A Gothic Crime Novel from the Dark Heart of Victorian London

In the winter of 1880, the city burns with fear and corruption.

The following is the opening to An Unkindness of Ravens. Book One of Blackmere

Blackmere, London, Tuesday December 14^th, 1880

“A hangover aches behind the eyes, but a knuckle to the noggin. That’s a steam train at full tilt: no whistle, no warning, just pain!”

The Spencer’s

Snow fell on the cobbled streets and the chill lingered in the winters air; Stanley Potter stumbled along blowing into his hands.  His eyesight was already bad enough and the slippery paths and settling mist didn’t help. It had been a night of drinking and singing at his local, the King’s Arms. The ale may have helped warm his inners, but it also damaged what little balance he had in the first place. It was either the alcohol or his eyesight that led to him staggering into the corpse of Ora Bayes, the coachman of the Spencer’s. He landed perfectly on top, nose to nose with Ora, and in a desperation to get up he laid his right-hand palm down in a puddle of blood that had begun to freeze. Panic began to flow through his body, which also helped sober him up. He clambered to his feet and made a grab for his monocle, as he placed it over his eye, he could now see the carriage, the horses still there. People had begun to gather behind him, he looked at two more bodies that lay on the frozen, snow-covered stones. They belonged to Sir Henry and Letty Spencer. Her throat had been slashed, the blood turning the snow red and Henry bludgeoned to death. He also a hole in his chest where his heart once was, it was at that moment that the entire contents of Stanley’s stomach splashed onto the pavement as screams and gasps echoed all around him.