Introducing Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins as an unusual detective duo in the first of a brand-new Victorian mystery series. When Inspector Field shows his friend Charles Dickens the body of a young woman dragged from the River Thames, he cannot have foreseen that the famous author would immediately recognize the victim as Isabella Gordon, a housemaid he had tried to help through his charity. Nor that Dickens and his fellow writer Wilkie Collins would determine to find out who killed her. Who was Isabella blackmailing, and why? Led on by fragments of a journal discovered by Isabella’s friend Sesina, the two men track the murdered girl’s journeys from Greenwich to Snow Hill, from Smithfield Market to St Bartholomews, and put their wits to work on uncovering her past. But what does Sesina know that she’s choosing not to tell them? And is she doomed to follow in the footsteps of the unfortunate Isabella …? 'The real triumph is Harrison's Dickens; sublimely conceited, short-tempered, self-dramatizing, often bombastic, and perfectly matched with the infinitely less self-assured Collins.' ― Kirkus Reviews 'A surprising conclusion, coupled with vivid characters, authentic period details, and a constantly zigzagging plot, makes this a good choice for fans of historical murder mysteries.' ― Booklist Cora Harrison turned to writing historical fiction after she retired from teaching to live on a farm near the Burren in the west of Ireland. As well as the Gaslight Mysteries, she is the author of the Reverend Mother Mysteries, and the ‘Mara’ series of Celtic mysteries, set in 16th-century Ireland. Season of Darkness By Cora Harrison Severn House Publishers Limited Copyright © 2019 Cora Harrison All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-78029-596-1 CHAPTER 1 ' I wouldn't if I was you, Isabella.' Sesina opened the door of the kitchen range and placed her shoes on its black, leaded edge, hitching up her skirt to get the warmth on her ankles. 'You're taking a norful risk, you are, Isabella. You know what men are like!' But there you are, wearing your best dress and thinking everything is going to go your way. The words went silently through her head as she watched the other girl's face, lit by the firelight that left the rest of the kitchen in almost darkness. Dead obstinate. That was Isabella. 'I'm a match for any of them. Move over, Sesina, stop hogging the fire.' Isabella wasn't going to listen. Sesina knew that by the stubborn expression on her face. Oh, well, do what you want to do. Don't say that I didn't warn you. But she saw how Isabella gave one more look around the kitchen and seemed to breathe in its shadows, its scents of baked bread, devilled kidneys and fried haddock. Almost like she was saying goodbye to them all. Sesina made one more effort. 'Easy to say, Isabella. Here you are sitting in a nice warm kitchen, toasting your toes by the range. Not so brave you'd be, down beside the river in the fog. That's what I say. That Hungerford Stairs is a creepy place at night; you know that as well as I do myself, Isabella. Why does he have to meet you there? Funny idea, that. Why can't he meet you in the place where ... well, you know ...' She finished there, purposely letting her voice tail out. Perhaps Isabella would blurt out the name of the place where she'd met this person, where she had first told him that she knew the secret. 'You shut up, Sesina.' But Isabella, Sesina noticed, looked quickly over her shoulder at the pale oblong of street light that came through the basement window. Full of the jitters this evening, she was; that was sure. Her gaze kept flickering along the dresser shelves, kept being attracted by the light on the copper pans, on the stone bottles of prunes and the glistening glass jars of mushroom catsup. 'Told you! You're scared, ain't you? You can't fool me, Isabella,' she said aloud. 'Mind your own business, Sesina!' Isabella, as usual, was working herself into one of her furies, her voice sharp and shrill. Angry. That was her. Always ready to fly off a handle. Spitting out the words again, her voice shaking this time, 'Just you mind your own business, Sesina.' She had seen something nasty in that fellow. That would be it. Isabella was as sharp as a needle. Should be a bit more sensible, now, but money had come into it. Money and the idea of a nice, easy life. No good talking to her when she had that on her mind. 'Do what you like. Don't care,' said Sesina with a shrug. Luxuriously, she hitched her skirt up above her knees and placed her shoes on top of the range. Nothing like the heat of the fire on the calves of the legs. Took all the tiredness out of them. She reached down a poker and rattled the coals. Isabella was always stubborn. There was no arguing with her. One of those who never knew which side her bread was buttered on. 'He knows I wasn't born yesterday. As soon as I told him that I knew all about it, he changed his tune pretty smart; I can tell