Nationalité : Royaume-Uni
Né(e) à : Darlington
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Né(e) à : Darlington
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She was born and grew up in Darlington, England, attending a local comprehensive and a boys' public school in the sixth form. She studied Russian and German at the University of Cambridge.[1]
Her directorial work includes documentaries, TV films, children's television (e.g. Numberjacks for the BBC), radio and museum voiceovers.[2][3][4][5][1]
She is best-known for her writing. She received a commendation in the National Poetry Competition in 2005. In 2007, she won the Daily Telegraph's 'First thousand words of a novel competition', and this became the opening of her debut work, Instruments of Darkness.[1] Most of her novels are set in the late 18th century and feature the tenacious detective pairing of Mrs. Harriet Westerman, a dynamic Sussex landowner, and her neighbour Gabriel Crowther, an anatomist of quiet renown hiding a baronial past. Robertson has been a candidate for the CWA Historical Dagger three times, for Circle of Shadows, Island of Bones and Theft of Life.[6][7][8] She has co-written three novels: she wrote King of Kings with Wilbur Smith;[9] she collaborated with US screenwriter Darby Kealey (a writer for Patriot) under the pseudonym 'Imogen Kealey' for Liberation, a World War II thriller about French resistance and SOE operative Nancy Wake, which is currently in movie production with Anne Hathaway as the lead character.;[10][11] she wrote another thriller, The House, with former deputy leader of the Labour Party, Tom Watson.[12][13]
She lives in London with her husband.[1]
+ Voir plusShe was born and grew up in Darlington, England, attending a local comprehensive and a boys' public school in the sixth form. She studied Russian and German at the University of Cambridge.[1]
Her directorial work includes documentaries, TV films, children's television (e.g. Numberjacks for the BBC), radio and museum voiceovers.[2][3][4][5][1]
She is best-known for her writing. She received a commendation in the National Poetry Competition in 2005. In 2007, she won the Daily Telegraph's 'First thousand words of a novel competition', and this became the opening of her debut work, Instruments of Darkness.[1] Most of her novels are set in the late 18th century and feature the tenacious detective pairing of Mrs. Harriet Westerman, a dynamic Sussex landowner, and her neighbour Gabriel Crowther, an anatomist of quiet renown hiding a baronial past. Robertson has been a candidate for the CWA Historical Dagger three times, for Circle of Shadows, Island of Bones and Theft of Life.[6][7][8] She has co-written three novels: she wrote King of Kings with Wilbur Smith;[9] she collaborated with US screenwriter Darby Kealey (a writer for Patriot) under the pseudonym 'Imogen Kealey' for Liberation, a World War II thriller about French resistance and SOE operative Nancy Wake, which is currently in movie production with Anne Hathaway as the lead character.;[10][11] she wrote another thriller, The House, with former deputy leader of the Labour Party, Tom Watson.[12][13]
She lives in London with her husband.[1]
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‘Sagar, Adona, Egolo, Catan, by our Lord and God, by His holy angels, by the Light of the World, I ask you to come to us. Show what is hidden, tell the truths concealed, open the tomb, pull back the terrible veil of night, and let the dead speak …’ Her voice begins in a sing-song, then sinks to a low, guttural command. It no longer sounds entirely human. Her eyes are half-closed. One of the women opposite begins to tremble and the light flickers again. The strange floral scent in the air has grown stronger. The girl in blue lifts her head and the table starts shaking violently then settles, suddenly. The girl’s companions are as white as she now. The older woman has started to recite the Lord’s Prayer very quietly.
‘Masked! He said he would help me. I did not feel … Things were wrong. I was frightened …’ He suddenly gasped and his eyes widened. For a moment it seemed to Krall there was some sense there. ‘Where is my wife?’ Suddenly the young man had thrown himself across the table and grabbed at the lapels of Krall’s coat. Krall heard a movement behind him and lifted his hand, telling the guard to keep back. The Englishman’s blue eyes were glittering, feverish, an inch from Krall’s own. ‘Where is my wife?’ There was a strange tang to his scent. Something floral.
The Englishman was still dressed in Carnival costume, in the chequered blue and yellow motley of the Fool. He seemed to notice this as Krall watched him, and rubbed the cotton with his fingers. His wooden mask lay on the table between them with its wide carved grin, a nose long and hooked like a beak. ‘There was a party.’ Krall blew out another lung-full of smoke. ‘Yes, there was a party. It is Festennacht, Carnival.’ The young man had a slight smile on his lips. He began to sing under his breath. ‘Girl, come to my side, pretty as milk and blood.’
‘I found him, and I pulled the knife out and then I meant to throw the money away so it got bloody from my hand . . .’ his voice was whining, ‘but I needed it, Charles! I could not throw it away. It was the other man, the—’ ‘The man whom no one has seen.’ Charles’s voice was hard. ‘No one, Addie! The man you only conjured in your mind when you found you had neither the courage to take your own life, nor stand trial for the crime. If you had not retracted your confession, there might have been some mercy for you.’ ‘But I didn’t do it!’
When Charles could look up again, he saw the body being rolled into the coffin. A man he knew vaguely from the College of Anatomy took a seat on its lid like a dog guarding a bone. Would the men he knew feel troubled about dissecting the body of his brother? Perhaps a little, briefly. But bodies were valuable. He had taken no steps to prevent their taking it. Adair had been wearing the same buff coat and silk waistcoat he had worn the previous evening; they would belong to the hangman now.
‘What a little life I have had, Charles,’ he said. ‘And now I am afraid to lose it.’ Charles picked up the decanter and filled his brother’s glass again. His own was still full. He set it back down on the table between them and returned to his contemplation of the fire without replying. ‘How can it be I shall be dead tomorrow at this time? I cannot imagine it – I cannot.’ Adair then downed the contents of his glass. His voice quivered. ‘Can nothing be done? Can you do nothing?’
‘What will they say of me when I am gone, Charles? Will they say anything, as they lose the money they won from me at the card table? Perhaps they will laugh. They used to laugh at me. I would be so sure of winning, I wore my coat turned inside out for luck, and each night they would ask if I were certain of my success, then laugh at me – but I was sure, I was sure every time. I only needed a hundred, and it seemed like such a simple thing. Oh God! Will it hurt, Charles?’
‘I do apologise for keeping you waiting, brothers!’ There was a scraping of chairs as two men in dark coats got to their feet. Herr Professor Dunktal closed the door behind him, pulled a signet ring from his pocket, then placed it on the third finger of his right hand. Turning back to his companions, he held it out. They bowed over his hand and kissed it with reverence. It was a small chamber, little more than a closet, so the three men found each other uncommonly close.
Charles did have something of the parson in his manner. It was his dark-coloured clothing and the severe planes of his face, his cold eyes that made even those passing him in the street feel examined, judged, and keen to pass on. A woman, swinging her fat hips down from the highest benches, also noticed him, his hands lying empty on his lap before him, and took the chance, as she reached the lower level on which he sat, to thrust one of her pamphlets between them.
THE ROOM IS DARK, lit only by a single candle on the surface of a rough wooden table. The air is perfumed, like church, and heavy with the heat of the day now gone. On one side of the table sits a woman, hardly more than a girl, in a dark blue dress. A gold cross glints at her throat. Her hair, black as pitch and combed to a sleek shine, frames her face and hangs loose over her shoulders. Her face is white and thin. She looks up and smiles.
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