Rhys is writing and reading.

 RHYS BOWEN: It's December and I'm conscious of deadline pressure. We have to turn in the next Molly Murphy book by January 1. Clare is finishing up the last chapters then I have to go in and do a complete read through to make sure the pieces we've written agree with each other. We don't want a coachman called Ed in one scene and Ned in another. We have to make sure all the dates and times are accurate and that we haven't given anything away that we shouldn't. So the big read through will take several days.  I know the plot will all be right, because we discuss every day what needs to happen next. Clare is writing brilliantly and the book has a really good plot.  It's all about the suffrage moment and the treatment of women within society. (Now how could that be relevant for today, I wonder?). It features a female scientest whose research has to be published under her husband's name.  So I know the story will resonate with all our women readers!

But, being me, at the same time as this I am writing the next Royal Spyness mystery (number 19). It's not due until the end of February but I need to get started on the next stand-alone and I have to give myself more time for that as it's longer and always needs research (and I don't know yet which Idea I'll be writing about).  So I'm trying to forge ahead with the Georgie book, called FROM CRADLE TO THE GRAVE.

As is the case with all the series it has a fun, lighthearted plot running through it. This time it's about nannies. Georgie's sister in law Fig has sent her the nanny from hell. Strict, old fashioned and determined to rule the roost. Georgie is allowed to see her child for an hour at tea time when he's brought down from the nursery. That's the way it's done in the best of houses. Georgie knows this. It's how it's always been done in her own family. But she wants to be more hands-on with her child. She wants to get rid of Nanny, but how? Will she dare to stand up to Fig for once?  She might....

At the same time a perplexing case has arrisen. Several of their friends have just been to funerals of young men they knew. All died in what seemed to be accidents. All were heirs to estates, titles or money. Is someone killing off the sons of English peers? Is Darcy next on the list? And how can Georgie leave her child to get away to solve this?  There is a lot of juggling in the writing, making sure we learn tiny snippets here and there that enable Georgie (and the reader) to come to the right conclusion.

Here is a scene where she first meets Nanny:

This story began when I looked out of the blue bedroom window at the front of the house on a brisk March morning to see an ancient taxi cab coming up the driveway. As I watched it disgorged a tall, middle aged woman. She looked around with an expression so haughty and disapproving that I concluded she had to be at least a Russian grand duchess, maybe sent to us by Princess Zamanska, (usually known to her friends as Zou Zou.) I hastily patted my hair into place and smoothed down my skirt, noticing a couple of carrot stains from feeding my baby son James, and hurried down the stairs to greet her myself.

                I opened the front door just as she was about to knock.

                “Hello,” I said.

                The expression became even more disapproving. “Are all the servants in this house allowed to be so familiar with arriving guests and to be dressed in such an inappropriate manner?” she asked in a voice that could cut glass. “I wish to speak to Lady Georgiana. Please go and inform her that I have arrived.”

                I noticed that she was wearing a gray cape over a gray skirt with a gray pill box hat on her head, matching her gray hair and gray face. Only the eyes were a darker shade of steel. Golly, I thought. Was I supposed to know she was coming? Had Darcy or one of the servants forgotten to pass along a message that a person of considerable importance was about to land on my doorstep?

                “I am Lady Georgiana,” I said. “Please do come in.”

                At this she raised an eyebrow. “Your sister-in-law, Her Grace the Duchess, told me that this was a lax household but I had no idea that the lady of the house had to open her own front door.”

                “I just happened to see the cab draw up from the upstairs window so I came down to greet you, I said, So you know Fig, do you?”

                “Her grace, Hilda, Duchess of Rannoch? Yes. I am familiar with her. A wonderful woman. Salt of the Earth.”

                Anyone who could describe Fig as a wonderful woman was immediately suspect in my view. “And may one know your name?”

                The eyebrow arched again. “You mean you were not expecting me? Your sister-in-law, her grace, the duchess, told me she was going to write to you announcing my arrival. Clearly the post office is not what it was, or maybe storms in Scotland have stranded the postal van again. I am your new nanny. Nanny Hardbottle.”

                I think my jaw dropped open and somehow I was unable to close it.

                She was frowning at me now.

                “But there must be some mistake. I didn’t request, I mean I had not hired…”

                “Precisely,” she said. “Her Grace told me that you had been without a proper nanny since the birth of the child and it was about time you had one. So she took it upon herself to save you the trouble and, as luck would have it, she learned that the last of the Aubery-Fulton sons has just gone off to a military academy and that I would now be free.”

                I still couldn’t make my mouth work to say anything.

                “I had considered retiring,” she continued, “and growing begonias in a cottage in the Lake District, but given your obvious need and the way her grace, the duchess, almost got down on her knees to beg me, how could I refuse? The young master is going to be raised to be a leader of the empire, after all.” She paused, examining me with utter disdain. “Now, if you would be good enough to have a member of your staff show me to my quarters? I presume that there is a suitable room for me in the nursery suite, next to the young master?”

                The young master was, at this moment, not in the nursery at all. He was in his cot in my bedroom, since I had been nursing him myself and wasn’t about to go walking around the corridors and up the stairs in the middle of the night. Also I wanted to be close to him if he woke up and cried. I knew, in theory, that I needed a proper nanny. James was being raised, as she said, to be a future leader of the empire, and families like mine expected to employ nannies. But I had put it off, enjoying the closeness and the ability to watch every new achievement, every smile and gurgle. Until now my personal maid, Maisie, had helped me take care of him, doing the less pleasant tasks like his laundry, changing nappies and watching him when I was out. My brain was racing, trying to think of a way to tell this woman that she was the last person on God’s earth that I’d want taking care of my child, but my brain refused to work.

                I opened my mouth to tell her to go away and never come back but instead I heard myself saying, “If you will come into the morning room, I will summon my housekeeper. She will know about nursery arrangements.”

So how will Georgie manage to get rid of this awful person without incurring the wrath of Fig? Will Queenie have a hand in it? You'll have to read to find out....

Everyone seems to have a favorite character in this series. Who is yours?