Andrew Taylor - The Scent of Death

‘Andrew Taylor has been quietly producing superb historical fiction since long before Hilary Mantel’s Man Booker wins bestowed literary respectability on the genre … He has the first-rate historian’s ability to channel the spirit of his period and let it speak for itself, combined with a masterly command of plotting and pace. His hair’s-breadth-escape set pieces are superb’

Daily Telegraph

‘Andrew Taylor’s epic historical detective novel is an absorbing and harrowing tale of the last part of America under British rule … The 18th century voice is beautifully achieved: Taylor is as good at this period as C J Sansom is at Tudor England, and like him pulls off novels that work both as literary fiction and detective stories … The mud, blood, corruption and cruelty of early Manhattan ratchet up the suspense’

Independent

‘The narrative unfolds with a leisurely confidence that allows unhurried opportunities for character and motivation to emerge. As the plot satisfyingly thickens to take in profiteering, and love and sex across the racial divide, Taylor once again shows how skilful a historical novelist he is’

Sunday Times

‘Andrew Taylor is an expert in the realm of murder and mystery fiction … The Scent of Death is a triumph of genre plotting: a detective story, and a piece of period writing that excites and surprises in equal measure … Taylor recognizes that successful page-turners come from the author removing himself from view and simply concentrating on telling a story that keeps readers interested to the end. In this respect, The Scent of Death undoubtedly and thrillingly succeeds’

Spectator

‘Andrew Taylor’s historical crime fiction is always an event. Ten years ago The American Boy , a gothic tale of the young Edgar Allan Poe in Regency England, deservedly won him a second CWA Historical Dagger. The Anatomy of Ghosts , from 2010, was both rambunctious and chilling, stripping away the demure veneer of Cambridge to reveal a wilder, and weirder, underside. Now he turns to Manhattan, although not as we know it’

Guardian

‘Taylor has emerged as an historical novelist with a rare gift for mood and atmosphere – especially the 18th century’

i

‘Andrew Taylor is one of the most imaginative historical mystery novelists writing today. Expect this to appear on a lot of “Best Of 2013” lists’

Globe and Mail

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Harper

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street,

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2013

Copyright © Andrew Taylor 2013

Prelims map credit © Nicolette Caven 2013

Cover layout © HarperCollins Publishers 2013

Cover photographs © Roy Bishop / Arcangel Images (iron gate); Jill Battaglia / Arcangel Images (figure); Shutterstock (house)

Designed by www.emma-rogers.com

Andrew Taylor asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007213535

Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2014 ISBN: 9780007564644

Version: 2015-07-20

To Will with love

Table of Contents

Praise for The Scent of Death

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Map

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two

Chapter Seventy-Three

Chapter Seventy-Four

Chapter Seventy-Five

Chapter Seventy-Six

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Chapter Seventy-Eight

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Chapter Eighty

Chapter Eighty-One

Chapter Eighty-Two

Chapter Eighty-Three

Chapter Eighty-Four

Chapter Eighty-Five

Afterword

Acknowledgements

About the Author

By the same author

About the Publisher

This is the story of a woman and a city. I saw the city first, glimpsing it from afar as it shimmered like the new Jerusalem in the light of the setting sun. I smelled the sweetness of the land and sensed the nearness of green, growing things after the weeks on the barren ocean. We had just passed through the narrows between Long and Staten islands and come into Upper New York Bay. It was Sunday, 2 August 1778.

The following morning, Mr Noak and I came up on deck an hour or two after dawn. The city was now close at hand. In the hard light of day it lost its celestial qualities and was revealed as a paltry, provincial sort of place.

We had heard that a conflagration had broken out during the night. Nevertheless, it came as something of a shock to see the broad pall of smoke hanging over the southern end of the island, which was where the city was. The stink of burning wafted across the water. Fires smouldered among the stumps of blackened buildings. Men scurried along the wharves that lined the docks. A file of soldiers moved to the beat of an invisible drum.

‘It’s as if the town has been sacked,’ I said.

Noak leaned on the rail. ‘The Captain says it must have been set deliberately, Mr Savill. This is the second fire, you know. The other was two years ago. They blamed the rebels then, just as they do now.’