In the spotlight today is Lady of Lincoln: A Novel of Nicola de la Haye, the Medieval Heroine History Tried to Forget (The Nicola de la Haye Series Book 1) by Rachel Elwiss Joyce

Lady of Lincoln: 

A Novel of Nicola de la Haye, the Medieval Heroine History Tried to Forget

(The Nicola de la Haye Series Book 1) 

By Rachel Elwiss Joyce

Publication Date: February 27th, 2026

Publisher: Hedgehog Books

Page Length: 462

Genre: Biographical Historical Fiction / Medieval Historical Fiction

A true story. A forgotten heroine. In a time when women were told to stay silent, could she become the saviour her people need?

12th-century England. Nicola de la Haye wants to do her duty. But though she’s taught a female cannot lead alone, the young noblewoman bristles at the marriage her father has arranged to secure her inheritance. And when an unexpected death leaves her unguided, the impetuous girl shuns the king’s blessing and weds a handsome-but-landless knight.

Harshly fined by Henry II for her unsanctioned union, Nicola struggles to salvage her estates while dealing with devastating betrayals from her husband… and his choice to join rebels in a brewing civil war. Yet after averting a tragedy and gaining the castle garrison’s respect, she still must face the might of powerful men determined to crush her under their will.

Can she survive love, threats, and violent ambition to prove she’s worthy of authority?

In this carefully researched and vividly human series debut, Rachel Elwiss Joyce showcases the complex themes of honour, responsibility, and freedom in the story of a remarkable heroine who men tried to erase from history. And as readers dive into a world defined by violence and turmoil, they’ll be stunned by this courageous young woman’s journey toward greatness.

Lady of Lincoln is the gritty first book in the Nicola de la Haye Series historical fiction saga. If you like richly textured female heroes, courtly drama, and fast-paced intrigue, then you’ll adore Rachel Elwiss Joyce’s gripping true-life tale.

Praise for Lady of Lincoln:

"Joyce’s vivid prose and masterful storytelling immerse the reader deeply into the emotional landscapes of her protagonists, making their struggles and triumphs resonate long after the final page has been turned. This debut is not only impressive in its narrative depth but also remarkable in its ability to evoke thought and reflection long after the final page is turned."

~ The Coffee Pot Book Club 5* Editorial Review

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Rachel Elwiss Joyce

After a rewarding career in the sciences, Rachel returned to her first love—history and the art of storytelling. Fascinated by the women history neglected, or tried to forget, she creates meticulously researched, emotionally resonant fiction that brings her characters’ stories vividly to life.

Her fascination with the past began early. At six years old, she was already inventing tales about medieval women in castles, inspired by her treasured Ladybird books and other picture-rich stories that transported her to another time. By the time she discovered Katherine by Anya Seton as a teenager, she knew the joy and escape that only great historical fiction can bring.

Rachel’s two grown-up children still tease her (fondly) about childhoods spent being “dragged” around castles, archaeological sites, and historical re-enactments. For Rachel, history and imagination have always gone hand in hand.

There was, however, a long gap between the stories of her childhood and her decision to write her own novel. The spark came when she discovered the remarkable true story of Nicola de la Haye—the first female sheriff of England, who defended Lincoln Castle against a French invasion and became known as “the woman who saved England,” Rachel knew she had found her heroine, and a story she was destined to tell.

Rachel lives in the UK, where she continues to explore the lives of women who shaped history but were left out of its pages.

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In the spotlight today is Infidel: The Daughters of Aragon (Six Tudor Queens) by Nicola Harris

 

Infidel: The Daughters of Aragon 

(Six Tudor Queens)

By Nicola Harris

Publication Date: 5th March 2026

Publisher: ‎Independently Published

Print Length: 268 Pages

Genre: Biographical Historical Fiction | Tudor Fiction | Historical Fiction

Born in the glittering courts of Castile and Aragon and forged in the shadow of war, Catalina de Aragón grows up surrounded by queens, rebels, and explorers. She is her mother’s last daughter, the final jewel of a dynasty built on conquest and faith, and the one child Isabella of Castile cannot bear to lose.

