Photo by Maxine Stewart

I’ve challenged Author Stuart S. Laing to write a story inspired by this photo shared on Facebook a few weeks ago and he accepted my challenge and wrote a short story called The Day of Storms that takes place in The Kingdom of Fife, Scotland, February 5th 1794. Today is Part III and in this story, you will meet Sarah, Rebecca Hopkins and a band of ruthless smugglers.

There followed a tense ten minutes. The sisters sat, hands clutching each other, horrified as they realised their very lives were in deadly peril through stumbling unwittingly into this viper’s nest of smugglers. The smugglers themselves were equally silent as they drank their ale and brandy. Only the baleful looks they cast towards the young women spoke of their cruel intentions. When Bobbie finally returned, stamping snow off his boots, with a cold smile on his face what little hope still lingering in the women’s hearts withered and died. He sneered in their direction as he said, “George has seen no’one else enter the village but for the coach. There’s no tracks in the snow either. They’re on their own.”

The doorkeeper, now clearly revealed to be the leader of this band of smugglers, gave the sisters a pitying look. “So you truly chanced upon us by no more than a cruel twist of fate?” He shook his grey head with amusement momentarily twinkling in his dark eyes. “Jings, of all of the doors you could have thought to knock on you had to come knocking on mine! Well then, young Misses Hopkins, what are we to do with you?”

“You can do as you promised,” Rebecca said with a defiant tilt of her chin. “Have your man deliver the note to our coach. We intend to be on our way home as soon as possible. Believe me, sir, we have no more desire to spend a moment longer here than is absolutely necessary. This has been a day of storms, let there be no further trouble between us. Thus far you have said nothing we could use to show you, and your friends, are involved in anything illegal, have you? We have simply taken shelter in your tavern. There is nothing else we could possibly tell father other than that simple fact.”

“That simple fact, eh?” he replied, one hand cupping his bearded chin as though considering her words carefully. “And Sir Hector, the king’s own man in Fife, a man with a burning desire to put an end to smuggling on the Fife coast once and for all, will take you at your word, will he? No, unfortunately I think I know the man well enough after all these years of making sure I always stay one step ahead of him and the Excise to say that he would not be long in coming to pay me a visit. I’m sorry, girls, I truly am, but I can’t go letting you put any naughty ideas in his head.”

“Father knows where we are,” Rebecca said urgently while Sarah seemed to shrink beside her. “And you know that this tavern is the very first place he will come looking.”

“That is probably very true,” he conceded with a lazy smile. “Do you know that I have lost count of the number of times he and his men have torn this place apart looking for contraband. Can you guess how many times he has found anything? Not once. Do you want to know why?”

“Because you aren’t smugglers?” Sarah gasped out through a terrified sob as she clutched at her sister’s hands. “You are just honest, decent men who have done nothing wrong. Father has found no contraband for there is none to be found, sir. Father will know you are a good man who did no more than offer shelter to his daughters when ill fortune left us stranded here.”

“Well said, Miss Hopkins. But in all truth this tavern is built on contraband. Your father just doesn’t know where to look.” He pointed a thick finger towards the blazing fire while gazing at the beautiful but terrified faces before him. “When I said this place was built on contraband, I meant it. Bobbie, Alfie, would you be kind enough to show our guests where their room for the night is?”

With dark laughter the two men brushed past the girls to kneel before the fire. A heavy flagstone on either side of the hearth was, with little difficulty, raised and slid a few inches to the side to reveal narrow recesses carved into the stone of the hearth. A metal rod was inserted into this recess on either side and was used to swing the heavy stone upwards to mask the fire but for a few inches at the top. Now revealed were a set of steep steps leading down into darkness.

“Well, girls, down you go then,” Bobbie sneered. “Best take a candle. It’s dark down there.”

“And don’t bother shouting. Once that hearth is back in place you could fire a cannon down there and no’one would be any the wiser,” the doorkeeper added with a shrug as unwillingly the sisters fearfully, and carefully, descended the firm wooden steps. As soon as Sarah’s head was low enough the hearth was lowered back into place and the only sound was their own breathing.

