by Karen Brooks
Real and Imagined (in no particular order)
The ones marked * are actual historical figures.
Jacopo Abbandonato
Bianca Abbandonato
Adam
*Duke of Albermarle
*John Allin
*Henriette-Anne, Charles II’s sister
Art
Widow Ashe
Avery
Fear-God Ballister
Glory Ballister
Paul Ballister
Tilly Ballister
Sissy Barnes
*Lady Elizabeth Batten
*Sir William Batten
*Earl of Bedford
*Mr Stephen Bender (real and imagined)
*Sir Henry Bennet
*Matron Margaret Blague
Sir Everard Blithman
Gregory Blithman
Helene Blithman
Aubrey Blithman
Lady Margery Blithman
Farmer Blount
*Thomas Bludsworth, Lord Mayor of London late 1665–66
Mr Brogan
*William Boghurst
*Christopher Bowman
*Elizabeth Bowman
*Robert Boyle
*John Bradshaw
*Anne Brewster
*Thomas Brewster
Widow Cecily Brickstowe
*Alexander Brome
*General Browne
Captain Jake Browning
*Dr Alexander Burnet
*Elizabeth Calvert
*Giles Calvert
Cara
*Sir George Carteret
*Lady Barbara Castlemaine
*Queen Catherine of Braganza
*Sir Robert Catesby
*Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle upon Tyne
*King Charles I
*King Charles II
*William Chiffinch
*Earl of Clarendon
*John Cole
Conrad
Harry Cooper
*Peter Crabb
*Lord Craven
*Mr Creed
Barbara Crew
*Reginald Crew
*James Croft
*Oliver Cromwell
Davey
Filip de la Faya
*Solomon de la Faya
*Antonio Colmenero de Ledema
Master Denis
Dorcas
Simon Dover
*Sir George Downing
*John Dryden
Master Dunstan
*John Evelyn
*Thomas Farriner
*Thomas Flint
Frances
*George Fox
*Jane, Samuel Pepys’ maid
Jed Franklin
Jerome
*Thomas Gage
Robert Gilligan
Peter Goddard
*Grace
*Sir Thomas Gresham
*Charles Hart
*Thomas Hater
William Henderson
Mr Hershey
Hilary
*Thomas Hobbes
Hodge
*Dr Nathaniel Hodges
*Thomas Hollier, Samuel Pepys’ surgeon Hugh
*Anne Hyde, Duchess of York
*James, the Duke of York
*Edward Hyde, Lord Chancellor
*Henry Ireton
Kit
*Betty Lane
Captain William Lark
*Dean of Westminster
*Sir John Lawrence, Lord Mayor of London 1664–1665
*Roger L’Estrange
Lewis
*William Lilly
Matthew Lovelace
*Richard Lovelace
Grant McSearle
Lucy
Reverend Madoc
Ben Miller
*John Milton
*General George Monck
*Morat the Great
*Richard Mortimer, chocolate maker
*Henry Muddiman
*James Nayler
Mr Nessuno
*Thomas Newcombe
*Sir Edward Nichols
Mr Nick
*Sir Thomas Ogle
Otway
Owen
*Sir William Penn
*Elizabeth Pepys
*Samuel Pepys
*King Philip of Spain
*Francis Potter
Ralph
Mr Remney
Isaac Roberts
Robin
*Governor Robinson
*John Rochester, second Earl of Wilmot
Clementine Rochford
Mister Rohan
*Pasque Rosee
Rosie
*Prince Rupert
*Lord Sandwich
*Countess of Sandwich
*William Scott
*Sir Charles Sedley
*Mr Shepley
Silvester
Wat Smithyman
*John Starkey MP
*Frances Stewart
*Henry Stubbes
Timothy
Tolerance
Rosamund Tomkins
Lady Ellinor Tomkins
Sir Jon Tomkins
*Thomas Tosier
*John Twyn
*Mr Unthank, Elizabeth Pepys’ tailor
*George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham
*Captain Wadsworth
The Wells (tailors)
*Samuel Wilcox
*Will, Sam’s servant
Isaac Roberts
*Joseph Williamson
*John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester
Wolstan
Zeal
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Once more, I come to one of my favourite parts of writing a book. This is where I get to acknowledge the people who have supported, inspired, championed, been there for (or politely avoided) me while I write. I’ve said this before, and I will say it again, while there is usually one author, a book is a collaboration in so many unforeseen ways and now I get to thank each and every one of those who either wittingly or unwittingly helped me while I wrote this one.