But destiny has already claimed Catalina.

Promised to Prince Arthur of England since childhood, she is raised to bind kingdoms, soothe old wounds, and carry the hopes of an empire across the sea. Yet, Spain fractures under rebellion, grief, and the ruthless zeal of its own rulers.

From the burning streets of Granada to the storm lashed Bay of Biscay, Catalina and her sisters must navigate a treacherous path shaped by ambition, betrayal, and the dangerous love of men who fear the power of queens. She learns to read cyphers, to read hearts, and to stand unbroken even as her childhood is stripped from her piece by piece.

And when she finally sails for England armed with her mother’s lessons, her father’s steel, and the ghosts of the Alhambra at her back, Catalina steps into her fate not as a girl, but as a force.

A princess.

A survivor.

A daughter of Aragon.

Infidel is the story of a young woman raised for greatness and destined to reshape the fate of nations. This is Catalina, as she has never been seen before. She is fierce, vulnerable, and unforgettable.

A sweeping, intimate portrait of sisterhood, survival, and the making of a dynasty, Infidel reveals the hidden lives of a woman whose courage shaped the Tudor world.

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Nicola Harris

I’ve always been a writer, but it was only when illness forced me to stop everything that I finally had the time to write a novel. After decades of misdiagnosis, I learned I was born with a serious genetic condition, not rare, but profoundly misunderstood. The clues were there from birth, and suddenly, a lifetime of struggle made sense.

Writing became my lifeline: a way to step beyond my pain, to shape my experience into a story, and to find meaning where there had once been only endurance.

I have a lifelong love of children, Counselling, and Psychotherapy Theory and history.

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In the spotlight today is Bride of the Devil: Agnes, Wife of Robert de Belleme by J.P. Reedman

Bride of the Devil:

Agnes, Wife of Robert de Belleme

Medieval Babes

By J.P. Reedman

Publication Date: August 4th, 2025

Publisher: independently published

Pages: 248

Genre: Historical Biographical Fiction / Medieval Fiction

She is a great heiress; he is the wickedest man in Normandy.

Known to men far and wide as 'The Devil,' Robert de Belleme terrorises France alongside his equally fearsome mother, Mabel the Poisoner. But even a Devil needs an heir, and Mabel chooses the wealthy heiress Agnes of Ponthieu to be her son's bride. The marriage is unhappy, though the longed-for son and heir is eventually born...but when Robert is away on one of his military campaigns, Agnes flees back to her father's castle.

She is not safe; her young son William is not safe.

The Devil will seek to claim his own.

BOOK 13 IN THE MEDIEVAL BABES SERIES.

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J.P. Reedman

J.P. Reedman was born in Canada but has lived in the U.K. for over 30 years. Interests include folklore and anthropology, prehistoric archaeology (neolithic/bronze age Europe; ritual,burial & material culture), as well as The Wars of the Roses and the rest of the medieval era. Novels include the popular  I, Richard Plantagenet series about Richard III, The Falcon and the Sun (featuring other members of the House of York), and Medieval Babes, an ongoing series about lesser-known medieval queens and noblewomen.

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Read an excerpt from Sarah’s Destiny (The Ancestors) by Vicky Adin

Sarah’s Destiny
(The Ancestors)
By Vicky Adin

Publication Date: April 9th, 2025

Publisher: AM Publishing New Zealand

Pages: 354

Genre: Historical Fiction / Women's Historical Fiction

Young Sarah Daniels is the heart, soul and future of The White Hart Inn on the Welsh Back. Alongside the quay and wharves on Bristol’s floating harbour, she dreams of finding love, and a destiny where she can escape the drudgery and tragedy that life usually delivers Victorian women. But dreams are free, and few share her ideals. When reality strikes, and Sarah learns the hard way that life is unkind, one man offers her hope.

