Friday, March 14, 2025

πŸ“˜πŸŽ₯Friday's Film AdaptationπŸŽ₯πŸ“˜: Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen



Summary:

Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility is the story of two sisters, Elinor and Marianne Dashwood, who struggle to achieve respectability, each in their own way in the face of the strict social conventions of early eighteenth-century England.

The carefree childhood of the two young sisters comes to an abrupt end upon their father’s death which leaves the family penniless and pushed out of the estate upon which they grew up. They move to a modest cottage on the property owned by a distant relative and there they experience love, romance, and heartbreak as they each attend to the serious business of achieving material security through marriage.

Through their romantic relationships, we are able to see the difference in their approaches to life. While Elinor, the somewhat reserved eldest daughter embodies good sense, fine judgment and discretion. She has a keen sense of responsibility to her family and friends and she places their welfare and interests above her own. Marianne, the romantically inclined and eagerly expressive second daughter, follows her heart while totally disregarding what society thinks. Marianne falls in love much too quickly while the more intellectual Elinor sees her chances for a happy marriage fade when she discovers the man for whom she’s fallen for is already engaged.

This delightful comedy of manners remains as fresh a cautionary tale today as it ever was. The novel has been in continuous publication since 1811, and has many times been illustrated, excerpted, abridged, and adapted for stage, film, and television.





Chapter 1
The family of Dashwood had been long settled in Sussex. Their estate was large, and their residence was at Norland Park, in the centre of their property, where for many generations, they had lived in so respectable a manner as to engage the general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance. The late owner of this estate was a single man, who lived to a very advanced age, and who for many years of his life had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister. But her death, which happened ten years before his own, produced a great alteration in his home; for to supply her loss, he invited and received into his house the family of his nephew, Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal inheritor of the Norland estate, and the person to whom he intended to bequeath it. In the society of his nephew and niece, and their children, the old gentleman's days were comfortably spent. His attachment to them all increased. The constant attention of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dashwood to his wishes, which proceeded not merely from interest, but from goodness of heart, gave him every degree of solid comfort which his age could receive; and the cheerfulness of the children added a relish to his existence.

By a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had one son; by his present lady, three daughters. The son, a steady, respectable young man, was amply provided for by the fortune of his mother, which had been large, and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age. By his own marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards, he added to his wealth. To him therefore the succession to the Norland estate was not so really important as to his sisters; for their fortune, independent of what might arise to them from their father's inheriting that property, could be but small. Their mother had nothing, and their father only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal; for the remaining moiety of his first wife's fortune was also secured to her child, and he had only a life interest in it.

The old Gentleman died; his will was read, and like almost every other will, gave as much disappointment as pleasure. He was neither so unjust, nor so ungrateful, as to leave his estate from his nephew; but he left it to him on such terms as destroyed half the value of the bequest. Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of his wife and daughters than for himself or his son; but to his son, and his son's son, a child of four years old, it was secured, in such a way, as to leave to himself no power of providing for those who were most dear to him, and who most needed a provision, by any charge on the estate, or by any sale of its valuable woods. The whole was tied up for the benefit of this child, who, in occasional visits with his father and mother at Norland, had so far gained on the affections of his uncle, by such attractions as are by no means unusual in children of two or three years old: and imperfect articulation, an earnest desire of having his own way, many cunning tricks, and a great deal of noise, as to outweigh all the value of all the attention which, for years, he had received from his niece and her daughters. He meant not to be unkind however, and, as a mark of his affection for the three girls, he left them a thousand pounds a-piece.

Mr. Dashwood's disappointment was at first severe; but his temper was cheerful and sanguine, and he might reasonably hope to live many years, and by living economically, lay by a considerable sum from the produce of an estate already large, and capable of almost immediate improvement. But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was his only one twelvemonth. He survived his uncle no longer; and ten thousand pounds, including the late legacies, was all that remained for his widow and daughters.

His son was sent for, as soon as his danger was known, and to him Mr. Dashwood recommended, with all the strength and urgency which illness could command, the interest of his mother-in-law and sisters.

Mr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of the rest of the family; but he was affected by a recommendation of such a nature at such a time, and he promised to do everything in his power to make them comfortable. His father was rendered easy by such an assurance, and Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider how much there might prudently be in his power to do for them.

He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless to be rather cold hearted, and rather selfish, is to be ill-disposed: but he was, in general, well respected; for he conducted himself with propriety in the discharge of his ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman, he might have been made still more respectable than he was; he might even have been made amiable himself; for he was very young when he married, and very fond of his wife. But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself; more narrow-minded and selfish.

When he gave his promise to his father, he meditated within himself to increase the fortunes of his sisters by the present of a thousand pounds a-piece. He then really thought himself equal to it. The prospect of four thousand a-year, in addition to his present income, besides the remaining half of his own mother's fortune, warmed his heart and made him feel capable of generosity. 'Yes, he would give them three thousand pounds: it would be liberal and handsome! It would be enough to make them completely easy. Three thousand pounds! he could spare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience.' He thought of it all day long, and for many days successively, and he did not repent.

No sooner was his father's funeral over, than Mrs. John Dashwood, without sending any notice of her intention to her mother-in-law, arrived with her child and their attendants. No one could dispute her right to come; the house was her husband's from the moment of his father's decease; but the indelicacy of her conduct was so much the greater, and to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood's situation, with only common feelings, must have been highly unpleasing; but in her mind there was a sense of honour so keen, a generosity so romantic, that any offence of the kind, by whomsoever given or received, was to her a source of immoveable disgust. Mrs. John Dashwood had never been a favourite with any of her husband's family: but she had had no opportunity, till the present, of shewing them with how little attention to the comfort of other people she could act when occasion required it.

So acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungracious behaviour, and so earnestly did she despise her daughter-in-law for it, that, on the arrival of the latter, she would have quitted the house for ever, had not the entreaty of her eldest girl induced her first to reflect on the propriety of going, and her own tender love for all her three children determined her afterwards to stay, and for their sakes avoid a breach with their brother.

