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Enrico Albyvendie

by Colin Peck

252 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #04-1185; ISBN 1-4120-3358-6; US$22.50, C$25.77, EUR18.50, £13.00

Organised terrorism strikes in the quaint world of Edwardian London.

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about the book      about the author      excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book A small corner of working class London in the early part of the twentieth century is the opening setting for the story of a young music hall entertainer, Enrico Albyvendie. From his background as a penniless orphan, he eventually becomes an accomplished conjurer and illusionist but struggles to make a living in the itinerant world of Vaudeville. To supplement his modest income he has a bizarre part time job working for a well known and respected psychic medium. He also gets involved in marketing a unique health elixir with a show business friend, typical of the quack cures that were popular in Edwardian England. In the meantime and unknown to Enrico, sinister forces are also at work as a grossly inefficient German spy ring is actively engaged in attempting to blackmail a politician for naval secrets. Not content with this, they are also engaged in a diabolical plot to kill thousands of ordinary civilians as the storm clouds of World War I begin to gather. Enrico is one of the few young men of his generation who are not able to serve their country on active service. As an innocent bystander, he becomes personally involved with these events and his life becomes a strangely mixed adventure of tragedy, wealth and eventual happiness. Front cover illustration by Marika Berkeley. 'Published by Trafford in association with Evansyde Associates.'

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About the Author Colin Peck was born in London in 1946 and grew up in a working class environment during the austere post war years. He was fortunate to get a place at Clarendon School and went on to study chemistry, working in his early career in the technical departments of an international oil company. He started writing several years back, having some short story fiction published in the U.S. and has written factual articles on both nautical and espionage matters, published both in the U.S. and U.K. 'Enrico Albyvendie' is his first novel, inspired by his lifelong interest in London's history and an intricate knowledge of the London taxi trade. Together with his wife Avril, he retired to live in Spain in 2000 and is currently working on the sequel to this book.

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Excerpts

It was a bitterly cold day in London on Friday the 10th January, 1890 and by noon the temperature was still only just above freezing. A swathe of silvery grey mist hung over the city and was particularly dense to the north west of Oxford Street, getting even denser toward the outlying areas of Paddington's watercress beds.

Slowly and gripped by the cold, the populace went about their everyday business, the tradesmen and the office workers, the builders and the lawyers, together with the army of others who made the capital city of Queen Victoria's empire function day after day.

An empire, the territories of which spanned the world and whose trade and government directly involved this great city and brought wealth and prosperity to so many of its people.

As ever, there were the poor. There was work to be had, but only for the fit and able and even then good fortune may not smile upon all of them. Every slum area had its criminals, its sick and weak, down and outs and the drunks. Social cripples all, struggling to exist let alone live, on their wits and charity lest they fall completely by the wayside and probably meet the grim reaper well before their time.

Mario was one such social cripple, a young Italian man who had settled in London with his small family, hoping to find work or good fortune but instead had failed miserably away from his native Naples and had turned to drink when his wife had died.

Living close to the thriving community near Paddington Station, Mario at first begged for money for food outside the busy terminus but then drank the proceeds in the shadow of the coal wharf wall while his dependents struggled to survive each day. His eldest son, Enrico now ten years old, had decided this Friday to go and find his father late in the afternoon and had Mario recognised Enrico and raised his bottle to him before taking a swig and then suddenly lurching into the road. It was obvious that he was completely drunk and out of control and just then Enrico shouted at him desperately to move back to the safety of the pavement.

A horse drawn cab approaching from behind was gathering speed, Enrico saw the drivers attention distracted by a kerbside argument and Mario was in the path of the huge nearside wheel. Enrico dashed forward to save him but Mario slipped and went down under the wheel before the boy could pull him clear and after passing over Mario's head it bounced and passed over Enrico's right leg and broke it.

Several women passing by screamed and the traffic came to a standstill as a police constable hurried from across the road and a small crowd gathered. Enrico managed to sit up and looked at his father, Mario's eyes staring vacantly skywards while his head rested in a widening pool of blood and even in death, his hand still reached for the smashed bottle.

From Chapter Nine

Starting slowly as usual, the pointer began to move with Ella's and Enrico's fingertips resting on top as it settled on 'M'. Enrico looked up at George in anticipation but did not have to ask him if it was correct when he saw the look on his face.

"Go on," George said quietly. It had indeed started correctly.

The pointer moved to 'O' and this time Ella began to think twice about the phenomenon when she too glanced at George who now stood next to them in an anxious pose with his arms crossed.

The pointer moved again, erratically for a second or two and George thought that the odds were surely too great but realised that they were not as it settled again on 'O'.

"Moo?" Ella remarked.

"Go on," George was resigned in his tone by now.

"N", Enrico intoned. George was dumbfounded, his eyebrows arched.

"I bet its moonbeam!" Ella was determined to belittle the process. "No, moonshine!" she laughed easily after the three glasses of champagne.

"It's not over yet, is it George?" said Enrico. "No, go on."

The pointer moved on after Ella checked that Enrico was not applying too much pressure and even George got on his knees to observe closer its movements across and around the board. "Path," Ella finally said as the last letter was indicated to an astounded George and an unsurprised Enrico. "Moonpath, George?" Enrico looked at his whitening face. "Yes, that's correct. Incredible. You didn't know it, did you, honestly?" "Certainly not. Didn't know it existed!" Enrico finished his drink in one swallow. Ella was unusually stuck for words. There was no way she could laugh off this result. "Shall we try another one?" she finally managed to say. "No thanks,"Enrico had seen enough of a Ouija board for the second time in his life. "Nor me," George agreed. "The odds against you two knowing that are ridiculous. I know when I'm beat! If she doesn't!"

"I'm off, it's late." George gathered up his white silk scarf and top hat, "I'm getting a cab back to my hotel." He had been amazed and it was in the tone of his voice .

George went on his way and then Enrico struggled to bolt and lock the old wooden stage door in the hazy glow of the gas lamp on the wall.

Ella followed Enrico as they made their way along the narrow paved passage way toward the road and Enrico was about to remark about the light sea mist when there was a piercing scream.

They both stopped in their tracks and Enrico turned first as the scream was coming from behind them. It stopped abruptly, just as they began to run back down the alleyway and around the corner toward the shops in the lane behind the theatre. Enrico had managed to get in front and glanced along the first alley to the right. Half way along, just next to some dustbins that belonged to the 'Jolly' jams and preserve shop, lay what appeared to be a bundle of rags, in a widening circle of blood. Both of them approached with trepidation, a just visible limp hand indicating that it was obviously a body and on closer inspection they saw it was that of a young female with long blonde hair. Ella gasped and Enrico recoiled visibly from the dreadful sight of the slit throat, oozing bright red blood onto the cobblestones. The victims outstretched palm held a few crumpled one pound notes and then Enrico recognised the face.

Reviews

'Wow- what a great book. Fabulous book - I would reccomend it to anyone! The setting is wonderfully described , the book appears to have been written by a passionate author, and this is felt in the style in which the book is written- is he (the author) a first timer?A great read. Get it , and now! Keep up the good stuff Colin Peck!'
-from a reader in Glasgow.

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Catalogue Information

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