Diana talks to Major Thankful and Mistress Thomazine Russell (nee Babbitt)

It is really wonderful to sit down with you, Major Russell, and to meet you and the lovely Mistress Russell. (She’s prettier than you might expect, if you don’t mind an certain unmistakable family resemblance. And he looks considerably more ragged at the edges, too, for an urbane partially-retired intelligencer.)

I understand that a book about the early days of your marriage and the adventures that befell you, is out in September. Now the first we heard of you, you were a young lieutenant in the New Model Army, major, and your wife was, er -

Thomazine: Not quite two. That's right, yes.

So - I have to ask - Mistress Russell, how old were you when you realised you wanted to marry him?

T: I never didn’t want to marry him! He’s not really that enigmatic, you know. You just can’t always tell what he’s thinking.

Russell: (looking amused) Due to a certain inflexibility of expression, tibber?

T: Well - yes. I was trying not to put it so plain, my honey, but yes. Because of the scar.

R: Oh, bless you, sweet - as if after the better part of thirty years I might not yet be accustomed to my marred face.

T:  (crossly) It is not marred! I won’t hear it! You are lovely – you always were, even when - when I was very little I thought some of the more righteous sort of smitey angels must have looked like you – all fierce and straight and fiery. (She ducks her head and won’t look at him.) AndIthoughtyouwerebeautiful.

R: What?

T: (blushing horribly) I thought you were beautiful.

R: What, even when you were -?

T: Yes.

R: Good lord. So – er – when did you actually decide you intended to marry me?

T: When I worked out that you were someone who could be married, and not just an angel in a white nightie. I think I would have been about fifteen. Which is perfectly decent, dear. I waited till I was all of twenty to do anything about it, didn’t I?

Good lord. So London – what happened?

T: It was all very exciting, you know.

R: Well, I should not say exciting, my tibber, rather it was –dangerous and uncomfortable and several things happened that I would not consider at all a fit and proper subject for an improving work.

T: Of course, my honey. It was fun though, wasn’t it?

R: If you consider being suspected of treason, arson, and most of the murders in London – not to say having my wife abducted and all but killed from under my very nose - to be a matter of entertainment, madam, you want your head testing. Not to say having to engage with the Earl of Rochester and his infernal ape, and being eyed as a subject of scientific research by the Royal Society.

T: I enjoyed the ride in the carriage, though....

R: Thomazine!

He is changing the subject, isn't he?

T: Oh bless him yes, he's not yet accustomed to being the sort of man who has a romantic nature.

R: (definitely changing the subject, with an air of grim resolution) Well. I had not - as you know, I had not - I did not think anyone would ever choose to be harnessed to such as I, and so I had not really made provision for a wife. And then, you know, I met Thomazine -

T: Again. You met me again.

R: We met again, then, and I wanted to - it was in my mind for the first time that there was, there might be, that I -

T: (demurely) I made it clear that I was not averse to his courtship.

R: And then I had news that my sister had died, and that I had come into possession of the house at Four Ashes. What was left of it.

Ah. Your sister. You were never close to her, but did you ever have any tender feelings for her? What would she have thought of your lovely new wife?

R: Oh, I didn’t have any. For anyone, I think. My sister made very sure of that.

T: If you could not listen for a minute, my honey – (fiercely) your sister was a poisonous bitch and she deserved to burn. And I’m glad she did, or I might have had to see to it myself.

R: Oh no, Thomazine, don’t say that!

T: She abused you, Thankful! She should have taken care of you and loved you and instead she hurt you and told you what a bad, worthless, horrible little boy you were and that nobody would ever want to love you, ever –

R: But you do, and she was wrong. She would have hated you for that. Making her wrong, I mean.

T: She would have hated me anyway, dear, for not putting up with her sh-

R: Thomazine!

T: Chicanery, I was about to say. And I am sure she would not have approved at all of the fact that I happen to rather like you. You are a very satisfactory husband, for the most part.