Elinor, this eldest daughter whose advice was so effectual, possessed a strength of understanding, and coolness of judgment, which qualified her, though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother, and enabled her frequently to counteract, to the advantage of them all, that eagerness of mind in Mrs. Dashwood which must generally have led to imprudence. She had an excellent heart; her disposition was affectionate, and her feelings were strong: but she knew how to govern them: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn, and which one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.

Marianne's abilities were, in many respects, quite equal to Elinor's. She was sensible and clever; but eager in everything; her sorrows, her joys, could have no moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting: she was everything but prudent. The resemblance between her and her mother was strikingly great.

Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of her sister's sensibility; but by Mrs. Dashwood it was valued and cherished. They encouraged each other now in the violence of their affliction. The agony of grief which overpowered them at first, was voluntarily renewed, was sought for, was created again and again. They gave themselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it, and resolved against ever admitting consolation in future. Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but still she could struggle, she could exert herself. She could consult with her brother, could receive her sister-in-law on her arrival, and treat her with proper attention; and could strive to rouse her mother to similar exertion, and encourage her to similar forbearance.

Margaret, the other sister, was a good-humoured, well-disposed girl; but as she had already imbibed a good deal of Marianne's romance, without having much of her sense; she did not, at thirteen, bid fair to equal her sisters at a more advanced period of life.


Jane Austen's classic tale of two sisters with different romantic notions.

Release Date: December 13, 1995
Release Time: 136 minutes

Director: Ang Lee

Cast:
Emma Thompson as Elinor Dashwood
Hugh Grant as Edward Ferrars
Kate Winslet as Marianne Dashwood
Alan Rickman as Colonel Brandon
Imogen Stubbs as Lucy Steele
Greg Wise as John Willoughby
Gemma Jones as Mrs. Dashwood
Harriet Walter as Fanny Dashwood
James Fleet as John Dashwood
Hugh Laurie as Mr. Palmer
Imelda Staunton as Charlotte Palmer
Robert Hardy as Sir John Middleton
Elizabeth Spriggs as Mrs. Jennings
Tom Wilkinson as Mr. Dashwood
Emilie FranΓ§ois as Margaret Dashwood
Richard Lumsden as Robert Ferrars

Awards:
68th Academy Awards - March 25, 1996
Best Picture - Lindsay Doran - Nominated
Best Actress - Emma Thompson - Nominated
Best Supporting Actress - Kate Winslet - Nominated
Best Writing (Adapted Screenplay) - Emma Thompson - Won
Best Cinematography - Michael Coulter - Nominated
Best Costume Design - Jenny Beavan and John Bright - Nominated
Best Original Dramatic Score - Patrick Doyle - Nominated

AFI's 100 Years... - June 11, 2002
100 Passions - #70

49th BAFTAs - April 23, 1996
Best Film - Sense and Sensibility - Won
Best Direction - Ang Lee - Nominated
Best Actress in a Leading Role - Emma Thompson - Won
Best Actor in a Supporting Role - Alan Rickman - Nominated
Best Actress in a Supporting Role - Kate Winslet - Won
Best Actress in a Supporting Role - Elizabeth Spriggs - Nominated
Best Adapted Screenplay - Emma Thompson - Nominated
Best Cinematography - Michael Coulter - Nominated
Best Costume Design - Jenny Beavan and John Bright - Nominated
Best Film Music - Patrick Doyle - Nominated
Best Makeup and Hair - Morag Ross, Jan Archibald - Nominated
Best Production Design - Luciana Arrighi - Nominated

53rd Golden Globes - January 21, 1996
Best Motion Picture–Drama - Sense and Sensibility - Won
Best Director - Ang Lee - Nominated
Best Actress–Motion Picture Drama - Emma Thompson - Nominated
Best Supporting Actress–Motion Picture - Kate Winslet - Nominated
Best Screenplay - Emma Thompson - Won
Best Original Score - Patrick Doyle - Nominated








Jane Austen
Jane Austen was an English novelist whose works of romantic fiction, set among the landed gentry, earned her a place as one of the most widely read writers in English literature, her realism and biting social commentary cementing her historical importance among scholars and critics.

Austen lived her entire life as part of a close-knit family located on the lower fringes of the English landed gentry. She was educated primarily by her father and older brothers as well as through her own reading. The steadfast support of her family was critical to her development as a professional writer. Her artistic apprenticeship lasted from her teenage years until she was about 35 years old. During this period, she experimented with various literary forms, including the epistolary novel which she tried then abandoned, and wrote and extensively revised three major novels and began a fourth. From 1811 until 1816, with the release of Sense and Sensibility (1811), Pride and Prejudice (1813), Mansfield Park (1814) and Emma (1815), she achieved success as a published writer. She wrote two additional novels, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion, both published posthumously in 1818, and began a third, which was eventually titled Sanditon, but died before completing it.

Austen's works critique the novels of sensibility of the second half of the 18th century and are part of the transition to 19th-century realism. Her plots, though fundamentally comic, highlight the dependence of women on marriage to secure social standing and economic security. Her work brought her little personal fame and only a few positive reviews during her lifetime, but the publication in 1869 of her nephew's A Memoir of Jane Austen introduced her to a wider public, and by the 1940s she had become widely accepted in academia as a great English writer. The second half of the 20th century saw a proliferation of Austen scholarship and the emergence of a Janeite fan culture.


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Thursday, March 13, 2025

⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine⏳: From These Ashes by Davidson King



Summary:

Haven Hart Universe #4
A product of his past, Black spends half his time saving lives and the other half taking them. Every day, a hard choice must be made and he’s the man to make it. Long ago, he vowed to never love again; one-night stands with a willing body was all he ever needed. But along came Quill, and Black’s life is irrevocably changed. He never expects something as simple as Quill’s persistence to alter the way he not only sees the world, but how he lives it.

Quill has bad taste in men and equally horrible luck. Growing up wasn’t easy, surviving is even harder. When his past and present collide, he’s convinced he’ll finally witness his own destruction. But when an unlikely antihero steps in to protect him, his life is turned on its head. He’s spent months flirting with the man of his dreams and hoping he’d take notice. But it turns out, being on Black’s radar isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and his idea of protection varies greatly from Quill’s.

