Name of fiction work? And were there other names you considered that you would like to share with us? THE KING’S MAN was originally meant to be titled TO KILL A KING (as the premise of the story is based on numerous plots to kill Oliver Cromwell). Unfortunately, a film of the same name (and also set in the English Civil War) came out at the same time.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oliver_Cromwell
There have been many, many books with the title THE KING’S MAN since mine was first published in 2007 – including one with an almost identical cover (but set in a different historical period).
What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? I started writing it in 2000 while I was living in Singapore. It was finally published by a small US press in 2007 and revised and republished by HQN Escape in 2016. I don’t believe any of my writing is completely finished! There’s always something to be improved!
Right: Alison Stuart in 2016.
Copyright by Alison Stuart.
Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work? And please describe in detail. And can you please include a photo? I think I knocked over the bulk of the writing of this book during my time in Singapore (2000-2003). I had a tiny little office in the apartment we were living in. Writing cold, snowy, wintry London scenes in a tropical environment was a challenge. I turned the aircon up!
What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I have always worked on a computer. These days I use a program called Scrivener, back then it was most likely Word Perfect (if anyone remembers that far back).
I am now a full time writer with contract deadlines so my day is a work day, with regular hours and work habits. I tend to do admin in the morning and writing in the afternoon with a min daily word count of 1500 words. I don’t always listen to music although I do find one piece of music does become the theme tune for the book.
For example the old song Shenandoah was played on loop while I was writing my Australian historical THE POSTMISTRESS, probably because the hero is a former confederate officer from the Shenandoah Valley.
Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference. This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer. I chose THE KING’S MAN to feature in this article, although it is one of my older books because I did the unimaginable… I kill the hero.
This is part of what we call ‘the black moment’ and comprises 3 scenes… Kit and Thamsine’s final meeting at the Tower of London, Kit going to his death… and this one: Thamsine learning of his death.
Thamsine needed only one look at Nan Marsh’s red rimmed eyes and trembling mouth to know what news she brought. Nan held out a letter.
Thamsine shook her head in denial.
“No,” she whispered, “I had hoped…a reprieve, surely.”
Nan’s lips trembled as she shook her head. “This morning,” she said. “They said it was this morning at dawn. Said he died like a gentleman. Jem said I was to bring it to you without delay.” Nan proffered the letter again. “Take it, Mistress Thamsine. Take it, they said ‘tis from him.”
“No,” Thamsine felt a shiver run through her body.
She snatched at the paper looking at her name written in an awkward scrawl. She clutched it to her chest and from deep within her a howl of despair rose, an animal noise that had nothing to do with human reason but came from the very depth of primal despair. She sank to her knees on the floor, doubling over as the dry, retching sobs shook her.
She felt Nan’s arm around her shoulder, her head resting on her back. She heard the girl’s sobs but had no comfort for her.
Kit was dead. Dead, the word reverberated in her mind.
Dead, dead, dead.
Everyone she had ever loved was dead. Even Jane would leave her before many more months were out.
“Mistress is asking what the trouble is.” Thamsine heard Jane’s maid in the doorway.
Nan lifted her head. “He’s dead.”
“Who?”
“Her husband, you great ninny. Here help me get her upstairs. She needs her sister, not us two useless lumps.”
Her limbs stiff and unresponsive, Thamsine allowed herself to be lifted upright, supported on either side and led, almost as a blind person up the stairs to the chamber where Jane sat in a well-cushioned chair before the window. She gained a brief impression of Jane’s pale, anxious face looking up at her full of concern and love.
Like a child she broke away and ran to her sister, falling at her feet, burying her face in Jane’s skirts. She felt a loving hand on her hair and the tears began, an unstoppable flood of grief.
“There, dearest,” Jane whispered, gently stroking her hair, “you cry.” There was a pause and Jane’s tone changed as she addressed Nan. “When?”
“This morning,” Nan replied. “They brought a letter for her.” The letter Thamsine still held, crushed and unopened. “Mistress I cannot stay. I’ve got the loan of Jack’s pony and he needs it back this afternoon.”
“Thank you…” Jane hesitated.
