Crime & Culpability: A Jane Austen Mystery Anthology — Sneak Peek!!
Bayou Wolf Press is pleased to announce our latest publication — a mystery anthology centering around the works of Jane Austen! Crime & Culpability: A Jane Austen Mystery Anthology will release on September 10th — and the preorder is open now!
Read on for the book blurb and an excerpt from one of the stories by Regina Jeffers:
“No one can withstand the charm of such a mystery.” — Jane Austen, Persuasion
Jane Austen mysteries have become a popular subgenre of Austen variations, but this is more than just a trend. Austen was a masterful storyteller who embedded clues within her stories for her readers to follow, inviting readers to read between the lines and “gather the evidence” to follow her intricate plotlines.
In this anthology, various authors who are also fans and admirers of Austen’s work have taken the challenge to add some mystery to Austen’s stories and characters. From Regency sequels to film noir retellings to cozy art heists, Crime and Culpability: A Jane Austen Mystery Anthology explores the many faces of Austen and all of her enigmas.
Featuring stories by Regina Jeffers, Riana Everly, Jeanette Watts, Michael Rands, Linne Elizabeth, Emma Dalgety, and Elizabeth Gilliland, with a foreword by Regina Jeffers and an introduction by Elizabeth Gilliland Rands.
Excerpt from “Order and Disorder” by Regina Jeffers
George Wickham breathed a sigh of relief as the gangplank was set in place. He had been waiting in the shadows for hours for just this moment. As far as he could tell, no one was any the wiser as to what occurred earlier.
Stepping from the shadows and into the drab morning light, he quickly crossed the dock, keeping his head turned ever so slightly so no one could identify him. He paused to present the waiting clerk the necessary papers. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Schultz.” As Wickham climbed down the ladder to reach the waiting rowboat, which would take him to the Leo Belgicus, he said a private farewell to the near poverty of his life in England and dared a prayer for a better day.
It had been fortuitous indeed when Schultz had called in at the inn where George had been sipping on an ale and wondering if he should attempt to win a few coins in the card game going on at one of the tables. He was hungry and thought to purchase a meal and let a room for a few days to see what prospects might prove benecial in this coastal town. He had tired of sleeping on the street and in aban‐ doned buildings, as well as staying one step ahead of the watch. He should never have sold his commission, though, at the time, he thought doing so was the only means to escape both his wife and his mounting debts. George did not know which he despised more, the constant “reminders” his fellow soldiers of what he owed them or Lydia’s cloying need to hear him speak of his affection for her.
With interest, he had watched Schultz, having recognized the man from their university days. Though Schultz was a Jew and a commoner, the man had easily claimed a niche of close friends, composed of many of the more “enlightened” among the upper classes, including Darcy; both George’s former friend and Schultz had participated on the same rowing team at Cambridge.
With caution, he nodded to the man. “You are Schultz, correct?”
The man looked upon him as a frown marked his forehead. “Are we acquainted, sir?”
“We were at university together,” George said. “I recall your being part of the rowing team.”
The man still studied him. “You possess a distinct northern England accent.”
George shrugged. “Hard to disguise how a man speaks.” Though he had attempted it often enough. He asked cautiously, “What brings you to this part of England?”
“Work.” The man shrugged. “I am off to Amsterdam tonight. Just waiting for the ship to dock properly. With the Thames lower than usual, more ships are docking at Dover, Brighton, Hull, and Norfolk. The shipping trafc is struggling to adjust. There is no reason for me to stand out in the fog and the cold.”
“Makes sense,” George said. Without any real desire to leave his homeland, he had never been outside of England. Never even been to Scotland or Ireland.
“And you? What brings you to Norfolk?” Shultz asked.
“Leaving my military duties soon,” Wickham declared.
“Did you see much service?”
“Years,” he said with a practiced sorrowful twinge in his tone. “I fear I am not fit for London ballrooms. I cannot seem to escape the stink of war.” He provided Schultz a well-rehearsed shrug, as if he was embarrassed by a service he had truly never seen. “I trained to be a clergyman, you know, but I was ordered to take lives.”
Schultz gestured to an empty seat. “Why do you not join me for a meal? I despise eating alone, and you sound as if you could also use an evening of conversation.”
George kept the smile from forming on his lips. If nothing more, he could enjoy an actual meal this evening. Since arriving in Norfolk, he had grabbed apples and meat pies from carts when no one was looking or dug out carrots and the like from small gardens, but the opportunities were few and far between. “Such is very kind of you. I would enjoy a civil conversation and breaking bread with you.”
Three hours later, Schultz was becoming mildly inebriated, and George was considering suggesting playing cards, when a man stepped into the inn. “Mr. Schultz?”
“Here,” George’s companion responded, and George realized he had lost his opportunity to earn a few coins.
The stranger rushed over. “The captain, sir, sends his regrets. The harbormaster says the Lion cannot set sail until the morning’s light. He begs your pardon, sir, for the delay. Seven of the clock, sir, if it be your pleasure.”
Schultz frowned. “And the current time?” he asked, looking about the room for a clock.
“Near eleven, sir.” The man waited for a response, but Schultz appeared a bit dazed; therefore, George said, “Seven is acceptable. Thank you, sir.”
The man rushed away, and Schultz looked to George with a bit of confusion. “It is too . . . far . . .” Schultz slurred, “to return . . . to my home . . . and back. I cannot . . . miss . . . the ship.”
“Permit me to inquire of a room from the innkeeper.” George stood, initially thinking of sharing the room with Schultz, but another idea hatched as he crossed the room. “Might my friend and I have another drink?”
The innkeeper eyed him suspiciously, but he, nevertheless, fetched fresh glasses and poured what passed for “brandy” at the inn.
Carrying the drinks to the table, he spoke with a bit of regret hidden in his tone. “The innkeeper claims he has no empty rooms available.” Schultz frowned deeply.
“What may . . . I do?”
George shrugged. “Sit here all night, I suppose, but I fear this is the last drink we may share. I must return to my quarters.” He sipped the brandy and waited for Schultz to take the bait. There were many things George Wickham did not know, but he knew rich Englishmen, even if Schultz was a rich, Jewish Englishman. All who had money preferred their comforts and did not like to be denied otherwise.
“You’ve quarters . . . nearby?” Schultz slurred.
“Not too close, but close enough,” George shared.
…Uh-oh! What is George up to? Pre-order the anthology to find out more!