Unknowingly sharing the same goal—burying their own pasts deeper than the fires of hell can reach—they’re both unaware that jumping into that fire will do more than ignite their feelings, it could lead to their own demise. Will Black and Quill be consumed by the flames, or from these ashes, will they find their own happily ever after?



Original Review December 2018:
Black closed his heart off to more than one night stands years ago but a chance meeting could change that.  Quill has spent his life surviving but never quite living than a moment of timing changes that.  When Black and Quill's worlds collide will they be able to resist the changes they face?  Will they even be able to survive before they have the opportunity to rise again?

Davidson King has done it again!  I really find myself at a loss as to what to say and not give anything away.  Haven Hart Universe just keeps getting more and more interesting.  I'm not sure which intrigued me more: Black's gruffness hiding his heart underneath or Quill's fears hiding behind his peppiness.  On the surface, not only are these two polar opposites but they really shouldn't even exist in the same universe let alone interact but then you get to meet them and I mean really meet them and you realize they are perfect together.  Looks don't determine the man and both Black and Quill have weaknesses and strengths that have made them into who they let the world see which is why they balance each other out, that is if they let the other one in to see the real person and for that you have to read From these Ashes yourself.  I'm not even going to attempt to touch on the action/mystery/thriller side of the story because . . . well just . . . WOW! . . . and I'll leave it at that: WOW! and DOUBLE WOW! and a HOLY HANNAH BATMAN! for good measureπŸ˜‰. Oh, and it is set at Christmas so what more can you ask for?

I must be honest, Black and Quill are probably my least favorite of the pairings so far in Haven Hart.  Now, having said that, if I was to actually rate the couples the difference between all four would be only about .93.  It's kind of like me admitting that The Phantom Menace is my least favorite of the Star Wars films and yet of the 8 main saga films so far, all 8 are in my Top 15 Films of All Time so TPM still ranks pretty darn high and that is exactly what Black, Quill, and their journey in From These Ashes do: rank pretty damn high on my "Fiction Fantastical" list.  As the Haven Hart Universe continues to grow and more of the characters are revealed so does the talent of storyteller Davidson King.  Since I mentioned it you are probably asking why Black and Quill are #4?  I could be superficial and say its Black's hair(I'm not much for long hair in men, just doesn't tick my boxes) but I'm not that superficial.  Truthfully it really comes down to just the timing.  Had they been the center of book 1 then they would most likely be my favorite.  It happens almost 99% of the time when a series focuses on different pairings in each installment, the first is always my favorite.

One of the things I love most about the Haven Hart Universe is, yes these situations and people are not the kind of thing every town or city faces but at the same time the characters are so genuine and real you actually feel like you could meet them pumping gas, dropping off Christmas packages at the post office, or waiting in line to get your morning hot chocolate(sorry I'm just not a coffee personπŸ˜‰).  So no matter who is your favorite in this series you will never be disappointed, the author's talent for storytelling will never leave you wanting.  A true gem and classic in the making.

If you are asking can you start with From these Ashes, I suppose technically you could since each entry features a new couple but I highly recommend starting from the beginning.  Characters, situations, plot points can pop up and carry over though Davidson King does a pretty good job of "recapping" so you aren't lost but it just flows better in order.  Personally, I can't imagine visiting Haven Hart in any order other than it was published.  And yes, I said "visiting" not "reading" because you find yourself getting so sucked in that you reach for a tissue or drink(trust me you will need both for happy and sad times) you expect to find the characters sitting next to you.  So sit down, buckle up, and hold on because you are definitely heading for a bumpy but exciting journey.


Audiobook Review December 2019:
I've been listening to this series from the beginning recently but with the holidays fast approaching I have not yet got around to writing my reviews for books 1-3 so don't be surprised if some of what I say in this review shows up in those as well, particularly anything pertaining to the narration.

There is really nothing I can add to my original review from last year in regards to the story and the characters.  I still don't want to give anything away, the book might have been around for over a year now but I'm sure there are plenty of readers out there that have not yet visited Haven Hart.  Black and Quill still seem like a complete trainwreck waiting to happen on the surface but once you get to know them you realize how perfectly suited they really are.

Now on to the narration.  I've never listened to audiobooks with two narrators before so I wasn't sure how I would like it. Well, I love it!  Both Joel Leslie and Philip Alces capture their main character(and others) expertly.  They are easy to listen to and they both make everything come alive visually.  I often say when an audiobook is read wonderfully they remind me of the old radio shows of the 30s & 40s that I collect well not only is From These Ashes read wonderfully but having the dual narration makes it even more reminiscent of those old radio shows.  Add in the brilliant storytelling of Davidson King and I swear I'm listening to Suspense and expected at any minute for Harlow Wilcox to break in with the Autolite Spark Plug sponsor ad.  Now I realize most people have no idea who Harlow Wilcox was(he's one of the more well known pitchmen of the era) but I included that tidbit in my review to properly express how the dual narration came across as more than just another audiobook reading.  Joel Leslie & Philip Alces bring to life Davidson King's incredible words that will entertain for decades to come, I'm sure in 80-90 years people will be collecting audiobooks as I do radio shows and they will be enthralling a whole new generation.

RATING:




Chapter One
Black
Living a life in the shadows wasn’t easy. To many, they only saw a certain persona. To the rest, I was something completely different. My father used to say we lived in an optical illusion. I didn’t agree with him when I was younger, but I did now.

One side of my life was the current Hell I was in at this very moment. A fundraiser gala. It was to help support the pediatric cardiology department at Hart’s Hope Hospital. I didn’t mind the tuxedo as I often favored suits. I didn’t really mind my date, Teresa, who looked stunning in her crimson red, floor-length gown, matching shoes, and more diamonds twinkling against her skin than a Tiffany’s display case. It was how fake they all felt they had to be. No one was genuinely selfless. We all wanted what was best for us first and foremost, and donating ridiculous amounts of money we never wanted to part with was how we made everyone love us.