*             *             *

The steps delivered the Hopkins into a long, narrow, arched cellar of well-dressed stone. On every side lay all that had illegally been brought ashore. Dozens of barrels of brandy, gin, rum and wine lay stacked neatly by racks of muskets, powder and shot. Three small barrels of gun powder sat alone on a wooden rack with a dark lantern sitting by them. Rebecca, using the candle she had brought, quickly lit this before passing the candle on to her shaking sister. “Look,” she hissed as she examined a crest on one of the barrels of black powder. “It says Republique Francois, They’re not just smugglers. They are damned Jacobins! That is why they have all these muskets. They intend to bring the Revolution here. We risk suffering the Reign of Terror right here in Fife!”

Sarah, her heart thudding painfully in her chest, clutched her cloak about her shivering body as she edged forward a few inches to look at the gunpowder before shaking her head. “I think it is more likely it signifies no more than something else those rogues can sell for easy profit.”

Rebecca dismissed her words with a wave of one hand as she stalked the length of the cellar pointing the lantern light into every corner. Finally, she stopped and turned to face Sarah. “They mean to kill us!”

“I know,” came the frightened reply.

“Well then, we just have to make sure that doesn’t happen, won’t we?”

About the Author:

Born and raised on the east coast of Scotland in the ancient Pictish Kingdom of Fife Stuart grew up looking across the Firth of Forth towards the spires and turrets of the city of Edinburgh and its castle atop its volcanic eyrie.

He has always been fascinated by the history of Auld Reekie and has spent most of his life studying Scottish history in all its aspects whenever he finds the time between family, work and the thousand and one other things that seek to distract him.

Despite the vast panorama of Scotland’s history, he always finds himself being drawn back to the cobbled streets of the Old Town. Those streets have provided the inspiration for his stories and characters.

He would urge all visitors to Scotland’s ancient capital to (briefly) venture into one of the narrow closes running down from the Royal Mile to get a flavour of how alive with mischief, mayhem, love and laughter these streets once were.

Author Website 

Stuart’s books on Amazon 

Part I

Part II

Part IV will be posted next Friday.

Janet Stafford’s opening line to her recent blog post, “There’s no place like home,” captured my attention because I entirely agree with her. That line led me to read on and I discovered just how much more meaning her novel Seeing The Elephant means.

“There’s no place like home. Unless there are a quantity of elephants about you’re not in India or Africa…”

Another quote from Janet’s Far Too many Elephants:

“Speaking of big bugs, one had already moved in during our absence. His name was Josiah Norton, an industrialist who already owned several mills out east around Paterson and now possessed a woolen mill and uniform factory south of Blaineton. The man knew how to take advantage of the war. The government was more than willing to pony up the cash for his merchandise. But then again, Maggie’s brother Samuel was doing the same thing over at this carriage factory after he had converted to making wagons for the Army.”

“So that’s the set up for a tale woven around human frailty and foibles as they do battle with the power of love and hope. Yessir, Blaineton was headed toward a big blow up of some sort. It was far too many elephants for me to take in.”

Read the full blog post and learn more about Janet’s books  HERE

Stephanie M. Hopkins

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Alfred Woollacott has written a story about his ancestor John Law in The Immigrant and I am across a blog post on his website about Alfred’s drive down Lawsbrook Rd and thought how extraordinary it would be to travel down the same road your ancestors lived. Can you image all the feelings building inside you and the anticipation of what you might discover further? Below is the first paragraph in Alfred’s post and I want to encourage you to follow the link I provide to read the rest of his fascinating post. -Stephanie M. Hopkins

*********

A Jaguar sedan sped along Route 2 with a map of old Acton laying on the passenger seat for reference. The driver was researching the past of John Law, his distant ancestor, trying to pinpoint where he settled some 350 years earlier. This direct descendant had spent his youth twenty miles west of Acton and frequently traveled Route 2 into Boston. The Concord rotary was an approximate midpoint between Boston and his home. The road used to change noticeably at the rotary. To the west, there were rural towns and a divided highway, and to the east, suburbs and an undivided highway, littered with stoplights and congestion.  The farmland just west of the rotary had changed little since he first saw it in his youth. No matter how often he passed by the farmland, he always had peculiar sensations. Often those sensations reminded him to adjust his speed. If he travelling east, slow down and endure the congestion, and if travelling west, open it up and look out for cops…Read more HERE  

