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5 Feel Good Books to Bring You Comfort

5 Feel Good Books to Bring You Comfort

The world may feel a little overwhelming right know, but there’s one thing we know for certain: books will always be around to bring us comfort. As you would probably guess, the team at Forge has been reading a lot while we’ve been home, and we wanted to share some of the books we’re loving right now with you. Check out our recommendations for five feel good books below!


Ask Me No Questions by Shelley Noble

Image Placeholder of - 4“For many of us, there’s nothing more soothing than the opening theme to Downton Abbey. Now that the series is finished and the movie has come and gone, we need something to fill the Crawley-shaped hole in our hearts and comfort us the way the show used to. Not to worry, friends. Shelley Noble’s Lady Dunbridge Mysteries will more than suffice. When we first meet her in Ask Me No Questions, Lady Dunbridge is not about to let a little thing like the death of her husband ruin her social life. She’s ready to take the dazzling world of Gilded Age Manhattan by storm. From the decadence of high society balls to the underbelly of Belmont horse racing, romance, murder, and scandals abound. Someone simply must do something. And Lady Dunbridge is happy to oblige.”

Alison Bunis, Marketing Assistant

Good Boy by Jennifer Finney Boylan

Place holder  of - 7“Memoirs have brought me a lot of comfort while staying at home, and one in particular that I’ve loved is Good Boy by Jennifer Finney Boylan. It’s a must-read for any dog lovers out there! Jennifer has written a number of novels and memoirs, and this one is structured around the pivotal moments of her life and the seven dogs she had at each moment. Life is full of transformations and changes, and this book documents how Jennifer’s dogs accompanied her through some of her biggest changes in life as a transgender woman. This book is the perfect encapsulation of how dogs can show us unconditional love and help us learn how to better love ourselves. Engaging, full of heart, and relatable to all readers, this book is the literary embodiment of snuggling with your beloved pup.”

Sarah Pannenberg, Digital Marketing Coordinator

Carousel Beach by Orly Konig

Placeholder of  -63“A perfect beach read… or dreaming of the beach read. Nothing can evoke that feeling of walking along the boardwalk more than an old-school carousel, worn down by salty air and thousands of riders. Maya Brice is reeling from the heartbreaking loss of her grandmother and a miscarriage while restoring her hometown’s beloved carousel just in time for a grand reopening on the 4th of July. What she finds inscribed on one of the horses will lead her on an unforgettable journey to healing. The relationship she forges with Hank, an Alzheimer’s patient and former carousel artist himself will make any reader’s eyes well up. If you’re looking for a sweet read and gentle reminder to call your grandparents, you won’t miss!”

Jennifer McClelland-Smith, Marketing Manager

Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mysteries series, by Carrie Bebris

Poster Placeholder of - 56“Whenever I need comfort, there’s one source I turn to more than any other: Jane Austen. True, she only wrote six books, but with all the sequels and rewrites we never need to stop living in Austenland. The Mr. and Mrs. Darcy Mysteries series by Carrie Bebris has the added bonus of being delightfully cozy mysteries, so they’re extra comforting. In the series, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy want nothing more than to enjoy married life on their Pemberley estate, but one mystery after another keeps drawing them away. Each of the seven books focuses on different characters from Austen’s beloved novels, from Caroline Bingley to Frederick Wentworth to the residents of Sanditon. With Bebris’ care to maintain the style and setting of the original novels, this series is almost like reading Jane Austen…but with a touch more murder. Recommended reading pairing is a cup of tea and a proper English biscuit or scone.”

Alison Bunis, Marketing Assistant

An Irish Country Cottage by Patrick Taylor

Image Place holder  of - 36“The charming, colorful village of Ballybucklebo isn’t ready for disaster to strike. Not long after Christmas passes, a fire engulfs the humble thatched cottage housing of Donal Donnally and his family. Although the family of five and their beloved pup escapes, they have nothing left but the clothes on their backs during the coldest time of the year.

Luckily, Doctors O’Reilly and Laverty gather the good people of Ballybucklebo to come to their aid. The neighbors are insistent on rebuilding the cottage, albeit a difficult task, and will help the Donnallys no matter what it takes.

The heartfelt entry in Patrick Taylor’s beloved New York Times and internationally bestselling Irish Country series is one you’re sure to love.”

Mary Halabani, Marketing Intern

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8 Books to Read for Galentine’s Day

By Alison Bunis

Happy Galentine’s Day! What’s Galentine’s Day, you ask? Essentially, for those of you not in the know, what started as a made-up holiday on the tv-show Parks and Recreation has become a real holiday. The day before Valentine’s Day, the most couple-y of holidays, gal pals everywhere put aside their partners and say to each other, “I appreciate your friendship and I love you.” How you celebrate is up to you, of course. Leslie Knope of Parks and Rec obviously goes for breakfast food, because that’s her love language. But for us here at Forge, our love language is obviously books. So to celebrate Galentine’s Day this year, we’ve put together a list of books celebrating women!

