Spotlight & Giveaway: Four Hidden Treasures by H L Marsay

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author H L Marsay to HJ!

Hi H L Marsay and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Four Hidden Treasures!

To start off, can you please tell us a little bit about this book?:

Hartwell is a typical English village with quaint cottages and cobbled streets. After months of being locked down, the inhabitants are gradually adjusting to normal life again. However, when two new women arrive in the village, only days apart, it soon becomes clear Hartwell is anything but typical.

Dr. Meera Kumar is hoping her move to the village will mean a new start for herself and her young son. While for London detective Jo Ormond, Hartwell is the last place she wants to be. They both become friends with the beautiful but dizzy Lady Lucy Hanley, who is struggling to hold her life and the crumbling Hartwell Hall together since her husband’s disappearance, and Rachel Foxton who is exhausted, grieving and battling heartache of her own.

The four women’s friendship grows, but when a body is discovered, the secrets of Hartwell start tumbling out.

For anyone wondering where the title of the book comes from; there is a quote by Charlotte Brontë (another Yorkshire writer and one of Meera’s favourites) that inspired me and is at the beginning of each book in the trilogy.
 

Please share your favorite lines or quote(s) from this book:

In the first chapter, Rachel and Lucy are standing outside the village church and chatting about how Lucy is raising her son.

Rachel cupped her hand to her ear. “Shh, can you hear that?” she asked.
“What?” Lucy looked around in confusion.
Rachel pointed across the road to the church. “The sound of generations of Hanleys turning in their graves.”

This is typical of Rachel’s sense of humour but it also gives a hint of what’s to come in the rest of the series. Between them, the four friends will shake up the village and change the status quo forever.

What inspired this book?

Friendship, family, love, secrets, duty, community, fear, but perhaps more than anything the feeling I think many of us shared following the pandemic; that things would never be quite the same again. This is particularly true for my four characters. Meera, Jo and Rachel were all ‘frontline’ workers and the lockdown was the catalyst for Lucy’s husband disappearing.

How did you ‘get to know’ your main characters? Did they ever surprise you?

There are four main characters: Lucy, Rachel, Meera and Jo. They are all very different with their own particular strengths and weaknesses. Lucy is kind, but too trusting. Rachel is clever but short tempered. Meera is dutiful but doesn’t stand up for herself enough. Jo is brave but won’t let anyone get close to her. Although I knew where I wanted each of them to be at the end of the story, I had no idea how they were going to get there and it was lots of fun finding out.

What was your favorite scene to write?

I loved writing any scene where all my main characters were together. It’s great to see how the four of them interact.

“How are the puppies doing, Luce?” asked Rachel.
“Fabulously. Tilly is a wonderful mummy and I swear they double in size every day.”
“You know I bet you could get at least a grand for each of them,” said Jo. “Do you remember how at the beginning of lockdown loads of people decided to get a puppy and the prices went through the roof? Of course, it led to a rise in dognapping gangs too.”
Lucy and Rachel exchanged a look. Jo didn’t miss it. “What?” she demanded.
“Well,” said Meera, gently. “All your stories do tend to end in either a long prison sentence or someone’s death.”
Rachel and Lucy grinned, nodding their heads in agreement.
Jo raised her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, it’s not my fault I don’t do happy ever afters. In my experience, life isn’t like all those books you’ve got filling your shelves, Meera,” she said gesturing to the cottage. “I guess it’s what comes of spending six years in the Met, but I still think the puppies would sell for good money.”
“I know you’re right and I could do with the cash,” admitted Lucy, “but it wouldn’t feel right selling Tilly’s babies. Caroline thinks I’m too sentimental, but it would be like selling one of the family. I would just rather know they were all going to good homes. I’ve promised Freddie he can keep one. Two of them are going to Jack and the colonel, so that only leaves one needing a home.”
“What about weddings?” suggested Meera, then noticing the looks of confusion, “Oh sorry, I’m still thinking of how you could use Hartwell Hall to make money. I agree with Jo, I can quite imagine it as the setting for a period drama, but don’t you think it would make a beautiful wedding venue too.”
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea. The place looked beautiful for my wedding,” said Lucy. “And I read somewhere that there’s a shortage of venues. It could be really lucrative. I remember when I got married, everything was so expensive. I swear putting the word wedding in front, doubles the price of everything.”
“You wouldn’t even need to open the house; you could simply hire out the grounds to marquee companies,” added Meera, warming to her subject. “We had a marquee in Harlow Carr Gardens in Harrogate for our wedding. Or rather two marquees—we couldn’t find a venue big enough for all our guests.”
“Are the two of you still together?” asked Lucy, twiddling the stem of her wine glass. “It’s just that you don’t really mention him, nor does Krish.”
Meera took a sip of her mineral water. Trotting out her well-practised line of Dev working away in India wasn’t going to be enough for the three women surrounding her. Besides, if they were going to be friends then they deserved to know the truth, or at least some of it.