Through many decades of heart-aching loss, false promises and broken dreams, the young widow clings to that one hope. With six children to care for, she takes risks few others would consider. She breaks conventions and makes sacrifices to keep that hope alive.

Will her wishes come true, or is she destined to be another unfortunate in the sea of many?

Excerpt

Early one morning, a few weeks later, while readying for the breakfast crew but before she’d unbolted the main doors, she heard screams like nothing she’d heard before. 

Terror-struck, she ran towards the kitchen. She could smell burning as smoke wafted into the corridor, and knew they were in serious trouble. As she ran through the kitchen door, she was met by a wall of fog. She raised her arm instinctively to protect her eyes, trying to see what had happened. Embers from the cooker lay on the stone floor and flames were starting to eat at the wooden table. 

“Ma? Molly? Where are you?” she shrieked at the top of her voice. 

From a distance, somewhere towards the outside door, she heard Molly shouting. “Outside. Out back.” 

“Stay there!” ordered Sarah.

“Oh, whatever shall we do?” Molly wailed. 

Overtaken with black smoke, Sarah began to cough. She backed out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. She reached for the leather fire bucket they kept by the stairs and threw water at the door to damp it down. Then she rolled up the floor rug and stuffed it into the gap to prevent the smoke escaping. 

Muttering to herself, her thoughts raced ahead. “Hope that holds. For now. Must call the brigade. I can’t lose this place. Not now. I’ve got to save it. I just have to.” 

Bucket in hand, she raced into the taproom, gathered up a second pail, and tried to unbolt the door. 

“Come on, you stupid thing!” she cried, frustrated that it hadn’t slid easily the first time. Wasting precious seconds, she put the buckets down and used two hands. Finally, the bolt freed, she again grabbed the buckets and ran around into the alley that took her to the rear of the building. Breathless, she was glad to see Ma safely sitting on a stool well away from the kitchen wall. Molly was throwing water ineffectually from the trough into the doorway. 

“We need a chain of people, Molly. Go sound the alarm. Make sure the brigade’s been called and send people this way.” 

“I sent Ada. They should be on their way.”

Sarah nodded as she repeatedly filled the bucket and tossed water as far into the kitchen as possible. She doused the door and frame. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear Ma shouting, and in that moment an extra jolt of panic surged through her. Where was JJ? He should have been with Ma. 

Shortly after, people arrived, and men took over the front position. Bucket after bucket was passed from hand to hand, but from her now safe position at the back she feared they wouldn’t save much, but hoped they might save the upstairs. She prayed the door in the stone wall held, between the main part of the building and the kitchen. 

The clanging of bells and the clop of hooves announced the arrival of the fire engine. 

“Step out of the way, lady,” said one of the uniformed firemen, pushing her aside. “Let the professionals do their job.” 

The adrenaline that had kept Sarah going drained away as soon as the pump was going and the hose began to make short work of the fire. Smoke billowed everywhere, irritating eyes and throats, and visibility was minimal. Suddenly, Sarah’s earlier sense of panic returned as she realised she had no idea who had JJ. 

“Ma,” she called croakily, breaking into a spasm of coughing. “Ma?” She tried again, her throat burning with the effort. She felt her way along the wall to where she remembered seeing her mother last. “Ma?” she sobbed. 

“I’m here,” Betsey finally answered, sounding a lot further away than Sarah thought. “Where are ya, girl? I need ya to help me. I can’t see for all this smoke, and it’s hurting my lungs.” 

“I’m here, Ma,” Sarah said, finally reaching Ma, her eyes red with weeping as she struggled for breath. 

“Give me an ’and and ’elp me up.” 

Taking hold of Betsey’s arm, Sarah helped her mother to her feet. “But Ma, where’s JJ? I can’t see him. I must find him!” 

“He’s fine. I sent him round to Mary’s.”

 

Sarah sucked as much air into her lungs as she could, almost sobbing with the pain. “On his own? Why? He’s not safe on his own. He’s only four.” 

“Phht! He’ll be fine. It’s only round a corner or two. He knows the way and he’s much better there than here.” 