First and foremost, I have to thank my dazzling, funny, stylish, kind and oh so insightful agent and beloved friend, Selwa Anthony. An advocate of this book from the moment I explained my idea, she not only vanquished my crippling doubts as I wrote (and wrote, deleted, wrote and deleted), but when it was complete and she read it, advised me on where it might be tweaked/altered and thus strengthened. Bolstering me with calls through long, lonely stretches of writing, giving me confidence and inspiration, she was a complete marvel, over and beyond any call of duty. I owe her such a debt of gratitude and love, moreso because she also did this during what’s been an intense and seriously unpleasant time for her. One of my writer-friends described Selwa as a fairy godmother. That’s so apt. I don’t know what I did to deserve you in my life, Selwa — and Linda, Brian and the sweet furbies — but you are there spreading your love and fairy dust and I (and many others) am so thankful.
I also want to take this opportunity to thank the entire team at Mira, Harlequin/Harper Collins. Not only did I luck out with my agent, but with my publisher as well — what fantastic people and such a pleasure to work with. From the lovely Michelle LaForest who, from the moment I told her the title of my book, expressed such enthusiasm and positivity for the project, to the beautiful Sue Brockhoff who has always been such a rock and support, as well as one of the hardest-working and kindest people I know and whom I’m proud to call friend. Then there’s Jo Mackay, another fabulous support and literary advocate, James Kellow, Adam van Rooijen, Annabel Blay, who is as clever and creative as she is kind and understanding. I also want to thank Natika Palka, campaign manager at Harlequin.
To my US agent, Jim Frenkel, thank you — for your wonderful, chatty emails, your enthusiasm for my work and your unstinting consideration. Thanks as well to the terrific Catherine Pfeifer. The superb team at William Morrow in the US, from my editor Rachel Kahan, another great champion of my work, to Rachel’s assistant, Alivia Lopez, Jeanie Lee, the production editor, publicist Libby Collins, Ali
cia Tatone and Mumtaz Mustafa, the art directors who created the beautiful package in which this story comes, Amelia Wood for marketing, and Jennifer Hart, the paperback publisher who was responsible for so much as well all deserve a huge thanks for their encouragement and support.
My Australian editor, Linda Funnell, is a gift that keeps on giving and I’m blessed she’s given to me. She understands how to make a story stronger, tighter and so much better and, having worked with her on my last three novels, she understands what I’m trying to accomplish. I thank her for all the effort she’s put into this book.
I also want to wholeheartedly thank my proofreader, Sarah J.H. Fletcher. Having had the great pleasure and fortune to work with Sarah before (on my The Curse of the Bond Rider series), I know what a sharp eye and keen sense of story she has and was so damn lucky to have her work on this book. I hope I get to work with you again, Sarah. It’s been an utter joy.
I also want to thank my beloved and dearest friend, Kerry Doyle. Kerry is one of the few ‘test’ readers to whom I pass an early complete draft of my novels and who feeds back to me honestly what she thinks. This is a terrible burden to place upon a friend who must put aside fears of bruising an ego and undertake the task at hand. Kerry always does it with such grace, thoughtfulness and veracity. Her acumen and suggestions are always insightful.
Furthermore, Kerry and her gorgeous husband (and my darling friend as well), Peter Goddard, travelled with me and Stephen around the UK and Europe in the second half of 2017 for almost six weeks where, if we weren’t dragging them to breweries and distilleries (for my husband Stephen’s work-related stuff), they were being pulled into an endless stream of museums, churches, ruins, bookshops and strange byways for my research. They stood by while I sometimes asked embarrassing (endless) questions or threw in their own and made the most stupendous recommendations about places I might want to go and things we might want to see as I fact-checked and story-hunted. Over many, many kilometres, through all kinds of weather, drinks, food, and in and out of more bars than I care to (or can) remember, interactions with incredibly knowledgeable and generous people, we had the best of times. Their goodwill, humour and friendship means the world to me. A person cannot ask for better or more loving friends — they’re incomparable — as is the love I bear them both. Thank you, my lovelies. Thank you.