These books are by women or about women. Some of these women kick ass. Some of these women bake magic pies. Some of them tell you about their parents’ divorce and how not to join a cult, and some of them write about ISIS occupations. It’s a wide range, because there’s no predetermined way to be a woman, or to be a gal-pal. So grab your BFF, grab a couple of books, and get reading. Ladies celebrating ladies by reading about awesome ladies. What could be more Galentine’s Day than that??


For the Non-fiction Gal

Image Place holder  of - 40Stay Sexy & Don’t Get Murdered by Karen Kilgariff & Georgia Hardstark
Pick up this book if you’re into Karen & Georgia’s podcast, My Favorite Murder! But even if you’re not a podcast person, don’t worry, this book is an excellent read for anyone looking for an honest, open, hilarious memoir about the struggles of dealing with mental health issues, addiction, and being a True Crime fan.

Placeholder of  -90Father of Lions by Louise Callaghan
This one is a touching story of humanity in the midst of war, told by award-winning journalist Louise Callaghan. Callaghan is one of the youngest Middle East Correspondents ever hired by the Sunday Times (UK), and she has had pieces published in The Sunday Times Magazine, Vogue, and the Times Literary Supplement. Talk about an impressive lady. Father of Lions is a must-read if you’re interested in a story that will make you view war and conflict in a new light, or if you want a good book about brave animals.

To Get Your Pulse Racing

Image Placeholder of - 89The Retreat by Sherri Smith
We’ve all got that one friend who’s way too into the latest wellness craze. Maybe we are that friend, and no one’s told us yet. Doesn’t matter, this is just the book to break the spell: four friends go for a weekend getaway at a wellness retreat. By the end, only one of them is left standing…

Place holder  of - 35Trust Me by Hank Phillippi Ryan
Hank Phillippi Ryan is an award-winning investigative journalist, so when she sits down to write a book about a journalist looking for the truth in an unbearably brutal story, you can bet she delivers. Trust Me is full of all the psychological suspense and manipulation that any thriller reader could ever desire.

A Hint of Magic

Poster Placeholder of - 91Midnight at the Blackbird Cafe by Heather Webber
For your friend who believes in magic, for your friend who believes in love, for your friend who loves to bake, for your friend from a small town, for your friend with a close family, for your friend with serious family issues: Midnight at the Blackbird Cafe checks all the boxes. But have baked goods on hand: you’ll definitely want a snack while reading.

Remembrance by Rita Woods
Do you want to spark a discussion with your friends? Want to dive into the deeper issues surrounding the Haitian Revolution and the Underground Railroad? Or do you just want to sink into an enthralling read about four women, connected across different times and places, struggling to make their way in a world that doesn’t have a place for them? (Hint: If you liked The Underground Railroad or The Orphan Train, this is definitely the book for you.)

Historically Accurate Friendships

Ask Me No Questions by Shelley Noble
 Okay, this one’s for the gal pal groups who watched Downton Abbey together. The movie helped, sure, but it was just one movie. So if you’re suffering from Downton Abbey withdrawal, Shelley Noble is here to help you out with her delightful mystery set in Gilded Age Manhattan, where horse racing, romance, murder, and scandals abound. Someone simply must do something. And our plucky heroine Lady Dunbridge is happy to oblige.

Of Irish Blood by Mary Pat KellyOf Irish Blood by Mary Pat Kelly
This vivid, compelling epic is a great read for anyone interested in Irish heritage or family history, because author Mary Pat Kelly based the story on her own great-aunt’s life. Following heroine Nora Kelly as she travels through Europe in 1903, readers will meet all kinds of exciting real-life characters such as Gertrude Stein, William Butler Yeats, and James Joyce!

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Corsets & Crime: Detecting in the Gilded Age

Champagne, martinis, and more glitz & glam than you can imagine…there’s a reason we call it the Gilded Age. Here, Tell Me No Lies author Shelley Noble shares the details behind her fascination with Gilded Age Manhattan, and the challenges of being (or writing about) a female sleuth in the era.


By Shelley Noble

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The Gilded Age was a time of change and of extremes. Suffragettes and mediums, shop girls and debutantes, struggling shopkeepers and rich tycoons, tenement buildings and massive mansions—and a new concept in living space, the Apartment.

I knew I wanted my sleuth to be a little bit of both worlds, old world background with new world sensibilities. A young dowager countess who refuses any longer to be constrained by the old fashioned ideas of her place. She travels to America to find her fortune, and becomes thoroughly modern.

Being a lady and a detective, trying to solve murders while adjusting to a new country and a new social order was no easy feat….

The great thing about writing historical mysteries, is that you get to live in a time period not your own, climb into the skin of someone like you and yet not like you at all, and follow them as they solve crimes using methods based on wit, intuition and the latest scientific investigative tools of their era.

The things that attracted me to setting a mystery in Manhattan during this time (1907), was, yeah…the fashions…thank you, Downton Abby. But also because of the energy of the era, sometimes roiling beneath the surface, sometimes bursting at the seams and bubbling over. It’s the enthusiasm, the passion, the greed that often led to violence, that makes it so fascinating.