Because you were brought up strictly Puritan, weren’t you – I believe your full name is actually Thankful-For-His-Deliverance. Did you never wish you'd been named something more ordinary?

R: Frequently. Though my sister was Fly-Fornication, so I consider myself to have escaped lightly.

Which clears that up. So you were saying about London?

T: Oh, it was wonderful.

R: Apart from the being suspected of being a spy, and not quite killed, parts.

T: It was very exciting, though.

R: (not sounding convinced) Mmm. It was intended to be a pleasant diversion - I had retired from my work for the Admiralty, I was looking forward to spending a peaceful and restful few weeks showing my wife the sights and sounds of London society.

T: - and instead you ended up having to go back to work.

R: Indeed.

Mistress Russell - may I call you Thomazine? - thinking of the wedding favour you embroidered for Thankful, do you actually like embroidery or is it something that a woman like you has to do?

T: Oh, please do call me Thomazine. I like it – I like pretty things – but, um, I’m not actually that good at it. I’m fierce at setting things in order, but I’ve not the patience for embroidery. I’m more of a tidier-upper. My garden is perfectly lovely, mind. To think what it looked like at Four Ashes when I first saw it –

R: It looked like a house that had been burned to the ground, love, and was in the process of being rebuilt.

T: It proper gave me the shivers at first – knowing it had burned with her in it. But it’s all right, isn’t it? We’ve sort of made it our own. (She looks at him,  trying not to laugh) When your husband is a man of business who trades as far as the Indies, you acquire some very odd trinkets....

R: (smugly) Singular, my tibber

T: He is making up for lost time, I think. I was brought up plain – not strict, but plain – mam is a very sensible goodwife, so hard work doesn’t bother me at all. Hard work, clean linen, and good feeding. This one – (she pats him affectionately) – is like a magpie. He’d stuff the house with the most impractical gauds if I let him.

Major, did you ever get that ribbon back?

R: To my sorrow, I did not. My wife suggested that it might be indiscreet to pursue its restoration to its rightful owner, given the circumstances of its, ah, loss and recovery.

You give the impression that this love is a miracle to you, is this so and Thomazine, how do you feel about that?

T: Before he says anything at all, I will say – for an intelligent man, really, he can be slow at times. My husband is an articulate, loving, handsome man: he has all his own hair and rather good teeth. He has a little tiny mark on his face that I hardly even notice any more and he thinks it gives people a disgust of him. (She spreads her hands in a gesture intended to take in the stupidity of men in general) He probably could have married any woman he chose to, before me, if he was only minded to ask!

R:  That is kind, Zee, but, ah, as your estimable father would put it – cobblers. It is still a miracle to me. God grant it will always be so. I never thought I would be any more to you than an old and trusted family friend.

T: No, my honey, neither did I at times. I thought you would never notice.

Now a slightly risqué one! Major, Thomazine startled you by complimenting you on your fine bottom. What do you think of her nether regions?

R: Ah, that is a tender subject presently. I am, as they say, damned if I do and equally damned if I don’t. It, ah, I –

T: I have increased, somewhat, of late. It puts him in an awkward position, you see.

R: I will say only that I admire and respect my wife’s mind above all, and any alteration of her outward seeming is of no account.

T: Liar.

R: Mm. Or a professional diplomat who chooses not to sleep in the outbuildings.

Thomazine, are you reconciled to the fact that the Dutch are not actually monsters or do you still fear they may have two heads or eat babies?

T: Having seen those appalling blue painted jars his friends in the Low Countries gave us on the occasion of our marriage – horrible things they are, of no conceivable purpose, about the height of a small dog and appearing to have been painted by a blind man with rheumatic fingers – yes they are, darling, they’re awful, you say so yourself: you’ve been trying to break one for months – I do not consider my husband’s friends to be monsters, but their taste in furnishings is lamentable. And they encourage him.

Two for both of you here. How did being society outcasts affect you both?