“Isn’t that Richard Franklin?” Teresa asked as she sipped her champagne. Her blue eyes were homed in on the multi-millionaire who sat at a table with many other rich people of Haven Hart.

“I believe so. Why don’t you go say hello while I grab another drink at the bar?” I knew Teresa was only here to network and that didn’t offend me. I knew I’d be fucking her by the end of the night and she’d be gone by morning. That was a win for me. Great sex and no small talk.

“Are you sure?” Her golden hair was up in a relaxed bun, giving her an almost girl-next-door appearance, but the rest of her was all glamour, sex, and money.

“I’m positive. Go schmooze so I don’t have to. I will be over at the bar when you’re ready to leave.”

I had told her I wasn’t a fan of these things and would love a buffer. Teresa, a low woman on the totem pole PR agent, was desperate for her big break. I didn’t trust my secrets and lies to anyone, and I had told her as much. But I liked her enough to see if I could get her a client or two that could help her business.

I watched her saunter across the dance floor, smiling as she purposely bumped into any gentleman she could. Each man’s eyes lingered over her curvy form and by the time she reached her target, many men were drooling and many women were scowling.

The bar was long and wide, which suited me well. I didn’t like being squished and forced to be polite to people due to close quarters. I ordered a drink, sat on the mahogany stool, smoothed my beard down, and scanned the room.

There were two sides to every coin. To every person in this room, I was Terrance Blackrose, owner of Red Rose Protection Agency. I offered security and protection to the most elite. If you could afford it, you were elite to me. To the rest of the world, I was Black. I ran an assassin organization for the darkest and most powerful people in the world. One side of my life protected, the other killed.

Teresa was laughing beside Richard, and I was glad she had made a connection. It was close to the end of the gala and I was starving. I could never eat those tiny morsels they offered and feel filled. I wanted to grab a bite, go home, fuck Teresa into the mattress, and pass out.

Like she could sense my need, she got up, said farewell to Richard, and walked over to me, a bright smile challenging any other in the room.

“Are you ready to go?” she whispered into my ear, her breasts pressed against my arm, and I wondered if I was really as hungry as I had previously thought.

“I am.” I placed the tumbler on the bar and wrapped my arm around her waist. The gala was clearing out and I nodded my farewell to some people I knew. We stood under the large awning as limos and luxury cars lined up.

For events, I opted for my Cadillac SUV stretched limousine. It was on the obnoxious side, but I liked the comfort it provided. I wasn’t a small man. At over six foot five inches, I was tall. Because I worked out so much, I was also broad, muscular, and as some said, a monster. I needed room. It also helped that all my vehicles were armored. Teresa knew I ran a protection agency, she didn’t know I had a target on my back because of my other occupation.

“Here you go, sir,” the valet said with a smile as he held the door open. He was cute with his auburn hair, blue eyes, and sexy smirk. If Teresa hadn’t been with me, I’d have offered him a ride, and not just in my car.

“I’m starving,” Teresa said after my driver hit the highway.

“Why don’t we stop somewhere? I didn’t eat much, I rarely do at these things.”

Her laughter sounded like wind chimes. “Same here. It’s all rabbit food.” She reached into her clutch and pulled out her phone. “It’s not even midnight yet, I could go for a meatball sub and I love Quirks and Perks sandwiches. Want to stop there?”

I’d eaten at that place a couple times since I had been introduced to it a few months ago. I enjoyed the food and the atmosphere. The barista, Quill, on the other hand, was a challenge. There was an appeal that niggled at me with every glance, but he was young, flirty, and dangerous.

“Whatever you want,” I answered as I sat back and made quick work of answering a few emails and texts. Jones, one of my assassins, was in Brazil hunting a drug smuggler who gave a British debutant some bad shit, causing a drug overdose. Her father had gone on a rampage and wanted everyone killed. He’d contacted me, and I was able to make him understand that cutting the head of the snake off would be the best retaliation. He wanted to send a message. Jones, also known as Hangman, was perfect for the job. He’d kill the drug lord and hang his body for all to see. The text from him had confirmed the job was done and I was able to let the father know.

“We’re here,” Teresa said as we pulled up to the curb.

My driver opened the car door, and I chuckled as Teresa slipped off her shoes and walked barefoot into the cafΓ©. The fact it was frigid outside didn’t stop her.

It was practically empty, there was a young couple sitting on a loveseat in the corner and an old man at a two-seater sipping his coffee. I only saw a young woman at the counter and breathed a sigh of relief when Quill was nowhere in sight. A part of me sort of enjoyed seeing what shenanigans he’d be up to, the other part couldn’t be bothered.

“What can I get you?” the woman, Mellissa, asked.

“I would like a meatball sub and a water. I’d have coffee, but then I’d never sleep.” Teresa gave a very uninterested Melissa her everybody-loves-me smile.

“Can I have your burger sub with extra pickles and mayo and a large iced coffee?” I didn’t sleep much, so coffee or not, it wouldn’t matter.

“That’ll be fifteen sixty.” I handed her my card and signed when she gave me the receipt. “Quill, I have an order. Don’t clean the grills yet,” Melissa shouted, and I cringed. Not because she was loud, but because Quill was, in fact, working and, in that moment, I wasn’t ready to see him.

“Okay.” His voice came from the back and I silently hoped he wouldn’t come up front.

While we waited, Teresa went on and on about Richard and how great he was and that he had told her he’d call her on Monday for an appointment. I wasn’t really listening to what she said and was glad when Melissa handed me my iced coffee so I could go over to the DIY counter to fix it.

“Here you go.” I heard Quill’s voice and stupidly thought if I didn’t turn around, he wouldn’t see me. But the kid had me on some kind of radar.

“Well, hello there,” he purred, and the sound of his footsteps told me he was coming my way. “Late night I see?”

I turned in his direction since there was no point in trying to run, he was relentless. “I had a work thing. Do you always work late?”

He shrugged as he fixed the sugar packets. His wrist was covered in his usual bracelets and his nails were painted a ruby red. “Sometimes. I have many jobs, as you know.”

