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Book Details
How far would you go to save what you truly love?
England, 1715.
When society doesn’t understand you, and your family is out of the picture, a strolling theatre company could be your perfect home…
Ambitious lead actor Thomas is determined to reach Drury Lane and prove to his father that he is not a failure.
Fierce Caroline has a traumatic past and is determined to protect the company which saved her.
Kind-hearted Annie just wants to look after her found family.
So, when their heartbroken manager Robert is injured and decides to fold the struggling company, the players are resolved to change his mind, whatever the cost. Unfortunately for them, the oddsare stacked against them. They’ve lost their stage, they still haven’t got a skull for Hamlet, and flamboyant ex-member Piero is hunting them down, with a spot of revenge on his mind…
Is it time for the final bow?
The Players Act 1: All The World’s A Stage gives voice to the forgotten strolling players of the 18th century in this fun, uplifting, and page-turning read.
WHAT TO EXPECT:
- Energetic, accessible historical fiction
- Working-class characters
- Found family
- Comedy and tragedy
- Shakespeare
- LGBTQ+
- Neurodiversity
- Mental health issues
- Multiple POV
- Heart and hope
Purchase Links
https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/the-players-act-1
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Players-Act-All-Worlds-Stage-ebook/dp/B0DY8CM3LX
Excerpt
Read Chapter 1: https://ofhistoryandkings.blogspot.com/
Read Chapter 2: https://www.belindamissen.com/
After a disastrous performance, the players make a hasty exit, unaware they are being stalked. Thomas persuades his downcast companions to perform again.
CHAPTER 4: Caroline
Why was it so cold for May? Caroline glanced up at the unbroken grey cloud and shivered. A chilly breeze danced around the road to Andover. Despite the shawl draped over her shoulders, the cap over her pinned-up hair and the kerchief around her neck, Caroline shivered once more.
“Right, that’s it!” sighed Robert. “Please – just take the bloody thing.” He slipped off his jacket and dropped it in Caroline’s lap.
She shrugged and puffed out her cheeks. “Fine, if it makes you feel better.”
He gave a tiny sigh. Good – he understood both her thanks, and the reminder that she could manage perfectly well by herself. But now she had his jacket, would he speak at all? Over the last two hours, his increasingly frustrated offers were the only words he had spoken. He always retreated when he was weighed with sadness. Although she would normally walk with the others to spare Old Bess, Caroline insisted on sitting beside him today, wary of the mood which devoured him. She wrapped his jacket over her shawl and pulled it around her shoulders. Warm, smelling of him. But although he sat beside her, he seemed a hundred miles hence. Fine, he didn’t want conversation, but the sad silence which sat like an unwelcome fellow traveller between them was unbearable.
She glanced at Robert – one hand on the reins, the other still fiddling with the rabbit’s foot around his neck. Her hatred for Piero rose once more – it didn’t take long; it was never far away. The rabbit’s foot should have been burned long ago. And that bloody dress. It must be nigh on a year since the bastard had betrayed them, since Robert had just cradled that wretched necklace and lain silent in the wagon, refusing to speak or eat. How many broken bottles had she wrestled from him? How many times had she bound his bleeding arms a little too roughly? She closed her eyes briefly at the memory, then cast Robert a quick glance. His frown was still there, unshakeable. Fear prickled her, as it often did. There were still broken bottles in his mind.
Muttering voices came from nearby. Caroline peered past Robert’s brooding face and saw two grey-bearded men leaning against the gate of a walled field, pointing at her. Caroline sighed. Fine. Tension was already crackling inside her and it needed to fight its way out. It wasn’t often people commented on the colour of her skin, but let their unkind words come. She was bloody ready for them. She drummed her fingers impatiently on the driver’s seat, ignoring the sidelong glance from Robert.
“Too cold for you here, girl?” one of the men heckled. “Where you from?”
She opened her mouth.
“Shoreditch,” Robert replied as they drove past. “Now, piss off.”
Caroline whirled around to face him. “Why did you do that? I can speak for myself, and as it happens, I’m in the mood for an argument.”
“I know. That’s why I took pity on the bloody fools.”
She glared at him, willing her annoyance to outweigh her gratitude. But it couldn’t. He, of all people, understood unfair judgement. The world was not kind to men like him. Yet his own kindness had changed the course of her life when she had been alone, wandering, shunned by so many in her village. He had found her and welcomed her into the troupe.
She huffed louder than necessary. “Well, next time, let me do it.” She flopped back against the seat as the wagon rolled on. She shuffled, her itch for a fight unsatisfied… unless… She shot upright, making Robert jump. “I reckon me and Thomas should show the swords.”
“Swords?” came Thomas’ nervous voice from somewhere behind.
Caroline sighed. Did Thomas have to complicate everything?
“No swords. She’ll get carried away. Robert!”
“I promise I won’t get carried away.”
“You always get carried away! Last time I nearly lost an arm.”
“Oh, you’re lucky I went for your arm.” Thomas and his bloody melodrama! Fair enough, sometimes it made her laugh, but sometimes it just made her want to punch him. She caught sight of the arched stone bridge as they approached Andover – there wasn’t much time to persuade Robert. “Come on, it draws the crowds.”
“Death scenes usually do! I said we should have blunted them.”
“Just perform a fight, Thomas,” said Robert.
“Well. Do. Not. Kill. Me. It’s harder to perform at Drury Lane when you’re a corpse!”
Frustration crawled under her skin again. His constant, all-consuming ambition! Just like someone else she knew. An image of Piero with his purple-powdered eyes sauntered uncomfortably into her mind. “And stop speaking of Drury Lane all the time,” she called back. “I swear, if you mention it once more today, you’ll be testing your theory about performing as a—”
The breeze swirled, bringing the smell of tumbling freshwater. She leaned forwards. That smell…
Time and place fell away. She was locked.
Her pale, lovely face.
Her heart drummed.
Tangled weed in her auburn hair.
She was breathing too fast.
No breath… no breath… screaming— A firm hand rested on her shoulder. The world reappeared and time ran once more. She was back. She inhaled deeply to fight the dizziness. That smell. Lord, she hated that bloody smell. Caroline uncurled her tight, shaking fingers and rested back in her seat, Robert’s hand still refusing to leave her shoulder. She turned her face away from him but pulled his jacket up further towards her cheekbones, grateful that it was now his scent filling her mind. She pushed her secret back to a place where, for now, it could be neither found nor felt. Tension burned in her shoulders, and as she forced them to relax, Robert’s hand slid back to the reins.
Author Bio
Amy was born in Eastbourne, England, where the sea and South Downs encouraged her love of the outdoors and nurtured her wildness. Her childhood was filled with folk music, caravans and imagination, and she was always dreaming up stories and characters – usually when she was meant to be doing something else.
She enjoys stories that explore both comedy and tragedy. She is a New York Times bestselling author and her work includes THE HOUSE AT THE EDGE OF MAGIC series, and the picture books for BBC’s THE REPAIR SHOP. THE PLAYERS is her debut novel for adults.
Amy now lives in Devon with her husband and six children. When she isn’t writing, Amy enjoys drinking tea, climbing trees and playing the piano, although disappointingly she is yet to master doing all three at once.
Social Media Links –
www.facebook.com/AmySparkesAuthor
www.instagram.com/sparkes_amy https://bsky.app/profile/amysparkes.bsky.social
