.png)
.png)
 |
| Welcome to my Blog! Wander through worlds real and fictional, meet interesting people, visit exciting places and find good books to enjoy along the way! |
 |
| About the Book |
 |
| read an excerpt |
Jessie
remembered her previous visit; an interesting visit on an early summer
afternoon. This bleak empty space had been soft and green, dotted with tourists
carrying guidebooks, picnics and cameras, and thankful for the refreshing
breeze off the lake. School children stood in groups around tour guides dressed
in the scarlet coats of English soldiers and listened distractedly to the
history of Fort Niagara.
But
the breeze was now a chill, biting wind, the parade ground was icy with patchy
drifts of snow, and Jessie shuddered as they approached the blank, cold
building. The red coats were grey, and the mature, kindly guides were hardened,
professional soldiers.
The
captain disappeared over the threshold and they followed him into a square
entrance hall, barely illuminated by flickering candles in brackets on the
wall. With one foot on a low circular stone wall, the captain had come to a
stop and stared vacantly down the black well shaft. Wearily, he tugged off the
hat and short curly wig, and with the other hand massaged his closely cropped
head of dark stubble.
Tip
gasped as he removed his hair, and roused him from whatever troubles he was
contemplating. He walked back past them, tossed the hat and wig onto a table
and paused briefly before a small mirror to consider his drained, tired face.
Two enclosed switchback stairwells rose either side of the main entrance, and
the Captain gestured for them to follow him upstairs.
Indistinct
conversations and sporadic movement crept beneath closed doors leading from the
entrance hall. Jessie bumped Tip, who had remained where she was, gazing in
fascination at the new surroundings, and gently turned her towards the
staircase. Tip briefly felt the wig, stared at the candles, then stopped again
as she saw herself staring back out of the mirror glass. Jessie guided her
towards the first step and glanced at her own reflection.
“God,
I look like crap,” she whispered to herself.
She
hardly recognized the drawn, pinched face, the unruly blonde locks and dark
rimmed, tired, red eyes. The last time she had gazed into a mirror was that
Sunday morning at the home, and she struggled to recall the face which had
stared back at her then, it was another persons’ face; someone else’s life.
Askook
stood, with a satisfied smile, before a closed door across the open landing at
the top of the stairs.
“You’ve
made your report already then?” the captain snapped.
Jessie
heard the irritation in his voice. Askook opened the door with a jerk of his
head for her to enter, but the Frenchman stepped forward first. Askook’s arm
twitched as if he thought, briefly, to bar his entrance, then stood back, the
smile faltered, and the captain entered without a word or a glance.
Here,
finally, was some warmth. Logs crackled in a fireplace to the centre of the
left-hand wall, beyond which a second door stood ajar. By Jessie’s left knee a
chaise longue filled the wall to the fire, heaped with discarded garments. A
long coat, white-grey like the captain’s was thrown over the back, crumpled
shirts, white socks, one white glove and a bright scarlet waistcoat covered the
upholstered seat. Balanced carelessly on the end nearest the fireplace was a
black tricorne hat. The one narrow window was partially hidden behind a desk
and chair. Jessie’s sweep of the room stopped abruptly at the chair. The
occupant gazed out across the lake, white shirt with elbows on the chair arms.
His white clad legs reached to the window, with black shoed feet crossed and
resting on the sill. The fire crackled occasionally, footsteps and voices
sounded around the building, but in the small, square room no one moved, no
word was spoken.
The
captain cleared his throat impatiently. As if their arrival could have gone
unnoticed, Jessie thought. But his prompt had the desired effect; the
close-cropped head moved to one side.
“Any
problems, Captain Pouchot?”
Jessie
heard a stifled groan from Tip to her left. She turned to see Tip staring at
the back of the head, her lips trembled and she shuddered, as if an icy draft
had blown across her neck. Captain Pouchot heard it too. He was staring at
Tip’s reaction with a frustrated frown, then snapped his attention back to the
occupant of the chair.
“Well
captain, were there any problems?” The voice carried assured authority, with a
note of annoyance.
“No…your
Lordship.” Pouchot struggled with the honorific. “The expedition was quite
uneventful.”
“So,”
continued the voice, “your fears were unfounded? My assessment of the situation
was accurate?”
“Yes,
your Lordship. However, I stand by my concerns. Such an exercise, in
mid-winter, with no possibility of reinforcement, could have been a
catastrophe. And for what? Four children, whose importance I do not see…”
“No Pouchot. But you do not need to.”
%20copy.png)
scroll down to leave a comment
thank you!
*
| The story of the events that led to The Battle of Hastings in 1066 Harold the King (UK edition) I Am The Chosen King (US edition) AND 1066 Turned Upside Down an anthology of 'What If'' 1066 tales  |
 |
| e-book only Free on Amazon |
(subscription reminder available)
PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW
FOR YOUR FAVOURITE AUTHORS ON AMAZON!
 |
A 4 or 5 star rating and a brief
"I thoroughly enjoyed this book!" will make such a difference!
THANK YOU!
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thank you for leaving a comment - it should appear soon. If you are having problems, contact me on author AT helenhollick DOT net and I will post your comment for you. That said ...SPAMMERS or rudeness will be composted or turned into toads.
Helen