T: I think we were more sad for each other....if you see what I mean? I don’t think I like society – not society-society, not, you know, silks and pearls society – and so I didn’t expect to go back there so I didn’t care but I was buggered if those horrible people were going to run my darling off his patch – as a matter of principle.

R: Although I never liked society much anyway. It has a habit of staring at me.

T: What of it?

R: I hate being stared at, tibber.

T: (shrugs) I know, love. But since you’re not a murderer, and the worst your friends in the Low Countries can be accused of is appalling taste in porcelain, it offended me that you should be blamed for something you hadn’t done. So the more people whispered, the more annoyed I got. They could at least have said things to your face.

Now, Wilmot won’t read this I promise, so - what did you really think of the monkey?

T: Horrible. It was quite sweet, but, um, kind of strange – altogether too much like a hairy baby. I liked it, but it unsettled me.

R: You’re sure you don’t want one, then?

T: (looks at him for a minute) – oh. You mean to be funny. No, it had hands like a tiny little man, and it was altogether too knowing to be quite comfortable. I think I prefer real babies.

R: Which is a crowning mercy, all things considered.

What is your favourite tipple, Zee? And Thankful?

R: Well, I do rather like coffee –

T: Eeeww, Russell, how can you? It’s horrible!

R: It’s nicer than tea, my tibber – at least it tastes of something!
T: Yes, it tastes like printers’ ink! I much prefer a nice home-brewed ale. There is nothing so good as warm buttered ale on a cold night. You don’t want to be drinking that horrible bitter stuff. Curdle your belly, it will. It’s not good for you, you mark my words. And it keeps you wakeful.

Thomazine, what did you think of Prince Rupert? (You may answer honestly as I can guarantee that this missive will never reach his eyes.)

T: Much overrated! I am told that some ladies consider him quite the fancy man. Does nothing for me at all. I mean, he’s really old – not to say having almost no hair at all, for some bizarre reason – what is that thing with the wigs? I am absolutely not surprised that he hasn’t got a wife. Thankful, what are you laughing at, please?

R: An excess of actresses, my tibber. That’s another reason why he hasn’t got a wife. Bless you.

T: What? Oh! How wicked!

A question for you both now, on the matter of wigs. Like them or loathe them?

T: Full of fleas, and they look ridiculous. I don’t care what his opinion is – I don’t, dear, you’re not having one. I like your hair as it is. Don’t you dare cut it all off again. (She looks at me and shakes her head) He used to do that, you know, before we were married. Cut all his hair off, and grow horrible scabby beards – to make himself look plain.

R: Plainer.

 T: Whichever. It didn’t work, and you are beautiful. Shut up arguing about it.

R: (smiling very slightly) I consider myself told....

Thomazine. Aphra Behn. Do you like her or does she shock you?

T: I did like her a good deal – no, no she doesn’t shock me. Well, she did shock me, when we were in Bruges, but that wasn’t – that’s another story, I think, and for another time. That was something else she did. The thing with Affie, she has a habit of making things up.

R: She does it for a living, sweet, she has a lot of practice.

T: Surely. It doesn’t make her any more bearable. She teases me beyond endurance, you know. There’s romance, and then there’s Romance. And hers are just bloody stupid.

R: Well, she has to sell her plays –

T: It’s all the same one, just with different names in it!

Something squawks upstairs. Thomazine claps a hand to the front of her dress in a sort of horrified reflex and flees.

R: Ah. Nathaniel. A delightful infant, but an impressive trencherman, for a child not six weeks old.

I think that’s normal, at six weeks old. Somehow, I can’t imagine you two settling peaceably at home to play with fat fair-haired babies for the rest of your lives together.

R: (wistfully) It would be delightful, though. To have a home at last, and my own people about me, and time to enjoy it...without being shot at, threatened, or burned. I cannot conceive of a happier fate.

How do you think Thomazine would feel about that?

R: Oh, I imagine she’d love it. My wife would have made a far more efficient supply officer than I ever did – as she says, she is a most ferocious tidier-upper. Sadly, I suspect that given my previous employment, adventure is not yet finished with us.

