Book Title: Servants of the Crown: The Turkish Pretender
Author: Garrick Jones
Publisher: MoshPit Publications
Cover Artist: Garrick Jones
Release Date: 24 March, 2022
Genre: Gay Historical Fiction; Spy Thriller.
Tropes: Circle of Friends; Master and Servant.
Themes: Betrayal, treason, the strength of friendships and the ultimate connection.
Length: 124 891 words/389 pages
It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger
Buy Links
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Smashwords
The book is also available in paperback
Intelligencers: men and women from all walks of life and from all sections of society, servants of the Crown who work for the Home Office gathering information vital to the security of the nation.
Blurb
Intelligencers: men and women from all walks of life and from all sections of society, servants of the Crown who work for the Home Office gathering information vital to the security of the nation.
London, 1855. While Great Britain is at war with the Russians in the Crimea, a cadre of disaffected seditionists and insurrectionists, made up of members of the aristocracy and wealthy industrialists, have set a plan into action that’s been decades in the making—a plan that aims to overthrow the Queen and to install a puppet king on the throne in her place. With the war raging and disquiet in the industrial north and in Ireland, their perfidious plot, unless stopped, threatens to bring about anarchy and revolution.
Aware of the imminent danger, Sir George Grey, the Home Secretary, has tasked The Brothers, a band of four men, friends of over twenty years, to root out the source of the infection, destroy the clique, and track down and eradicate its foreign pretender by any means necessary. From molly houses to state banquets, from hospitals to steam baths, from aristocratic households to the meanest of slums, the friends find themselves in a succession of increasingly perilous situations.
Like the mighty Thames, undercurrents flow swift and deep as they uncover plot after plot and treachery and treason in abundance.
On Wednesday morning, two days after his visit with Elam to the Sultan of Khartoum, Lennard found himself standing dockside at Malloray, Beauchamp, and Fahey’s receiving wharf. Arthur Pencott was at his side, waiting for the steam packet from France to draw close to its berth.
He checked his pocket watch. “Five minutes, give or take, Arthur?”
“Most likely another ten, if not fifteen, Mr Malloray. She’ll have to heave to, to allow our wool clipper, the Faithful Lass, to pass by first. The tide’s running out and she can’t afford to lose a minute.”
“The clipper’s a fine vessel, isn’t she?” Lennard said. “She’ll be back before we know it with five thousand bales of the finest merino wool from Port Melbourne.”
A double ringing of the wharf’s docking bell announced that the clipper had cleared the channel and the mail packet was about to make her approach to the wharf.
“I haven’t thanked you for your kindness, Mr Malloray. I’m very grateful to be here and to back working for your company.”
“I congratulate you on the swiftness of your decision to act upon my offer. It shows, I think, that you were ready for a change, and perhaps you missed this place?”
“I did indeed, Mr Malloray. And I would think myself a fool were I not aware that your offer was more than generous and provided an advancement in my standing. Thank you very much.”
“You made an impression, Arthur. For that, there is no need for thanks. I know this is only your fourth day back, but do you think you’ll enjoy your new position? You could have taken the offer to become Mr Fahey’s assistant?”
“The position of loading supervisor is all I could ever wish for, sir. I get to work out in the open air, among the ships that I love, and go home at the same time every evening with the thought of more than twice the money in my pocket that I earned at St. Katharine’s dock—and without the aching muscles and stiffness in my back. And, to be honest, to have the joy of reading every day, even if it is bills of lading and work rosters. It makes me feel I should be paying you, sir, not the other way around.”
Lennard patted his shoulder. “Tell me, Arthur. On Sunday night, did—”
“Yes, Karl came and met your gentleman. It was the first of the month, so they were expected. It was odd really …”
“What was odd?”
“Normally they have a room for two hours. They paid for it, but only stayed for an hour.”
“Did you …?”
“Yes, I was summoned to join them about fifteen minutes after they closed the door to their room. Mrs Hedger fetched me, telling me they wanted me from the start, but she’d explained that as I had another gentleman before them, who’d left as they arrived, I needed to take a few minutes to clean up and to catch my breath.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“Much like you and your Mr Walters, I imagine, Mr Malloray.”
Lennard chuckled.
“I know what you mean, sir. My remark was a jest. Most of it is play-acting. What’s not seen can be interpreted as having happened.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow you, Arthur.”
“Well, let me put it this way, sir. No one knows what the mole is doing when he’s down deep in his burrow. He could be unloading his burden, or merely rearranging the furniture, and no one would ever know.”
Lennard felt the blush before he could react. However, it didn’t stop him from guffawing. A few of the dockhands glanced his way and smiled.
“As I said, Mr Malloray, more often than not it’s play-acting. The right grunting and groaning, eyes rolling back in their sockets, and vigorous thrusting, culminating in a dramatic, pretend sigh of release at the same time as the gentleman beneath me has earned a gratuity more than once.”
“I’m intrigued, and I suppose if a gentleman requires you to, well, you know …”
“Gentlemen who require a man to roll onto his back or lie face down don’t come to Mrs Hedger’s. We’re renowned for assets other than our arses, there’s plenty all over town give theirs away for free.”
After a thirty year career as a professional opera singer, performing as a soloist in opera houses and in concert halls all over the world, I took up a position as lecturer in music in Australia in 1999, at the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music, which is now part of CQUniversity.
Brought up in Australia, between the bush and the beaches of the Eastern suburbs, I retired in 2015 and now live in the tropics, writing, gardening, and finally finding time to enjoy life and to re-establish a connection with who I am after a very busy career on the stage and as an academic.
I write mostly historical gay fiction. The stories are always about relationships and the inner workings of men; sometimes my fellas get down to the nitty-gritty, sometimes it’s up to you, the reader, to fill in the blanks.
Every book is story driven; spies, detectives, murders, epic dramas, there’s something for everyone. I also love to write about my country and the things that make us Aussies and our history different from the rest of the world.
I’m research driven. I always try to do my best to give the reader a sense of what life was like for my main characters in the world they live in.
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