19 Oct R J Lloyd Burning Secret #HistoricalFiction #FamilySaga #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub #CPBC @rjlwriteruk @cathiedunn

FEATURED AUTHOR: R J LLOYD

I’m delighted to welcome R J Lloyd as the featured author in The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour held between October 9th – 20th, 2023. R J Lloyd is the author of the Historical Fiction Burning Secret, published by Matador on May 24th, 2022 (384 pages).

Below are highlights of Burning Secet,  R J Loyd’s author bio, and an excerpt from his book.

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2023/09/blog-tour-burning-secret-by-r-j-lloyd.html

HIGHLIGHTS: BURNING SECRET

Burning Secret
by R J Lloyd
(Blurb)

Inspired by actual events, Burning Secret is a dramatic and compelling tale of ambition, lies and betrayal.

Born in the slums of Bristol in 1844, Enoch Price seems destined for a life of poverty and hardship-but he’s determined not to accept his lot.

Enoch becomes a bare-knuckle fighter in London’s criminal underworld. But in a city where there’s no place for honest dealing, a cruel loan shark cheats him, leaving Enoch penniless and facing imprisonment.

Undaunted, he escapes to a new life in America and embarks on a series of audacious exploits. But even as he helps shape history, Enoch is not content. Tormented by his past and the life he left behind, Enoch soon becomes entangled in a web of lies and secrets.

Will he ever break free and find the happiness he craves?

Influenced by real people and events, Enoch’s remarkable story is one of adventure, daring, political power, deceit and, in the end, the search for redemption and forgiveness.

Buy Links:

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/brBBOZ

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Burning-Secret-R-J-Lloyd-ebook/dp/B0B21XJM3Q/

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Burning-Secret-R-J-Lloyd-ebook/dp/B0B21XJM3Q/

Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/Burning-Secret-R-J-Lloyd-ebook/dp/B0B21XJM3Q/

Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/Burning-Secret-R-J-Lloyd-ebook/dp/B0B21XJM3Q/

AUTHOR BIO: R J LLOYD

After retiring as a senior police officer, R J Lloyd turned his detective skills to genealogy, tracing his family history to the 16th century. However, after 15 years of extensive research, he couldn’t track down his great-great-grandfather, Enoch Price, whose wife, Eliza, had, in living memory, helped raise his mother.

It was his cousin Gillian who, after several more dead-ends, called one day to say that she had found him through a fluke encounter. Susan Sperry from California, who had recently retired, decided to explore the box of documents given to her thirty years before by her mother, which she had never opened. In the box, she found some references to her great grandfather, Harry Mason, a wealthy hotel owner from Florida who had died in 1919. It soon transpired that Susan’s great grandfather, Harry Mason, was, in fact, Enoch Price.

From this single thread, the extraordinary story of Harry Mason began to unravel, leading R J Lloyd to visit the States to meet his newly discovered American cousins, and it was Susan Sperry and Kimberly Mason, direct descendants, who persuaded R J Lloyd to write the extraordinary story of their ancestor.

R J Lloyd graduated from the University of Warwick with a degree in Philosophy and Psychology and a Masters in Marketing from UWE. Since leaving a thirty-year career in policing, he’s been a non-executive director with the NHS, social housing, and other charities. He lives with his wife in Bristol, spending his time travelling, writing and producing delicious plum jam from the trees on his award-winning allotment.

Author Links:

Website: www.lloydfamilyhistory.co.uk

Twitter: https://twitter.com/rjlwriteruk

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/roger.lloyd.948

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rjlwriteruk/

Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.co.uk/R-J-Lloyd/e/B0B4KHGHXZ

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/61333266-burning-secret  

EXCERPT: BURNING SECRET

Dawn revealed London’s skyline of steeples and majestic rooftops. A dusting of snow had fallen silently during the early hours.

Enoch stirred himself. Stretching, he tried to rid his bones of the stiffness that had set in overnight. He had spent the last few hours unobserved in a dark alcove secluded in the corner of the inn. He hadn’t slept but felt rested all the same.

The bar, empty of its conviviality and devoid of its usual inhabitants, echoed every sound, and as the building cooled, its ancient timbers creaked and twisted eerily. The room was airless and fetid with the sour odours of stale ale, cheap tobacco and spent adrenalin. Detritus from the night’s event was randomly scattered: broken bottles, food- smeared plates, a discarded top hat, a muddy right boot perched precariously on a chair. For reasons that may never be known, a torn lady’s undergarment hung from a hook on the wall, and a bull terrier, bitten and bloodied from baiting, lay dead near the locked side door.

A small grey mouse in search of morsels scuttled from one hiding place to another. Two vagrants, who had secreted themselves about the premises before the tavern was bolted shut, searched the tables, swilling back stale dregs from half-empty tankards while keeping a sharp eye for lost coins and other flotsam dropped by careless owners. Having had their fill, they settled near the dying embers of the log fire to sleep off their pickings.

Whiling away the hours before first light, Enoch reflected on the evening’s prizefight. It had been a rare spectacle. Crowds had gathered early and thronged the dimly lit alley where the fighters would punish each other until exhausted. The thrill and excitement of the promised aggression infected the commotion, whipping up a bellowing force of roaring hysteria.

It began on the stroke of midnight to a tumultuous cry, which could be heard as far as Charing Cross. Each fighter, half-naked and glistening with sweat and oil, began slowly, testing each other, eager to avoid the embarrassment of a schoolboy error and the humiliation of an early knockdown. They chasséd around each other, mimicking the elaborate courtship of exotic birds. But once the first stinging, bare- knuckle jabs found their mark, the battle was joined in earnest. Spectators, inflamed by the smell of blood and the pitiless violence, bayed like a pack of hounds.

Conor tore into his opponent, clawing, butting and splattering blood with callous savagery. The younger lad retaliated with equal brutality, viciously hitting low and repeatedly battering Conor’s ribs with such force the crack of a bone was heard above the howling mob. Wounded and gasping for wind, Conor slowed and stepped away.

A man in the garb of a market porter, in danger of losing more than he could afford on the defeat of his favoured boy, broke free from the crowd and crashed headlong between the contestants. A gang of roughs, slashing and stabbing with blades, quickly extinguished the foolhardy intervention, a desperate attempt to give his champion time to recover, but the purpose was served, provoking an outbreak of angry scuffles and a free-for-all amongst opposing supporters.

During the melee, Conor’s midriff was tightly bound and, regaining his composure, combat resumed. The younger boy, sensing he had weakened his adversary, launched a remorseless, pounding onslaught. Conor withstood the withering assault, replying with crashing hammer blows about the boy’s head, opening a gash across an already swollen and lacerated cheekbone.

In desperation, his opponent thrust and gouged a thumb into Conor’s eye and, in the torturous grapple, bit and ripped half Conor’s ear from his head. Spitting it out, he again lunged forwards, butting his head with destructive force into Conor’s nose, splitting it asunder and spraying blood and snot over those in proximity.

Enoch had watched as Conor faltered and, deliberately lowering his guard, opened his defence. This was the cue. Conor was beaten to his knees where, without pity, the boy kicked and stamped him to the ground with feral cruelty.

The alley reeked of the sordid stench of sweat, gore and vomit. This was the attraction and entertainment enjoyed by street urchin, navvy and aristocrat alike. It was what they’d come to witness. Conor took a bloody beating, but he was a good lad and had done his work well, in the end, going down convincingly. Enoch consoled himself with the thought that Conor was young and would soon heal, returning a few months later when, with malice, he would take his revenge.

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