It was the age of the “New Woman.” Women of all walks of life stepped outside of their “women belong in the home” place to taste a bit of freedom, independence, and perhaps a little adventure, if only vicariously in the sensational literature of dime novels. They went to college, worked in department stores, learned to type, went out to lunch without male escorts, frequented moving picture shows, learned to drive automobiles. But they wouldn’t be given the vote until 1920.

In the meantime, just getting around town was something to contend with.

When Lady Dunbridge (Phil to her friends) arrives in New York, all avenues and streets were two way, even Fifth Avenue, which is a little hard to imagine. The implementation of one way traffic wouldn’t come about until years later.

Horse drawn carriages and automobiles vied for space on the streets. Drivers often came to physical blows over who would go first, blocking traffic all around them.  Add push carts, trolleys, autobuses, cars, taxis, fire engines, and pedestrians all attempting to be first, it could be a hair raising experience. And frustrating for anyone trying to apprehend a criminal.

Even if you owned an automobile, you couldn’t just jump in and speed after them. Most cars still used the hand crank. Even the newest automobiles which used a key and pump system, relied on several steps of unlocking, priming, pumping and opening various parts before you could join the chase. By then the suspect would be long gone.

And if you were going any distance you first had to put on your driving costume, a long motoring coat that covered your regular clothes, gloves, goggles, and for ladies, a wide-brimmed hat held on by a wide scarf.

The best way to catch a crook in an automobile was to hope there was a taxi stand nearby.

For a comfortable spot to rest between chasing suspects, Phil moves into the Plaza hotel, which had just reopened south of Central Park. Apartment living was all the rage. Meals were sent up from the basement kitchen, arriving via dumbwaiter to a pantry where the floor waiter immediately delivered them to the apartment. Or residents could take their meals in a private dining room downstairs. There was central heating. Hot water. Electric lights and magnetic clocks in every apartment. All the modern conveniences, including a telephone.

Telephones were still a mainly used by the richer classes. But you had to be careful of your conversation, especially during an investigation, since parties were connected by “telephone girls” who might be tempted to listen in and indulge in a little gossip or sell information for a price. Phil is warned by her local newsboy not to trust the telephones, “cause a ears.”

Call the police? Only if there was a telephone exchange nearby, or perhaps a hotel where you could place a call. If someone at the station did answer, they would have to transfer your call through more “ears” or yell down the hall and everyone would know something was afoot.

And then there were corsets. A major impediment to successful crime fighting. Over the years corsets took on many shapes, pushing and poking bones and organs into fashionable figures. (Of course most of the famous designers, Worth, Poiret, Doucet, etc. were men.) Fortunately they began to move from the “pigeon” S-shaped contraption to a more light-weight, lighter-boned Empire style of corsets, with less fabric and lower necklines—and women could breathe again.

Phil loves fashion, but she’s passionate about bringing villains to justice. She always makes certain that her derringer is in her handbag and her skirts can be tucked in her belt in case she has to chase a criminal or run for her life. She can drive an automobile, ride a horse, and I hear that air travel may be in her future.

Order Your Copy:

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Enjoy a Tell Me No Lies-themed Cocktail Recipe!

The long-awaited follow up to Ask Me No Questions, Shelley Noble’s wickedly clever tale of a widow turned sleuth in turn-of-the-twentieth century New York City is here and it’s called Tell Me No Lies. It’s the perfect Miss Fisher meets Downton Abbey mystery we need in our lives. It’s not out till November 5th though, so in the mean time we need a drink.

So here’s a recipe for a simple classic to hold in one hand as you demure and solve murders:

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Order Your Copy

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$2.99 Ebook Deal: Ask Me No Questions by Shelley Noble

Placeholder of  -91The ebook edition of Ask Me No Questions by Shelley Noble is on sale now for only $2.99! This offer will only last for a limited time, so order your copy today and get ready for the sequel, Tell Me No Lies, coming this fall!

About Ask Me No Questions:

A modern woman in 1907, Lady Dunbridge is not about to let a little thing like the death of her husband ruin her social life. She’s ready to take the dazzling world of Gilded Age Manhattan by storm.

From the decadence of high society balls to the underbelly of Belmont horse racing, romance, murder, and scandals abound. Someone simply must do something. And Lady Dunbridge is happy to oblige.

Order Your Copy

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This sale ends September 1.

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New Releases: 10/16

Happy New Release day! Here’s what went on sale today.

An Irish Country Cottage by Patrick TaylorCountry

The New Year brings challenges and changes to the colorful Irish village of Ballybucklebo. The Christmas holidays have barely passed before a fire engulfs the humble thatched cottage housing of Donal Donnally and his family. Although the family escapes the blaze more or less unsinged, Donal, his wife, their three small children, and their beloved dog find themselves with nothing left but the clothes on their back.

Good thing Doctors O’Reilly and Laverty are on hand to rally the good people of Ballybucklebo to come to their aid. Rebuilding the cottage won’t be quick or easy, but good neighbors from all walks of life will see to it that the Donallys get back on their feet again, no matter what it takes.

