The Matfen Affair, or the bridesmaid and the ghost

"an interesting mix of characters, from Leigh’s older, headstrong sister to the too-young-and-spoilt bride, from the rather delicious Robert to the stiff-collared Bernard."

Clutching my candle, I headed into the darkness beyond the sharp turn that led to the older part of the house. In daytime, with others nearby, it had seemed romantic, but alone and in near darkness, climbing that narrow spiral stair was like stepping back two centuries. In several places my elbow grazed rough stone. My poor little candle flame flickered wildly in the upper corridor and its light glinted and rebounded from metal shields, axes and pieces of old armour that decorated the walls.

The hairs on my arms rose as I approached the door to my bedchamber. I glanced back the way I had come and thought it was a pity that wood panelling had not been used to cover the bare stone as it would have made the corridor so much warmer. Close at hand, someone sighed.

I whirled round with such speed I almost extinguished my candle.

The corridor was empty. I held the candle high, but saw only the dull gleam of ancient armour. The silence was such that it was hard to believe any other person lived in the house, let alone walked the corridor with me. I took a firm grip of my candle, turned to the bedchamber door, grasped the sneck and entered.

A fire burned in the hearth, and the bright, cheerful glow was a welcome surprise. Relief rushed through me as I closed the door. The maids had lit candles, turned down the bed and laid two white nightgowns on the side nearest the fire. Heaping blessings on their heads, I hurried across the room and crouched before the fire. Heat soaked into me and gradually I forgot the sigh of sound in the corridor.

Lacking the nerve to ask Amelia to leave the company downstairs in order to help me undress, I struggled to undo the ties of my evening gown, but managed without too many contortions. Amelia loved parties and gatherings and it would have been unkind to insist that she should leave because I was tired. The bed was wide, so there was a good chance that I would not slide into my sister while asleep. If I did, I would surely earn an elbow in the ribs.

As I snuggled down beneath the covers Elspeth and Maud’s advice about standing up to Amelia wandered into my mind. How odd that Robert should have spoken of the same subject but two days ago. I really ought to have taken a stand against her before now. If I did not do something soon, the pattern would be set for the rest of our lives. Comforting myself with the knowledge that I was cleverer than my sister was no longer enough. I had made a beginning today and must keep it up even though she was the more articulate and seemed able to think and speak at the same time, which often flummoxed me. My answers were good, but had a habit of coming a day later than I actually needed them.

My nose grew cold, so I drew the covers higher and hugged myself beneath them. The fire blazed well, and threw a bobbing, grotesque shadow of the chandelier onto the ceiling. If I had the courage to claim the side of the bed next to the fire, I might grow warmer. The idea appealed to me but for the fact that Amelia would almost certainly demand that side when she arrived. Until I was more practised in opposing her, I did not wish to provoke an argument over which side of the bed I should have.

My nose was icy cold, yet a few minutes earlier I had stood before the cheerful blaze and felt comfortably warm while I fastened the pearl buttons at the throat of my nightgown. I could not get warm in spite of the heaped blankets. A small sound captured my attention and I froze into stillness, for the sound had been very like the sigh I had heard outside the bedroom door.

Rolling my head on the pillow, I checked around me. My senses quickened. Flickering firelight did not penetrate the darker corners of the pretty room, but there was enough light to see what little furniture there was: a small dressing table with a washbowl and linen towel between the two windows and a vast wardrobe stood in the far corner, a chest of drawers next to it. Breathing shallowly, clutching the sheet to my nose, my gaze roved the room in an endless sequence, seeking anything different or strange in my surroundings.

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New! 'Dark Maiden' by Lindsay Townsend. Historical Romance. Medieval Romance. Excerpts.

Ghosts, revenants, incubi , vampires and demons haunt medieval England, as Yolande and Geraint must use their love to survive.

Beautiful Yolande comes from an exotic line of exorcists—a talent she considers a gift—and a curse. In fourteenth century England, a female exorcist who is also black is an oddity. She is sought after and trusted to quiet the restless dead and to send revenants to their final rest.

Geraint the Welshman captures Yolande’s heart with his ready smile and easy ways, and the passionate fire of his spirit. An entertainer, he juggles and tumbles his way through life—but there is a serious side to him that runs deep. He offers Yolande an added strength in her work and opens his heart to her with a love such as she’s never known.

But Yolande is not free to offer Geraint her love completely—not until her “time of seven” has passed. 

