the soldiers only wore a tunic and were armed with a light spear and ox-hide shield which were of low quality and quickly deteriorated in action.
In contrast to the lorica segmentata beloved by Hollywood, the more pedestrian and expensive chain mail (lorica hamata) was in use for over 600 years (3rd century BC to 4th century AD) and scale armour (lorica squamata) during the Roman Republic and in later periods. The latter was made from small metal scales sewn to a fabric backing and is typically seen on depictions of signiferes (standard bearers), centurions, cavalry troops, and auxiliary infantry, as well as ordinary legionaries. On occasion, even the emperor would be depicted wearing the lorica squamata. It’s not known exactly when the Romans adopted this type of armour, but it remained in use for about eight centuries.
Fast forward to the fourth century… In contrast to the earlier segmentata plate armour, which afforded no protection for the arms or below the hips, some pictorial and sculptural representations of Late Roman soldiers show mail or scale armour giving more extensive protection. These types of armour had full-length sleeves and were long enough to protect the thighs and other essential parts of the body(!).
In northern Europe, long-sleeved tunics, trousers (bracae), socks (worn inside the caligae) and laced boots had been commonly worn in winter from the 1st century onwards. During the 3rd century, these became much more widespread, with the alternative of leggings, even in Mediterranean provinces also. By the late fourth century, both were standard wear. Apart from more colourful and decorated clothing generally, a distinctive part of a soldier’s fourth century costume was a type of round, brimless hat known as the pannonian cap (pileus pannonicus).
All change for civilian men
In the Republican and early imperial periods, Roman men typically wore short-sleeved or sleeveless, knee-length tunics. On formal occasions, adult male citizens could wear a woollen toga draped over their tunic. But from at least the late Republic onward, the upper classes favoured ever longer and larger togas, increasingly unsuited to manual work or physically active leisure. Togas were expensive, heavy, hot and sweaty, hard to keep clean, costly to launder and challenging to wear correctly. They were best suited to stately processions, oratory, sitting in the theatre or circus, and self-display among peers and inferiors. The vast majority of citizens had to work for a living, and avoided wearing the toga whenever possible. Several emperors tried to compel its use as the public dress of true Romanitas but none were particularly successful. The aristocracy clung to it as a mark of their prestige, but eventually abandoned it for the more comfortable and practical pallium.
By the end of the fourth century, clothing looked radically different and didn’t conform to our idea of ‘typically Roman’. In such a diverse empire, the adoption of provincial fashions perceived was viewed as attractively exotic, or simply more practical than traditional Italian Roman forms of dress. Clothing worn by soldiers and non-military government bureaucrats became highly decorated, with woven or embellished strips, clavi, and circular roundels, orbiculi, added to tunics and cloaks. These decorative elements usually comprised geometrical patterns and stylised plant motifs, but could include human or animal figures. The use of silk also increased steadily and most courtiers in late antiquity wore elaborate silk robes. Court officials as well as soldiers wore heavy military-style belts, revealing the increased militarisation of late Roman government. Trousers and leggings – considered barbarous garments worn by Germans and Persians – became more more common for civilian men in the latter days of the empire, although regarded by conservatives as a sign of cultural decay.
The toga, traditionally seen as the sign of a proper Roman, had never in reality been popular or practical. Most likely, its replacement in the East by the more comfortable pallium or paenula (a wool cloak) was a simple acknowledgement that the toga was generally no longer worn. However, it remained the official formal costume of the Roman senatorial elite. A law issued by co-emperors Gratian, Valentinian II and Theodosius I in 382 AD stated that while senators in the city of Rome may wear the paenula in daily life, they must wear the toga when attending their official duties. Failure to do so would result in the senator being stripped of rank and authority, and of the right to enter the Senate House. But it’s worth noting that in early medieval Europe, kings and aristocrats who dressed like the late Roman generals they sought to emulate, did not display themselves draped in togas.
And the women?
In early Republican Rome, both men and women wore togas but in mid-Republican times, the toga became a male-only garment. Only prostitutes wore a toga as a sign of their ‘infamy’. Typically, women and girls wore a longer, usually sleeved tunic for and married citizen women wore a mantle, usually wool, known as a palla, over a stola, a simple, long-sleeved, voluminous garment fastened at the shoulders that fell to cover the feet. In the early Roman Republic, the stola was reserved for patrician, i.e. aristocratic women as a sign of their status. Shortly before the Second Punic War (218-201 BC), the right to wear it was extended to plebeian matrons, and to freedwomen who had acquired the status of matron through marriage to a citizen.
But things had changed dramatically by the end of the fourth century. Women of that time wore belted long tunics decorated with full-length contrasting stripes – clavi – and braiding, with generous sleeves and, in cooler climates, narrow-sleeved underdresses. That Late Roman tunic, or dalmatica, was a generously cut T-shaped tunic with a slit neck, typically falling in (hopefully) graceful folds. Sleeves could be short, three-quarter or long and rectangular, which could be fairly narrow or quite wide. Wide sleeves were sometimes tied back, presumably for work, giving a butterfly’s wing effect.