Meanwhile, matters of procreation occupy the doctors and their patients. Young Barry Laverty and his wife Sue, frustrated in their efforts to start a family, turn to modern medicine for answers. O’Reilly must tread carefully as he advises a married patient on how to avoid another dangerous pregnancy.

As a new and tumultuous decade approaches, sectarian division threaten to bring unrest to Ulster, but in Ballybucklebo at least, peace still reigns and neighbors look after neighbors.

Ask Me No Questions by Shelley NobleQuestions

A modern woman in 1907, Lady Dunbridge is not about to let a little thing like the death of her husband ruin her social life. She’s ready to take the dazzling world of Gilded Age Manhattan by storm.

From the decadence of high society balls to the underbelly of Belmont horse racing, romance, murder, and scandals abound. Someone simply must do something. And Lady Dunbridge is happy to oblige.

The Consuming Fire by John ScalziConsuming

The Interdependency, humanity’s interstellar empire, is on the verge of collapse. The Flow, the extra-dimensional conduit that makes travel between the stars possible, is disappearing, leaving entire star systems stranded. When it goes, human civilization may go with it—unless desperate measures can be taken.

Emperox Grayland II, the leader of the Interdependency, is ready to take those measures to help ensure the survival of billions. But nothing is ever that easy. Arrayed before her are those who believe the collapse of the Flow is a myth—or at the very least, an opportunity that can allow them to ascend to power.

While Grayland prepares for disaster, others are preparing for a civil war, a war that will take place in the halls of power, the markets of business and the altars of worship as much as it will take place between spaceships and battlefields. The Emperox and her allies are smart and resourceful, but then so are her enemies. Nothing about this power struggle will be simple or easy… and all of humanity will be caught in its widening gyre.

NEW IN PAPERBACK

An Irish Country Practice by Patrick TaylorPractice

Once, not too long ago, there was just a single Irish country doctor tending to the lively little village of Ballybucklebo: Doctor Fingal Flahertie O’Reilly. Now his thriving practice is growing by leaps and bounds.

Not only has O’Reilly taken a new trainee under his wing, Doctor Connor Nelson, he’s also added a spirited Labrador puppy to his ever-expanding household at Number One Main Street. Meanwhile, his trusted partner, young Doctor Barry Laverty, finds himself wondering if he’s truly ready to settle down and start a family with his lovely fiancée, Sue.

As the doctors cope with domestic and professional challenges, they also look after their patients and their ailments, including a mysterious cough, a housewife whose frequent “accidents” may have a disturbing cause, and a respected colleague who might be succumbing to an old vice.

All is not sickness and worry, however. There’s plenty of joy and merriment to be found as well, from a visiting circus to racing to sailing . . . and maybe even a happy ending or two.

The Dogs of Christmas by W. Bruce CameronChristmas

Suddenly responsible for an abandoned dog and a box full of adorable puppies, Josh Michaels is in over his head. He reaches out to the local shelter for help, where he meets Kerri, who teaches Josh how to care for the puppies and get them ready for adoption.

Josh is surprised to find himself falling for Kerri, a beautiful woman with a quick wit and a fierce love for animals—but he’s fallen even harder for his new furry family.

With Christmas and the adoption date looming, Josh hesitates to part with any of the dogs, putting him at odds with Kerri. Josh isn’t willing to lose her, but doesn’t know how to set things right. Can a surprise litter of Christmas puppies really change one man’s life?

Windwitch by Susan DennardWindwitch

After an explosion destroys his ship, the world believes Prince Merik, Windwitch, is dead. Scarred yet alive, Merik is determined to prove his sister’s treachery. Upon reaching the royal capital, crowded with refugees, he haunts the streets, fighting for the weak—which leads to whispers of a disfigured demigod, the Fury, who brings justice to the oppressed.

When the Bloodwitch Aeduan discovers a bounty on Iseult, he makes sure to be the first to find her—yet in a surprise twist, Iseult offers him a deal. She will return money stolen from him, if he locates Safi. Now they must work together to cross the Witchlands, while constantly wondering, who will betray whom first?

After a surprise attack and shipwreck, Safi and the Empress of Marstok barely escape with their lives. Alone in a land of pirates, every moment balances on a knife’s edge—especially when the pirates’ next move could unleash war upon the Witchlands.

Sometimes our enemies are also our only allies…

NEW IN MANGA

Boogiepop Omnibus Vol. 1-3 Story by Kouhei Kadono; Art by Kouji Ogata

Fairy Tale Battle Royale Vol. 1 Story and art by Soraho Ina

How Not to Summon a Demon Lord Vol. 2 Story by Yukiya Murasaki; Art by Naoto Fukuda

Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid: Kanna’s Daily Life Vol. 3 Story by coolkyousinnjya; Art by Mitsuhiro Kimura

The Voynich Hotel Vol. 2 Story and art by Douman Seiman

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Excerpt: Ask Me No Questions by Shelley Noble

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Place holder  of - 10From New York Times bestselling author Shelley Noble, Ask Me No Questions is the first in the Lady Dunbridge Mystery series featuring a widow turned sleuth in turn-of-the-twentieth century New York City.

