by Lauren Willig

Every now and then, a plot dashes up to you, taps you on the shoulder, and shouts, “Hi! I’m here!” That’s exactly what happened with The Deception of the Emerald Ring. Five years ago, in the cold of a Cambridge winter, I let myself be talked into teaching two sections of a class called Second British Empire, 1783-1945. There was just one problem with this arrangement. My field is British history. My knowledge of the Empire was limited to a vague impression of elephants, sepoy mutinies, potato famines, and several viewings of that cinematic classic, “Zulu.” Somehow, I didn’t think this was going to get me through a full term. I considered beginning every class with, “Meanwhile, back in Britain…” but I didn’t think that was really going to fly either. So I holed up in my little studio apartment, surrounded by a motley assortment of books on India, Ireland, and Africa, grimly determined to stay at least one step ahead of my students. And that was when Robert Emmett strolled off the page and into my fictional clutches– er, plans.

If you haven’t heard of Emmett, don’t feel bad. I hadn’t either. A dapper gentleman with a classical haircut, a well-tied cravat, and a winning way with a pen, after fleeing to the Continent following the failed rising of 1798, he returned to Ireland in 1803 to try again. Assumed names, hidden rooms, negotiations with the French…. Emmett and his band of patriots (or rebels, depending on who you’re talking to) constructed a network of secret rooms around Dublin, designed to hold arms and, eventually, fighting men who would burst forth from their hiding places armed with the ingeniously constructed pikes, grenades and firearms the plotters had painstakingly stockpiled in their warren of hidden chambers. Napoleon’s Minister of War pledged ships and troops; the commander of the British forces in Dublin ever so conveniently decided to go on holiday in the West Country, leaving the political center of Ireland undefended; and the future of Britain tottered in the balance. What better place to stage a novel?

St. Werburgh’s, a center of undercover activity in Emerald Ring, now missing its once lofty tower

I was also delighted at the chance to revisit Dublin. I’ve loved Ireland ever since a teenage trip with my grandparents, so I seized the excuse to go back for the creation of this book– even if only through pictures and maps. The Dublin I explored for the book was somewhat different from the one I trailed through in the wake of my grandmother and her guidebook. Although the city still boasts many gracious squares and beautiful Georgian buildings, the city was considerably smaller in 1803. The Abbey Theatre, which we attended for a memorable performance of something-or-other (okay, maybe it wasn’t all that memorable, since I haven’t the foggiest recollection of what we actually saw) hadn’t been built yet. Instead, my hero and heroine dodge assorted villains in the crowded back passageways of the now defunct Crow Street Theatre.

Patrick Street, now gone upscale, was a confused warren of narrow streets and rickety wooden buildings, perfect for the location of a rebel stronghold.

With my next book, The Seduction of the Silver Serpent, my characters and I will be moving back to London—but after the fun I had researching Ireland, I’m tempted to chivvy my characters along to more remote parts of the globe. Scotland… India… Portugal…. What do you think?