I did. A couple months ago, Quill had witnessed one of my former assassins, Mace, put a bullet in a guy’s head. Bill, who was working with Mace at the time, didn’t want to off the kid, so I had them drive him to my office. It was there I learned that while annoying, Quill was loyal to a fault. I should have killed him, but his eyes told a tale older than his twenty-two years. I offered him a job to keep tabs on him. When I needed something delivered that wasn’t on the up and up, Quill made the item get to its destination. I rarely got to see him, and that was just fine by me. He seemed a bit obsessed with me.

“I’ll bring the tray over to the booth,” Teresa said as she walked past me.

“That your girlfriend?” I looked up in time to see Quill’s sour expression. It was short-lived though, and he smiled wide when he met my gaze. I didn’t know his eye color. Every time I saw him, he had different contacts in. Today they were violet.

“A date for the evening if you really must know.” I placed the lid on my coffee and walked in the direction of my food.

“A date that isn’t a girlfriend? So, you’re still single?” I heard Quill following me and, by the amused expression on Teresa’s face as I approached the booth, she had heard Quill’s question.

“Quill, I need you to clean the grill so we can close at a reasonable time tonight,” Melissa said. She gave Quill a small smile that told me she wasn’t angry, but there was something else there. I didn’t know what their relationship was, but when Quill went over to her, she squeezed his shoulder.

As soon as Quill was out of sight, she shot me a venomous glare. It was like ice in my veins. She was not happy with me and I didn’t have a clue why. I hadn’t done anything.

“So good,” Teresa said around her bite of food.

“Hurry up with that. I’ve been dying to get you out of that dress all evening.” I winked at her as she blushed and laughed as she began eating much faster.

I couldn’t worry about Quill, he was more than half my age and we had nothing in common. The fact he now worked for me meant he was off limits. I didn’t need more drama than what my life already had.

I didn’t see Quill again and when Teresa and I slipped back into my limo, I was ready for dessert. By the salacious look she gave me, I knew she was too.



Saturday's Series Spotlight
Haven Hart
Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3

Joker's Sin


Westford
🎧Monday Mysterious Mayhem🎧



Davidson King
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.

She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.

If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she’d tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you’re afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.


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From these Ashes #4

Haven Hart Universe

Joker's Sin

Westford


Monday, March 10, 2025

Monday's Mysterious Mayhem: Lock, Stock, and Peril by Charlie Cochrane



Summary:
Lindenshaw Mysteries #6
They may be locked down but this case isn’t.

Lockdown is stressful enough for Chief Inspector Robin Bright. Then a murder makes this strange time even stranger. In one of Kinechester’s most upmarket areas, the body of Ellen, a brilliant but enigmatic recluse, has lain undiscovered for days. Pinning down the time—and date—of death will be difficult, but finding a killer during unprecedented times could prove impossible.

Adam Matthew’s focus on his pupils is shaken when a teaching assistant reveals his godmother has been murdered. Keen to avoid involvement, Adam does his best to maintain a distance from his husband, Robin’s, case, but when it keeps creeping up, Adam lends his incisive mind to the clues again.

Between Robin trying to understand the complex victim and picking his way through a mess of facts, half truths, and downright lies from witnesses desperate to cover up their own rule-breaking, he realises this could be the cold case that stains his career and forever haunts a community. And when it looks like the virus has struck Adam, Robin’s torn between duty and love.



Original Review August Book of the Month 2022:
Once again we find the cop and teacher duo of Robin and Adam in the middle of yet another crime, this time in the middle of pandemic restrictions.  And you know what?  Once again Charlie Cochrane has proven she is a queen of mystery that puts her right up there with Agatha Christie, Caroline Graham, and PD James(to list a few) in my opinion.  

What makes me say that?  Her talent to weave a mystery with drama, humor, romance, and of course an incredible cast of characters that makes it nearly impossible to guess who did it right up to the reveal.  Some may not like having so many possibilities, I'll admit it can be hard to always keep each potential suspect straight but for me that can actually get my adrenaline pumping even more.

As for the particulars of Lock, Stock, and Peril?.  I think most of you know what's coming: I refuse to put out any spoilers and as this newest entry in the author's Lindenshaw Mysteries series is in fact a mystery with a laundry list of whos, whats, and whys every little snippet can possibly spoil the reveal.  So for the 3 W's I won't say anything.  What I will say is that Robin and Adam are more in love and more in sync with each installment and their contribution to the romance tag of the story is a lovely balance of "aren't they just adorably sweet" and "thank goodness their couple time doesn't overshadow the crime solving".

And once again, Adam may not go looking for ways to insert himself into his husband's case but those ways just have a habit of finding him.  I love how the author handles that insertion: helpful but not sneaking around trying to assist in secret and eventually causing more chaos the husband has to get him out of.  And of course, their beloved furbaby, Campbell the Newfoundland offers his ever loving and undying support.

I want to mention one thing about Lock, Stock, and Peril:  Robin and Adam are dealing with the latest case in the midst of Covid.  Personally, I think the author handled it beautifully.  Lockdown barriers that can throw more than one monkey wrench into their case but it just adds another level of realism to the story, as does a personal infection risk for the couple.  I'm pointing this out because I know some who have clearly stated that they just aren't ready to read about Covid in fiction yet, it's too real, it's too current, it's too fresh in their minds.  I understand that and respect that but for me when the author handles is so well as Charlie Cochrane has I not only welcomed it's inclusion but enjoyed it, kind of gave me a new respect for what law enforcement has dealt with the past two years.

I've said this before and I'm sure I'll say it many times in the future so I might as well say it again here too.  As much as I enjoy a good American mystery, there is just something extra special about a British mystery, both in print and on the screen.  One of my absolute favorite mystery series is Midsomer Murders(and the author even mentions the show in passing later in the book-a lovely Easter Egg find for me) and Robin and Adam have reminded me of that show from the very beginning.  As I say that, I don't mean the author has copied the formula or anything but the adrenaline rush I get from reading this series is the same I get from watching Midsomer.  I love the whole concept of seemingly throw away comments or "minor" characters(good or bad) that can actually completely turn the case on it's axel.  