A modern woman in 1907, Lady Dunbridge is not about to let a little thing like the death of her husband ruin her social life. She’s ready to take the dazzling world of Gilded Age Manhattan by storm.

From the decadence of high society balls to the underbelly of Belmont horse racing, romance, murder, and scandals abound. Someone simply must do something. And Lady Dunbridge is happy to oblige.

Ask Me No Questions will be available on October 16th. Please enjoy this excerpt.

England 1907

Lady Philomena Dunbridge’s father slammed the newspaper on the tea table. “This is an outrage.”

Lady Phil stared at the headlines. Dowager? Dowager?? How could they call her a dowager? She was barely twenty-six years old. It was the twentieth century; no one her age should be called dowager. “It’s shameful,” she agreed. It was probably the first time she and her father had agreed on something since . . . um . . . she couldn’t remember a time.

“Fine answer to have in hindsight.” A cloud of spittle ex- ploded past his lips.

“How was I to know he was going to drop dead of a heart attack?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“The newspaper, my deceased husband. I refuse to be called ‘dowager.’ I couldn’t agree more.”

“Mad. Are you mad? Did you read the rest of the head- line?”

Well, to be honest, she had stuck on the dowager part. She read it now. “Dowager”—her eyes stuck on that hateful word— “Countess, Lady Philomena Dunbridge Discovers Murder Victim, Solves Crime—Leaves Stymied Metropolitan Police Scratching Their Heads.”

She smiled reminiscently. Actually, a child could have followed the clues left by the murderer. But men did tend to get caught up in the wherefores and whatnots.

She pulled the paper closer to read the article. Her father snatched it out of reach.

“And that’s the best of the lot.” He barely flicked his head toward a stack of newspapers on his desk.

She didn’t think he’d appreciate her taking them. No matter, she could pick them up at the newsstand on her way back to the Savoy Hotel. She had no intention of staying under this roof and being scolded like a child. Her parents had given up that right when they’d married her off at seventeen to a man she hardly knew and wished she’d never seen.

“It’s one thing the scandals you’ve caused with your less- than-discreet behavior. Those affaires could be forgiven con- sidering the state of your husband. But this. This. Have you no care for your family’s name?”

Actually, she hadn’t cared much for her family since they’d married her off to the Earl of Dunbridge.

“This time you’re going to have to pay the price.”

Good heavens, hadn’t she been paying the price for seven years of a loveless, cold marriage to a man who had no feelings, including the intimate kind, unless it involved whips and mad- ams, or so she’d been told? Any self-respecting married lady would make sure she led her own, more compatible life. They had to.

“So what will it be?”

“Pardon me, sir?”

“Which do you choose? The dower house with a suitable companion, return home and live as a spinster with your family, or . . .”

“Yes?”

“There is always your great-aunt Sephronia in Yorkshire.” Those were her choices? It didn’t seem quite fair. But she couldn’t expect her current lover to put her up forever, and besides, she was getting bored. The dower house was crumbling and moldy, and the suitable companion would be equally moldy, she had no doubt. And she had no intention of living as a spinster, under this roof or any other. And as for the crazy old lady in the back of beyond . . .

“Well?”

There seemed to be only one choice. “I believe, sir, that I shall go to America.”

1

“Ay, Dios mío.”

Philomena Amesbury, Lady Dunbridge, glanced at her lady’s maid, who stood beside her, clutching the rail of the SS Oceanic, her eyes wide.

“Only speak in English or French, Lily,” Lady Dunbridge reminded her. “And try not to gape. It’s merely another large city, much like London.”

The steamship had slowed to a crawl as tugboats navigated it up the busy Hudson River toward Chelsea Pier, and it was a remarkable view. The skyline of tall buildings passed before them like Edison’s motion pictures, just as exciting and more than a little daunting. Lady Dunbridge could sympathize with the girl’s amazement.

Lily bobbed a satisfactory curtsey. “Pardon, madam.”

Not bad, Philomena thought, considering she’d been a lady’s maid for less than a week, after Lady Dunbridge had snatched her from the jaws of the London immigration police who had caught her attempting to stow away on the ship.

At the last minute, Lady Dunbridge’s own maid had refused to board. Stuck between a rock and the deep blue sea, and after much argument from her traveling companion, Preswick—her devoted if somewhat long-in-the-tooth butler—and promises from Lily not to run away the minute they landed in New York, Lady Dunbridge had paid her passage. Admitting defeat, Preswick spent the seven days at sea transforming the girl into a semblance of a lady’s maid.

He’d done an excellent job with a very apt pupil.

Lady Dunbridge smiled encouragingly at the young woman, who was now her servant and confidante.

She was a tad too exotic looking for a lady’s maid, dark hair and flashing eyes with a Renaissance painting complexion, which appealed to Philomena.

She’d stubbornly refused to tell her name—Philomena deci- ded to call her Lily because of her complexion. Nor where she’d come from—certainly not the slums of London or Barcelona— or her age. She was possibly younger than she looked. Regard- less, she was younger than Philomena, who was leaning closer to thirty than twenty.

