A Kiss from the Devil (eBook)

a page-turning historical mystery with a fabulously original heroine

Georgina Clarke (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025
320 Seiten
Verve Books (Verlag)
978-0-85730-931-0 (ISBN)

Infos

Blood may be thicker than water, but is family more important than the truth?

London, August 1759. Lizzie Hardwicke, society harlot and occasional investigator for the magistrate, is shaken by an encounter with her estranged brother during a riotous evening hosted by the notorious Devils' Brotherhood. Beyond the opulence of this Mayfair party, a streetwalker is found strangled on the doorstep of a well-known moral campaigner, her cheek branded with the letter V.

When more girls are discovered dead and similarly marked, Lizzie fears that someone stalks the streets with a violent hatred of women, and as the evidence begins to point to her own brother, any remaining family loyalty she has is severely tested.

Her past catches up with her and her future becomes increasingly dangerous, yet Lizzie is still unaware of darker plots being hatched in the shadows by those who wish to silence her for good. This time, the consequences of her investigations will lead her to a place where even Will Davenport, the one man she trusts, won't be able to find her.

The fourth instalment of the gripping and vividly imagined historical mystery series set in 18th century London, from the author of acclaimed historical novel The Dazzle of the Light. Perfect for fans of The Household by Stacey Halls and Daughters of the Night by Laura Shepherd-Robinson, as well as readers of Laura Purcell, Sarah Waters and Diana Gabaldon.

* READERS LOVE LIZZIE HARDWICKE *

'Wickedly entertaining... Courageous, forthright and shrewd, Lizzie crackles and sparkles her way through the book' - 5-Star Reader Review

'All the luscious period detail of a Georgette Heyer; Lizzie Hardwicke is, quite simply, irresistible' - 5-Star Reader Review

'I will continue singing the praises of this brilliant series until my very last breath' - 5-Star Reader Review

'Lizzie Hardwicke is an endearing, smart female sleuth you cannot fail to love' - 5-Star Reader Review

'A real page-turner combining an involved plot with vivid characterization' - 5-Star Reader Review

(This novel contains depictions of violence.)

Textauszug

1

Some hours earlier

Few people stop to ponder what depravity might lurk behind a closed door. Take the smartly painted door of my own house on Berwick Street, for example. The brass knocker is polished every day and the four steps leading up from the pavement are swept each morning and afternoon. The sign over the doorway is dusted now and then – when someone remembers to do it – and announces to passers-by that this is a milliner’s shop. It is no such thing. Our house, surprisingly discrete, is the best brothel in Soho – or so we are led to believe by those who visit. Hats are seldom called for once you are over the threshold.

The door I found myself staring at, that August night in Grosvenor Square, would be, I considered, to anyone who knew no better, just another anonymous entrance to the smart London home of some noble family or other. It was certainly impressive, but, like the house itself, this door was elegant rather than ornate. Even in daylight, it would have been subdued. The servant standing outside in a coat of middling blue was doing nothing to draw attention – either to himself or to his master’s residence. Any good and godly matron could have passed this home chaperoning the sweetest and most chaste of young ladies without blushing. Indeed, had it been the morning, or early afternoon, I imagined that many pure-minded individuals would have enjoyed a slow perambulation of this fashionable Mayfair square, even stopping to consider the white façade of the house, only to admire the wide-spaced windows, the shining black door and its immediately forgettable servant.

Looking out across the square, I could just about make out the vast mansions. The moon was new, and giving very little light, so everything lay under darkness and shadow.

The servant nodded when he saw five of us climb out of the carriage that had been sent to bring us here. It was the only acknowledgement he would give to Polly, Emily, Betsy, Angel, and me. We expected nothing more from him and certainly no warm words of welcome. He would admit us quickly, and we were not to speak; our garish gowns and powdered faces might attract attention, even if they were hidden beneath hooded cloaks. Besides, we were required inside and were not being paid to linger.

This did not prevent the man from taking his eyeful as we passed, a smile that might have been a contemptuous sneer gracing his lips. He knew why we were here, of course.

His name was Jenks. We had been told his name. But as he pushed open the door and ushered us through into the hallway, I thought that he might as well have been Cerberus the three-headed dog, and that there should have been great flambeaus set either side of the entrance. For truly, this was no ordinary door. It was the portal to the underworld. The entrance to hell.

‘Wait here,’ he said.

Even in hell, one is obliged to wait.

The hallway we had entered was spacious and tastefully furnished and did not look like the cavernous outer regions of the underworld that I used to imagine as a child. We handed over our cloaks and gazed at our surroundings. Gold paint on the cornices, the staircase spindles and the edges of the picture frames that hung on the walls sparkled in the candlelight. There were a great many candles – a deliberate display of opulence – so that, in contrast to the darkness outside, in here it was almost as bright as day.

‘It’s lovely,’ breathed Angel, clutching my arm. ‘Like a fairyland. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anywhere so beautiful.’

Angel was one of two new girls at the Berwick Street brothel, and little more than a child. Her real name was Ann, but her hair was so fair as to be almost white, and the innocence of her expression had led Polly to nickname her ‘Angel’, and the name had stuck. She and Betsy had arrived only a month ago and both were still very green. We were trying to teach them how to survive. This place was not a fairyland. Quite the reverse. Even so, there was still nothing in this dazzling hallway to indicate anything other than that the owner of the house was a person of wealth and good taste. The chaos and debauchery were tucked away behind a further doorway, just in case someone arrived uninvited and found themselves shocked by what they saw. I would not be shocked. I had enough of an idea of what I was expecting. I shivered.