I got a little wordy in this review(it happens when I get talking about my passion for reading) so I'll say it simply:  Lock, Stock, and Peril is a jigsaw for the mind, some parts are easy to put together and others may stump you for a bit and then you finally find that one piece that makes it all fit.  Likeable(and some not so likeable but love to hate) characters, amazing plot, well balanced humor, drama, and romance for an altogether brilliant storytelling experience. 

RATING:




Chapter One
“No murders allowed, right?”

Robin Bright glanced up from doom-scrolling the news to view the pleasing sight of his husband, Adam Matthews, who’d broken the silence. Hair tousled from where he’d been snuggled up on the sofa having forty winks—with Campbell their Newfoundland providing a useful blanket for his feet—Adam gave the impression of only being half-awake. Perhaps he’d not known what he was saying, still partly in a dream world.

“Eh? No murders allowed when?” Robin asked.

“Now. Anytime, really. I was saying that if we do get away for a holiday this summer, we don’t want it being spoiled by you getting called in to a murder case three days before we go.” Adam grinned, in a way that could still turn Robin’s knees to water. “You weren’t listening, were you?”

Robin held up his phone. “Exhibit A. I was trying to keep abreast of the news. If it’s possible to keep abreast of it.”

What a year 2020 had been, and the start of 2021 wasn’t shaping up that great, either. Some activities that had been allowable the previous January were now—in his opinion quite rightly—an offence, and the patterns of crimes had changed. One thing hadn’t altered, although it had been emphasized: you were most at risk from those people you knew, friends and family, rather than a homicidal stranger.

“Keeping abreast? We believe him, don’t we, boy?” Adam patted the dog’s head, getting a yawn in response.

“Pfft. Tell you what, I’ll get in contact with all the villains on the patch to ask them to keep their hands to themselves when it’s coming up to the school holidays. Maybe a leaflet drop round all the houses would work for the ones who aren’t on the radar yet.” If only such a thing were possible and, if possible, effective. During every run up to an important family event, like a holiday or their wedding, Robin found himself worrying whether mayhem would break out in Abbotston or any of the local towns. As a result of which, all leave would get cancelled until the culprits were safely locked up.

“We’ll help you distribute them.” Adam patted the dog again. “I keep thinking that it’s been a while since you’ve had a complicated murder case to deal with and that our luck can’t keep going forever.”

“You’re tempting fate.” The last such occasion Robin had dealt with had been off their patch, when he’d been called in by his old boss to cover a team that was short-handed. This part of the world rarely saw killings that weren’t easily solved. All in line with his proven belief that you were most likely to be hurt by your nearest and dearest. “May I remind you what has a habit of happening when one of us says something like that?”

“Don’t remind me. You’re too good an officer, so I keep worrying that you’ll get whisked away to the other end of the country because the local police can’t cope or have all come down with it. Maybe when you’re handing out these flyers, can you print on them that any crimes that happen have to be within a thirty-mile radius?”

“Shall I start a blog and put my diary on it so the crooks know when they have to behave themselves? Maybe you want to put in a time frame where it would be acceptable for them to commit crimes?” Did other coppers have this kind of conversation with their partners or did his and Adam’s quirky sense of humour mean they were unique?

“That’s a great idea. Not sure your chief constable would approve, though. Campbell’s giving me a look of disapproval. Very law-abiding, this dog.” Adam tickled the Newfoundland behind his ear. “Is it wicked to hope that if you do have a major case to deal with soon, then it happens during this lockdown period, where it can’t get in the way of anything else?”

Not wicked so much as pragmatic. However . . . Robin addressed the dog. “Campbell, is your other dad hinting that he’s likely to get fed up of having me under his feet again?”

The question didn’t need a reply: banter like that had eased them through the previous lockdowns and any other occasions where they’d had no other company but their own. Being lovey-dovey all the time, with no jibes or jokes at your partner’s expense wasn’t in their repertoire.

The Newfoundland slipped away from his comfy perch on Adam’s legs, crossed the room, and rubbed his head against Robin’s hand, wagging his tail contentedly.

“He must have heard the magic word lockdown.” Adam shook his head. “Clearly looking forward to weeks of people being confined to barracks again. He loves it.”

Campbell had never been so fit and healthy as over the past year. They’d walked miles with him, singly or together, and when they’d been able to form a bubble with Adam’s mum, she’d volunteered to take him out. Ostensibly, this was so the lads could have a break from doggy parental duties and get on with the odds and ends they needed to do on their new home in Cranshaw, but Adam was in little doubt that it was really about being able to spoil the dog rotten. He also suspected the dog formed a useful excuse for her to stop and chat to people, getting the sort of contact that was proving difficult otherwise. Everybody wanted to ask about such a handsome hound, despite the fact they couldn’t get close enough to be favoured with his slobbery chops in their hands.

To bubble or not had caused some of their colleagues a lot of angst, but Adam and Robin had escaped lightly on that front. Despite Robin’s mum being widowed, they hadn’t needed to feel guilty about not choosing her, given that she’d already formed a bubble of her own with his aunt Clare. A more formidable duo than those two women was unimaginable; woe betide anyone who didn’t wear a mask or keep their distance when they got on the case. The government had no doubt missed a trick by not employing an army of retired women to make sure that everyone was obeying the rules.

Aunt Clare had a flat over at King’s Ashley, which reminded Robin . . . “Have you had any further thoughts about that headship at King’s Ashley Primary?”

“Yes. And no, I don’t think I’ll go for it.” Adam was still on the young side for taking over a school, and he reckoned the one he’d seen advertised there was going to be a poisoned chalice. It had gone through four headteachers in ten years, a stuck school that needed a big kick up the backside: anybody taking that over would either make their name as the genius who turned it round or be listed as yet another failure.

“I think that’s the right answer.” Robin hadn’t wanted to force the issue, given that he believed Adam would make a bloody great headteacher, even in such a challenging situation, and the school concerned was within easy travelling distance of their new home. But it hadn’t felt right, for whatever reason. Maybe his copper’s brain had filed away something he’d heard or read about the place, perhaps from Aunt Clare herself, which had left a definite don’t touch this with a bargepole impression.

