Research is part of the lifeblood of an author. It takes us directly into the world we hope to inhabit; it inspires us with ideas for plot and character, even though sometimes we have to fictionalize things. Just a bit.
The first Anglo-Burmese War was officially declared in March of 1824, but action began in the fall of 1823 when Burma took the island of Shapuree and attacked British soldiers stationed there. The war between British India and Burma lasted until 1826 and deeply weakened Burma (after two more wars, Burma was eventually taken into the British Empire in 1885). Obviously, the characters of Georgina Thompson and the Comte de Le Bon never (to my knowledge) existed, nor did their actions in any way facilitate anti-Burmese sentiment in Great Britain. But tension between British India (and, therefore, the British Empire) and Burma did exist, due to Burma’s extreme expansionist philosophies, and, therefore, in my fiction, Georgina Thompson is tasked with helping the inevitable along.
It may seem odd to say that there were not enough commissions in the Royal Navy to satisfy the number of officers it had. After all, after 1815, a great era of Pax Britannica was ushered in, where Britain, due to its maritime might, was able to peacefully hold and control trade routes and greatly expand its empire. Indeed, Britain had a larger fleet than any two other nations combined. But it was still far fewer ships than they had previously. According to Dean King, author of A Sea of Words: A Lexicon and Companion to the Complete Seafaring Tales of Patrick O’Brien, “In the years that followed [the wars], Britain dramatically reduced her naval forces in a long period of peace but still remained unchallenged as the possessor of the most powerful navy in the world.”
Since Britain didn’t need all of its ships, it didn’t need all of its officers. Thus, Lieutenant Jack Fletcher is rightly very worried about the future of his naval career when his ship is brought limping into the London docks.
Hans Holbein the Younger (1497–1543) was a German Renaissance Era artist known for his portraiture, and upon his travels to England, he became a favorite of the Tudor Court, painting many of the court’s most illustrious figures, including Sir Thomas More, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and King Henry VIII himself.
In If I Fall, my heroes are able to tell that the Holbein on the wall of the Duke of Parford’s library is a reproduction because “it’s still a bit wet—[they could] practically smell the linseed oil.” Oil paintings vary in drying times, depending on how thinned the paint was by additives such as linseed oil, but even then, oil paintings are often not dry to the touch until weeks after completion. (Sometimes, a painting is not considered completely, thoroughly dry until several years have passed!) Hence, they would be able to tell by touch if the work was recently done. (Full disclosure: Holbein’s chosen paints for his portraits were oil and tempera. Tempera, being made from eggs, is incredibly quick-drying. But it was used as an under layer and would have had no effect on the drying time of the thicker oil top layers.)
The Horse Guards in Whitehall was home to the offices of the general staff of the British army, and still houses some minor army commands to this day. In my fictional world, it is also home to the War Department, and the secretive Security Section thereof. The interior geography of the building, with its attic rooms, is entirely of my own invention. (Although there is a ceremonial archway, which Jack erringly rides through, as only the monarch is meant to pass through it.)
There are a great many other aspects of the story that benefited from research (the naval offices are located in Somerset House, officers without a commission must sign an affidavit, allowing them meager half pay in exchange for not taking up other work, etc.), but in the end, it is just that—a story. And hopefully one you have enjoyed reading as much as I did writing.
Many thanks,
Kate Noble