Tide of suspicion

DEB LUCKETT set out their last meal in London on a polished table, with plates and shining glasses. There was a baked pie wafting steam into the air. “A pity we cannot entertain your Mr Crago in bette

IT was a fine, windy day in September, and Rosalind Aston had an odd feeling that she was in love. The emotion was new, and she could not be sure, but she luxuriated in it as she walked towards the ha

LADY Annet fell silent beside Denzil Raymont on their way back from Pendennis Castle. A salt sea-breeze blowing about the cart made her draw her cloak tighter. They’d spoken to Sir John Arundell as sh

And so it was that the fair Lady Joanna spurned her betrothed and fled from the castle in the dead of night, her faithful man-at-arms by her side. Off the lovers ran, into the depths of Howe Acre wood

WHAT d’you reckon, sir?” Sergeant Winner sidled up to his long-time inspector with a worried look. His grey eyes swivelled towards a swelling crowd of newspaper men. Under an early-morning sky which t

IT was no fun being dead – particularly when you had a cramp in your leg. Gemma raised her head from the dusty floor, looking for Tarquin. “Do I really have to stay here until the end of the act?” she