A dark secret. A second chance.
Sadie Walford, the wife of a prominent Brooklyn ship broker and mother of two, registers at the Queen Hotel in Halifax, Nova Scotia, using a false name. Two weeks later she is buried in the local cemetery. Or is she?
Without family or friends, health or hope, Sadie arrives already contemplating a drastic next step. But she hasn't counted on the likes of Eleanor, the hotel's no-nonsense bookkeeper, or Maggie, the annoyingly helpful head maid, who both have other ideas.
A chance encounter with a thief sets events in motion, and Sadie will be forced to choose: How far is she willing to go to conceal her past, preserve her freedom, and claim the future she desires?
Inspired by actual events, this epistolary tale of heartbreak, healing, and hope unfolds through journal entries, letters, recollections and accounts. Set in Halifax, Manhattan, and on Long Island during the Gilded Age, Mrs. Walford is a story of found family, love delayed, and the power of friendship in turbulent times.
If you liked the mystery, romance, friendships, and atmosphere of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society and A Gentleman in Moscow, you'll love Mrs. Walford.
A dark secret. A second chance.
Sadie Walford, the wife of a prominent Brooklyn ship broker and mother of two, registers at the Queen Hotel in Halifax, Nova Scotia, using a false name. Two weeks later she is buried in the local cemetery. Or is she?
Without family or friends, health or hope, Sadie arrives already contemplating a drastic next step. But she hasn't counted on the likes of Eleanor, the hotel's no-nonsense bookkeeper, or Maggie, the annoyingly helpful head maid, who both have other ideas.
A chance encounter with a thief sets events in motion, and Sadie will be forced to choose: How far is she willing to go to conceal her past, preserve her freedom, and claim the future she desires?
Inspired by actual events, this epistolary tale of heartbreak, healing, and hope unfolds through journal entries, letters, recollections and accounts. Set in Halifax, Manhattan, and on Long Island during the Gilded Age, Mrs. Walford is a story of found family, love delayed, and the power of friendship in turbulent times.
If you liked the mystery, romance, friendships, and atmosphere of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society and A Gentleman in Moscow, you'll love Mrs. Walford.
Beverley Road, Brooklyn, New York
I lurked beneath the oak, watching the two handsome buildings across the road and wilting in the unexpected heat. I noted their three storeys, broad verandas and fresh paint, and the gleaming Hudson parked in between, and mused—not for the first time—how very well Alice Williams had done for herself.
Finally, the door of the larger boarding house opened, and black-clad guests streamed forth, donning hats, clapping shoulders, opening mourning parasols, and drifting down the sidewalk. At length, the flow trickled to a stop, and a few minutes later I emerged from the tree's shadow, also wearing black.
I took one step into Beverley Road, but froze, heart pounding, when a last straggler appeared at the door. Not a guest: family. My eyes tracked her figure until she rounded the corner.
A motorcar roared by, horn blaring, which jolted me back to the present and onto the curb. My flailing hand sought the tree behind me and I clung to the rough bark, gasping, swiping sudden tears from my cheeks and mouth. After several moments I righted myself, and, checking left and right this time, crossed the street. I mounted the stairs of the larger house, my knees wobbling, my satchel growing heavier with every step. Could I do this? Would I see it through at last?
I knocked, and was admitted by a brisk and efficient Miss Martine. Yes, I said, I am inquiring about a room, and yes, I have boarded with Mrs. Williams in the past—the distant past. No, I would not care to give my name, and yes, I would prefer to speak to the owner. Miss Martine ushered me into a large parlour, shooed away the two servants with their tea carts, and withdrew. I perched on a settee, my knees creaking on the way down.
Tasteful flower arrangements and iridescent Favrile vases—themselves mimicking exotic blooms—were placed about the room, which was still dotted with cups and saucers from the reception. The scent of spiced shortbread lingered in the air. My eyes latched onto the display of silver-framed photographs and I rose, stepping nearer the silk-covered table to better absorb the fading images: blonde schoolgirls, here demure in braids, there frolicking and carefree at the beach; young women with tennis rackets, on bicycles, in amateur theatricals, at costume parties; two blushing in bridal finery; one bleak in widow's weeds.
The approaching clip of agitated heels was softened by thick carpeting. I straightened and took a quavering breath, steeling myself for whatever was to come.
"I'm sorry," Alice's silvery voice addressed my back, "but you'll have to apply on another day. We've had a death—"
I turned from the table and took in the elegant woman before me: a touch shorter, a little thicker than I remembered, the still-handsome face sagging under the weight of her grief. I observed the moment of recognition, her intake of breath, her open-mouthed confusion, but realized I was hoping for something more. Then, there it was, for the smallest shard of a moment: joy. Followed, as expected, by a kaleidoscope of other, less pleasant emotions.
"Sadie?" Fear was not the least of them.
"Hello, Alice." Was that as gentle, as benign, as I'd intended?
Alice shook her head, stunned. "You're ... alive?"
"As you see," I said, presenting my form with an illusionist's hand.
Alice stared, mouth agape; her eyes darted toward the street and back to me, no doubt calculating how much longer we had. "But when you left us, left your family in President Street," she shook her head, "you—"
"I was not at my best," I conceded. "Nor were you." Understatements both. She had the grace to blush.
"But the—incident, Sadie. In Halifax." That silvery voice foundered. "How?"
How, indeed. I smiled faintly, and reached deep into my satchel.
Brenda Tyedmers apparently stumbled on the story of the unfortunate Mrs Walford, then began what must have been extensive and time-consuming research to learn all about the woman, her family, her friends, and conditions in the age and society in which the poor woman lived, and died (possibly by her own hand). Adding detail from her own imagination to build a story, Brenda has created a true masterpiece of historical fiction. The early chapters of the story confuse a little, with lots of jumping about in time and chapters written from the perspectives of different characters. It’s a little challenging to figure out where all the characters fit in the story and how their escapades are connected. Readers should persist, however, because as the mystery is exposed, the story develops into a real page turner.
Sadie Walford’s early life was challenging, and she didn’t cope particularly well with the struggles. Fleeing an unhappy situation seemed the only way to preserve her freedom, but she could not be free from the curse that threatened to destroy her. She contemplates ending her pain, but she doesn’t anticipate the persistence of caring hotel staff, nor the skills and dedication of the doctor the hotel bookkeeper introduces. And then there is the thief’s threat. Dealing with that sets an astonishing chain of events in motion.
Brenda Tyedmers tells us her novel, Mrs Walford, was inspired by actual events. She lets her story unfold gradually, through letters, journal entries, recollections, and newspaper accounts. Set in Halifax, Manhattan, and on Long Island, Mrs Walford is a story of family tragedy, misunderstanding of an ailment, and frustrated love affairs. But it’s a story that exposes the power of friendship in turbulent times. It’s a mix of mystery, romance, and family saga, and it’s a thought-provoking story of the tragedy that can result from poor circumstances and misunderstandings. Yet it reveals how, in nearly all tragic circumstances, there is a shining light. Caring people emerge at unexpected times. Friendship eases pains and lights the darkness.
Mrs Walford is Brenda Tyedmers’ first novel, but her experience as an author and playwright is apparent. Her interest in and knowledge of art also shine through in the fascinating paragraphs about stained glass works. Mrs Walford is clearly the work of a skilled writer with deep subject knowledge and a passion for diligent research. It’s an amazing story, superbly written. It will delight lovers of historical fiction, but also lovers of great women’s fiction, mysteries, family sagas… and, really, anyone who just loves a great story written by an author with impressive ability. I will look for more by Brenda Tyedmers. Mrs Walford was a rare reading treat.