One last question – I can see you’re keen to go and spend time with your family.  What is a tibber?

R: Oh, that! ‘Tes a Chiltern word, my duck. (It is really weird hearing him with an accent, however briefly  – a roight praper Buckinghamshoire ahccent at that) It’s a kitten, hereabouts. I’d fallen into the habit of calling her so when she was little. Sort of stuck.

It has been really lovely talking to both of you. I wish you much joy and peace in your marriage and hope that I can continue to read your adventures written by the exceptional talent of M. J. Logue. Buy it here ...

'Some strange woman walking down a tarmacked street in Germany, pretending to be Thomazine Russell ...'

About M.J. Logue:
Writer, mad cake lady, re-enactor, historian.
Been slightly potty about the clankier side of Ironside for around 20 years, and lists amongst my heroes in this unworthy world Sir Thomas Fairfax, Elizabeth Cromwell and John Webster (for his sense of humour.)

When not purveying historically-accurate cake to various re-enactment groups across the country, M.J. Logue can usually be discovered practising in her garden with a cavalry backsword.

Often to be found loitering, in an ill-tempered manner, at A Sweet Disorder  - do come along and pass unhelpful remark. M.J. Logue is joint first of my all time favourite authors. Her other books can be found here 

© Diana Milne July 2017 © M. J. Logue August 2017

Diana talks to ... (wait for it!) ... herself!!

Hi Diana! What are you doing talking to yourself like this?

It is the best way I know to get an intelligent answer every time!!

I am indulging myself as it is fair to say that today is the birthday of one of the best loved and extraordinary people of all time.

((Sings Happy birthday to herself in off key contralto...))

It is also Shakespeare’s birthday!

Seriously, so many people have said, Di, you are everywhere around literary groups, but who are you? - some have not put quite it so politely! – so here is my attempt to let you all get to know me a bit better.

(Well. Not *all*. You know who you are! You know me quite well enough!)

First things first I am sure there is a question that you have always longed to be asked. Now is the chance. Ask your own question and answer it!

Not so much a question as an explanation of sorts. So many people query why I do not write, when I obviously love it and occasionally show an aptitude for putting words together and forming a series of sentences.

Many years ago I was young. This was not a unique experience as I find this is a stage of life that has happened to everyone.

Except possibly my Uncle Derrick.  But let us not talk about him ...

My first ambition when I was about three was to be a mummy ‘because the daddies had to go out and do work and I didn’t want to ever do work; I wanted to stay at home and drink tea all day and have fun messing around.’

Hmm. I wonder how that would have worked out for me???

Anyway, by the age of seven I had discovered reading and I mean discovered it big time. Every hour I was able, I buried myself in a book. It is fair to say that my childhood was mostly spent living vicariously on Kirren Island and in the Five Find Outers Shed! Ultimately, being a diffident and lonely child, I wanted to write my own adventure stories and, with ruthless efficiency, and a yellow plastic pen I loved, I created villains and heroes, buried treasure and lost dogs...

At last I felt I was living!I had friends. I had a life!

Then the time came for the careers talk with the headmistress. The other girls were going in and stammering, ‘Well, Miss, I s’pose I could work in Woolworth’s’ or ‘Can I cut hair, Miss?’ or, ‘I’m gonna get married and have lots of babbies like me mam...’

I knew what I wanted to do! My ambition was great! I was going to be an author!

I strode in and announced my dream to the formidable, black robe clad  figure.

She glared at me over her half moon glasses. ‘Don’t be silly, Diana. Authors are ladies of means who live in cottages in Cornwall. If you want to do something with the English Language, TEACH IT!’

Needless to say, I never wrote and I never, ever taught!

My ambition was extinguished with those words and only this past two years has it gradually reawaken.

Completely by accident about a month ago, following a chance humorous remark by author Paula Lofting, I began to write what was to be a one off excerpt... but it grew! It will probably never turn into a novel, but I am enjoying every second of this writing process.  So. Maybe one day!