“Nan Marsh, ma’am. I’m a friend of Thamsine’s and Captain Lovell,” Nan’s sharp voice cracked.
“Thank you, Nan,” Jane said. “I’m sorry for your loss. Peggy see that Mistress Marsh gets some refreshment before she returns to London.”
The door closed. Jane lifted Thamsine’s face. “Dearest, I am so sorry.”
Thamsine rose to her feet. The well stream of tears had stemmed and she felt as if life had been drained from her. She turned to the window, crossing her arms in front of her. She wanted to rail at her sister that it was her doing. If Jane hadn’t told Roger where Kit was to be found, they would be away by now. Together, alive. Now he was dead and it was Jane Knott’s fault.
She looked over her shoulder at Jane and saw in her sister’s eyes that there was nothing she could say that Jane had not already reproached herself with.
“Thamsine…this is my responsibility. I didn’t know…”
“No.” Thamsine replied flatly. “You didn’t. How could you?”
She looked down at the paper in her hand and laid it on the windowsill, smoothing out the creases, trying to get some sense of the man who had written her name. So much life, snuffed out like a candle, reduced to a cold corpse. Yet he had been alive when he had written this. Not even twenty-four hours had passed. She wondered where he was, had they buried him already? She frowned. Should she claim the body and return him to Eveleigh?
She ran down the stairs to the kitchen where she found Nan just about to leave.
“Where is he, Nan?”
“Jem asked where he were. Said you would want a proper burial for him but they said he were already…” the girl swallowed, “…already buried. There in the Tower. Do you want…?”
Thamsine shook her head. “No. Let him be for now.” When she was stronger, when the shock had passed, then maybe she would claim him. For now, let him have the peace.
Nan sniffed. “His things…They brought his things.”
Thamsine felt her mouth tremble. She didn’t have the strength to make any decisions. “Keep them for me. I will send for them shortly. Thank you, Nan, thank you for everything.”
She returned to Jane’s room. Her sister had been weeping, her eyes red and swollen. Thamsine picked up the letter from the windowsill where she had left it and broke the seal.
“Dearest Thamsine…,” she read aloud.
Her eyes, refilling with tears, she slid down to the floor and sat with her back against the wall, trying to decipher the terrible handwriting and make sense of Kit’s last words to her.
At least she had this. At least she knew he loved her. It was more than many women had. She thought of those women who had lost the men they loved in the past years of strife. What comfort did they have?
When she had finished, she pressed the paper to her lips and inhaled deeply, trying to see if some scent of him remained.
“It must have been difficult for him to write,” Jane said quietly, “with his hand…” She held out her hand. “Thamsine come here.”
Thamsine rose slowly and slid to the floor at her sister’s feet, laying her head against her knee. Jane stroked her temple. “What will you do?” she asked.
With a slight shake of her head, Thamsine replied. “I will stay with you Jane. You and the girls are all I have left.”
“I think we should go home, Thamsine, back to Hartley where we were both happy. I want to die at Hartley not here where there are so many difficult memories.”
Thamsine nodded. “If that is what you want, Jane, we will leave tomorrow,” The words came with difficulty. She was drained of life, incapable of moving, thinking, and making decisions. She just wanted to sleep… to sleep and forget that the man she loved was dead.
Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write? And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt? I sobbed all the way through writing this part of the story. I had such a huge emotional investment in Kit and Thamsine, that I knew for Thamsine to lose Kit would break her and I really tried to put myself in their shoes in the moments they were experiencing. What thoughts would have gone through Kit’s head as he walked to the gibbet? How would Thamsine react knowing he was going to die and there was nothing more she could do to stop it?
I also thought… if I am crying, I hope the reader is too!
(I should add this book is a romance… so there is a Happy Ever After…)
THE KING’S MAN is the second book in the GUARDIANS OF THE CROWN series. BY THE SWORD is the first and EXILE’S RETURN, the last book. All three books are available as ebooks or together in a ‘boxed set’.
Anything you would like to add? I write historical romance across a range of periods and settings from the English Civil War to the goldfields of Australia and I also write historical mysteries as A.M. Stuart. You can find me on the socials and through my website www.alisonstuart.com