She was a little rough around the edges but not vulgar, and very willing to learn. Most surprising, she was fairly fluent in three languages. Now if she kept her promise not to bolt as soon as they landed . . . “Speak in English or French . . . but listen in Spanish.”

Lily frowned, then flashed her a grin. “Oui, madame. I understand completely.”

Ah, thought Lady Dunbridge. There was hope for this trip yet.

The ship finally maneuvered into the wharf and the engines were cut, the constant rumbling giving way to the clatter of carts and carriages on the uneven paving stones. Newspaper boys and urchins cried for coinage. A marching band was playing, and she caught a glimpse of placards rising above the heads of people waiting on the street. Burly dockworkers hefted trunks and crates to their backs and lugged them through the waiting crowd, while cart boys darted in and out of the bystanders with a dexterity that belied their small statures.

There were even two automobiles, one black and one yellow, the latter she knew from Bev’s letters must belong to Reggie Reynolds. Of course, Reggie would want to show off his new automobile. He had promised to meet them at the pier and drive them to the Reynoldses’ brownstone on East Sixty-Eighth Street, while their coachman conveyed her servants and baggage in the town carriage.

The wind whipped up, rustling the ostrich plumes of Philo- mena’s hat, and she held it to her head with one hand while she tried to catch sight of Bev or Reggie. It was impossible in the crush of people.

The captain approached her and bowed. “Lady Dunbridge. It has been a great pleasure to have met you. I hope you enjoy your visit. May I?” He offered his arm and personally escorted Philomena and her entourage of two to the gangplank, where the purser urged everyone toward the pier and the carte de visite agents. The captain kissed her hand before bidding her adieu.

But at the bottom of the gangplank, Lily balked. “What if they won’t let me in? What will I do?”

“Just be calm and look lovely,” Philomena reminded her. “You have a perfectly acceptable carte de visite.”

Preswick humphed. “A somewhat unorthodox carte . . .And perhaps not altogether legal?” he added.

Philomena shot him a warning look. “It was drawn up, albeit hastily, by a member of the immigration service.” At least she was fairly certain he worked for that branch of government. “No matter, where there’s a will . . .” Lily certainly had the will; Philomena had merely given her the way. They should get on just fine.

They stopped at a customs desk and had their cartes stamped—including Lily’s. Philomena sent the two off to claim the baggage and hire a carter to bring their trunks to the car- riage. Then she followed the other passengers through the dark wooden reception hall to the street.

As she stepped out from the tall, wide arches, she was hit with a cacophony of sound and a sea of faces. Old and young, clean and dirty; friends meeting friends, families hoping to find their relatives—all were intently watching the opening to the wharf, seemingly oblivious of the traffic and noise around them.

Bev, petite and naturally blond, stood at the very front, accompanied by a servant, liveried in maroon and gold.

Philomena’s smile widened. She was always amused by these American affectations, but she loved Bev, and if Bev wanted a driver who looked like he just stepped out of some moldy aris- tocratic castle—hers, for example—Bev should have him.

She was dressed in the latest mode as always. Lady Dunbridge’s own plumed hat paled beside the clamshell Bev wore rakishly angled over one eye. Its green and beige aigrette feathers made a delicious comment on the turquoise bolero jacket and skirt she was wearing with such panache. Philomena remembered seeing its sister design in the Paquin showroom on her last trip to Paris. No longer behind the times, these Americans.

Phil raised her hand to wave. Bev waved back, then abruptly turned away and hurried off in the opposite direction and quickly disappeared from view.

Taken aback, Philomena looked to the servant, who was staring after his mistress. He roused himself and hurried to Philomena.

“Lady Dunbridge?” The driver yelled as the band marched closer and the noise grew louder.

“I am,” she yelled back.

“Mrs. Reynolds has”—he darted a look in the direction Bev had taken—“has gone to fetch Mr. Reynolds and the auto. I’ll wait here and transport your trunks and servants in the carriage.” He gestured over the crowd to a well-appointed carriage in the care of two footmen.

“Thank you . . .” she shouted.

His voice rose over the nearing oompahs. “Bentley, ma’am.” “Bentley,” she acknowledged at the top of her lungs. His name rang out in the sudden quiet as the band tumbled to the end of what Philomena now recognized as “Onward, Christian Soldiers.”

“My butler and maid should be arriving short—”

A pop, like a champagne cork, cut through the air. Someone was already celebrating. Except the pop was followed by a high-pitched, piercing scream. Not champagne—a gunshot.

“That’s Mrs. Reynolds!” Bentley spun on his heels and ran through the crowd toward the yellow touring car.

“Bev!” cried Lady Dunbridge. She lifted her skirts and raced after him.

They had to fight their way through the crowd, half of whom were fleeing in all directions. The band and sign-carrying women marched past, cutting off their progress.

“The Women’s Temperance Union,” Bentley said as he danced around the edges of the parade looking for a way through them. The music started up again. Bentley plunged through. Lady Dunbridge plunged in after him.

When she made it to the other side, her hat was pitched forward due to coming into contact with a tuba, the nest of ostrich plumes covering both eyes. And she’d lost a button from her kid glove where it had caught on the stick of one of the placards.

