To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a thinly disguised bodice ripper where an “empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical romance novel. Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. ’ He added on a teasing note, ‘Though if there’s anything suspicious we can always get the key from Pottiswick. All who lived there aspired to be something greater, all who lived there had hope, even the slaves! Oh, Lucia, if you could have seen the Parthenon, or attended the plays at the Athaneum, you would know why I loved it there. Little Anna screamed and thrashed as she was torn from Lucy’s skirts. ’ ‘How do you know?’ Lucilla repeated, almost as sceptical as her intended spouse.
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