The belt, worn under the bust, was often just a tied cord, or could be of plain or decoratively woven cloth and could have a central jewel, perhaps a brooch. As weather protection and ornament, ladies would, like their Republican predecessors, wear various sizes of mantle (palla or the smaller palliola), a rectangular piece of material cast elegantly over the shoulder like a scarf or draped around the body.
Some literature suggests both traditional pagan and Christian respectable ladies would cover their hair in the street but this was not universal.
Ladies would prefer mantles for travel rather than sagum style cloaks, but rural women and athletes were known to wear practical gear for weather protection and presumably camp followers might wear spare military cloaks. The expensive birrus britannicus, mentioned in Diocletian’s edict on maximum prices, was probably a heavy, long semi-circular hooded cape with front opening.
Clothing depended on the wearer’s wealth or poverty, their social status, on the ability to find or make fabric and on personal preference. Sometimes you took what was given when cast off by an older sibling. But over twelve centuries, while some things like tunics performed the same function, how Romans looked changed much more than we might imagine.
Here’s the Blurb
Exile – Living death to a Roman
AD 395. In a Christian Roman Empire, the penalty for holding true to the traditional gods is execution.
Maelia Mitela, her dead husband condemned as a pagan traitor, leaving her on the brink of ruin, grieves for her son lost to the Christians and is fearful of committing to another man.
Lucius Apulius, ex-military tribune, faithful to the old gods and fixed on his memories of his wife Julia’s homeland of Noricum, will risk everything to protect his children’s future.
Galla Apulia, loyal to her father and only too aware of not being the desired son, is desperate to escape Rome after the humiliation of betrayal by her feckless husband.
For all of them, the only way to survive is exile.
Alison Morton writes award-winning thrillers featuring tough but compassionate heroines. Her ten-book Roma Nova series is set in an imaginary European country where a remnant of the Roman Empire has survived into the 21st century and is ruled by women who face conspiracy, revolution and heartache but use a sharp line in dialogue. The latest, EXSILIUM, plunges us back to the late 4th century, to the very foundation of Roma Nova.
She blends her fascination for Ancient Rome with six years’ military service and a life of reading crime, historical and thriller fiction. On the way, she collected a BA in modern languages and an MA in history.
Alison now lives in Poitou in France, the home of Mélisende, the heroine of her two contemporary thrillers, Double Identity and Double Pursuit.
I’m delighted to welcome back David Fitz-Gerald and his new book, Stay with the Wagons: A Pioneer Western Adventure, Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail, to the blog with a series trailer.
Series Trailer
Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail Series Trailer
Here’s the blurb
Venture deep into the uncharted wilderness and crest the continental divide.
Stay with the Wagons is the enthralling third chapter in the Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail series. Dorcas Moon has discarded her mourning dress and yearns for freedom and independence amidst the vast frontier. But a perilous world and a commanding wagon master keep her tethered. Ultimately, it’s a brutal bout of fever and ague that confine her to camp.
Relentless disasters and beguiling challenges unfold in this installment. A young man is crushed beneath a wagon wheel. Dorcas’ son breaks an arm, a grizzly bear attacks the wagon train, and the looming threat of attacking outlaws whips the emigrants into a worried frenzy. How many must perish before they reach the end of the trail?
As chaos reigns, her troubled daughter, Rose, disappears once again, leading Dorcas on a perilous quest. Tracking Rose to a sacred site, they encounter a blind seer and a legendary leader, Chief Washakie. Rose’s enchantment with Native American adornments sparks Dorcas’ concern about an unexpected suitor and raises worries about Rose’s age.
Stay with the Wagons is bursting with action, adventure, and survival. It is a story of resilience and empowerment on the Oregon Trail. Claim your copy now and re-immerse yourself in a tale of high-stakes survival, unexpected alliances, and the indomitable spirit of Dorcas Moon.
This title/series is available to read on#KindleUnlimited
Meet the Author
David Fitz-Gerald writes westerns and historical fiction. He is the author of twelve books, including the brand-new series, Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail set in 1850. Dave is a multiple Laramie Award, first place, best in category winner; a Blue Ribbon Chanticleerian; a member of Western Writers of America; and a member of the Historical Novel Society.
Alpine landscapes and flashy horses always catch Dave’s eye and turn his head. He is also an Adirondack 46-er, which means that he has hiked to the summit of the range’s highest peaks. As a mountaineer, he’s happiest at an elevation of over four thousand feet above sea level.
Dave is a lifelong fan of western fiction, landscapes, movies, and music. It should be no surprise that Dave delights in placing memorable characters on treacherous trails, mountain tops, and on the backs of wild horses.
I’m delighted to welcome Debra Borchert and her book, Her Own Legacy, Book 1, the Chateau de Verzat series, to the blog.