If your series of excerpts (ahem) with the working title ‘Monkey Mating in the Andes’ was adapted into a TV show or a film, who would you like to play the lead role?

This lady is not an actress, but an exceptional writer. Manda Scott would play Helen so perfectly.

What made you choose this genre? How do you get ideas for plots and characters?

Um...I had to fit a plot around Paula Lofting’s comment about Monkey Mating! The rest just grew. I was very surprised when the whole thing got highjacked by an Ecuadorian drug cartel. I didn’t intend them being in the story!

If, as a one off, (and you could guarantee publication!)  you could write anything you wanted, is there another genre you would love to work with and do you already have a budding plot line in mind?

A vague idea. Prehistoric Cornwall; iron age trading routes between the continent and the Cornish tin mines.

Marmite? Love it or hate it?

Mmmmm. Love Marmite, but totally absolutely adore Bovril (though it is not quite so nice now the ingredients have been changed)

Do you have any rituals and routines when writing? Your favourite cup for example or ‘that’ piece of music...??

I’m too new to this to have developed any routine. When I am making research notes or writing notes for a review, I always use a pencil - may be because I can never find a pen! It is just a shame that I don’t keep all my notes in just one note book. They are spread between odd scraps of paper, the backs of receipts, about five notebooks (depending on which room I am in, the programme from the play I saw last February and (occasionally) on tissues and train tickets.

I promise I won’t tell them the answer to this, but when you are writing, who is more important, your family or your characters?

I live alone. Maybe the reason I live alone is that work to me is generally the most important driving force to me!

Hmm. I just realised! It could, however, be argued that if I did not live alone, I would not need the driving force of work!

Other than writing full time, what would be your dream job?
I do it! I run a business selling vintage printing equipment, mainly from the Victorian and Edwardian eras. I have done this full time for ten years now. I love it. Click here to find out more about my business, 'd.arcadian'.

Coffee or tea? Red or white?

Preferably the strongest possible coffee, all day every day, but as it no long seems to suit me I have about one cup every six weeks....So tea it is. I don’t drink alcohol, but I drink litres and litres of sparkling water with fresh lime juice.

If you had free choice over the font your book is printed in, what font/fonts would you choose? As my main job is as a Letterpress Seller (extraordinaire), one would think I would have an amazing idea up my sleeve. I have, but it is nothing to do with printing!

Imagine that you could get hold of any original source document. What would it be?

My father’s will. Long story. Nuff said. ((Sad face))

How much research do you do and do you ever go on research trips? I am too new to writing to have gone on a research trip yet, but a year or so ago, I did begin to adopt the habit of a journalist friend of mine, who was doing a Creative Writing course. The idea was to make copious notes of every experience and trip so that when you needed to write a scene about *There* you had the back up notes already done.

Are you prepared to go away from the known facts for the sake of the story and if so how do you get around this?

No. I hate finding factual errors in a fiction book. It demeans the whole book and makes me view it all with suspicion.

Do you find that the lines between fact and fiction sometimes become blurred? In my life or in my writing? In my life, yes. All the time. In writing, no. I keep a very clear line between the two.

What do you enjoy reading for pleasure? Books, mainly. Condiment labels. Menus... Road signs.

Favourite living author?

CW Lovatt. His command of the English language and his mastery of primary, secondary and tertiary plots are exceptional. I am genuinely unsure whether MJ Logue comes joint first or a very close second with her extraordinary story telling ability and vivid characters

Now I have some questions sent to me by Review readers.

Gulp!

What do y’all look for in non fiction history/biography that make it a good one for you?

The author has to be able to make me care about the subject. Dr Ian Mortimer’s 1415: Henry V's Year of Glory, grabbed me on page one and kept me page turning right until the end. The book awoke a passion for discovering more about Henry V and this era that still exists.

Now a question from Angela: I would like to ask what makes you laugh, but your reply would be too long. lol x

It is easier to tell you what does ‘not’ make me laugh. Comedy! Comedic films. Sit com. Almost all stand up. Panel shows that are meant to be humorous and just seem to me banal.

