Excerpt from Mrs. Engels by Gavin McCrea, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

We've stopped outside Karl's study. By the way she puzzles at the half-open door, I can tell she's queasy about whether to venture in or to pass over it. Shamming ignorance of her unease, I unhitch myself and go through.

"It might look like a mess," she says, following after me, "but it has its own peculiar method."

I make my way to a clearing on the rug, a small circle of carpet bordered by piles of books and papers.

"It may not be immediately evident, but this room is actually the brightest and airiest in the house." She picks her way through and draws the curtain back. "The Heath right there. The air the best in London. One has only to leave the windows open a moment and that cigar smell is killed."

I'm close enough to the chimneypiece to have a proper gander at the things littered on it: the matches, the tobacco boxes, the paperweights, the portraits of Jenny and the Girls.

"Look, here's yours," she says, pointing at the picture of Frederick.

On the way back out, I take the liberty to push in a file that looks ready to topple from the bookcase.

"He calls them his slaves," says Jenny, meaning the books.

This extract is taken from the novel Mrs. Engels, which is available now from Catapult Books and appears courtesy of Scribe Publications.