Can the powerful attraction between them withstand the powers of evil who mean to separate them forever? Yolande’s conscience and conviction force her to face this evil head-on—but can Geraint save his Dark Maiden…

Read Chapter One

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Read Reviews

Two Lips Reviews:

Yolande is half Ethiopian and wonders around the medieval British countryside dressed like a man using her Saint Sebastian bow which is blessed and her knowledge of herbs to exorcise evil demons and bring peace to the restless dead. She must remain chaste for a time of seven or endanger herself to possible possession by a demon. Until she meets the entertaining and charming Welshman, she has always worked alone. While their bond grows, so does the danger in which they put themselves. Geraint is a Welshman who earns his living by juggling and entertaining, but he is smitten with the fierce, but lovely, Yolande and determines to travel with her as her protector. But the 1300’s is a time of mistrust and danger to those who are different. As they travel from place to place, they occasionally fall under scrutiny and suspicion from villagers as well as the evil spirits they have come to hunt. Even if they survive villagers, evil spirits and the undead, will Yolande and Geraint ever find a way to have a normal life together?    I found the exorcisms and release of restless dead exciting and interesting. Dark Maiden isn’t just about exorcisms, however; it’s also about human nature and the distrust of anything and anyone who is different. Yolande not only looks different, but acts different. I liked the way Ms. Lindsay Townsend handled those differences without coming off preachy or making it the focus of the story. Ms. Townsend creates believable characters with purpose and motivation. I particularly liked the character of the Welshman, Geraint. His devotion to Yolande, his innovative ways of showing her how much he cares about her and respects her, and his bravery really made me care what happened to him. Sometimes I felt some distance with Yolande’s character and she didn’t seem to reciprocate Geraint’s regard to the same degree.  Dark Maiden is filled with beautifully constructed and layered scenes that make the reader feel they are part of the story which I have found to be Ms. Townsend’s trademark. Dark Maiden is a delightful story filled with historical details that make the reader feel they’ve taken a step through time. Readers will thoroughly enjoy Ms. Townsend’s Dark Maiden.

Here's two new excerpts, the first from Yolande, my exorcist, when she meets the dangerous Geraint, my anti-hero.

The following morning, passing the bread and cheese that the sisters had generously given her to a beggar outside the convent walls, Yolande sensed someone watching.  She turned, forced to take a rapid backward step as a stranger trod on her shadow. She had not heard his approach.

“Mistress Yolande?”

“You have the advantage, mister. You know my name.” She smiled to take any sting from her words. “May I know yours?”

Greetings and courtesy were important to her. Each gave clues as to character and wishes. She had once known a demon, beautifully polite, who would have ripped the flesh from her bones had she not bound him by his own rules of manners.

The stranger bowed, a good sign. He muttered something in a language she did not know, which was not good. She moved a little closer, ready to boot him in the balls if he did anything unsavory.

“Geraint Welshman, at your service.” He crouched then looked straight at her. “I am just taking something from my pack, if it please you.”

She grinned at him to prove she was unafraid, her body heavy and languid as she itched to go onto the balls of her feet, ready to scrap. A quick stab to those astonishing black-blue eyes, a swipe at his knee and Geraint the Welshman would be groveling in the hard-packed mud.

Which would be a shame for such a glorious face. He bent his head, showing his trust of her, to rummage in his pack. He was a good-looking brute, not too muscled but as lean and wiry as herself. There was a soft jangle of bells within his patched shoulder-pack, revealing him as a wandering entertainer, a less deadly mirror of herself. They were even about the same height.

 I entertain the restless dead before I send them on. What must it be like to work for living laughter?

Hard, she guessed, noting his less-than-clean black hair, the scars on his knuckles, his drab motley, missing bits of ribbons and coins. He was darker that she was, tanned by many suns, and with excellent teeth.

Strong, rangy and in no hurry to stick to one place, but a honeyman all the same. She felt a flicker of interest, a few youthful, girlish hopes. She was ten-and-eight these days, young for an exorcist but ripe for marriage. Her father, a remarkable man, had managed both. She missed him, but her time would surely come—maybe with this Welshman.

“The pardoner said you would understand the message with this.” Geraint interrupted her reverie as he laid a crucifix down on the rutted road, on top of his pack to keep it from the dirt.

Yolande stared at it, all hopes forgotten in an instant. She sensed the earth shifting beneath her feet as the blood pounded within her temples, making her convinced the top of her skull might shatter. “Oh, great Maria, already?” she said, unaware she had spoken aloud, crossing herself, making the sign of the cross above the crouching Geraint. The great bow across her shoulders creaked as if in warning.