While I am over the other side of the world, I want to again thank David Gottlier from Bowler and Hatte, my intrepid and fabulous guide who wandered all over Restoration London with me and patiently answered my questions and added his own erudite observations.
I want to say another thank you to Dr Peter Jones, a Tasmanian scholar whose work, guidance and conversations were invaluable.
And to thank Drew Keys for reading the manuscript and for his kindness, support when I was down, and consistent belief.
To Mark Nicholson (Mr Nick) and Robin — you are such treasures — thank you both so very much. I outline in the Author’s Note just what a boon you both were. And Mr Nick, a quiet little shout out to you for planting the seed (or should that be preparing the bait?) for my next novel…
Gav Jaeger and Jason Greatbatch, two dear friends, thank you for your support and Gav (who was a paramedic for many years) for sharing your vast medical knowledge with me, particularly about strokes and heart attacks — something about which I wish you personally knew less.
I also must thank Dr Elizabeth Griffin for giving me the idea and information around Sir Everard’s ailment.
I also want to thank some more friends who weren’t always aware how much their earnest and enthusiastic enquiries about how my writing was going, invitations to coffee, drinks, dinners, getaways (accepted and refused) were so very much appreciated, who showed nothing but compassion and/or understanding when I declined, was withdrawn or depressed about my writing prowess. You are all the very best of people and I love you dearly. Thank you, my beautiful neighbours, friends and all-round magical people, Bill, Lyn, David and Jack Lark who have supported me, and all my books from the get-go; so blessed to have you in my life. My gorgeous friends, Christina Schultness, Mike Crew, Clinton and Rosie Steele, Simon Thomson and Lucinda Wilkins (Lucy), the lovely Emma, Robbie and Harvey Gilligan, Dr Kiarna, Chris, Jake and Samuel Brown, Dr Frances Thiele, Dr Lisa Hill, Professor Jim McKay, Dr Helen Johnson, Dr Liz Ferrier, Professor David Rowe, Dr Janine Mikosa, Bentley Deegan, Tim and Jess Byrne, Mimi McIntyre and Hamish, Mark Woodland, the friends of Captain Bligh’s (our) Brewery — so many of whom, when I’m pouring them drinks at our monthly bar, astonish me by leaning over and whispering ‘how’s the book coming along?’ much to my delight and chagrin. I also have to thank Jenny Farrell for being the best sister ever, my stepmother, Moira Adams, and my former editor at the newspaper where I’m a weekly columnist, Margaret Wenham.
Sheryl Gwyther, Dannielle Miller, Dr Kim Wilkins, Terry and Rebecca Moles, Wendy Moles, Mick and Katri Dubois, Fiona Inch, the staff at the IASH at the University of Queensland where I am an Honorary Senior Research Fellow, Karalynne Redknapp, my loyal, smart and encouraging Facebook friends on my Author page — thank you. To those whom I’m terrified I’m inadvertently excluding — but only from these pages, not from my heart — forgive me. I do thank you as well.
I also want to thank my still very much missed soul-sister and inspiration, Sara Douglass.
And thank you too, my big-hearted, patient readers. Without you, there’d be no purpose to what I do. And thank you to the bookshops and libraries, bloggers and book clubs, who foster writers, books and lovers of reading. You are the gatekeepers of stories and culture and I’m so grateful. Where would any of us be without you?
As crazy as it sounds, I also want to give a shout out to my four-legged companions. Day after day, my beautiful, loving and beloved dogs sit with me as I write — thank you Dante, Tallow and Bounty. My furry muses.
