A Prologue to A Kind Of Justice

By Henrietta Stackpole

The first in a non-sequential group of ‘Sensation’ novels by Henrietta Stackpole is 'A Kind Of Justice'. In the style of a populist Victorian ‘Sensation’ novel the characters are all action, mystery and secrecy who have to cope with duplicity, murder and more.

Outraged by the deceit of her brutish husband and her passion awakened by an old flame, wealthy Isabel Archer Osmond despairs that there is no divorce law in nineteenth-century Italy.

LOYAL FRIENDS GATHER ROUND.

Can they solve the mystery of the murder in Rio?

Can they discredit her evil husband, Gilbert, and seek annulment?

Must they go to even greater lengths to free Isabel from the shackles of a disastrous marriage?

‘A Kind of Justice’ is a fast-paced crime thriller with veins of romance running right through it. Organised crime, amateur detectives and a pair of Rome’s finest carabinieri play their parts to the hilt.

If you like Victorianesque ‘Sensation’ novels—something Wilkie Collins or Mary Elizabeth Braddon might have written, then Henrietta Stackpole’s novel will suit you fine.

Henry James refers to Henrietta as a ‘celebrated authoress’, he doesn’t say he liked her writing and he probably didn’t—far too pacey and vibrant I would think, but ‘celebrated’ means many others did enjoy her works. This one, purportedly written in 1883 is the first one to be released under her name, the second ‘Stackpole Sensation’ novel, 'Some Choose The Pen' will be published in the last quarter of 2015.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Henrietta Stackpole
• Release date: Oct 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781904221081

Henrietta Stackpole

Victorian writer and ghost Living in the past to bring you 'Sensation' novels

Book preview

Prologue to A KIND OF JUSTICE

by

HENRIETTA STACKPOLE

For Isabel… Henry James’s ‘Lady’

Copyright 2015, Henrietta Stackpole

Published by Stackpole & Co at Smashwords

ISBN 978-1-904221-08-1 (epub) 978-1-904221-09-8 (mobi) and 978-1-904221-10-4 (pdf)

England

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Prologue

When Mr James finally pinned me down to a meeting it did not take long for us both to realize we were not cut from the same cloth. Despite our common nationality our intellects roamed through literary life in very different ways. He saw me as a small part player who had to be tolerated for the sake of completeness. He had no regard for my journalism, he seemed not to see the value of the quick and succinct mind dealing with the impressions of the average man and momentous events or places. To my mind, Mr Henry James is a man in danger of analytical paralysis. He is long-maturing Stilton to my fresh and easy cottage cheese. I told him all I knew and more of that which I surmised. My Robert disliked him because he acted dismissively whenever Robert championed my intellect (as he always did), James was the first and only person who did not see it according to Mr Bantling. ‘The man has a closed mind,’ Robert said.

It was clear from the start that Henry James had interviewed most of my great friend Isabel’s friends, acquaintances and divers camp-followers. He reeled off her history from a time before I knew her and right up to her leaving London after her cousin Ralph’s funeral. I corroborated when I could and disagreed when I wished. I tried, where I could, to introduce La Vendetta but he would have none of it. For some reason best known to the master writer alone he did not want to sully his work with action, vigour or vim. I could not fathom it but guessed it was my journalistic mind which barred me from understanding the literary brain. Having completed his reportage of his interviews he indicated he wanted to move on to suck me dry of facts and opinions, emotions and feelings. I made myself willing for the sake of Isabel, I did not want this man to acquire incorrect impressions or recollections if it could be helped.

Mr James opened his questioning with, ‘Not long before her marriage to Gilbert Osmond I understand Miss Archer was angry with Mr Goodwood, why was that, Miss Stackpole?’

‘You’d probably consider it as a woman’s way,’ I said, ‘firstly he was spoiling her bliss by reappearing and secondly she hurt him through her confusion, it rendered her bereft of much of her innate gentleness.’

‘Later on, when Ralph Touchett was in Rome for the winter, not many months before his sad demise, you met Mr Goodwood in Paris before travelling to Italy together. You were both concerned for Mrs Osmond, as she was by then. How did your concerns come about?’

‘I’m guilty of raising Caspar Goodwood’s concern—I had noted differences in Mrs Osmond’s correspondences and also the occasional communication I had with her sister-in-law, the Countess Gemini. It was clear to me that Mrs Osmond was becoming mired in an unhappiness beyond any temporary or featherweight veil of tears. I judged it time that some of her long and true friends should gather round.’

‘Did she acknowledge her unhappiness when you spoke to her in Rome?’

‘She did—but wanted it hidden. I told her she wouldn’t always feel like keeping her mistaken marriage to herself. She didn’t see any truth in that but…’

‘I believe Mr Osmond disliked you intensely at the time, is that true?’

‘Oh, yes, he hated me at any time. He referred to me as ‘that dreadful Stackpole woman’. According to Isabel he called me one of those new ‘steel pens’; harsh, precise and modern. He hated all of those concepts; au contraire, Osmond liked Caspar Goodwood—or made out that he did. Caspar was flummoxed by Osmond, he did not trust his friendliness and hospitality and wondered why he was being so pleasant to him. He told me that Osmond used to speak as though he and Isabel were one happy couple, he spoke for both of them all the time—as ‘we’ and ‘us’. Caspar said he sometimes thought of killing Osmond but this was not a serious thought you know—at least I didn’t think so at the time. Caspar had some serious conversations with Isabel before he and I