And I confess I often cry.
5th March 2026 by | Uncategorized
This is an extract from my second novel, The Wolf of Whitehall. The odd thing about writing is that when one of your characters dies, it feels like a real loss. And I confess I often cry.
He felt the warmth of her tears on his hand. It comforted him more than any draft the surgeon could mix.
The room grew dimmer. The candles wavered. Each breath cost him more to draw. He could no longer feel the weight of his own body, only the pressure of her fingers and the faint ache of love in his chest.
‘You must not be afraid,’ he said, though his voice was no more than a breath. ‘You are stronger than you know. Tell the boys… tell them their father died with his face to home.’
‘I shall tell them,’ Marg said. ‘But you shall tell them yourself when you wake.’
He watched her for a long moment, drinking in every detail. Then, with effort, he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a last, lingering kiss upon it.
‘Remember,’ he whispered. ‘Wherever I fell, I would have died in England. Here is as good a place as any.’
His eyes closed. His chest rose once, twice, and then no more.
The wind rattled the shutters. Somewhere in the orchard, an apple, overripe and forgotten, thudded softly to the ground.
Richard Williams, nephew to Thomas Cromwell, died in his own bed, in the county that had made him. The place of his grave would never be recorded in parchment, but his wife and children would know. And that, in the end, was all that mattered.
Gemma
Author: The Reflection in the Mirror & The Wolf of Whitehall (To be published shortly)
www.murderinthetower.london