A crowd was pressed around the touring car, but there was no sign of Bentley or Bev. Philomena pushed the ostrich plumes from her face and squeezed through to the front.

She was met by a horrible tableau.

Reggie Reynolds was sprawled across the backseat, one foot on the floor, one arm dangling down from the seat, and his head cradled among the skirts of a woman’s lap. Blood oozed past his vest, edged the lapels of his sack coat, and spread across the white shirt beneath.

Bev clutched the open automobile door and stared at the scene.

“Why? Why did you do it, Reggie?” cried the woman in the auto, who was looking decidedly pale and awkward beneath her wide-brimmed platter-sized hat. “Why did you kill yourself?”

“Murderer!” Bev cried, and reached out as if to reclaim her husband, who seemed to Philomena beyond reclaiming.

The woman shrank back. She was rather pretty, with light brown hair poufed in a pompadour style. One sleeve of her pastel walking suit was smeared with blood where she was clutching Reggie. And when Philomena looked closer she could see the splatter of what must be blood across the bodice. Her stomach hiccupped in revulsion.

The crowd pressed in. Questions and speculations tumbled through the group.

“What’s happened?”

“Is that Reggie Reynolds?”

“He’s got a nag running at Belmont next week.”

“A real winner, they say.”

“Witness the evils of drinking!”

“It’s that Florodora girl. What’s her name?”

“Mimi LaPonte.”

A Florodora girl. So this was Reggie’s latest mistress. Leave it to him to be found dead in the arms of a cheap chorus girl from a popular stage play. She certainly looked the part. Blond—not natural—expensively but not entirely tastefully dressed. Her tears flowed freely, streaking her makeup. She didn’t attempt to extricate herself from the body.

“And that must be his wife!” All eyes turned to stare at Bev. “She musta’ shot him.”

“Nah, it was the girl. She musta’ done him in.”

“Oh, why, Reggie, why did you kill yourself?” the Florodora girl repeated.

Just in case anyone had missed it the first time, thought Philomena. She’d had enough experience to recognize an opportunist when she saw one, even if she was pinned by a dead man and covered in his blood.

The crowd moved closer to the car and Philomena broke from her stupefaction. She grabbed Bev. At first she fought, then realizing who it was, cried “Phil,” and collapsed against Philomena’s new spring coat.

The band was mercifully quiet as the members and the parading temperance ladies reversed course to get a better look. As soon as Philomena’s ears stopped ringing, she heard a series of whistles converging on the area. The Manhattan police, no doubt. She was thinking fast; neither she nor Bev could afford to be found in a situation like this. Neither of them might have the best of reputations, but it was paramount that they keep what they had.

“Come. Now.” Philomena pulled Bev back from the automo- bile.

“This way, my lady.” It was Bentley. He took Bev’s other arm. “She’s getting away! Stop her!” someone cried.

The trio sped up, right into the dark, brass-buttoned coat of a New York City policeman.

“Now where do you think you’d be going—miss—misses, uh, you three?”

“My friend has had a terrible shock. Her husband has been ki—injured, and she’s feeling faint and needs a place to sit,” Philomena said at her haughtiest, then looked around for an escape route.

Another patrolman skidded to a stop next to the first. “Not so fast.”

Philomena noticed the piece of offal beneath his feet and turned up her nose at the smell. It worked to good effect. He blushed red, then stepped back and scrubbed the sole of his shoe against the rough surface of the brick paving stones.

Bev roused herself. “Do you know who you’re talking to? This is the Countess of Dunbridge.”

The men exchanged looks.

“Dunn’t look old enough to be no countess,” the younger one said.

The older one shook his head. “And sure she is. These society types are always pulling tricks to get out of trouble. Well, your highness, you three just go stand over there with this here officer and wait until you’re called for.” He nodded abruptly, and the younger man herded the three back toward the auto. The area around it had been cleared and the crowd was being held back by several more uniformed men. The whistles must have summoned every policeman in the neighborhood.

Bev was leaning heavily against Philomena. “Stay swooning until I return,” she whispered, then thrust Bev at the coachman. She needed a closer look.

She had no intention of being enmeshed in a scandal on the day of her arrival, but at this point she didn’t see how to avoid it unless she deserted her friend and kept moving. But that meant Bev would be left to the mercies of the police who, if they were anything like the London constabulary . . . She just couldn’t do it. Which meant she would have to do something about it herself. Bev’s husband had either been murdered or had killed himself sitting in a public thoroughfare in the company of his mistress for all the world to see.

Typical of a man.

Bev would need her support when the gossip became brutal, as it was sure to do.

She’d known Bev since they were girls at the same finishing school in Paris. Had it really been ten years ago? Phil had adored Bev’s American bravado and had introduced her to Paris society. As young girls, they weren’t invited to the adult soirees and balls, so together they discovered the Parisian demimonde.

Now Bev was but a pale memory of that girl, and Phil didn’t have the heart to desert her.

