Evil Uprooted - Chapter 1
Read the first chapter of Evil Uprooted, my upcoming historical novel [Release March 26, 2026]
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And afterwards, by my good father taught,
I read, and loved the books in which I read;
For books in every neighbouring house I sought,
And nothing to my mind a sweeter pleasure brought.
The Female Vagrant, William Wordsworth
England, 1815
Chapter 1
A DYING MAN
It is often discovered that fate has a relentless way of finding those who wish to remain lost. The ghosts of the past always manage to sneak into dreams, into sounds, into the very air we breathe, even if one pretends or believes to have been set free by the passage of time.
But time is as relentless as fate.
In the quietude of her cottage, Catherine Ashfort poured tea into her chipped cup, her eyes fixed upon the window. To any casual observer, she might have appeared to be enjoying the serenity of the forest, her modest garden, or the embrace of her isolated abode. This presumption could not be further from the truth.
There were moments when the dialogue of birdsong, the contest of the waves or the conversation of leaves offered her solace. Today was no such day. Catherine’s eyes ceaselessly scanned for any sign of movement, and she envisioned this ominous figure emerging from the depths of the forest, hungry for revenge and eager to claim her undeserved peace. Tranquillity, just like life, is a fragile thing that can be broken by anyone who means to shatter it. Meaningful things are easily destroyed; it is why they are meaningful in the first place, and this lesson is often learnt after suffering a great loss.
The reason Catherine failed to accept the embrace of this fine spring morning was a feeling – a sickness – one she had inherited from her father, who had also suffered from visions and warnings created by his own mind.
She turned away from the window. After finishing her tea and buttered bread, she ventured into her garden and collected berries. Felix, her ever loyal shadow, found himself a spot in the gentle sun, eyes half-closed in contentment. Her affection for this little companion, who had come with the cottage, was boundless. The fox had appeared as soon as she had moved into the house.
The sun had climbed higher when a familiar, light-footed patter interrupted the young woman’s reverie. She looked up from her work and spotted Tommy who, with the urgency of a boy late for supper, scurried up the path to her cottage, his face flushed with excitement. Felix lifted his head lazily, one ear twitching in acknowledgement of the boy’s arrival.
‘Miss Catherine!’ Tommy cried, waving a crumpled piece of newspaper. ‘There’s news! Big news!’
Catherine wiped her hands on her apron and rose to meet him. ‘What has you so breathless this morning?’
Tommy handed her the paper. ‘It’s from the village. Everyone’s talking about it. Napoleon’s been defeated at Waterloo!’
Catherine’s heart reacted strangely. Napoleon’s name still carried a tinge of fear and awe. She unfolded the paper, her eyes dancing over the words. Indeed, it was true. The British, led by the Duke of Wellington, and their allies had finally triumphed over the French emperor.
‘The battle took place in Belgium, just a few days ago,’ Tommy said. ‘They say it was fierce, but we won, Miss Catherine! Napoleon’s finished for good.’
Catherine’s mind raced as she absorbed the news. The end of the war was a notable event, one that would ripple through every corner of Europe.
‘And what are the villagers saying now?’ Her voice sounded steady despite the turmoil inside.
‘They’re celebrating, mostly. It will take a while for the soldiers to return home, they say, but everyone’s hopeful,’ Tommy replied.
Catherine nodded. The war might be over, but the personal battles were far from finished.
She managed a faint smile. ‘The end of the war is something to be grateful for.’
The boy’s face lit up. ‘My father says it’ll mean the end of hard times for many of us.’
She placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Your father is right. This will change many things, but we must be cautious and prepared for what lies ahead.’
Tommy nodded earnestly, though the significance of her words might have been lost on him. ‘I will keep my ears open in the village and let you know if I hear anything else. Will you celebrate with us?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘If you went out more, you might fall in love, and then you wouldn’t have to live alone anymore.’
Being only nine years of age and filled with enthusiasm by nature, the child did not hold back in stating his opinion. He had come to love Catherine deeply, and they had shared countless moments in the garden, the cottage and the forest.
‘I’ve told you before, Thomas, that I will never marry. I’m perfectly fine on my own. And I am not alone, am I? You visit me almost every day.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Catherine. I want you to be very happy.’
She smiled. ‘I am happy,’ she said, ‘as long as you keep visiting me.’
‘We are the best of friends, aren’t we?’ he said, glowing with joy.
‘Yes, we are.’
When Reginald Evans, the village physician, had spoken to Thomas about Catherine’s cottage by the sea, he had taken the boy to her, and Thomas had been charmed by the house and the woman who occupied it. His visits had grown more frequent, and soon he came by every day. Catherine needed Thomas’s joy, just as he needed her warmth, for Mr and Mrs Whitaker were as frugal with their love as with their money, having to take care of six other children.