About The Immigrant:

A historical saga that covers a winter of 1650/1651 journey of John Law, a young Scotsman captured by the English Lord Cromwell’s forces in seventeenth century Scotland during “The Battle of Dunbar”. He survives a death march to Durham, England and is eventually sent to Massachusetts Bay Colony as an indentured servant, arriving aboard the ship “Unity” that was carrying around 150 prisoners of war from different Scottish clans. Now an outcast, and in the sanctuary of the new colony, John starts over as an immigrant in a Puritan theocracy. He is first indentured to the Saugus Iron Works and then to Concord as a public shepherd in West Concord (now Acton). The young man faces obstacles often beyond his control, and his only ally is his faith. After his indenture is served he struggles a near lifetime to obtain title to his promised land. From start to finish “The Immigrant” is an intoxicating journey that follows the travails of John, his faith in God, his good wife and growing family.

Available on Amazon 

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Camp Letterman tents 1863

On February 19^th here at Layered Pages, I posted a blog post from Janet Stafford about her blog post on Gettysburg, and the in the blog Janet talks about the field hospital for the wounded and talks about the- “profound imprint on the town in the days, months, and years after hostilities.” Her post had me thinking about my great, great, great Grandfather James Marshall Sharp  on my mother’s mother side, who was enlisted in Company F of the 45th North Carolina Infantry during the American Civil War. He was injured in two different battles. One at Gettysburg… He was actually there, and I wish I could find out more about his experience, and what he saw-which we have a pretty good idea-but…I want more information. He recovered from that battle and was wounded again and captured at Spotsylvania Courthouse May 1864 and lived to tell about it. I believe he had to sign a paper pledging loyalty to the Union to be released like so many other soldiers did.

James was a tobacco farmer in Rockingham County and had several children and no doubt they helped on the farm. One of his descendants my third cousin remove, Susie Sharp was the first female supreme court justice of North Carolina. My mother met her when she was a young girl and tells me she was an extraordinary woman. She was quite impressed with her as I can tell by just listening to her speak of her.

Anyhow, the civil war divided this country in such a way at times I feel hearts are still hardened by it but not in all ways that people think. History has a way of staying with us, you know? Not just in the south but in the north as well. I have a lot on my mind about this and I wish I had more information about James Marshall Sharp and his insight of the battle of Gettysburg. I aim to see what I can come up through research and to hopefully be able to find Sharp’s in North Carolina who can help me. Also, I am finding conflicting information about his actual birth date which is leaving me perplexed. I want to know the extract age he was when he enlisted to fight in the war. I was told he owned slaves but if he was very young at the time-if there were slaves-then they would have been his Father’s I’m guessing? I plan to get to the bottom of this!

Isn’t amazing how when you read a post on history how it can hit close to home and your own family history? This is one of the many reasons why it’s so important for us to keep learning about the past so we don’t lose what shapes the present and future.

Be sure to follow Janet’s website and read her wonderful blog posts. You will learn a lot and be inspired about your own family’s past.

Stephanie M. Hopkins

I’d like to welcome Norton Upson to Layered Pages to talk with me about his book. Norton, tell me about your book, The Case of the Boarding House Murder.

The easiest way to talk about the book is for you to read at the back-cover blurb-

Proving someone innocent of killing a boarding house tenant was easy. Case solved. Time to move onto the next one. Or so we thought.

What Maggie and I didn’t count on, digging into a four-year-old federal trial. What made this one so interesting, for me at least, my father had been the lead prosecutor. When all his personal papers disappeared, we had to rely on the trial transcript. Except, we aren’t the only ones who wanted the testimony.

During the course of our investigation, Maggie and I discover the witnesses had been murdered even though the police reports had said otherwise. But, that’s not the worst. The body count will continue to rise if certain individuals aren’t stopped. But how? That we didn’t know.

Then, we uncover the secret these people are keeping. If they succeed their plan will have worldwide implications. Finally, the break we’d been looking for.

Where the money is coming from?

Can Maggie and I stop this global disaster from happening before we are murdered?

