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THREE FOLD DEATH
The Charlotte Blood Chronicles Book 2
BY VICTORIA DOWD
Blurb
Charlotte Blood is about to discover the dark side of obsession in this gripping mystery.
A team of archaeologists claim to have found the tomb of the original warrior Queen of the Britons – Boudica.
It’s the story of the century and investigative journalist Charlotte Blood wants nothing more than to get the inside scoop.
But Charlotte is not the only one hunting for the truth. Other journalists are also eager to find out if this is, in fact, the legendary queen’s final resting place. Instead of a find of great historical significance, they discover something far more disturbing and horrifying waiting inside the two-thousand-year-old tomb.
Charlotte is faced with unravelling the mystery of the Threefold Death, a unique sacrificial killing involving murder by drowning, stabbing and hanging. As she grows closer to discovering the killer, perhaps the question she should be asking is whether she will be the third victim …
Filled with history, mystery, and a daring main character, Threefold Death will appeal to both history buffs and crime aficionados.
THREE FOLD DEATH
The Charlotte Blood Chronicles Book 2
BY VICTORIA DOWD
Excerpt
PROLOGUE
The sky is too crowded with stars tonight, sharpened by winter’s cold. A whole universe is watching in soundless sorrow as this woman passes over into her afterlife. Once loyal, worshipped and brave, she is no more than a name consigned to the past, one that could be lost forever. Victory.
A cool wind feathers the surface of the marshes, stalking its way towards these lonely figures. It is a stark landscape they suffer. A salt-hard land. Bewitched, some say. Others say it was her who did the bewitching. And not without good cause.
So the witch will rest here. Her body was carried in silence through the stone cut doorway. Inside, is a suspended darkness. They are crossing over into a new realm now, into a liminal place so abstracted from the world beyond that the rest of life is forgotten. A final resting place they will call it. But one not meant for her. This tomb was prepared for another. The perfect place to hide her. Interred in a stone room, she is deprived the rich pageantry of a funeral. Mosaics adorn the ceiling, stippled with stars amongst the outline of gods, no more than mere ghosts to bring her company. The remembrance of burnt offerings still clings to the air, mingled with the coppery spice of her blood. She will rest where gold and treasures were, sealed away, waiting for that day when those who never heard her voice in this life, nor saw her face, will break through into her realm, releasing her name once more to wander amongst the living.
Her discovery will ring out. A death knell.
For some, a curse.
Until then, she rests in this black silence. Waiting for discovery.
CHAPTER 1
LONDON 1930
Wonderful things
‘Blood! You’re late.’ Charlotte knew the stout voice of Fulman before she even saw him. His fleshy face shone with sweat. Forever caught in a frown, the lines on his forehead gave him a carved look, as if someone had started chiselling him a face but grown bored halfway through.
‘Aha,’ Mrs C approached from the left flank and thrust out a hand. ‘You must be the big boss man.’
Fulman glanced down with disdain at the extended hand. ‘And I take it you’re the infamous Mrs C.’
She laughed and grabbed his arm. ‘Got it in one, old man.’
‘The woman whose trip I’m paying for.’
Mrs C paused, raising a speculative eyebrow. ‘Wouldn’t want Miss Blood wandering the fields alone now, would you? You never know what lies out there in the dark depths of Norfolk.’
‘Mrs C is invaluable, sir,’ Charlotte said keenly. ‘She saved my…’
‘Blood,’ he snorted, and ran a finger beneath the winged collar in an attempt to let more air in. He was not a man who was at ease with evening dress. Standing here, amongst this sedate soiree at the British Museum, he looked about as genteel as a tank driving through Royal Ascot on Ladies’ Day. ‘I don’t care. Take your landlady with you if you must.’
‘She’s very much more than just my—’
‘Get mingling. Find things out.’
‘Things, sir?’ Charlotte rounded her eyes. ‘What things?’
He scrutinised her before leaning in and lowering his voice to a menacing note. ‘Things our readers want to read, Blood. That’s the usual idea. Use your initiative. Some of those old coins sold for a fortune last week. This stuff is priceless!’
‘A priceless fortune.’
