Berkshire, Bisham Abbey, Black Wolf Books, Catherine Cavendish, Elizabeth Hoby, ghosts, haunted Berkshire, Loving ady Lazuli, Shaw House, Shehanne Moore, the Chandos Bride
Dark Doings in Deepest Berkshire – with Shehanne Moore
Catherine Cavendish….. ‘My guest today is historical author Shehanne Moore. I love her books, which combine adventure with feisty characters, humour and a flavour of the Gothic: ‘
“As God is my witness, this property shall ne’er be inherited by two direct successors, for its sons will be hounded by misfortune.”
By Shehanne Moore.
As God is mine I must say I was heartily glad to read the following….
‘Berkshire is a place of mystery, myth and legend. The county abounds with strange tales of ghostly phantoms, ferocious creatures,
kings & knights, witchcraft, treasure and more.’
Why was I glad?
Because it’s never easy coming to the wonderfully chilling blog of Gothic horror writer, Catherine Cavendish. Certainly NOT when you write romance, even when it’s slightly Gothic romance. Thank you so very much Cat for inviting me. despite this.
Not only is my recently re-released book Loving Lady Lazuli set in Berkshire where the heroine has gone to ground – phew- there was a ton of tales to choose from.
I am glad to hear it. I thought you sort of chewed tails to bits, cut them right down the middle… So it said online anyway–I mean about Berkshire of course– which was why I was initially drawn to the ‘most haunted’ Shaw House but the most interesting thing there I could find was the true story of how the Duke of Chandos took as his wife, a beautiful chambermaid who was being sold off by her husband in an inn yard with a halter round her neck. (Something you hamsters dudes should try for size.)
Not just shades of Thomas Hardy’s, The Hamster…00OPS… Mayor of Casterbridge but proof that the business of dukes marrying what might be construed as women a universe below their social status….as happens in Lazuli and Splendor and indeed in a hell of a lot of historical romance… is not as daft as all that.
Moving on though, through covens of witches and headless men, I came to the story of Bisham Abbey…I guess apposite again as Barwych Hall in the book is based on Mount Grace Priory in Yorkshire. However, the Bisham monks were so furious at Henry VIII for ‘dissolving them,’
they cursed the ancient building.
And indeed…as in another follow through from the book, sort of anyway…the sons of Bisham’s many different owners didn’t just fall down dead, they were beheaded, they died young, they were killed in world wars—and, as in the case of young William Hoby, they had some help from their mama. In this case, the widowed Lady Elizabeth who had such high standards of education, she not only beat young William to bits and locked him in the Tower Room to do his lessons all over again, she quite forgot, despite being so brilliant herself, that she’d done it, clearing off to Windsor for several days of dancing and banqueting. A very merry widow to all accounts. After all, weren’t there servants for tiresome things like children after all? Hamsters too……
At least Lady Elizabeth thought so, so she was really quite astonished on returning home to find that everyone thought William was with her….
I think we all know what’s coming next.
But did William exist at all? There’s documented evidence for Anne, the Chandos’ chambermaid bride. But William?
Well, firstly the fact that there’s no genealogical evidence to show he did exist, doesn’t always mean a thing. Not all records survive. And the Hobys had other estates where his birth could have been recorded.
“Proof” of William’s existence is sort of provided by the discovery in 1840, during renovations, of copy books containing blots on every page, corrections
by the ‘wicked lady‘ herself and the name, William Hoby. Alas, I say ‘sort of’ because these copy books sort of then disappeared. Maybe Lady Hoby stole them…? A bit like my jewel thieves in the book.
However 1840 was the point where the son first became known as William. Till then he’d just been a nameless son, like you get these nameless, headless hamsters….oops, horsemen. Lady Hoby did indeed have a son…Francis…who died young in unknown circumstances, at the time she had remarried and her surname was then Russell.
You pays your money you takes your chances, I’d say on truth and legend mixing to become one…or the other.
Whether or not Lady Hoby caused her son’s death as said, the Abbey is known to be one of the most haunted houses in Britain, certainly the most haunted in Berkshire and that haunting is done by her apparently grief-stricken self, dressed in black lace and white, washing her hands a la Lady Macbeth.
She tears curtains, throws things. But mostly she just sobs and leaves lights up in the Tower Room.. a bit like Silv in the purple hat there. Some people think she causes the mists that wreath the Abbey and until 1936 she especially liked to come out for coronations.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this little venture to the darker side and won’t be afraid to visit the Abbey…
Talking ghosts… here’s the blurb for Loving Lady Lazuli.
A woman not even the ghost of Sapphire can haunt. A man who knows exactly who she is.
Only one man in England can identify her. Unfortunately he’s living next door.
Ten years ago sixteen year old Sapphire, the greatest jewel thief England has ever known, ruined Lord Devorlane Hawley’s life by planting a stolen necklace on him. Now she’s dead and buried, all Cassidy Armstrong wants is the chance to prove she was never that girl.
But her new neighbor is hell-bent on revenge and his word can bring her down. So when he asks her to be his mistress, or leave the county with a price on her head, Sapphire, who hates being owned, must decide…
What’s left for a woman with nowhere else to go, but to stay exactly where she is?
And hope, that when it comes to neighbors Devorlane Hawley won’t prove to be the one from hell.
And here’s a snippet from the bit where a past ‘ghost’, Gil, turns up unexpectedly and proceeds to ‘haunt’ the supposedly dead and buried, Cassidy— further than she’s just been haunted this evening already.
Hastily she tugged a shawl round her shoulders—the first thing to take care of was the fact she faced him half naked, with her undergarments on the floor. Silk ones.
“So? What do you want?”
Apart from staring at her drawers and corset? Well, he was welcome. It was all he was going to get to do with them–whatever else happened here, whatever he’d said. Maybe she wasn’t going to be able to dominate this situation with them on the floor, as much as she’d like, maybe her options were as numerous as one-legged chickens, gathering the garments up would show she knew it.
“Nice that.” He dragged his gaze from her corset. “What did you just say?”
“What do you want?”
“Hmm.” He screwed up his face, stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat pocket, looked at the ceiling. “Well now, to quote Hamlet, by that fellow, what’s his name again, William Shakespeare and all that, that is the question. Whether it’s to suffer the there them slings of outrageous fortune, or, you know, take up arms and all them things what you take up, and do what you can, to actually end this protracted situation what you is in. Or is it, the them there stings of outrageous fortune? You know, I can’t remember. But, see, what I am hoping is that I ain’t going to have to end them. Thinking how awful that would be for certain for those concerned, see? You get a big soddin’ arrow sticking in your—”
“Evenin’ Rube.” He sniffed loudly. “Hope it’s a good ‘un.”
“It soddin’ was till yer soddin’ showed yer soddin’ ugly face.”
“Hmm.” He strolled around the copper tub, sniffing the stone cold suds. “Personally I think ugly sodding face is what you might call a better arrangement of the words. See, it has what you might call, a more them there poetic ring to it.”
“The only soddin’ thing I’d like to ring is—”
“Hmm. Well … Sure you ain’t alone there. Still, not to put too fine a point on it, not just you here, Rube, to bid a good and wondrous-to-behold, evening to. Pearl, Sapphire, jewels of the Orient. Here, don’t you think this is just like them olden days what we did have together, them happy times in … what was the name of that place again … Lanthorne Street?”
Black Wolf Books. – Kara imprint