What was the most difficult scene to write?

Like Rachel, I lost my dad during the pandemic, so I found the scenes where she is talking or thinking about him, particularly difficult to write.

She filled the heavy metal kettle and placed it on the hob, while Mary, still shaking her head and looking confused, took a seat at the table. Rachel watched her carefully. She’d been like this since her husband had died. Perhaps it was to be expected; grief affected people in different ways, and it had been such a shock. They had all been so careful, nobody could understand how he’d caught Covid. He and Mary had isolated themselves, with Rachel dropping off groceries and prescriptions for them outside the back door, carefully disinfecting the bags and boxes before she left. They hadn’t seen anyone for months, but still they had both succumbed, and her father, his body still weakened by the accident, hadn’t been able to fight it.
What had made it worse was that due to the pandemic, none of them had been able to visit him in hospital to say goodbye. The man, so adored by his family and friends, had died alone. There was no wonder her mother was struggling, but still it was heart-breaking to watch.

Would you say this book showcases your writing style or is it a departure for you?

This book felt like a big departure for me. My previous series, the Chief Inspector Shadow Mysteries are pure crime fiction and written from the point of view of a grumpy, middle-aged man. In the Secrets of Hartwell, I write each chapter from the point of view of one of my very different and complicated young female characters. Although there are mysteries and secrets running through the story, it is much more about their friendship and how each of them grow and change.

What do you want people to take away from reading this book?

I would really like them to close the book feeling like they have visited Hartwell and made four new wonderful friends.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

The next two books in The Secrets of Hartwell trilogy, Four Secrets Kept and Four Silences Broken are out later this year. I can’t wait!
Currently, I am working on a new mystery series set during the First World War. It’s going to be called The Lady in Blue Mysteries and the first book The Body in Seven Dials is out in October this year. I can’t tell you how excited I am about this series, but oh my goodness, there’s a lot of research! Even a simple sentence can take forever to write as I need to keep checking details. For example, I wanted a secondary character to use the phrase ‘sentimental claptrap’, but I first had to find out if ‘claptrap’ was used in 1914 (it was!).

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: An ebook copy of Four Hidden Treasures + 3 Tule ebooks

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: I’d love to know which of the main characters you most identify with? Are you a Lucy, a Rachel, a Meera or a Jo?

 
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Excerpt from Four Hidden Treasures:

Lucy stood in the ballroom of Hartwell Hall and watched as a drop of water trickled down the wall, leaving a dark trail on the red silk wallpaper. She looked up just in time for another drop to hit her straight in the eye.
“Bloody place! The roof’s turned into a sieve.” She sighed as she placed a saucepan on the polished wood floor with only a second to spare before the next heavy drop plopped in. She cast a careful eye over the ceiling once more before stepping out of the ballroom and into the long corridor that led back to the main hall. She dodged past two more pans and a bucket. It was always the same when it rained heavily: a mad dash to catch all the leaks. The latest estimate for fixing the roof had arrived that morning. It lay discarded on the kitchen table amongst the empty coffee cups and bills waiting to be paid. Fifty thousand pounds, and that was only for the west wing. Well, it would have to wait, along with all the other repairs and maintenance work Hartwell Hall needed.
When she arrived in the grand reception hall, she found yet another bucket, full to the brim and overflowing on to the black and white marble floor. With a groan she carried it into the cloakroom, trying not to mind as the cold water sloshed on to her jeans. Then she emptied the water down the sink, before returning the bucket to its position at the bottom of the sweeping cantilever staircase. Lucy stood and gazed at the stairs for a second. Over nine years ago, she’d posed there for a photograph on her wedding day, in her huge white dress. Standing there with her blonde hair piled on her head and the Hanley tiara holding her impossibly long veil in place as it trailed out behind her, Rupert smiling by her side. She had been so happy that day. The photo had appeared in Tatler. ‘Rupert and Lucinda, the new Lord and Lady Hanley, on the occasion of their marriage’. When she’d made her vows in front of their friends and family, she could never have imagined how her life would turn out.
As she walked away from the staircase, she caught sight of her reflection in the ornate gilt mirror hanging on the wall and cringed. Her mascara had streaked down her cheek and there was at least two inches of dark growth at her roots. These days she looked like she belonged on a wanted poster, not the pages of a society magazine. She pushed that thought out of her head and ran her finger beneath her blue eyes to wipe away the smudged make-up and tried fluffing up her hair. Yet another thing to thank Covid for. The hairdressers had been closed for months and now they were open again, it was impossible to get an appointment. Not that she had a hundred quid to throw away on highlights and a cut right now.
The estate had been struggling financially even before the pandemic. When Rupert had first brought her here, she’d immediately fallen in love with the place. Nestled on the edge of the North York Moors, the beautiful Georgian house built in mellow stone—with its porticoed entrance and elegant columns—was a world away from her father’s modern Chelsea apartment she’d grown up in. Hartwell Hall had been in Rupert’s family for hundreds of years and she could hardly believe she was going to live there with her handsome new husband. Back then of course, she’d had no idea how much it cost to keep the place running. She’d had to learn fast when Rupert disappeared. Ironically, the last time she’d seen him was on that fateful night in March 2020, when the prime minister had addressed the nation and told them all to stay at home.
Since then, she’d had months alone to try and come up with a plan as bills kept arriving and her income continued to dwindle. Finally, she’d decided that as soon as the first lockdown was lifted, she would open the house to the public. Caroline, her mother-in-law, had been horrified at the idea.
“You can’t have strangers traipsing through the house, gawping at all your belongings,” she had declared, but Lucy didn’t mind one bit. However, as it turned out, continued restrictions meant she could only open the grounds. Still, scores of visitors had arrived desperate to enjoy the rose garden, woodland walk, and lawns sweeping down to the lake after being cooped up for months. They had all seemed quite surprised that Lady Hanley, dressed in jeans and wellies, was there to greet them herself and happy to chat away about the house and its history. Lucy enjoyed it. She liked to be kept busy and meeting new people. More importantly the ticket sales had provided a welcome source of income, but then lockdown two had come along. She’d had to close her gates and there had been no income from the holiday cottages either. Most of her tenants in the village had suffered too, with rents either arriving late or not at all, yet the costs of running the estate kept on adding up.
She leaned her head against one of the cool marble pillars and ran her finger along the delicately carved flutings.
“Gosh,” she sighed. “I know you are beautiful, but you are high-maintenance.”
In the corner, the long case clock struck three o’clock. Lucy checked it against her own watch and groaned. Now she was going to be late to collect Freddie. She dashed back down the corridor accompanied by a little symphony of splishes and splashes from the raindrops. In the kitchen, she grabbed her car keys from their hook only to remember the red light had started flashing on her petrol gauge. The last thing she needed was to break down in the middle of the village.
“Bugger, bugger, bugger!” she muttered as she pulled on her wellies and coat. She’d have to walk there now…or rather run. Thankfully, the rain had finally stopped when she stepped outside. Banging the door shut behind her, she crunched down the long gravel driveway and turned right through the huge wrought-iron gates decorated with the oak tree and white hart of the Hanley family crest. As she passed the gatehouse, she tapped on the window and gave Joan, who as usual was busy baking, a friendly wave. Joan was married to Bill, the estate’s gardener. They had lived in the gatehouse for over thirty years and Lucy would be totally lost without them.
The village was a little way up the hill. A collection of about fifty stone-built cottages and houses clustered around a winding stream. She hurried along the cobbled path passing the pub, the church, and the village shop, waving to other parents who were better timekeepers than her. When she finally arrived at the school gates she was quite out of breath. Freddie was waiting for her with Rachel, Lucy’s best friend and Freddie’s teacher. Rachel was short and stocky with her dark hair pulled back and worn in a long plait. A dependable pit pony next to Lucy’s flighty thoroughbred.
“I’m so, so sorry I’m late, darling. Sorry, Rach, I was on bucket duty,” Lucy gasped.
“We were about to call you?” said Rachel slipping her mobile back into her satchel. “Everything okay?”
“Has Tilly had her puppies yet, Mum?” asked Freddie hopefully. Lucy grinned at her son and ruffled his blond hair. He was a serious, sensible little boy, and he adored the dogs.
“No, darling, she hasn’t, but it won’t be long now. When I left, she was fast asleep next to the Aga.”
“Good, I don’t want to miss it. Please can I get some sweets?” he asked.
Lucy hesitated for a second, Freddie always got a treat from the shop on Fridays, but in her rush, she’d forgotten her purse. Waving away Rachel’s silent offer of help, she shoved her hands in her jeans pocket and miraculously found a scrunched-up five-pound note that had quite possibly also been through the washing machine. She smoothed it out and placed it into Freddie’s small, outstretched hand.