Something like a growl surfaced from him. ‘Grab a little bit of all this… this Druid nonsense and bloody well sprinkle some gold dust on it. Boadicea is coming home!’
‘Boudica, sir.’
His face bunched so tight a thick line appeared between his eyebrows. ‘What?’
‘Her name. Hard ‘c’. Not…’ She caught another wave of his irritation. ‘Nothing, sir. It was just something I read.’
‘Blood, you’re damn lucky to be here. This is a closed dig you’re going on. There’s hardly any press allowed.’
‘A closed dig, sir? I—’
‘Did you read any of the file?’ He didn’t wait for a response. ‘Only those closely associated with the excavation are allowed anywhere near the place. Just the main archaeologists and a very limited number of press. Something about not wanting the media circus there was around all that Egyptian malarky. I don’t know.’
‘You mean the discovery of Tutankhamun?’
‘Blood, I don’t care if they discovered God Almighty—’
‘I don’t really think—’
‘For the purposes of this, you can just imagine that that is me. They’re only letting in a select number of journalists and unbelievably you are on the list.’
‘Sir, I did just have a major story break with the Ravenswick—’
‘Your only major story. In this game, it’s the next one that counts, not the last one. Sell me some papers. Do you hear, Blood?’ He tugged at the black tie that was knotted so tight under his chin it gave his face the appearance of a pink fleshy balloon fastened at the bottom.
Charlotte stood to attention and clipped her heels on the floor. ‘Yes, God.’
His face flushed with anger.
‘I mean, sir.’
Fulman let out a long sigh as if the air was starting to leak out of a puncture somewhere on him. The glass of champagne appeared miniature in his ham knuckle fingers. He downed it like it had to be got rid of. ‘Sell me papers!’ was his parting shot before he strode back into the fray, a corpulent general heading back into battle.
‘Charmer.’ Mrs C puffed an ostrich feather out of her mouth that had strayed from the edges of her extraordinary shawl. It stuck in the thick coral-pink lipstick like the fronds of a fossilised plant.
‘Charmer or not, he’s paying my wages so we need results.’ Charlotte surveyed the room. ‘Let’s divide and conquer. Find out more.’ She smoothed down her perfectly symmetrical dark bob. As she moved, the metallic sequins of her green dress rippled like a snake’s skin, catching the light and sending droplets of white spangling out across the glass cabinets. It was a fun-time kind of cocktail dress designed with the idea of dancing, shimmying and partying until dawn. No one had this kind of place in mind when they put it together, that was for sure. But Charlotte had promised herself the Worth dress as soon as she’d received the first instalment of her new salary. It had been a long time since she’d slipped on a brand-new dress without having to worry about Mrs C’s stitching holding up. Tonight was a night to stand out and Charlotte certainly did that amongst the old fox furs and pearls. An event to celebrate the discovery of a tomb was not one for the usual bright young things.
A waiter drifted through the hum of the party holding a tray of cocktails and champagne aloft whilst studiously avoiding any eye contact. Charlotte took a glass and held it to her lips, her eyes scanning the crowded room over the rim. London’s finest guestlist milled around the museum’s gallery, eagerly caught in conversation between the rows of display cases as if awaiting curtain up for the latest West End show. They mingled amongst the exhibits, a glimpse of gold and a selection of broadswords appearing briefly between the richly clad bodies. Charlotte and Mrs C passed cordially through the room, nodding occasionally and acknowledging the glances passed in their direction.
Charlotte looked down into an exhibit of broken pottery. Some swords had been placed alongside the remains of a lost household, a random selection of objects with no one left to grieve their owners.
The fine brooch looked like it could have been lost yesterday. Although the purported owner of this particular item was a queen according to the small description beside it. ‘Found in a field in Norfolk. Possibly belonging to Boudica, Queen of the Iceni.’
‘Fortis et liber,’ she read from the tarnished brooch. Even Charlotte with her schoolgirl knowledge knew this meant brave and free. Perhaps she had been. There was a lot to learn about this woman they were about to unearth.
About Author Victoria Dowd…
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Links to Victoria’s websites, blogs, books, #ad, etc.:
Amazon: https://amzn.to/4cGmOQB
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