‘We’re here to do what we always do,’ I said, wishing I could share her enthusiasm and sense of wonder. To one unused to such grand houses, it must have seemed wonderful indeed. ‘But you might have a painted ceiling to gaze at while you’re on your back.’

She giggled, but her fingernails dug into me. She was nervous. As was I, even though I was able to pretend otherwise these days.

‘And we’ll be paid handsomely, Angel,’ Betsy whispered, tucking a hand through my other arm. ‘Won’t we, Lizzie? They’ll pay us well?’

I shook my head. ‘They aren’t paying us at all. The Farleys have already taken the money – asked for it up front.’

‘Really?’ Angel stared at me, her brow wrinkling. ‘But I thought…’

A few months ago, we might each have hoped to do well from a night like this. When our bawdy house was run by Sarah Farley – known as Ma to those who lived there – she would have brought us here herself and joined in with the party. She would have taken a large payment on our behalf before we set foot in the house, but she would have shared it out with us all. She could be generous, especially when she was merry with wine. But her husband, John Farley – a brute of a man with a hard face and a mean spirit – had lately returned from sea. He had taken the money already. A distinguished customer was paying for our presence. This was a new venture, Farley had said, and he had brokered the arrangement. Meanwhile, Ma was sitting at home, growing hazy on gin. Farley had left the house a couple of weeks ago, all too briefly, to meet with associates south of the river – and to escape the heat of a close acquaintance with a murderer – but now he was back, reeking of the oranges that he ate like a glutton, making our lives miserable. Worse than that, he was making us poor.

‘Betsy, Angel, listen to me.’ I pulled them close enough to speak quietly as the doorman slipped past us and through another doorway. ‘Make what you can on the side. If a man gives you jewellery or extra coin, keep it. Hide it. Put it where Farley won’t find it.’

‘I couldn’t –’ Angel began.

‘You could. It’s what I do. Save what you can, both of you. Hide it carefully – under your mattress or a loose floorboard. One day you might need it.’

‘Ain’t that stealing?’ Betsy asked. ‘From the Farleys? Shouldn’t we hand it over?’

‘Not if you’ve earned it. But it’s best to keep it secret.’

Betsy was never going to be as pretty as Angel, but although also young, she was sharper witted and learning how to be a harlot quickly enough. However, she needed to grow wiser still if she wanted to survive. She nodded thoughtfully as I imparted the wisdom of one who had worked on the town for nearly a year.

‘You’re late.’

Another man, this one in a black silk cloak and horned headdress, stood in the doorway of a large and very grand ballroom that opened from the hallway. Visible behind him were many people in various states of disarray. I could hear them too, laughing, howling, singing, shrieking.

Now, at last, we had our glimpse of Hades.

‘Your carriage was late collecting us,’ Emily said with a degree of disdain. Emily Greville was the eldest of us – she admitted to twenty-five years. What she lacked in youth and freshness she made up for in self-confidence and ferocity. There are some men who like that sort of thing. This one was unimpressed. He cocked his head towards the demonic chaos we could see ahead.

‘Hurry up. They’re growing restless. The last girls wore out too quickly.’

I was grateful that we were only the relief.

‘Is there any food?’ I heard Polly ask. Dear Polly, who always sought to make the best of any occasion. ‘Wine?’

‘There’s everything. Every need catered for. That’s why you’re here.’

It was. Tonight, we were the guests – if that was the correct term – of the Devils’ Brotherhood. Or possibly, we were the dessert.

The Devils’ Brotherhood was known for holding extravagant debauches. The gossip papers delighted at the stories of the orgies, the carriages full of women, the cellars drained dry, and the gambling debts the size of dukedoms. Usually, as tonight, these affairs coincided with the new moon – suggesting dark deeds or pagan rituals took place. The men at the head of this society, a small group known as the ‘Brothers’, were well-connected and influential, although the identity of these individuals was not generally known. They were, however, understood to be generous: invitations to their new moon parties were offered widely to young gentlemen of good breeding.

I suspected that these most significant members of the Brotherhood were no longer young. They would be old devils. Men much like Lord Pirton, in whose fine house we were standing. The sort of men who liked to imagine themselves as having the potency and virility to overthrow governments, but who were, in reality, at their most radical after a good dinner and a harmless screw. From my experience, you may give such a man a few glasses of port and he will tell you how the country ought to be run. Give him a girl who knows how to flatter him, and he will think himself...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 2.12.2025
• Reihe/Serie: A Lizzie Hardwicke Mystery
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Historische Romane
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror ► Historische Kriminalromane
• Schlagworte: britain london soho urban fiction city streets • disguise dress up mistaken identity • feminist literature women sleuth sisterhood family • historical fiction 18th century drama period • murder investigation blackmail corruption kidnap • mystery crime detective private investigator • period romance swoonworthy slow burn bridgerton
• ISBN-10: 0-85730-931-5 / 0857309315
• ISBN-13: 978-0-85730-931-0 / 9780857309310