Sarah had to agree he was safe at Mary’s – if he got there.  “I have to go check, Ma. I have to see him.” 

“What for?” she snapped but, after seeing her daughter’s face, capitulated. “Al’right. Off with ya then. Molly’ll help me.” 

Sarah picked up her skirts and began to run, but within moments was forced to stop. Bent over nearly double, she struggled to breathe as a coughing fit took hold. Using the walls of the houses for support, she made her way to her sister, her mind arguing with her instinct. She needed to see for herself that her boy was safe. 

Shortly, Mary’s door opened before her. Sarah stepped into the gloomy hall searching everywhere for JJ. “He’s in the kitchen, sis. And perfectly well,” said Mary. 

Sarah hurried down the corridor and, seeing the child sitting on a stool at the table, swept him up into her arms. “Mama’s here now, JJ. You’re safe, my boy. You’re safe. Thank God.” 

JJ started squirming and wriggling but Sarah didn’t care. She clung on tightly, even while scenes of the devastation at The White Hart, awaiting her return, played on her mind. “I can’t lose you. I can’t. I wouldn’t survive if anything happened to you.” 

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Vicky Adin

Like the characters in her books, Vicky has a passion for family history and a love of old photos, antiques, and treasures from the past. After researching the history of the time and place, and realising the hardships many people suffered, Vicky knew she wanted to write their stories. Tales of love and loss, and triumph over adversity. Her latest release, Sarah’s Destiny, Book 1 of The Ancestors series, is inspired by a true love story set in Bristol.

Vicky particularly enjoys writing inter-generational sagas, inspired by true stories of early immigrants to New Zealand, linked by journals, letters, photographs, and heirlooms.

She’s an avid reader of historical novels, family sagas and women’s stories and loves to travel when she can. She has a MA (Hons) in English and Education. Her story of Gwenna won gold in The Coffee Pot Book Club Women’s Historical Fiction Book of Year in 2022 and several of her books carry the gold B.R.A.G medallion.

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Read an excerpt from Another Soul Saved by John Anthony Miller

Another Soul Saved 

By John Anthony Miller

Publication Date: April 1, 2026

Publisher: Independent

Pages: 415

Genre: Historical Fiction

Vienna, 1941

Monika Graf, the wife of a wealthy Austrian military commander, steals two Jewish girls from the Nazis—a crime often punishable by death. With soldiers in rapid pursuit, a homeless Jew named Janik, a mysterious man who lurks in the shadows, helps her escape.

Unable to have children of her own, she finds a new purpose in life—rescuing Jewish children from the horrendous Nazi regime. She asks the Swiss for help, trading military secrets she gleans from her husband for the lives of Jewish children. With Janik’s continued support, she also enlists Father Christoff, a priest at St. Stephen's Cathedral coping with unexpected emotions and doubting his commitment to God. Monika quickly forms bonds that can’t be broken, feelings exposed she never knew existed. 

Relentlessly pursued by Gestapo Captain Gustav Kramer, Monika combats continuing risk to her clandestine operation. When her husband, a rabid Nazi, returns from the battlefield severely wounded, she gets caught in a cage that she can’t crawl out of.

Wrought with danger, riddled with romance, Another Soul Saved shows humanity at both its best and worst in a classic struggle of good versus evil.

  Excerpt  

Chapter 2

Father Christoff Engel had just walked out the north door of St. Stephen’s Cathedral when he heard the gunshot. Screams came from the crowded plaza; children started to cry. People dove to the ground, trying to protect themselves while others hid by buildings. Faces appeared in upper-story windows as curtains parted, pulled aside.

A man lay on the ground, surrounded by soldiers. When a second shot never came, the screaming dimmed to a murmur, and people slowly rose from the ground. A crowd started to gather as Christoff moved toward the victim. He was stopped by a short man in a Gestapo uniform, a red band with a swastika wrapped around his right arm. 

“Father Christoff,” Captain Gustav Kramer said as he pointed to a side street past the plaza. “Who is that woman with the black hair?” 