So soon! I must prepare with care. If this sign is right, there can be no mistakes. Pray that I am ready. It is so soon, so soon…

Here's the second excerpt, this time from my hero's point of view.

The abbot… moved to the crucifix, bearing it aloft and tucking it safely into the crook of one arm.

Will he sing it a lullaby too?

Geraint folded his arms across his chest like an angry fish seller’s wife. It was that, or punch an abbot. “And what do you love about Yolande? How her eyelashes curl at the ends? How she puts herself into danger first, to protect others? How she never abandons a friend? How she walks all day without a complaint? How she sometimes talks in her sleep because she is so beset? How she laughs and sheds ten years each time she does? Or are such human reasons too earthy for you?”

He stopped, mainly because he had run out of English words for the moment and his mind was filled with indignant, furious phrases in the Welsh. He also wanted to see whether Abbot Simon would answer.

 “These human trifles, as you call them, are irrelevant. It is her soul—”

“Yes, her soul, hers alone, and unique. Created in the image of God. What do you love about that? Or is the soul of one female exorcist too mean to consider?”

“Stay away from her!” thundered the abbot. “What do you know of her trials and torments, of what she might need to encounter? If you love her, you should not trouble her. Or would you act upon this love and then abandon her —as is the habit of fleshy, sinful men?”

“Sorry, no.” Geraint counted off on his fingers. “I will not leave her, no. I will not act upon anything and abandon her, no. I will not trouble her, no. Do I know the trials she has? No, I do not, but then, neither do you, my lord abbot, neither do you.”

This is one of my favourite excerpts from my historical romance, “Dark Maiden”, and shows Geraint, my hero, and all his anti-authoritarian, bumptious attitudes. Geraint will stand up and fight anyone or anything, including an abbot. I also like it because it shows Geraint’s deepening feelings for Yolande, my black exorcist heroine, and it tells us more about her. This excerpt also shows the attitude of the medieval church to physical love outside marriage and hints at the serious trials that Yolande will have to face – but not without Geraint

A Medieval Female Exorcist - Dark Maiden

Yolande, the heroine of my medieval historical romance novel, 'Dark Maiden' is an exorcist. Her father, who was born in Ethiopia (a country with very ancient Christian roots) was an exorcist. Her mother was born in York.

As is now being discovered, there were people of African descent living and working in Britain, especially in cities and ports like York. Archaeology discovered a Romano-British grave in York where a woman of black African and mixed race heritage had been buried in a rich tomb with grave goods. Archaeology also uncovered a tomb of a man of north African descent buried at a medieval friary in Suffolk, England, close to the port of Ipswich. According to bone specialists he had a bad back! The thirteenth century statue of Saint Maurice in Magdeburg cathedral in Germany clearly shows him as African.

Half-African, half-English, Yolande is the dark maiden of the title, a spiritual wanderer and warrior, helping those tormented by the restless dead and assisting the restless dead themselves to find final peace. She lives and works in England during the time of the Black Death.

Statue of St. Maurice at Magdeburg

I chose this time period quite carefully. Women during the Middle Ages could not be priests but during the period of the Black Death, when thousands died, including hundreds of priests, the church allowed women to take confessions from dying people. In early 1349 the bishop of Bath and Wells wrote to his priests to encourage all men to confess, before they were taken by the pestilence. He added that if they had no priest they should follow the teaching of the Apostles and confess to each other 'or, if no man is present, even to a woman'.  (From translation in Philip Zeigler, The Black Death, page 125).

Medieval people also believed that in a crisis anyone, priest or lay person, could perform an exorcism because every Christian has the power to command demons and drive them away in the name of Christ.  I took these ideas and developed them, allowing my Yolande to become an exorcist.

In 'Dark Maiden' I have Yolande and Geraint  (a travelling player who becomes her friend, help-mate, lover and finally husband) face several encounters with both restless spirits and also demons. My ideas have always been shaped by the real beliefs of the time. So in 'Dark Maiden' there are evil spirits, restless ghosts called revenants, an incubus and vampires - all paranormal creatures with a medieval slant.

I'll talk about these in other blog articles.

More details of 'Dark Maiden' here.

Can be ordered from Ellora's Cave here.
Can be ordered from Amazon US here and Amazon UK here.
Can be ordered from Barnes and Noble here

Ellora's Cave  (June 13 2013)

Read Chapter One