As Tommy ran off and his footsteps faded into the distance, Catherine stood alone in her garden and allowed the weight of the news to settle. She looked at Felix, now dozing contentedly as the boy’s words sat beneath her skin. Catherine grasped the garden fence, for she was suffering from a violent throbbing within her chest. Was she about to have another one of those horrible visions?
The hills swallowed Thomas Whitaker. She loved the boy too dearly to blame him for upsetting her – he didn’t know her invisibility was the one thing keeping her alive.
Thomas helped her with deliveries to and from the village of Wickbury, and the innocent and joyful boy reminded her that there was still goodness to be found in this world. She only left her home to see Reginald, the village physician, and his daughter, Eloise.
Felix sensed her distress and pushed his head against her leg. She knelt and buried her fingers in his auburn fur. Any bystander would have marvelled at the sight of the woman and the creature, one starved of love, the other offering it.
Would they take Napoleon’s head? Many people in France had met their end under the blade of the horrible machine they called the guillotine. Though the dreaded instrument of death, which allowed Man to play God, had not reached English shores, its infamy was well-known; it was a symbol of the terror that had gripped France during the Revolution and the ensuing chaos of Napoleon’s rise. Once the conqueror of Europe, Napoleon Bonaparte was now a prisoner once more, awaiting his fate.
Her hands no longer trembled; her little companion had managed to calm her nerves as if by magic.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and she knew that he understood.
Catherine had always wondered how one could hunt and harm animals. It should come as no surprise; people were capable of killing their own kind in the name of a greater good, but true greatness should never be built upon the spilling of blood. That was what Catherine Ashfort truly believed. Greatness was to help others and save lives.
Back inside, Catherine was surprised to once again distinguish the hurried footsteps of Thomas.
‘I forgot to tell you the other news,’ he cried as he stepped inside.
She smiled. ‘Quickly, tell me.’
His expression turned sombre. ‘It’s Mrs Abernathy. She’s taken ill again.’
Catherine frowned. Mrs Abernathy was known in Wickbury for her special treatments. It was said that she had helped more than a handful of women to get rid of their unwanted child. She also offered remedies for broken hearts and failed relationships and knew how to converse with the dead. Or so they said.
‘What is it that Reginald needs?’
He handed her a crumbled note with nearly undecipherable handwriting.
She opened the cabinets and handed him a jar of chamomile and dried eucalyptus.
Anyone who entered Catherine’s cottage would only find the necessary items: a fireplace with a sofa, a table, a small kitchen and a bedroom where the window was covered by a linen fabric she had embroidered with flowers. She had made the blanket that covered the bed out of leftover pieces. She earned her money repairing clothes, creating pieces of art with nature, and making bars of soap with flowers and herbs.
Today, the smell of freshly baked bread hung in the air.
Tommy was about to run off with the provisions but stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, staring into the garden.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked with concern.
Tommy held the jars clutched against his chest as if they could offer protection. ‘There’s a man out there.’
Catherine nearly collapsed onto the wooden boards. If young Thomas had taken a moment to look at her, he would have dreaded the sight of her pale complexion.
She clenched her fists. ‘Run home, and do not look back.’
‘But what about the man?’ He looked up at her in dismay. ‘He’s dying.’
Some words hold the power to nurse us back to life. For Catherine, it was one particular word that made her stumble to the door, her fear forgotten.
Dying.
She stepped into the light.
A man had collapsed near her fence, amidst a field of wildflowers.
Thomas frowned. ‘Won’t you help him, Miss Catherine?’
England, 1815
In the shadow of Waterloo’s aftermath, the forgotten village of Wickbury finds itself within the grasp of evil. A deadly plague is spreading through the streets, and whispers speak of a rare and unproven flower as the only hope for salvation. While desperation grows, darker things take root—secrets, rivalries, and the stirrings of forbidden love start to bloom.
French spy and Bonapartist Jean-Luc Beaumont finds himself drawn to Catherine Ashfort, a woman hiding from a past she’s sworn to forget. In the village we meet the headstrong Eloise Evans, who dares to dream of a life society denies her, while Edward Hastings finds himself torn between duty and love.
Past and present collide and old wounds reopen, and the fate of Wickbury may rest not only on a cure, but on the courage of those who dare to defy what is expected.
I couldn't stop reading, your words and plot captivated me! I can't wait to read your new book.
I’m so excited to read this but I can’t find it available anywhere online for preorder. I live in Canada. Will it be available at Blackwell’s? :)