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Set in the buried streets of Georgian London and the outrageous underworld of the molly houses, a carpenter hiding a double life searches for a traitor who is betraying the secrets of the mollies. The devastatingly beautiful, brutal, raucous and tender historical thriller – a Top Ten Sunday Times bestseller!
The only sin is betrayal…
It is the year 1715, and Thomas True has arrived on old London Bridge with a dangerous secret. One night, lost amongst the squalor of London’s hidden back streets, he finds himself drawn into the outrageous underworld of the molly houses.
Meanwhile, carpenter Gabriel Griffin struggles to hide his double life as Lotty, the molly’s stoic guard. When a young man is found murdered, he realises there is a rat amongst them, betraying their secrets to a pair of murderous Justices.
Can Gabriel unmask the traitor before they hang? Can he save hapless Thomas from peril, and their own forbidden love?
Set amidst the buried streets of Georgian London, The Betrayal of Thomas True is a brutal and devastating thriller, where love must overcome evil, and the only true sin is betrayal…
My thanks to Anne of Random Things Tours for the invite to take part in the paperback tour for The Betrayal of Thomas True. I reviewed this when it was published last year in hardback – you can see my review here, and I’m delighted to share an extract this time. Published by Orenda Books, the paperback was released on 3 July 2025.
EXTRACT
CHAPTER TWO
High against the shining stones of the new cathedral, men were climbing through the scaffolding, dismantling the platforms one by one in slow and steady measures. On the loftiest of all the gantries stood Henry Sylva, watching his friend with concern. He knew that dismal look too well. He swung himself on a rope to the nearest ladder.
‘Reckon we’ve done a morning’s work, don’t you, Gabe?’
‘Ay.’
‘My neck’s roasted.’
‘Looks it.’
Henry rested his heel against a standard and tugged at his breeches. ‘I need a piss. Probably quicker to jump off than take the ladder.’
‘Reckon so.’
Henry tutted. ‘Might as well talk to the wall as you these days.’
Far below them, London spread out like one of Wren’s scale models of the City, the churchyard stretching out to miniature streets of stone and old timber. Henry kicked a chip of Portland stone from the gangway and watched it skitter over the edge.
Gabriel’s throat rumbled. ‘You’ll have us in trouble.’
‘He wakes!’ said Henry, throwing his hands out in mock celebration.
‘Won’t do any harm, we’ll be out of work in a fortnight anyway, once the scaffolding’s down. All them years our fathers spent building these gangways, never thought the day’d come we took ’em down.’
‘We’ll find new work.’
Henry pushed back from the beam, stowing his mallet in his belt. ‘We’d better, or my good wife will have words. Time for a beer; should get an extra flagon in this heat.’
‘I ain’t thirsty.’
Henry laughed. ‘Not thirsty, he says.’ He rapped his knuckles on the foot of a stone apostle. ‘Did you hear that? Must be the end of days at last, and just when we’ve finished the church.’
Gabriel huffed. ‘Get away.’ He rubbed his face with a shovel-sized hand, feeling the prickle of hot water rising behind his eyes. ‘Leave me be.
Henry went to speak but thought better of it. ‘Ho then,’ he said, passing his friend with a slap on the back. ‘Enjoy the view.’
Gabriel waited for Henry to climb down before he took the locket from his neck and allowed the tears to come. High on the scaffolding surrounding the new St Paul’s, he could cry for a while. Up there, far away from noise and grime, it was only him and the birds. He clicked open the locket and wiped his nose. ‘Ay,’ he said to himself, ‘another year.’
How he hated the sound of his own voice, especially when he was sad: too soft for a man of his size, so feeble he could tear out his own tongue. He looked along the side of the cathedral, past the smooth columns of white stone, and buried his face in his arms. It had been three years to the day. He gripped the lintel, levering his nails from their beds. ‘You never loved them well enough,’ he said. ‘Never knew what love was.’
He felt the shudder of the wooden frame far below his boots and quickly pushed the locket back into his shirt. He wiped his eyes and stood back from the ladder, accidentally knocking a hammer with his elbow, watching in horror as it toppled over the edge.
‘Heartbreaking, beautiful, lyrical. I was captivated … you won’t want to put it down’ Catriona Ward
‘Utterly thrilling’ Elizabeth MacNeal
‘An immersive, illuminating and exceptionally entertaining novel’ Matt Cain
‘Stunning and powerful … You’ll never forget Thomas True’ Janice Hallett
‘A clever mystery, a powerful love story … affected me more than anything I’ve read in a long time’ Gareth Brown
**WINNER OF THE HWA DEBUT CROWN**
**THE TOP TEN Sunday Times BESTSELLER**
**SHORTLISTED for Booksellers Association Author of the Year**
A.J. West’s bestselling debut novel The Spirit Engineer won the Historical Writers’ Association Debut Crown Award, gaining international praise for its telling of a long-forgotten true story. An award winning BBC newsreader and reporter, he has written for national newspapers and regularly appears on network television discussing his writing and the historical context of contemporary events. A passionate historical researcher, he writes at The London Library and museum archives around the world. To connect with AJ and discover more about his research, visit www.ajwestauthor.com
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