Christoff saw her hurry down the street with two little girls. She turned as she left the plaza, looking back over her shoulder. It was Monika Graf, one of his favorite parishioners. 

“Have you seen her before?” Kramer asked.

“I didn’t get a good look at her,” he said, suspecting she was in trouble. One of twelve priests at St. Stephen’s, he was almost forty with brown hair and kind eyes, his life devoted to serving God.

“She’s either very courageous or an impulsive idiot,” Kramer uttered as the woman merged with pedestrians.

Christoff eyed the captain warily. “Why would you focus on her when a man has just been shot?”

 Kramer didn’t reply. “She won’t get far,” he said. “I’ll make sure of it.” 

“She’s already gone, Captain,” Christoff said. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I said it does,” Kramer replied. He called to a soldier across the street. “Sergeant, come here.”

“Captain, she’s only walking down the street,” Christoff said. “Why harass her?”

“She has two Jewish children with her,” Kramer said.

Christoff pointed to the Jews waiting at the emigration office. “It’s not a crime to associate with Jews,” he said. “They’re all over the city.” 

Kramer turned to face him. “The two children were caught stealing, and she helped them escape.”

Christoff frowned, not sure if he believed him. “Stealing what?” 

“Bread,” Kramer said. “They were cleaning the street as punishment.”

They were interrupted when the sergeant arrived, a stocky man with a rifle slung over his shoulder. “What did you want, Captain?”

Kramer pointed to the side street. Monika Graf was a block away, barely visible. “A woman with black hair ran down that street with two Jewish girls.”

“Captain, she took them for their own safety,” Christoff said, struggling to maintain his composure. “A man was shot only meters away.”

Kramer ignored him and addressed the sergeant. “Find the woman and bring her to me. Take one of your men with you.”

“Captain,” Christoff said, making one last attempt. “Why—”

“You tend to mass, Father,” Kramer said, as he moved toward the dead man. “I’ll take care of the Jews and whoever tries to help them.”

Christoff didn’t reply. He didn’t want to risk the captain’s ire. He followed him to the corpse. He was young, barely a man, his eyes closed forever. Blood stained the back of his jacket, its footprint growing as it oozed from his body and dripped to the street.

“What happened?” Kramer asked the soldiers gathered around the body.

“He was warning those waiting in line, sir,” a soldier said, pointing to the Jews at the emigration office. “He said that they were being tricked and that they would all be forced into work camps.”

“When we tried to arrest him, he ran off,” a second soldier added.

Father Christoff made the sign of the cross. He clasped his hands together and whispered a prayer for the fallen man’s soul. When he finished, he turned away, unable to look.

Kramer eyed him with amusement. “You seem disturbed, Father.” 

Christoff refused to be intimidated. “Will this be the norm now, Captain?” he asked. “Murdered men lying on our cobblestone streets?”

“The norm is what I say it is,” Kramer said. “He had to be shot, Father.”

“For what, may I ask?” Christoff probed.

“Subversive activity, treason, trying to start a riot,” Kramer said and then shrugged. “I could name a dozen crimes.”

“Are words voiced in haste always punishable by death?” Christoff asked.

Kramer smirked. “Father, he’s a Jew. Why do you care?”

“Because he’s a child of God.” 

Kramer shrugged. “Some claim we do God’s work by ridding Vienna of vermin.”

Christoff scoffed, disgusted by the hatred that consumed so many. “Who would make such claims?” he asked. “None that I know.”

“Spare me, Father,” Kramer said, rolling his eyes. “He’s not even human.” He pointed to a woman walking her dog. “He’s no different from an animal. Neither has a soul.”

“But he does have a soul, Captain,” Christoff said. “And he didn’t deserve to be shot.” 

“He was shot so others know right from wrong.”

“The Lord teaches us right from wrong,” Christoff said. “Not you.”

“A new day has dawned, Father. And the sooner you accept it, the easier your life will become.”