Here’s the blurb
A Woman Fights for Her Legacy as the French Revolution Erupts
Determined to inherit her family’s vineyard, Countess Joliette de Verzat defies society’s rules, only to learn of her illegitimate half-brother, the rightful heir.
Buy Link
Just 0.99 in the UK, CA and AU from 5th March – 15th March
And for book 2, Her Own Revolution, the Chateau de Verzat series, there’s also an excerpt.
Excerpt
Her Own Revolution, Paris, July 30, 1794
Geneviève attempts to escape arrest
At dawn, I brushed the white dust from my skirts and peeked out from the cellar. I ran through alleys to the back entrance of the Châtelet, crept up the servants’ steps, crossed the hall to the clerk chamber, and stopped to gather my wits. Please, God, help me find the papers I copied. If I could present them to the Tribunal, they would be forced to release Papa.
I edged myself around the doorway and stepped back to see the clerks already at work. Instead of copying, they were sorting documents into piles lining a table before the fireplace where Imberton stood, straight as a pike.
Armand held up a paper. “Roland?” He lifted another. “And Delignon?”
Imberton indicated two piles. Armand deposited the papers and returned to his desk where a stack of documents teetered. I wished Armand had already sailed for America.
Denis, holding folders, called out, “Widow Capet.” Imberton pointed at the tallest pile. Denis deposited the folders and hurried to my father’s office. Denis’s twins were four now, and his wife with child. I hoped he would be safe.
Imberton noticed me. His face reddened as he pointed and shouted, “Guards! Arrest her!
My heartbeat thundered.
“Guards!” Imberton shouted.
I ran for the servants’ stairs. My legs shook so hard, I careened off the walls as I clambered down the steps. Where could I go that was safe? The château, but I’d be stopped at the city barrier. I could no longer use my father’s name—the day I’d dreaded since the first time I used it as protection had arrived. The only way past the barriers was through the tunnels. My skin felt too tight, like it was suffocating me.
I stood panting at the side door. Once I opened it, I’d be exposed. But if I went through the side exit, I could make it to the square and blend in with the market people. I would have to walk past the morgue. The tunnel was dark, lit only by holes in the ceiling protected by metal grates embedded in the streets above, which I had stepped over a hundred times. I’d never traveled the passage, but I’d no better choice.
I wrapped my shawl around my face, took a deep breath, and ran. The moans from prisoners in the dungeon echoed along the stone passage. The air was thick with the stench of blood and death. I shoved open the wooden door, not caring who was on the other side. Stopping in the alley scattered with rags stained with blood, I wrapped my shawl around my shoulders and forced myself to walk calmly. I peered around the corner.
The square wasn’t much longer than the copying room. I inhaled, stood tall, and headed for the biggest knot in the crowd.
Rioters swarmed the arched entrance, raising pikes and screaming. Men and women wearing red caps charged across the square. A woman pounded the closed main doors. “Give me back my husband!”
I tottered and pressed my feet to the cobbles.
“Join your victims, you man-eater!” yelled a man, wielding a sword.
A rotund man, his beard and hair wiry and disheveled, bellowed, “Send Tinville to hell! Let him wallow in the blood he has shed!”
I fell back. They were screaming revenge against my father. I bent over, nauseated and dizzy. Clutching the building, I forced myself to stand straight.
A guard came out of the entryway and yelled, “He’s at la Conciergerie!”
The crowd of red-capped sans-culottes turned and flowed like a stream of blood across the square and over the bridge toward the prison. I could get Papa out, like LaGarde. I just needed men’s clothing, a place to hide, and a plan.
I forced myself to breathe calmly, descend the steps, and intermingle with the crowd, while trying to remember the tunnel entrance nearest the prison. The flower seller stood at the edge of the market. I headed straight for her and hoped I could make it without anyone recognizing me.
A powerful hand grabbed my arm, pulled me to the bulk of a man, his warmth penetrating my sleeve. I opened my mouth, but his other hand covered it. The square spun around me.
Here’s the blurb
A Woman Forges a Treacherous Path to Save Hundreds from the Guillotine
If Geneviève Fouquier-Tinville had the same rights as a man, she wouldn’t have to dress like one. A suspenseful page-turner led by a renegade heroine whose compassion for innocent people leads to both loss and love.
Debra’s the author of the Château de Verzat series that follows headstrong and independent women and the four-hundred loyal families who protect a Loire Valley château and vineyard, and its legacy of producing the finest wines in France during the French Revolution. Her Own Legacy published 2022, Her Own Revolution published 2023, and Her Own War will be published in 2024. A passionate cook, she also wrote a companion cookbook to the series: Soups of Château de Verzat, A Culinary Tribute to the French Revolution, 2023.
A graduate of the Fashion Institute of Technology, she weaves her knowledge of textiles and clothing design throughout her historical fiction. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her family and standard poodle, named after a fine French Champagne.
MJ Porter 