Oh. One more. Mrs Brown.

I did, however, laugh like a drain at one of Aristophanes' plays when I read it in the original language. It was hilarious and totally untranslatable.

Perhaps I am a bit strange!

Jayne asked: what made you join the Review and take on this task?

I was in hospital at the time with a badly broken leg. I think maybe the morphine warped my thinking a little!
Strangely I decided voluntarily to start *Diana talks* and I love every second of it. It began by me deciding to go to HNS16 in Oxford. I wondered what I could do, that would be of value to the Review, with all these authors in one place at the same time. After I had ruled out the idea of the Bacchanalia on the grounds that it may not be of use to the Review, I decided to talk at them...

From Liz: Looking back from where you are now, what would you say to yourself when you didn’t think it was possible? Generally something like FFS. Get a grip woman!  Strangely, I was the last person to know what a strong woman I am.

Which fictional character have you liked the least.

Seargent Bell, in Josiah Stubb; The Siege of Louisbourg by C.W Lovatt. Most characters have redeeming features. Bell has no redeeming quality whatsoever.

Trust Paula to come up with this one!

Who lights your fire and who puts it out?

I have an open fireplace and a beautiful dog grate set into the hearth.

At the moment, my fire needs kindling and a nice, big stick. No further comment!
 

© Diana Milne April 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Diana Reviews: A Broom at the Masthead by MJ Logue

Diana Milne Reviews A Broom at the Masthead by MJ Logue. The author has offered a giveaway to one lucky winner. To be in with a chance of winning this amazing novel, simply leave a comment below or on our Facebook page. The winner will be drawn on 13th August 2016. Good luck!

London, 1665.
“A Broom At The Masthead” is a pacy, racy romp set in Restoration London, featuring the husband and wife combination of Major Thankful Russell and his new young wife Thomazine, daughter of the unforgettable Holfernes Babbitt and his plump and unfashionably lovely wife Het.
Murder, arson, and rumour - would a man whose principles led him to once take up arms against his King, turn his coat again and work against His Majesty for the Dutch Republic.

Possessed of a most unfeminine strength of purpose, Roundhead's daughter Thomazine  has finally wed her hero, marred and enigmatic retired Admiralty intelligencer Major Russell, who's been drifting in and out of her life in various states of idealistic disrepair since she was two and he was twenty-one. Twice her age, disfigured, shy, a long-term bachelor - hopelessly unpromising romantic material, surely? But Thomazine doesn't care. Russell is her rebel angel - he always was, and he always will be. No matter what the neighbours say.
 
But as war with the Dutch looms and tensions run high in the streets of London, the darkness of Russell's past is all too suddenly exposed - and someone at Court is determined that he shouldn't get his happy ever after.
Funny, sexy, and brutal, this is a story of a man tortured by the demons of his past, eaten up by jealousy and hatred.
It's also a story of an unlikely but happy marriage, the Earl of Rochester's monkey, and amor vincit omnia...

 "Apple, dear, we're in a book. Do you mind?"
"Hm?" He's not paying her a blind bit of attention, and so Thomazine gives him a swift and unladylike kick in the ankle. "A book, dear. About us. You know - about London, and everything?"
That brings him up short. "About London? What - the carriage, and the murders, and - "And John Wilmot's monkey," she says. "And the poetry. Everything."

"Oh God," he says, "tibber, whose damn-fool idea was that?"
She smiles to herself. "Some people are never happy, lambkin. I liked it."

"I liked it very well, Thomazine! I'm just not sure everyone needed to know about it!" He scowls at his papers, and she narrows her eyes, recognising Aphra Behn's handwriting.

"What's that?" she says, and he looks up and gives her a slow, wicked smile. (He has a lovely smile. One-sided, and all his teeth show on one side but not the other, but he is very lovely. In a sort of - individual - way, she thinks smugly.)
"That's the next book, my tibber."