Christoff hesitated. He shouldn’t argue with a man who stood by the devil’s side, but he couldn’t help himself. “I’ll never understand, Captain,” he said. “Not men like you or what you stand for.”

Kramer leaned closer. “You don’t have to understand, Father. You only need to obey.”

Christoff frowned. “Just because my eyes are closed, doesn’t mean I cannot see.”

Kramer chuckled. “A profound statement, Father,” he said. “An excellent example of why Vienna loves your sermons. They’re eloquently delivered and steeped in philosophical discourse.”

“They’re lessons in life,” Christoff said, feeling like he had to defend himself. “I offer what we all think but don’t have the courage to say.”

“It’s best to say little,” Kramer advised. “It’s safer—priest or not.”

Christoff recognized the veiled threat. “God will judge us all, Captain,” he said. “Including you.”

“Enough,” Kramer said. He turned toward the corpse and the soldiers around it. A timid crowd huddled just beyond them. The three Jewish women still scrubbed the street, afraid to stop, and the line of Jews waiting for visas slowly nudged forward. He looked down the street where the woman with the black hair had gone with the two Jewish children.

Father Christoff watched him as he looked for Monika Graf. But she was gone, melting into the streets of Vienna. “Forget her, Captain,” he said. “If she did commit a crime, as you claim, it’s of little consequence. 

“I’m more intrigued by her brazen behavior,” Kramer muttered as he stared down the side street. “She seized two Jewish children from a dozen soldiers and two policemen.”

“She did what had to be done,” Christoff said.

“If she’s that courageous, what else is she capable of doing?” Kramer asked. 

“You’re fighting the wrong war, Captain,” Christoff said as he turned to leave. “I must go. I have the Lord’s work to do.”

“Wait, I have a task for you, Father.”

Christoff tilted his head. “What might that be?”

“I want you to find the woman who rescued the two Jewish girls.”

Christoff rolled his eyes. “Captain, I don’t know who she is,” he said. “Why not leave her alone?”

“Because I’ve decided to use her as an example, so no one ever does what she did.”

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John Anthony Miller

John Anthony Miller writes all things historical—thrillers, mysteries, and romance. He sets his novels in exotic locations spanning all eras of space and time, with complex characters forced to face inner conflicts—fighting demons both real and imagined. He’s published twenty novels and ghostwritten several others, including Another Soul Saved. He lives in southern New Jersey.

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Read an excerpt from Lucie Dumas by Katherine Mezzacappa

Lucie Dumas

By Katherine Mezzacappa

Publication Date: March 30th, 2026

Publisher: Stairwell Books

Pages: 278

Genre: Historical Fiction

London, 1871: Lucie Dumas of Lyon has accepted a stipend from her former lover and his wife, on condition that she never returns to France; she will never see her young son again. As the money proves inadequate, Lucie turns to prostitution to live, joining the ranks of countless girls from continental Europe who'd come to London in the hope of work in domestic service.

Escaping a Covent Garden brothel for a Magdalen penitentiary, Lucie finds only another form of incarceration and thus descends to the streets, where she is picked up by the author Samuel Butler, who sets her up in her own establishment and visits her once a week for the next two decades. But for many years she does not even know his name.

Based on true events.

Excerpt

I have been a femme entretenue, a flagellant, a penitent, a streetwalker, an inhabitant of night houses, a demimondaine. In some of these manifestations I have passed sometimes as one of my respectable sisters. But whatever I have been called, I am a whore. The rules are different for such as I. 

To begin with I would look from the window when a gentleman was leaving, to see Brigid waiting patiently at the corner, but deliberately far from a streetlamp even on dark days. Another ten minutes would pass before she came up. She told me it was because she did not want to see me in déshabillée, not at five o’clock in the afternoon. I told her that English gentlemen expect to be helped into their coats by her, and their walking sticks and hats handed to them by someone wearing a maid’s apron. It was quite a different matter when she had the dressing of me at nine in the morning, because I passed my nights alone. It is some time since I have woken up beside a man; not since that house in Covent Garden. I would not want the baker to encounter any of my callers on the stairs, nor they any of the baker’s little children on their way to Princes Street Board School. Besides, my callers are usually expected at home for dinner. 

