Tanglewood - by Knicky L. Abbott
An exclusive peek at this gorgeous post-colonial gothic romance
Disclaimer: Knicky Abbott is a dear friend so I am inordinately biased, but also I am very, very correct when I say that her debut novella, coming out alongside mine on the 19th February, is a thing of beauty. I’m hoping to host my first ever author interview with her in my next post, but first I’m delighted she is allowing me to introduce you to the lush, shadowy world of her fascinating story. It is many things - a retelling of the Barbadian folklore of the Steel Donkey, an insight into a little-known part of history, an exploration of female monstrosity, and a love story.
Tempted? Then read on for a taste…
Tanglewood - Knicky L. Abbott
JOHN
"Mornin'!" John Jack greets Tim and Bellouise with an open smile, gentle and warm. He grabs his favoured pruning shears out of the shed in front of him, the older one with the parrot's beak and ash wood handles. "You jus' in time for trimmin'."
The morning air holds a chill, felt deeper with each gust of the breeze. Sunlight. muted by a fine, soft mist, begins to warm the earth, freshly scythed grass glistening with dew and nocturnal trails in its light. The sound of wind through the dense press of palm and mahogany trees strikes new a chord of peace in John Jack's heart. The flora and foliage towering all around them cast cool, green shadows, while beyond the sky deepens into a dazzling azure blue.
Tim glances at Bellouise's let down expression. "We'll catch the feeding tomorrow, Belle. It'll mean an adventure, sneaking pass Miss Benga before breakfast, but you'll get to feed them then."
Bellouise nods and looks away, her skin night enduring in the early morning. John Jack muses a beat and considers her profile before hefting the shears, his smile returning.
"Don't worry, Miss Belle. If you walk with a few, whole carrots tomorrow, I gine have a sweet surprise waiting by the pens for you, that gine make it worth you while."
Bellouise turns her gaze on John Jack, her one eye placated, and nods again.
Behind the thirteen-year-old and her younger brother, the back of Tanglewood Manor stands, stoic and splendid in the early morning light. A young maid sweeps dust and fallen leaves through wide, shutter doors, greenwood varnished the colour of light sage, the decorative pattern of a transom window above the doorway arborescing like branches.
Her handsome face glances in their direction, dark skin glowing even in the shade of the backyard. A shy but generous smile is an offering along with the faint scent of wisteria, latticed in climbing, woody bines on either side of the door frame. The hush of White Hill Gully with its back turned towards them sends an unbidden flutter to John's heart. He cannot wait to return there, to the place where she now lives.
"Alright," he says, heading across the lawn towards the croton and firethorn hedges that border the far reaches of the estate. The sun begins to beat down on the open spaces about them. "Lewwe go."
By the time John Jack finishes the trimming of the hedges and trees across Tanglewood estate, the children have long since been away to lunch and their schooling. A soft sigh escapes as he surveys the last of his handiwork; the flowers that remain on the hedge before him are like sand on the wind, a multitude of colourful petals and fine, bright leaves against the pale wood. A nautical dusk whispers of night's mystery as it approaches.
He starts towards the house, in search of an early supper. After placing the shears back in the shed, he crosses the courtyard, gait purposeful as he takes the cobblestone path around the side of the manor. Even before he turns the wall into the al fresco kitchen that awaits, he can hear the words to "Open Thy Lattice, Love" being sung by Miss Benga, the housekeeper. She gives the simmering pot of stew food one final stir before addressing his quiet presence to her left.
"You take very long. Thought you didn't live 'bout here nuh more."
He smiles at her words, despite their terse delivery.
"Sorry, Aunty," he said, sitting on the edge of the heavy, mahogany chair closest to him. "De days long and full uh wuk to do."
Benga sets a plate of food down before him. She has filled it with whole green bananas, dumplings, diced potatoes and pumpkin, all swimming in butter broth with thick macaroni noodles. A pickled pigtail pokes out at the top, the only meat.
"Remember to finish up quick. Clean up behind youself and leave things exactly the way them is before you go."
She reminds him so much of his mother when she stands over him like that, pure, tender emotion swells in his throat. For the wide-set dark brown eyes so like her sister's; the matted, grey dreads held at bay with a richly coloured head wrap; the dark, gold earrings and neatly pressed dress of a housekeeper; skin the colour of wet soil.
"I know, Aunty."
"I know you know. But the mistress particular, and I don't want she to find no error with you, seeing as how you only now get you little pick."
John Jack gives her a heartfelt smile as she heads off to her quarters, a quaint, inner chamber located just off the kitchen. As he tidies after himself, he can't help but watch the light of the setting sun on the green shadows of the gully through the window before him; and to think of how she awaits him there, in the darkness that engulfs the fading of the light from the sky.
Tanglewood is available to pre-order direct from Luna Press here or on Amazon here, or you can add to your Goodreads list here.
Thank you so much for reading.