Which leads me to the last thank-yous. First, I want to thank the man to whom this book is dedicated, Stephen Bender. You may note he is a character in the book. I hope Stephen understands this is my way of paying tribute to him and what he means to our family. Stephen first wandered into our brewery looking for something to do in retirement a few years ago and basically he never left — and thank goodness for that. A former career army officer and then a criminal prosecutor for many years, Stephen has always fought the good fight. He brought not only love and friendship into our lives, but many great conversations, unwavering support, loyalty and an acumen borne of years of incredible experiences. While some of these would have broken many a person, they’ve simply made this man not only stronger, but kinder, more compassionate, less tolerant of fools and just an all-round beaut bloke whose integrity shines in everything he does. We often butt political heads, have the most frank and meandering conversations about anything and everything, grump to each other, tease, but most of all, laugh. I love this man like a big brother. Dedicating this book to him is a very small token of the deep affection I bear for him and a public acknowledgement of the important part he plays in mine and my Stephen’s lives.
Thank you, Lieutenant-Colonel Bender — love you dearly, sir.
If it wasn’t for the unwavering faith, humour, intelligence and challenges posed — and often — by my fantastic adult children, Adam and Caragh, none of my novels would ever see the light of day. They keep me grounded, elevated, frustrated, anxious and proud in equal measure and I adore them. It’s hard to have a writer as a parent because in many ways, you’re not always there, but divided between your lexical children, the inventions of your mind, and your real flesh and blood ones who aren’t anywhere near so demanding. Thank you, my best creations — for supporting this exasperating and yet wonderfully fulfilling thing I cannot help but do.
Which leads me to the other person without whom, not only would I not be able to write a word, but my life would be utterly incomplete. Stephen Brooks, my love, my heart, my life. The man who knows me better sometimes than I know myself and who is there for all the triumphs and di
sappointments. Who picks me up when self-doubt paralyses me, brushes me off, dries my eyes, gives me pep and other kinds of important talks, makes cups of coffee, hot chocolate, pours glasses of wine or whisky, and pushes me back towards my desk. Together, we laugh, cry, despair, celebrate, make and pour beers and other beverages and dream. Always there, he also understands why I sometimes don’t hear him, wander away to my computer mid-sentence, stay awake into the wee hours writing, reading or thinking, gaze dreamily out of the window or towards the sky; look at him without seeing him. He’s never jealous of the Matthews, Leanders, Nathaniels and other men and beautiful women who take me away from him but embraces them and the myriad other children of my imagination who share our crazy, loving, and fantastic world.
I love you, Stephen Brooks — thank you from the bottom of my very full heart. Like all my books, my so very sweet man, The Chocolate Maker’s Wife is for you.
Turn over for a sneak peek.
The
LOCKSMITH’S
DAUGHTER
by
KAREN BROOKS
OUT NOW
PART ONE
The Colours of Night
Eumaeus: Forsooth, playing false is as much a game men indulge in as women, sir.
Vagabond (King Odysseus in disguise): Aye, but it’s the only one where women are always victors.
— Caleb Hollis, Circe’s Chains
… Also she must be more circumspect, and more careful not to give occasion for evil being said of her, and conduct herself so that she may escape being sullied by guilt but even by the suspicions of it, for a woman has not so many ways of defending herself against false calumnies as a man has …
— Baldassare Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier: The Third Book, Part Four, 1528
ONE
WOOL QUAY, THAMES STREET AND HARP LANE, LONDON
The 18th of November, Anno Domini 1580
In the 23rd year of the reign of Elizabeth I
The old wherry glided up the bank and halted in the thick silt. With practised ease the boatman leapt out, ignoring the splash of muddy water spattering his breeches and stockings, and dragged the craft as far up the embankment as his strength allowed. Twining the rope around his elbow, he slung the remainder over his shoulder, then turned and gave a curt nod.
Caleb nimbly jumped over the side of the boat and, fortuitously, onto some rocks. Finding his balance, he held out his hand to proffer assistance. I gestured for Angela to precede me and watched as she manoeuvred her girth over the edge and onto the embankment. Grunting as he took her weight, Caleb held her while she found her feet. I looked back towards the opposite bank and London’s licentious cousin, Southwark, where, for a few joyous hours, I’d been able to forget everything. Watching the first performance of Caleb’s new play, Circe’s Chains, I was once again Mallory Bright, daughter of the finest locksmith this side of the Thames, a woman with a future as promising as her name.