It is from Mr Jones that I first heard about Miss Savage, who wanted to marry Monsieur, only Miss Savage was plain and walked with a limp and in any case Monsieur did not wish to be wed. I was relieved at this, though I felt sorry for the poor lady too. It is not that I ever thought Monsieur would marry me. This I learned early on in Paris. Not even the presence of my little boy – our little boy I should say – was any guarantee of his father’s affection. That I am in London at all is only because it was the sole means I had of ensuring that my Théodore should be provided for – provided for on pain of never seeing his mother again. Am I a mother still? I have no idea. I do not know if Théodore lives. All I know is that in relinquishing him, he may have had a chance at life. No, I am a woman no gentleman would wed, though when I paced Islington with Elise and Rachael the greater part of the men who followed me up to that dingy room wore a wedding ring or had the indent on a finger to show that a ring had been hastily removed (this I think was more about a struggle with their own consciences than any consideration of my thoughts on the matter). You see, if Miss Savage were to have wed Monsieur I could well have been dismissed, and if I wasn’t, and Miss Savage found out about me, then knowledge of my existence would have reduced her maiden dreams to ashes. A woman of my position in life is always expected to be mindful of the sensibilities of respectable ladies. We are to know of their existence, but they are not to know of ours. Any sufferings of my own moreover must be borne in silence, for not only do I no longer have Elise or Rachael to confide in, but a woman of my character has foregone the right to womanly feelings. So the nuns in that refuge told me, anyway. 

Miss Savage died, and of course Monsieur was filled with remorse. He came to visit me by his usual appointment, but remained in his chair, one hand atop another, and talked at me about her for an hour. I was not required to do anything but emit the occasional sound to indicate that I listened. He got up, thanked me, and told me he would let himself out. 

I wondered if he would come back. He did. I wondered too if anyone would speak of me when I am dead. But to whom?

Illustrations: Lucie’s two long-term lovers, Samuel Butler and Henry Festing Jones

Samuel Butler, c. 1858

Wikimedia Commons, Dutton, NY, 1920.

Henry Festing Jones, painted by Samuel Butler, 1882

Wikimedia Commons: Public Catalogue, St John’s College, Cambridge

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Katherine Mezzacappa

Katherine Mezzacappa is Irish but currently lives in Carrara, between the Apuan Alps and the Tyrrhenian Sea. She wrote The Ballad of Mary Kearney (Histria) and The Maiden of Florence (Fairlight) under her own name, as well as four historical novels (2020-2023) with Zaffre, writing as Katie Hutton. She also has three contemporary novels with Romaunce Books, under the pen name Kate Zarrelli. The Maiden of Florence was shortlisted for the Historical Writers’Association Gold Crown award in 2025 and has also been published in Italian.

Katherine’s short fiction has been published in journals worldwide. She has in addition published academically in the field of 19th century ephemeral illustrated fiction, and in management theory. She has been awarded competitive residencies by the Irish Writers Centre, the Danish Centre for Writers and Translators and (to come) the Latvian Writers House.

Katherine also works as a manuscript assessor and as a reader and judge for an international short story and novel competition. She has in the past been a management consultant, translator, museum curator, library assistant, lecturer in History of Art, sewing machinist and geriatric care assistant. In her spare time she volunteers with a second-hand book charity of which she is a founder member.

She is a member of the Society of Authors, the Historical Novel Society, the Irish Writers Centre, the Irish Writers Union, Irish PEN / PEN na hÉireann and the Romantic Novelists Association, and reviews for the Historical Novel Review. She is lead organiser for the Historical Novel Society 2026 Conference in Maynooth, Co. Kildare.

Katherine has a first degree in History of Art from UEA, an M.Litt. in Eng. Lit. from Durham and a Masters in Creative Writing from Canterbury Christ Church.

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