“Will you be okay on your own?” she asked, although the shop was only a few steps away. Freddie smiled up at her.
“Of course, Mum, thanks.”
“How’s he been today?” asked Lucy quietly, as she watched him go. Rachel smiled and gave Lucy’s arm a reassuring squeeze.
“He’s fine, Luce. He’s just a quiet kid and like all the ones who were stuck doing home schooling for months on end, he’s taking time to adjust to being back in the classroom full-time. Academically, he is way ahead of the others. I’ll let him tell you his score, but today’s maths test went really well.”
“Good, when Caroline hears she might get off my case about sending him to a prep school. I swear the next time she says something, I shall tell her I have no intention of sending Freddie boarding at eight years old. It’s barbaric.”
Rachel cupped her hand to her ear. “Shh, can you hear that?” she asked.
“What?” Lucy looked around in confusion.
Rachel pointed across the road to the church. “The sound of generations of Hanleys turning in their graves.”
“Ha ha very funny.” Lucy laughed.
Rachel grinned. “Are you still on for tonight?” she asked. Since lockdown had been lifted, the two of them had got into a routine of going to the pub every Friday, for quiz night.
“Absolutely,” replied Lucy, “I’m looking forward to it. Actually, before the stupid rainstorm arrived, I was having a decent day. Max called this morning to say he’s found new tenants for Rose and Lilac cottages.”
Rachel gave Lucy a pat on the shoulder. “Hey that’s fantastic, and it’s about time my drip of a brother-in-law did something useful. Things are finally looking up. I told you they would eventually.”
Just then the bell on the shop door jangled and Freddie appeared again looking very pleased with himself. He clutched his bag of jelly beans in one hand and his change in the other.
“Here you are, Mum. The sweets were one pound and ten pence, so your change is three pounds and ninety pence,” he said as he dropped the coins into Lucy’s hand.
“Thank you, darling. How was Mrs Parkin? Did you remember to say please and thank you?”
“Yes, but she was still a bit grumpy. She asked me if I had clean hands, then said she liked it more when everybody had to wear face masks and that if I eat all these sweets my teeth will fall out,” replied Freddie looking very serious.
“What a ray of sunshine that woman is,” drawled Rachel. “There should be a sign above the shop door: ‘Here resides Nora Parkin, Hartwell’s biggest gossip and prophet of doom’.” She turned to go. “I’ll see you later, Luce. Have a lovely weekend, Freddie.”
“Thank you, Rachel, I mean Miss Foxton,” replied Freddie politely. He often got confused about what to call her.
“See you later,” Lucy called after her, before taking her little boy’s hand and walking back down the hill. Freddie chattered away and Lucy tried not to let it bother her that he didn’t mention school and instead concentrated on his favourite subject.
“Mum, if you could be a dinosaur, which one would you be?”
“Ooh let me think. Which is the one with a long neck?”
“A diplodocus or an apatosaurus,” replied Freddie immediately.
“Then I’d be one of those. What about you?”
“A triceratops of course,” said Freddie as if there could ever be any doubt in his answer.
“Of course,” agreed Lucy.
“Can I go and make a wish?”
They had drawn level with the avenue of ancient oak trees that led down to the well which, along with the deer that roamed free, gave the village its name. There was a legend that the Druids, who had lived in the area thousands of years ago, had thought that the well was sacred. Today the villagers simply called it the wishing well and generations of the young and not so young cast their pennies into the water in the hope that their wishes would be granted.
“Yes, you may,” Lucy replied. She handed over a ten-pence piece and followed him as he chased towards the crumbling stone wall surrounding the old well. She stopped and watched as he closed his eyes tight and screwed up his face. She saw his lips moving quickly and silently before he flung the coin down, then waited for the satisfying splash before racing back to her.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you what I wished for, or it won’t come true,” he explained breathlessly.
“I understand,” Lucy replied forcing herself to smile. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. What if his wish was about Rupert coming back? He barely ever mentioned his father. Rupert had been away a lot even before he disappeared and when he was at home, Lucy had felt like she was walking on eggshells. He had spent very little time with Freddie, distracted by his other interests, but surely Freddie must miss his father.
As they arrived at the entrance gates to Hartwell Hall, a black Range Rover pulled up alongside them. The window glided down, to reveal a man with a round, slightly ruddy face and greying hair. It was Guy Lovell, the local MP. He had taken over the constituency when Rupert’s father died and lived in the village at The Grange. Although he was almost twenty years older than Lucy, she had always found him rather charming, but Rachel thought he was a creep.
“Good afternoon, Lady Hanley. You’re looking as lovely as ever,” he said beaming at her.
Lucy smiled back, knowing full well she looked a mess. “Hello, Guy, how are you?”
“You know me, busy, busy. I’ve just been to Thirsk races for the first meeting of the year. It was good to see the place bustling again. Incidentally, I was given a tip for the five-fifteen. False Friend, he’s meant to be a dead cert.”
Lucy wrinkled her nose. “That’s not a very nice name for a horse.”
“You’re quite right,” agreed Guy, with a grin. “Maybe that’s why it’s fifty to one.”
At that moment, a Volvo stopped behind the Range Rover and beeped its horn loudly.
“I think that’s my cue to leave. Enjoy your weekend,” said Guy before zooming off. His place was taken by the Volvo’s driver, dressed in her uniform of tweed skirt, silk twinset, and pearls. Caroline may now live in the dower house, but she still gave the impression that she was in charge of Hartwell Hall and its inhabitants.
“I hope you aren’t encouraging him, Lucinda. Think how it might look given your circumstances.”
Lucy felt herself flush under the disapproving gaze of her mother-in-law’s cold, blue eyes. “He was only being friendly,” she stammered.
Caroline arched an eyebrow. “He was flirting,” she declared, before turning her attention to Freddie, whose little face looked worried as his eyes flicked between his mother and grandmother. “How are you, Alfred? Did you have a good day at school?”
“Yes thanks, Granny. I got ten out of ten in my maths test today.”
Caroline’s stony expression cracked into a smile. “Excellent! All our hard work is paying off.” Caroline had insisted on being involved with Freddie’s home schooling via Zoom each day. “You must come to tea one day next week—not Monday though, I’m playing bridge with Colonel Marsden and the vicar. I’ll leave it to your mother to try and organise something. Goodbye, darling.”
Caroline wound up her window and drove off without another word to Lucy.
“Bye, Granny.” Freddie waved, and Lucy had to stop herself using a very different hand gesture as Caroline’s car disappeared over the hill. She was definitely going to put that bet on now.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