No one was even guarding Reggie’s body. They were too busy trying to keep the onlookers at bay. The crowd was becoming more voluble by the moment, calling for the arrest of someone, anyone, the mistress or the wife, either one of them would do, or both.

Philomena didn’t for a minute think Bev killed Reggie, though as far as she was concerned she had every right to. Everyone had affairs, but good breeding insisted on discretion. Reggie flaunted his, made headlines with them, while Bev sat humiliated at home. But how to make certain suspicion didn’t fall on his wife?

“Ugh!” Philomena pulled her skirt back, eased herself out from the restless crowd, and slipped past the distracted police- man who was trying to contain them.

She was immediately accosted by two more men in uniforms. “Sorry, miss, you can’t come no closer.”

“I’m a friend of the family. Are you sure he’s dead?”

“Well . . .”

“You should call for a doctor immediately! He might still be saved!” She warbled this out, clasping her hands together to her bosom like a heroine in a play put on during a country house weekend.

“Is there a doctor here?” one of the policeman shouted, swiv- eling his head.

“Are you daft, man?” jeered a bruiser leaning over his hand- cart. “He’s a goner for sure. Just look at him.”

The group surged forward. The police pushed them back.

A clerk in a bowler hat craned his neck to see. “Oughtn’ya go see? Maybe he ain’t dead.”

“If I say he’s dead—” The bruiser knocked the man’s hat to the ground. When he leaned down to pick it up, another man punched the bruiser in the jaw. He fell back, dominoing into the people behind him.

It was a match in a tinderbox. Others took up the cudgels, the remaining policemen rushed to help, and Philomena hur- ried to the auto to get a better look inside.

The Florodora girl had been removed—or had removed herself. Now both doors were open. Reggie lay alone across the leather seat as if he’d fallen asleep or, more likely, passed out in a drunken stupor. He didn’t appear to be breathing, though truth be told, she’d only said that to distract the guards.

Philomena inched a little closer, peered at the backseat, scrutinized the floor. If he’d shot himself, what happened to the pistol? She saw no evidence of one, not in Reggie’s hand or anywhere in the enclosed space. Had the Florodora girl shot him? Did she still have the pistol? Or was she disposing of it while they all stood around doing nothing?

Then she spied a small black handbag lying on the floor in the far corner. She might be able to reach it if . . . She leaned into the auto, felt along the floorboards, shuddered when her arm brushed against Reggie’s lifeless leg. She stretched out her hand . . . just a little farther. A large hand appeared before hers.

Philomena gasped, snatched her hand back, and glanced up to find a pair of glinting black eyes staring back at her. A man crouched at the other side of the automobile. Their eyes locked over Reggie’s body, then abruptly the man stood, ducked his head, and melted into the crowd.

“Wai—!”

Before she could react, she was grabbed from behind, fingers encircling her waist, and she was yanked backward out of the automobile.

A fine situation for the Countess of Dunbridge.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, she whirled around with her Parisian reticule swinging. She had to stifle a yelp of surprise when her wrist was gripped, stopping both her bag and her person in their rotation, and she came face to chest with her would-be assailant.

“Pardon me, madam, but you have no business here. This is a crime scene, if you will kindly step back.”

Philomena did step back, but out of surprise and disgust. The man was filthy and he towered over her. He wore a drab, wrin- kled Mackintosh and a slouch hat pulled down on his forehead, leaving nothing of his face visible but a morning-after beard. He looked absolutely disreputable, but he was barking orders at her with the authority of the Lord Chamberlain.

“Just who are you, sir?” she demanded, gathering what aplomb she could manage. Where were all those policemen who had just been milling about when she needed one?

“I was about to ask you the same.”

She took another cautious step back. “Are you with the police?”

He reached inside his Mackintosh with a dirty scraped hand and pulled out a metallic shield. “I’m Detective Sergeant John Atkins.”

Considering the state of his hands, she decided to forgo good manners and didn’t offer hers. “I’m Lady Dunbridge . . .”

“So I’ve been told,” he said drily as he returned his shield to his pocket. “And may I ask what you are doing here?”

“I just arrived on the SS Oceanic from Southampton to visit my friend Mrs. Reynolds. And I would be quite grateful if I were allowed to take her home. Her husband is dead and she’s naturally in shock.”

He motioned her away from the crowd. “I have a few questions.”

“Which she’ll be glad to answer once she’s recovered. Shall we say tomorrow morning? I doubt she will be receiving visitors.” She smiled condescendingly. “Ten o’clock? Thank you. You’re very kind.” She didn’t give him time to answer, but called out, “Bentley, help your mistress back to the carriage. I’ll join you shortly.”

She turned back to Detective Sergeant Atkins. “Before you begin your inquiries, I think you should know there was a man who was taking an inordinate interest in the scene. I believe he was going to steal a handbag from the automobile, before I interrupted him.”

“Handbag?”

“Yes, black, with a lovely confection of sequins and onyx.”

“A handbag in the auto? A man? Where?”

“In the far corner on the floor. He was standing on the other side of the automobile. Over there.” She pointed back to the auto, and when the detective turned to look, she took the opportunity to slip away.

Copyright © 2018 by Shelley Noble

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