Book Title: Burning Secret
Author: R J Lloyd
Publication Date: 24 May 2022
Publisher: Matador
Page Length: 384
Genre: Historical Fiction
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.
Burning Secret by R. J. Lloyd
After retiring as a senior police officer, I turned my detective skills to genealogy, tracing my family history to the 16th century. However, after 15 years of extensive research, I couldn't track down my great-great-grandfather, Enoch Price, whose wife, Eliza, had, in living memory, helped raise my mother.
As a young girl, my mother could only remember hushed conversations about her nan's husband, Enoch, going to Florida to open a corset factory.
In June 2011, my cousin Gillian, a skilled family history researcher, called to say that she had found Enoch 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 references to her great-grandfather, Harry Mason, a wealthy hotel owner and powerful American politician from Jacksonville, 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 me to visit the States to meet my American cousins. It was Susan Sperry and Kimberly Mason, direct descendants, who persuaded me to write Burning Secret, not as a biography, but as a thriller, merging fact with fiction, to tell the story of the extraordinary adventurer, rogue and chancer that he was.
Burning Secret took another eleven years to research and write, and sadly, both Susan and Kimberly passed away before the novel was complete.
Enoch is listed in the January 1881 edition of the London Gazette as a bankrupt and destined for two in the debtors' prison. Abandoning his wife and three young daughters, he made for Florida. It was here, in Jacksonville, that he carved out his future, and, by hook or by crook, he amassed a fortune and became a powerful politician. All of this while his wife, Eliza, and daughters languished in poverty in the slums of Bristol, England.
Harry played a historically significant role in Jacksonville, arriving only sixteen years after the end of slavery and the American Civil War. In 1888, Jacksonville was decimated by a deadly outbreak of Yellow Fever, and in 1901, the city was razed to the ground by the Great Fire of Jacksonville. Harry played a pivotal role in each of these catastrophes. Yet, undaunted, he was the promoter who, against fierce public opposition, brought the 1894 World Heavyweight Boxing Championship fight between Gentleman Jim Corbett and Charlie Mitchell to Jacksonville. His most outstanding achievement was building the Hotel Mason, Jacksonville, on the junction of Bay and Julia, which opened on 31 December 1913. The largest and most opulent hotel in Florida (demolished in 1978).
Surprisingly, one must dig very deep into obscure records to find his name, and only one photograph of him survives, taken in 1903 when he was elected to the House of Representatives.
Harry is buried alongside his American wife at Evergreen Cemetery, Jacksonville, Florida.
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Read An Excerpt |
Dawn revealed London’s skyline of steeples and majestic rooftops. A dusting of snow had fallen silently during the early hours.
Enoch stirred himself. Stretching, he tried to rid his bones of the stiffness that had set in overnight. He had spent the last few hours unobserved in a dark alcove secluded in the corner of the inn. He hadn’t slept but felt rested all the same.
The bar, empty of its conviviality and devoid of its usual inhabitants, echoed every sound, and as the building cooled, its ancient timbers creaked and twisted eerily. The room was airless and fetid with the sour odours of stale ale, cheap tobacco and spent adrenalin. Detritus from the night’s event was randomly scattered: broken bottles, food- smeared plates, a discarded top hat, a muddy right boot perched precariously on a chair. For reasons that may never be known, a torn lady’s undergarment hung from a hook on the wall, and a bull terrier, bitten and bloodied from baiting, lay dead near the locked side door.
A small grey mouse in search of morsels scuttled from one hiding place to another. Two vagrants, who had secreted themselves about the premises before the tavern was bolted shut, searched the tables, swilling back stale dregs from half-empty tankards while keeping a sharp eye for lost coins and other flotsam dropped by careless owners. Having had their fill, they settled near the dying embers of the log fire to sleep off their pickings.
Whiling away the hours before first light, Enoch reflected on the evening’s prizefight. It had been a rare spectacle. Crowds had gathered early and thronged the dimly lit alley where the fighters would punish each other until exhausted. The thrill and excitement of the promised aggression infected the commotion, whipping up a bellowing force of roaring hysteria.
It began on the stroke of midnight to a tumultuous cry, which could be heard as far as Charing Cross. Each fighter, half-naked and glistening with sweat and oil, began slowly, testing each other, eager to avoid the embarrassment of a schoolboy error and the humiliation of an early knockdown. They chasséd around each other, mimicking the elaborate courtship of exotic birds. But once the first stinging, bare- knuckle jabs found their mark, the battle was joined in earnest. Spectators, inflamed by the smell of blood and the pitiless violence, bayed like a pack of hounds.
Conor tore into his opponent, clawing, butting and splattering blood with callous savagery. The younger lad retaliated with equal brutality, viciously hitting low and repeatedly battering Conor’s ribs with such force the crack of a bone was heard above the howling mob. Wounded and gasping for wind, Conor slowed and stepped away.
A man in the garb of a market porter, in danger of losing more than he could afford on the defeat of his
favoured boy, broke free from the crowd and crashed headlong between the contestants. A gang of roughs, slashing and stabbing with blades, quickly extinguished the foolhardy intervention, a desperate attempt to give his champion time to recover, but the purpose was served, provoking an outbreak of angry scuffles and a free-for-all amongst opposing supporters.
During the melee, Conor’s midriff was tightly bound and, regaining his composure, combat resumed. The younger boy, sensing he had weakened his adversary, launched a remorseless, pounding onslaught. Conor withstood the withering assault, replying with crashing hammer blows about the boy’s head, opening a gash across an already swollen and lacerated cheekbone.
In desperation, his opponent thrust and gouged a thumb into Conor’s eye and, in the torturous grapple, bit and ripped half Conor’s ear from his head. Spitting it out, he again lunged forwards, butting his head with destructive force into Conor’s nose, splitting it asunder and spraying blood and snot over those in proximity.
Enoch had watched as Conor faltered and, deliberately lowering his guard, opened his defence. This was the cue. Conor was beaten to his knees where, without pity, the boy kicked and stamped him to the ground with feral cruelty.
The alley reeked of the sordid stench of sweat, gore and vomit. This was the attraction and entertainment enjoyed by street urchin, navvy and aristocrat alike. It was what they’d come to witness. Conor took a bloody beating, but he was a good lad and had done his work well, in the end, going down convincingly. Enoch consoled himself with the thought that Conor was young and would soon heal, returning a few months later when, with malice, he would take his revenge.
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About the Author
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.
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Thanks so much for hosting RJ LLoyd today, with an enticing excerpt from Burning Secret.
ReplyDeleteCathie xx
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