Welcome to Hartwell, an English village full of cobbled streets, ancient curses, and buried secrets.

Reeling from the last few years of uncertainty, the villagers of Hartwell are adjusting to their new normal. When two new women separately move to town, they attract local attention and quickly realise Hartwell isn’t as sleepy as it appears.

Lady Lucy Hanley is beautiful, friendly, and struggling to preserve crumbling Hartwell Hall for her son as rumours circulate about her husband’s disappearance. Rachel Foxton feels trapped. She’s lived in Hartwell all her life and is exhausted from teaching during the pandemic, grieving her father, worrying about her mother, and battling heartache. Dr. Meera Kumar has always been the good girl, but as her sham marriage unravels, she seeks a fresh start for herself and her young son. And former London detective Jo Ormond has been transferred to Hartwell in disgrace. With her career in tatters, a quiet village in Yorkshire where everyone knows your business is the last place she wants to be.

Secrets run through this close-knit community like a loose thread—with just one tug, everything can unravel. As the women’s friendship grows, and a body is discovered, will the secrets of Hartwell bring them all closer together or tear them apart?

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Meet the Author:

H L Marsay always loved detective stories and promised herself that one day, she would write one too. She is lucky enough to live in York, a city full of history and mystery. When not writing, the five men in her life keep her busy – two sons, two dogs and one husband.
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