October will bring the publication of A Rage Of Souls, the eighth Simon Westow novel. A couple of people who’ve read it feel it’s the darkest yet in the series – which surprised me; it never struck me that way when I was writing it. Shadowed and sorrowful, yes. But the series had always had shaded undercurrents and that sense that violence might explode.

Yes (I think) there’s always been hope in there too, some light amongst everything else.

She sat outside the cottage, quietly reading her book and relishing the warmth of the afternoon sun. Even through the fine layer of haze and smoke that always hung over the town, the heat was comforting.

When the bell at the parish church pealed half past five, Jane set the book aside and brought a knife from her pocket, spending five minutes honing its sharpness. She knew this blade. It had saved her life and served her well. Readiness could mark the distance between life and death. Her attention had slipped once, and she’d paid for it with her little finger. Simon had let down his guard for a single moment and now he walked with the consequences.

As she approached Barton’s house, she paused to study Sally. When they met, the girl had been a child of anger. It was fury that had kept her alive on the streets. But living with Simon and Rosie and their boys, she’d found a family who cared for her, and much of that hardness had blunted, tempered with compassion. She was growing, taller every month it seemed, and starting to fill out. How old was she? Thirteen, Jane decided. That, or perhaps a year older.

Still a strange one, a child of two families, one with the Westows and the other with the homeless children who relied on each other. God help her if she was ever forced to choose between them, Jane thought.

‘Barton left about an hour after you,’ Sally said. ‘The servant brought a gig from the coach house. He and a woman went off in it. I decided to stay in case Fox came sniffing.’

‘Any sign of him?’ Her gaze slid around, but there was little to see. The house was quiet, nobody visible through the windows. She shook her head.

‘Nothing at all.’ ‘I’ll stay for a few hours and come back again in the morning.’

When she turned her head again, Sally had vanished.

But I should probably announce something – this will be the last book in the series. I hadn’t originally planned it that way, but the one I had in my head as the final novel refused to come together, and, reading it again, this seems to make a good conclusion. I’m not going to force things

Perhaps I’m right. You’ll have to be the judge.

It’s available for pre-order, as hardback and ebook. I’ll give the Amazon UK links here, although Speedy Hen is cheaper for the hardback and has free postage. Find it here.

And while you’re at it, Cathy Marsden in No Precious Truth will appear in paperback in November for £9.99 ($16.99 US). Very easy to carry around and also makes a great extra Christmas present. You can pre-order that, too. Do it right here.