“Oh, really? Is that why you’ve been so noticeably neutral about it?” Adam knew him too well. “Anything you want to share? A murderer on the board?”

“Nothing so concrete. If there had been, I’d have told you. Just a feeling that I’ve come across the place in the past, like the feeling I had about Aunt Clare’s Jeff.”

“That sounds ominous, given what your rozzer’s nose turned up then.”

Jeff had come on the scene the previous summer, his name ringing a worrying bell. It turned out he’d been a suspect in a peculiar burglary case back when Robin was a constable, and the months before Christmas had seen Abbotston’s finest—both Robin and his exceptionally efficient sergeant, Pru Davis—solving the cold case and clearing Jeff of suspicion in the process. Satisfying all round and further evidence that if Robin’s instinct was that something was worth investigating, it should be done.

“You know what’ll happen now, don’t you?” Adam continued. “You’ll get a case come up at King’s Ashley, and it’ll turn out to be centred on the school. Some ex-colleague of mine who’s the prime suspect, and I’ll have to sweet-talk him into giving me the golden nugget of a clue.”

Robin rubbed Campbell’s ears. “Tell your other dad that I don’t deliberately set it up for him to be involved in my cases. They seem to want to draw him in.” Too often to be healthy. “He shouldn’t have so many useful connections.”

“All my useful connections have dwindled to a handful of people with whom I have the occasional Zoom chat. Most of which end up being extremely awkward.” Adam stretched out his arms, yawned, then snuggled down.

“Are you having another nap?”

“No. I’m assuming my thinking position. Those Zoom chats had me wondering whether you can murder somebody over the internet. It’s been tempting at times.”

“Sounds like perfect fodder for one of these noir television series. From Norway or somewhere else on the Baltic.” Interesting concept, though. The internet had proved a breeding ground for old crimes in new variants—a con artist’s paradise—but Robin had yet to see that taken to its ultimate variation. Except in the hideous case of people being egged into taking their own lives. “Perhaps you should use the new lockdown to start writing a murder mystery. You have plenty of ideas.”

“I have my own tame technical advisor too.” Adam shook his head. “Nah. I know too much about what cases are really like to put down a made-up version. Too mundane, no good cop, bad cop anymore, not as much reliance on forensics as the fictional varieties portray. I could write a light-hearted version, though. A super-intelligent Newfoundland who solves mysteries that leave his owners—a sassy detective and a super-sexy teacher—totally baffled. Campbell the Clever Canine. Dougal the Dog Detective.”

“Hamilton the Holmesian Hound. Write it. You’ll make a fortune.”

Adam gave a contemptuous snort. “Oh yes? In what world do the majority of writers make a fortune? I used to know one through Lindenshaw church, and he always told people who wanted to write a book not to plan on giving up the day job.”

“See, you have all the connections. If I end up with a murder case that needs specialist publishing input, I know who to come to.”

Adam had provided specialist educational input in the past, along with tales of what it was like serving on a jury. Linking up with old pals, snitching on choir colleagues—Adam’s input to solving cases had gone above and beyond on occasions, including the time he’d joined an archaeology club simply to get Robin the information he needed. The bloke was a diamond.

Robin’s mobile rang, jolting him out his thoughts, bringing the unpleasant suspicion that they’d tempted fate again and this was indeed the station calling him in for a case that would interrupt the normal running of the Matthews-Bright household.

He suspected wrongly. It was work related but nothing worse than his ex-sergeant, Stuart Anderson, picking his brains about a series of armed robberies he was investigating. Now based at Hartwood, some two hours’ drive north, he still sought help from his old and—he professed—favourite boss.

“How’s he doing on his new patch?” Adam asked, when the call ended.

“He sounds happier than ever. Taken to Hartwood and environs like a duck to water, loving fatherhood, and full of praise for Rukshana Betteridge.” If Anderson had a soft spot for Robin, the man himself had a softer one for his former superior officer, the woman who had helped form the policeman he’d become.

“She’d have been happier if you’d relocated up there, but I guess she’ll find him a chip off the old block. As long as she doesn’t have to live with him—I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.” They’d accommodated Anderson temporarily when he’d had a domestic falling out, and it wasn’t an experience they’d hurry to repeat. “I was sure that phone call was the duty officer wanting you to come in and deal with some incident or other. It usually happens when we’ve been talking about it. Perhaps we should ban the subject.”

“Like we’ve banned Covid clichΓ©s? What would there be left to talk about?” A cushion striking Robin’s head showed what Adam thought of that.

*****

By the time January was nearing its end, the dreaded major case still hadn’t reared its ugly head. Irrespective of them tempting fate. Adam had settled into his new work routine and had started to keep an eye on the primary headships that were being advertised. There were still vacancies around, in this county and over the border into Hampshire, so all he’d need was one within a reasonable travelling distance of their home. If the right one came up, it wouldn’t hurt to give it a whirl, despite his not having many years as a deputy under his belt. Good interview practice if he got short-listed, if nothing else, and his experiences when they’d recruited a new headteacher at Lindenshaw would help. Poacher turned gamekeeper and all that. His existing boss, Jim Rashford, would give him a glowing reference, despite the fact he’d told Adam he didn’t want to lose him and would do everything he could to give him further responsibility and wider experience while still retaining his services.

They’d had a conversation that very Thursday morning about whether an acting headship for a term might be a good way to tick all the boxes. And if it was within the Culdover cluster of schools, Rashford would still have Adam’s brains available to pick. The headteacher had promised he’d get on to the county education department to register Adam’s interest, as they were always desperate for good people they could parachute into empty seats. Quite a pleasant prospect to consider as Adam drove home, ready for an evening of cottage pie and football on the telly with the two people he loved most in the world.

