The Signare of Goree by Laura Rahme - #excerpt #extract #blogtour

 

 

Isn't this the most gorgeous cover? It has me wanting to dive straight into this book.

I am delighted to be bringing you an excerpt of this beautiful looking book today.

Enjoy!

The Blurb

1846. In the heat of West Africa, the French navy uncovers the corpses of two French soldiers. Inspector Maurice Leroux arrives at the island of Gorée. It seems death has come to this small colonial outpost off the Senegal coast, home to the prosperous mixed-blood women known as the signares.The navy suspects that the Bambara people, emboldened by approaching emancipation, may be out for blood. While confronted by the locals’ strange magical beliefs, Maurice remains skeptical. Does malevolence play a part, or are these deaths accidental, brought upon by the brutality of nature in an island known as the white man's grave?But when murder strikes, it becomes clear that a killer is stalking Gorée.Swept by a mystery unlike any he has known, Maurice meets Signare Angélique Aussenac. The proud métis, deserted by her wealthy Bordeaux lover, casts her spell upon Maurice.But beyond the throbbing sounds of the tam-tams and the glittering signare soirées, danger lurks. Someone is watching. And the deaths go on.Could the killer be one of the rich Bordeaux merchants? Or are they hiding among the powerful signares?

A historical mystery spanning France and Senegal, THE SIGNARE OF GORÉE explores a world of magic, murder, and passion.

ISBN: 979 8866604852

Publisher:  Independently published

Formats:  e-book and paperback

No. of Pages:  274 (paperback)

The Excerpt

The crescendo rose and as he passed by the drummers, his ears battered by the sound of the tam-tams, he felt the crowd part. He looked to where all eyes were turned. Even the handsome singer had lifted his eyes which radiated a joy bordering on ecstasy. The young man’s voice eased into a seductive humming and before long, Maurice saw what it was that held the Serer’s attention. 

Her stride was a rhythmic dance. Her bold steps claimed the land. Those who gathered as she passed stole glances upon all her treasures – they found the gleam of her toe rings, the shimmering dust settling upon those feet, the jingle of her gold bracelets encircling her ankles and wrists – all of them delights to behold. And upon that bronzed face, in her eyes, between haughtiness and chastity, burned a green-tinged amber that was neither from this land nor from the cities of Europe. Rare and forbidden, it knew its worth. 

Along the sheen of her arms and cheeks, a glow spoke of endless sensuality. She was something new, carved by the African sun, a creation from centuries of passion, born against all odds, bridging worlds across the seas. 

Draped in bold, intricate fabrics which even folded into a conical shape atop her forehead, she strolled past with a retinue of four young women, two of them bare-chested, save for the jewels that hung round their necks.

And each tam-tam beat that the young man struck, each note of his song, each caress of his hum, it called to her. As the mysterious woman drew near him, the artist’s voice brought a quick smile to her lips, and for an instant, as the crowd murmured its awe, a strange glow flickered in her eyes just as she met the drummer’s own. 

But she did not linger. Maurice caught a faint scent of cloves and patchouli as she passed.

“A princess of some sort?” he asked.

The lieutenant had reached him. Maurice noted he also wore a smile on his face. 

“She gives that impression, I suppose,” answered Candeau. “But she is a signare, like Anna Colas, not a princess. The young women by her side are her servants.”

“Servants? They are loaded with gold…”  Maurice studied the gilded ornaments adorning the younger women’s brown limbs and necks. Silver and gold chains vied for the sun’s rays among coral beads and amulets. Bracelets jingled from their wrists to the folds of their elbows and fine hoops heavy with gold grapes dangled from their lobes. 

“The signares of this island are not averse to making a lavish display of their wealth. Angélique Aussenac is usually an exception to this rule. Perhaps she has a lover in sight. She seems quite pleased with herself.”

About the Author:

Laura Rahme is the author of seven historical novels. Born in Dakar, Senegal where she spent her early childhood, she moved to Australia at the age of ten. A graduate of two Honors degrees in Aerospace Engineering and Psychology, she has worked over two decades as an IT professional. Her greatest joy comes from travel, researching history, and penning historical mysteries. She now lives in France with her screenwriting husband.

(material and media courtesy of The Coffee Pot Book Club)

(all opinions are my own)