This incredible book is the first of The Drowned Books series. I have long been a fan of the Uncivil War books by M J Logue and I was fortunate enough to be allowed to read the synopsis way back at the beginning of the world when this book was proposed to the publisher. I thought then it would be a winner. I am not disappointed.

Hollie Babbitt and his rebel rabble are portrayed with so much realism and love (even when you are hating them!) that one finishes a book in the series with a feeling like saying goodbye for a while to a close friend. To review this book therefore is for me a genuine pleasure. Ms Logue’s unique voice and story-telling manner shine throughout and make her a writer deserving of praise and recognition.
The book is told in an intimate and confiding manner. I almost had the impression I was reading a journal told in the third person. The words flowed and I found it difficult to put down, something that I found in common with other books that this author has written.
The historical detail is very well researched and accurate and shows MJ Logue’s thorough knowledge and love of the era and her attention to detail, without allowing the reader to become bogged down in tedious detail. Ranging from London to the Low Countries, to the Civil War and early forensics, each detail is meticulously portrayed and adds greatly to reader enjoyment.
The book opens unexpectedly with a vicious murder. Fly-Fornication Coventry, whom we have met before, is brutally strangled and then burned, together with the Russell house, Four Ashes. It is apparent that the murderer is known to Fly, but who is it?
The book is a skilfully blended merger of tense psychological thriller, family saga, tender romance and murder mystery and it would appeal equally to lovers of any of those genres, (without putting people off who do not like these genres!)  in addition to historical fiction.

Upon learning that he will now be master of the house, Thankful ‘Hapless’ Russell realises he will now be in a position to marry. He begins to male preparations to woo and win Thomazine Babbitt, who he has known since she was a baby of two and him a scarred (and scared) world weary war veteran of twenty one.
To his surprise Thomazine says yes, and it is soon apparent how deeply the two are in love.
After the wedding, where Hollie, Het, Joyeux, Luce and other favourite characters make a cameo appearance, (I can almost hear Hollie thinking, ‘That was no cameo appearance lass. I paid for all that ale you supped,’) the reader gets a painful glimpse into Thankful’s psyche when he wakes in the night fearing amelioration by fire.
Russell and Thomazine set out for Four Ashes, arriving at that bleak half burned out, half rebuilt place in the winter gloom and Thomazine has a meltdown, comforted by the ever patient Russell. Making the best of it they spend the night in each others' arms in front of a fire they coax into reluctant life, but in the morning they are disturbed by the dour Scottish Eadulf, Russell’s friend and factor.
It is soon apparent that all is not as it seems and there are problems with the neighbours. Thomazine longs for home, her home with Het and Hollie and familiarity. As a compromise Russell gets them his old lodgings in London, but how well does Thomazine know the man she has always loved?
The scenes depicting Thomazine’s growing status as a woman, a society woman, and a sexual being, is movingly and touchingly portrayed with a sensitivity and skill that is lacking in so many authors. Their love life is made beautiful by Ms Logue’s words with none of the smutty undertones that that subject can generate.
Can Thankful clear his name, or will he and Thomazine be the murderer’s next victims?

 About M J Logue
 M J Logue has been passionate about the English Civil War since writing her first novel over 20 years ago. After a brief flirtation with horror and dark fantasy, she returned to her first love, historical fiction, and now combines the two. She has a degree in English literature, trained as an archivist, and likes Jacobean theatre, loud music, and cheese.

When not attempting to redeem the reputation of the Army of Parliament, she lives in Cornwall with her husband and son, three cats, and a toad under the back doorstep.
There is little more to divulge, other than - "I had rather have a plain, russet-coated Captain, that knows what he fights for, and loves what he knows, than that which you call a Gentle-man and is nothing else. "
(She is also incredibly ginger and incredibly sweary!)

Thank you, Oliver Cromwell!
The author’s blog and website can be found here...
Amazon


Reviewed by Diana Milne, author of various To Do lists and a long letter to Aunty Pat. © August 2016.