Robin’s car wasn’t there when Adam got home, which wasn’t unusual, given that the bloke didn’t necessarily keep regular hours, but seeing his usual parking space empty produced a hollow feeling in Adam’s stomach. Maybe Robin’s copper’s nose had rubbed off on him, and now he was sniffing something wrong. He pulled out his phone, saw that he’d forgotten to put the sound back on, so had missed Robin messaging him half an hour earlier. Adam decided to go into the house before he read the message. He could pretend it was because Campbell would have heard the car and would be straining to make a fuss over him or be made a fuss of; however, the truth was that he was a touch scared that this would be notification of another case. Worse still, a case that would take Robin halfway across the country again.

Adam got out of his coat, put down the stuff he’d brought home, fussed over the dog, and then gave himself a talking to. Fine bloody headteacher he’d make, not being able to read a text in case it carried bad news. He swallowed hard.

I’ll be late home. Have tea without me. We’ve got word of a murder in Kinechester. Not really our patch but guess what—bloody Covid has hit the team there so we’re taking over the case. I’ll tell you about it when I do get home.

Kinechester? That was a relief. The main county town—technically a city because of the cathedral, though neither of them were that large—was within easy travelling distance of their house, so Robin wouldn’t need to stay away. There’d been nothing about the murder on the local radio news, however, and when Adam checked the BBC site on his phone, the story only appeared as a report of a police incident in the Ramparts ward of the city.

Kinechester was an odd place. As the name suggested, it had been founded by the Romans, although the large Iron Age hill fort a couple of miles south of the city indicated the area had been occupied long before the legions came stomping in. The city centre still based itself on the great east-west and north-south roads, although very little of the original walls and gates now remained.

“Your average Roman would have recognised what’s for sale in the local shops,” Adam told Campbell, who seemed incredibly interested in his history lesson. Perhaps he was thinking of food, although olive oil, spelt flour, fish sauce and Italian wine were hardly his cup of tea. “A deli-worshipper’s paradise. You’d have had to develop a taste for falafels if we’d moved there.” The phone ringing interrupted their mutual love fest. “Hi, Mum. How’s life?”

“Busy busy. You wait until you’re retired. Never a moment to call my own, lockdown or not. What’s this I heard on the traffic news about avoiding the Ramparts because of a police incident? Houses prices there are so astronomical you wouldn’t have thought they’d have such things.”

“Now, why do you think I’d know what this is about?” Adam chuckled. “Or that I’d tell you if I did. Anyway, Kinechester has its rough areas. One of my pupils used to live on the council estate there, although his parents had plenty to say about the prices in the cafΓ©s. Arm and a leg for a coffee near the Ramparts. Poshest of the postcodes.”

It was an area of Victorian and Edwardian housing taking its name from a much-used, much-loved and much-envied open space that was riddled with humps and bumps. At some point in the past—allegedly during the civil war although nobody was quite sure—earthworks had been set up there and cannon stationed behind them to protect the city.

“It’s as well you didn’t move there, then.”

“Exactly.” Adam and Robin had strolled around the area in the run-up to the Christmas before last, when Robin had recently completed investigating a gruelling assault case and needed some fresh air. Somewhere far away from anywhere he’d visited for work. “Nice place to visit, especially the Christmas market and the restaurants, but beyond our means.” That had put paid to any idea they’d entertained of moving to the area. “Anyway, your maternal telepathy is spot on. Robin’s got the investigation, and that’s all I’m saying.”

“Isn’t that off his patch?”

Adam snorted, always amused when his mum broke into police slang. “It’s the bloody ‘rona.’ Hit the local team so he’s got to cover for them.” A sudden silence down the line. “Hello? Are you still there?”

“Sorry, dear. I was thinking about Robin. Kinechester’s a Covid hotspot, you know. Numbers off the scale. I . . . I hope he takes care of himself.”

Ah, so that was what the call was really about. his mum was obsessed with the latest data, able to tell you exactly which local areas had the highest infection rates. Less worried for herself or Aunt Clare than for her son and son-in-law, she said, especially with Culdover usually being another hotspot.

“He’ll be fine. The king of hands, face, and space.”

After the normal goodbyes, Adam ended the call to find Campbell staring up at him. He rubbed the dog’s ear. “Don’t you go worrying yourself, as well. Anyway, your other dad’s going to be late in, mate. Maybe past your bedtime. Maybe past mine.”

However, his partner would be snug at his side in bed in the wee small hours of the morning, alive and well. Which was more than could be said for the poor victim, whoever they were. Naturally, Adam could never help worrying whether Robin would make it through a case intact—hell, the man had been threatened at gunpoint in their old kitchen. But, despite that and other incidents, they’d all three managed to get through unharmed. So far.

His mum’s phone call had left Adam feeling strangely uneasy, though. A gun or a knife were visible dangers; you couldn’t see this bloody bug. We’ll have to dodge that viral bullet too.



Adam Matthews's life changed when Inspector Robin Bright walked into his classroom to investigate a murder.

Now it seems like all the television series are right: the leafy villages of England do indeed conceal a hotbed of crime, murder, and intrigue. Lindenshaw is proving the point.

Detective work might be Robin's job, but Adam somehow keeps getting involved—even though being a teacher is hardly the best training for solving crimes. Then again, Campbell, Adam's irrepressible Newfoundland dog, seems to have a nose for figuring things out, so how hard can it be?



Charlie Cochrane
As Charlie Cochrane couldn't be trusted to do any of her jobs of choice - like managing a rugby team - she writes. Her favourite genre is gay fiction, predominantly historical romances/mysteries, but she's making an increasing number of forays into the modern day. She's even been known to write about gay werewolves - albeit highly respectable ones.

Her Cambridge Fellows series of Edwardian romantic mysteries were instrumental in seeing her named Speak Its Name Author of the Year 2009. She’s a member of both the Romantic Novelists’ Association and International Thriller Writers Inc.

Happily married, with a house full of daughters, Charlie tries to juggle writing with the rest of a busy life. She loves reading, theatre, good food and watching sport. Her ideal day would be a morning walking along a beach, an afternoon spent watching rugby and a church service in the evening.


EMAIL:  cochrane.charlie2@googlemail.com



Lock, Stock, and Peril #6
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