What was the inspiration behind writing this story?

One of of my all-time favorite movies is Casablanca. I watch it every chance I get. Another is Public Enemy. Then of course The Maltese Falcon and the book of the same name.

When I first came up with the idea for The Case of the Boarding House Murder I had originally planned to set the story in contemporary Los Angeles, CA. The more I talked and thought about this I came to realize that wouldn’t work. Look at all the technology there is out there for even a private investigator to use or have access to. That would take all the fun out of story.

So, I decided to go back in time. This book, therefore the series, starts in 1940. And talk about going down the research rabbit hole. The clothes worn in that period. Jewelry. Music. Cars. Even how coffee was made. (In a real percolator on a stove.) Sports teams. Between 1940 and now team name has changed. Then we have, what’s going on in the world. Radio shows. Don’t forget TV didn’t come along until much later. What restaurants were popular in LA. Hotels. Even food. The political climate.

One concession I did make, I wasn’t going to use the vernacular of the period but keep narrative and dialogue current.

Tell me about Maggie.

What’s there to say about her. She’s beautiful and very intelligent. Some, not all, of her I patterned after my mother. Sorry but to learn more about Maggie you’ll have to get the book.

Why did you choose to write this story?

Now I had the year I wanted the series to start along with my two main characters, Maggie and me, Norton Upson. (Yes, you read that correctly. The entire series is being written in the first person. You, the reader will see everything through my eyes. I felt the series called for this point of view.) Now I needed a

story. Here’s where my, as I call it, “What if…” came into play. A client, at this point potential, walked into the Upson Detective Agency claiming an employee of his was being framed for a murder. He even brought proof with him that the police rejected outright. I took him on as a client only to find out that even from the very beginning nothing was as it seemed.

If anything can be learned from your story, what would it be?

If the events I wrote about were real, and not fiction, and they had come true the world we know would be a totally different place than it is now.

What I do like about writing historical fiction is that I can and will on occasion bring in real historical event.

Where in your home do you like to write and what is your process?

I work in my bedroom, dining room, living room, TV room. In short, I live in a boarding house.

As a general rule I don’t start writing until sometime between 1:30 and 2pm. By then I’ve returned home from town with my requisite Starbucks ® coffee and had lunch. That doesn’t mean I’m not figuring out what scene(s) I’ll be writing that day. That way when I do sit down, for the most part, the writing flows smoothly. I’ll take an hour dinner break then finish the chapter. If I get that done early enough I might even start on the next one. I repeat this cycle seven days a week.

The only actual down time I have is when I’m sleeping.

What are you working on next?

Book 2 in the series is The Case of the Missing Jewelry. I’m planning to release it in the early fall. This book will have even more twists, turns, and false leads than The Case of the Boarding House Murder.

Where can readers buy your book?

All of the books will be in eBook format and in the future print. They are only available at Amazon.

US: Amazon

UK: Amazon

CA: Amazon

AU: Amazon

About Author:

Life’s full of hiccups on the road of life and I had my fair share.

Growing up I also knew what I wanted to be. A Special Agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. To start accomplishing my goal, while at UCLA besides my regular classes and ROTC I took several prelaw classes. My plan had been to do my military service then go to law school.

Then, the first hiccup came along. I was assigned to an Army intelligence group. From the very beginning I became hooked on the detailed work involved. Guess I must have gotten that from my dad who had been a federal prosecutor in Los Angeles. Anyways, instead of serving four years then go into the reserves I decided to stay in the Army.

Then, my second hiccup. July 7, 1937. I had been assigned to the embassy in China. When I was walking near the Marco Polo Bridge fighting broke out between Chinese and Japanese soldiers. I was shot in the leg and ended up getting discharged. With my injury becoming an FBI agent was out so I took what I learned in the Army and opened Upson Detective Agency.

Finally, a great hiccup. I was walking down Rodeo Drive when I saw a familiar face. Maggie Neilson, my girlfriend from high school, walked back into my life.

To find out more about Maggie and myself you’ll have to read the Upson PI Mystery books as we solve some of the most baffling cases ever to cross a private detective’s blotter.

In conclusion, everything I’ve written about me is fiction. Or is it? You decide.

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