Burning Secret, Excerpt by R.J. Lloyd

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.

Excerpt

An hour later, Price escaped the dark, rancid claustrophobia of the crowded court and stepped briskly into the weak, late afternoon sunlight, which had penetrated low along one side of Portugal Street. Wrapping his rough, woollen overcoat tight against the bitter cold, he turned to shake Rosenthal by the hand, thanking him heartily for securing a further adjournment and reprieve from prison.

Taking Enoch’s outstretched hand, Rosenthal pulled him near to avoid being overheard. His mellifluous tones now turned venomous as he hissed a cautionary note. ‘My dear, dear friend, I may have delayed your lodgings at the debtors’ prison, but I’ve shortened your stay by not one day.’ Releasing his grip, Rosenthal continued as if cheerfully taking leave of a favourite cousin on a summer lawn. ‘May I wish you and your dear wife a prosperous New Year.’ Then, lowering his voice, ‘Should my services be again required, ensure my fees are settled in good time.’

‘Will I be assured of justice?’ enquired Enoch.

‘You will receive the law, sir. Justice must wait a higher authority.’ Tipping his silk top hat, Rosenthal bade his client farewell.

Glad of his freedom, Enoch made his way towards Covent Garden. By the time he reached King Street, the milky afternoon sky had darkened to deep indigo, and by the flickering gaslights, specks of frost sparkled on the damp cobblestones. The gutters were strewn with litter from the flower market and the putrid detritus discarded by itinerant costermongers, the last of whom were loading their barrows. The streets were now quiet, with few passers-by.

Occasionally, a carriage rattled past, taking its gentleman owner towards the theatres on Drury Lane. Too soon for a performance, but early enough for a plausibly denied assignation.

Enoch glanced movement in bundles of old rags and broken crates in dark corners – rats taking their first opportunity to venture from the sewers or, more likely, poor souls who, having pawned their bed for a glass of gin, were now seeking shelter against the cold night air.

On reaching Rose Street, he stepped into a narrow alleyway and through the portal of The Lamb and Flag. The hostelry was, as always, convivial, warm and inviting. The yellow glow of the gas mantles cast deep shadows across the wood panelling and crowded booths filled with laughter and whispered conspiracies. A good log fire spat and crackled, and the comforting aromas of tobacco and strong drink filled the air. For the first time that day, Enoch relaxed and took his ease on a familiar bench near the bar.

The landlord’s ten-year-old daughter approached. ‘Mr Price! If you ain’t a sight for sore eyes.’ Her gentle Irish lilt was discernible beneath the local cockney dialect. ‘Can I bring you a drink to lessen your woes?’

‘A small glass of ale will suffice, if you please, Biddy.’ ‘And I’ll wager a slice of pie?’
‘That would be grand. Thank you.’
On her return, Enoch had shed his heavy coat and was filling a clay pipe with his favourite dark shag. ‘Is Michael at home?’ he asked.

‘I’ll fetch our da directly – he’ll be more than pleased to see you.’ Then, adding to underscore the sentiment, ‘We’re always pleased to see you, Mr Price.’

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Meet R.J. Lloyd

After retiring as a senior police officer, R J Lloyd turned my 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 my wife in Bristol, spending his time travelling, writing and producing delicious plum jam from the trees on his award-winning allotment.