Discovering horses in history

Yes that's me at the Melbourne Cup in 2024 and yes I'm horse-mad, though I've never owned one--my country-born mother, a crack rider, would never permit it because of the vast expense. As a child I was a horse nerd and fortunately I still am, because the creation of Victor Constant, a military policeman in the Champagne region in the 1730s, demanded that his mount also be a distinctive character.

A fan of Murder at Cirey, the first in the Victor Constant Investigations, called Victor's big bay stallion 'trusty' and Milan was delighted when I murmured the word into one of his big, alert ears. Meanwhile other fans have suggested all sorts of keywords to help readers find the Investigations online, amongst them being: 18th-century historical mystery, French historical crime thriller, Voltaire mystery, Georgian-era detective, Historical French crime, and of course 'the Jack Reacher of the 18th century'--but maybe Mystery for Horse Lovers would be just as enticing?

At any rate, here is a tiny extract from Death in Champagne, which comes out this Friday on Amazon. I'm blogging every day until then, to celebrate. Horse lover or not, I hope you'll enjoy the book.

Victor was up at first light and in the farmyard, grooming his stallion, Milan. The evening before, he had put as much work as he saw fit into his gear and his own appearance, but bringing Milan’s coat to gleaming perfection was a task best done in daylight. The big horse enjoyed it, his head hanging and his eyes closed as Victor plied the curry comb over his strong haunches.

Renard, who devoted much less care to his own mount, was perched on the rail eating a handful of chon, little pieces of pork crackling that Madeleine, their landlady on the farm, sometimes served with their breakfast omelet.

‘We’ve been sidelined,’ Renard said moodily. ‘Lieutenant Beauregard will take all the credit.’

‘Only if he gets a confession out of the wine broker. We should consider ourselves lucky not to be involved.’

‘I don’t see why. I wish I’d tackled the man in his cell yesterday, like I wanted.’

‘You wouldn’t have got anywhere. Neither will the lieutenant, even if he tries some rough stuff. There’ll be no confession from the wine broker, because he didn’t do it.’

‘So who did?’ Renard said loudly. The last morsel of chon slipped out of his fingers, increasing his irritation.

Victor kept on brushing Milan. ‘I don’t know, that’s the worst of it.’

‘You don’t know that, but you do know the man’s innocent. Explain that to the court, if you please.’

Victor straightened and glanced at Renard over his shoulder. ‘All right. I can’t forget the look on his face when I asked him, man to man, what used to happen when he and the victim met. It was obvious: he was crazy about her.’

‘Yes, but she turned him down! Not what he was used to. So he chose his moment and killed her.’

‘No. He admired her. Every time she held him off, he admired her more. You could see it in his eyes. You remember what he said: “I never got anywhere with Marie but I didn’t care. It was enough to be with her.” He was in love with her, whether he knew it or not. He could never have killed her, I’m sure of that.’

‘Ah, so that’s how you decide whether someone’s guilty or innocent, is it? You can see it in their eyes? What the hell are you doing in the military police?’

Victor turned his attention to Milan’s tail, draping the thick, coarse hairs over his forearm and sweeping the comb downwards. ‘Sometimes, when you’re questioning someone, they reveal themselves.’ He shook his head. ‘I wish it happened all the time. I only wish I could always guess what people are capable of. If I could, I wouldn’t be standing here now. And I sure as hell wouldn’t be in the police.’

He looked up. Renard was no longer annoyed; he seemed confused. Victor went on, ‘Sometimes, in a crisis, you can see straight into people. You must have had that experience, or you wouldn’t be good at what you do. For instance, you’ve met Marie's whole family. You know as well as I do that none of them killed her.’

‘All right,’ Renard said with unusual patience, ‘you think the wine broker’s the wrong kind of person to kill her like that. What kind of man is ?’

‘A tough man with a huge flaw.’

Renard frowned. ‘Have we met this man yet? That might assist the investigation, don’t you think?’

Victor moved to Milan’s neck and began gathering the heavy mane to his side. ‘Who knows?’

Madeleine appeared from the house at that moment, holding her baby on one arm and a big pair of scissors in the other hand. Renard slipped off the rail and opened the gate for her.

‘Here you are, then,’ she said to Victor, handing him the scissors. ‘I’ve never seen that beast look so pretty—I want to witness how good you are with these.’

Victor grinned and thanked her, and began smoothing down Milan’s mane, ready to be trimmed.

Click here to discover Death in Champagne