Curse of the Blood Fiends by P.J. Thorndyke

Foremost of them is Arthur Francis, the squire who lost a gamekeeper to the gun of the condemned man when he was come upon one night at his traps. He stands upon the cart with his hands bound behind his back and makes not a sound as the executioners fix a hood over his head and slip the noose over it, tightening it, cutting him off from the only world he has ever known.īeyond the crowd some select members of the landed gentry sit astride their horses, watching the execution with interest. He is young, swarthy and has a refined look to his features that suggest a bloodline not always accustomed to scratching a living by raising sheep and trapping game by moonlight. The condemned man is a poacher not an altogether unsympathetic character in the eyes of many who deem the game laws of rural England grossly unfair to the common man. No doubt many of the spectators knew the unfortunate man and, either to voice their protest at his execution or to satisfy a morbid fascination by the ending of a life, they gather around the hanging tree a broad oak that has no doubt been used for the purpose many times before. There is a moderate turnout from local dwellings.

The scene the reader is invited to imagine is not an uncommon one in the wooded parks of manor estates. His scenes of lumbering country life so wonderfully spoken in oil are no doubt familiar to the reader, but the countryside so endearingly referred to as ‘Constable Country’ is not without its shadows, nor are Constable’s paintings without a touch of foreboding in their grey clouds.īeyond the slouched farmhouses with their gushing waterwheels and mossy fences we might catch a glimpse of something darker a poacher setting his traps perhaps, or an act of violence in some back lane or, on some occasions, a hanging.

Here we might see the hay wains ambling along country roads against a backdrop of golden hills, gently turning watermills and pleasant villages picked out by their church towers that catch the fading light.īut words fail to paint a scene as well as the brush of that English master John Constable, whose brilliant canvases decorate the museums and manor halls across the country. The county of Essex is generally considered at its best on sunny afternoons, when dusk is an hour or so off and the field labourers are thirsting for the evening’s first cool draught of beer. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.įor Maia for her constant encouragement and my parents for their unwavering support Prologue James’s ‘The Mezzotint’)Īll rights reserved. The Visitor at Anningley Hall (a prequel to M.

The Visitor at Anningley Hall – A prequel to M.

Curse of the Blood Fiends by P.J. Thorndyke