Epilogue
Annabelle sat on an ornate bench overlooking the faded white marble gravestones of Charlotte, Spencer, and those belonging to their four children Benjamin, Charles, Andrew, and Annabelle.
Dappled sun shone through the trees, creating mysterious shadows and the blue sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds that drifted lazily in the gentle summer breeze.
Being in half-mourning, Charlotte had looked lovely in a lavender-colored wedding gown.
Instead of a floral bouquet, the beautiful young woman had carried a fan with a rosary.
She also had given Annabelle, who was her bridesmaid, a gold ring as a sign of friendship.
Spencer had looked handsome as always in his suit which had included a black frock coat, waistcoat, trousers, a white roomy shirt, tie, and suspenders.
Two of Charlotte and Spencer’s grandchildren, Jennifer and Michael, had once again invited Annabelle to the annual family reunion to be held in Central Park.
She eagerly looked forward to the event.
It would give her the chance to reconnect with three generations of her friends’ descendants face-to-face, to share traditions and stories, and to continue to build strong, multi-generational bonds.
Annabelle excitedly anticipated the scavenger hunt, talent show, family Olympics, and charades.
She was deeply touched that Charlotte and Spencer had named their daughter after her and that their progeny had included her in such an exclusive family-oriented event.
The End
EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ?
BONUS SAMPLE CHAPTER
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FALLING THROUGH TIME
Deborah Dickey
Copyright ? 2024
Sample Chapter
Whitehall Palace,
England, August,1586
When Meg opened her eyes, she closed them again in disbelief.
She heard a woman’s voice coming from far away.
.. and suddenly she found herself sitting on an ornate bench in a long gilded Hall of Whitehall Palace in England.
She surmised it was the Elizabethan court, recognizing the fashions the courtiers were wearing.
Lavishly dressed, they bustled back and forth in an endless stream interrupted only by an occasional lady gliding through like a silken water lily.
Her brain raced as she scanned her surroundings.
Exhaustion flooded through her body and mind.
It was almost more than she could absorb.
She soon became aware that she was dressed in a rich purple satin gown with voluminous skirts that made her green eyes glitter like emeralds. She wrestled fear as she turned to gaze upon the young woman sitting next to her wearing a pale gold gown.
Meg recognized Lady Dorothy Edmunds at once from her flawless porcelain complexion, lovely glowing auburn hair and stunning hazel eyes. She had seen the attractive woman in the many portraits she had restored. Meg speculated that the lady must be wondering who she could be.
The woman asked worriedly, “My Lady, have you not heard a word I’ve spoken? ‘Tis the third time I’ve asked you for your name!”
Meg had often imagined what it would be like to go back in time through a portal and experience what she had only read about in history books.
She understood that the woman seated next to her had no idea of her identity, and most likely thought she had lost her wits.
Deep within herself she felt excitement and fear at what had happened to her.
She could see the woman waiting for her to answer, so she called upon her knowledge of Elizabethan English.
“I ask your pardon, my Lady, ’tis something that comes over me on occasion,” she replied. However, Lady Dorothy still seemed unconvinced of Meg’s sincerity.
“Truly, are you well? Is something amiss? You look pale and tired.” Meg detected a trace of pity mingled with anxiety in Lady Dorothy’s voice.
“Where am I?” Meg asked.
“Where do you think you are, my lady?” replied Dorothy, obviously puzzled.
“I ... I don’t know...” stammered Meg. “What year is it?”
“Why, ‘tis the year of our Lord 1586! Surely you know! I am Lady Dorothy Edmunds, lady-in-waiting to the Queen. I ask again, my lady, what ails you?”
Meg forced herself to sit up straight on the bench and face the other woman.
She could have told Dorothy the truth, but did not, holding her tongue, even though she did not wish to be silent.
Meg was reluctant to divulge anything. Dorothy would think her mad if she told her she had journeyed from the future.
A frown creased her brow, and a shiver of fear ran through her as she realized that she may not be able to return home.
She had gone from being an Art Conservator and professor of medieval history at Columbia University in New York to being a noblewoman in the court of Queen Elizabeth I herself!
She was aware of the danger she was in. She knew that the Elizabethan era was one of cruelty, plots, power struggles, intrigue, and treachery.
She also recalled that Queen Elizabeth was at the center of it all and that the latter part of her reign was often referred to by her fellow historians as a golden age.
Nothing was as it seemed. Deep within her core she felt a need to protect herself from potential threats.
She knew she had to think on her feet, use early modern English when speaking and say as little as possible until she was more familiar with her situation.
“Pray, Lady Dorothy, do not worry,” said Meg. “I feel quite well.”
****
At the Grays Inn, Sir Howard Shrewsbury saw Sir James Winstanley enter the crowded room and waved him over.
“Well met, James!” he exclaimed as his friend strode over to his table and seated himself across from him.
“Indeed, Shrewsbury,” said Sir James.
After his enthusiastic greeting, a serving wench wearing a one-piece dress—a white ruffle neck top and red crushed velvet skirt with gold hem detail appeared and Shrewsbury ordered two mugs of ale.
“I am on my way to Court,” he informed James.
“As am I,” replied Sir Winstanley warmly.
James had met Howard years ago while serving alongside him under Sir Francis Drake and they had remained close friends.
“Ah, Shrewsbury, I look forward to having you accompany me at Court. It has been quite some time since I visited, and I suspect I will have need of your lighthearted spirit when navigating politics and etiquette. Has there been any intrigue to capture your interest? Have you overheard any conversations regarding unusual or mysterious plots afoot?”
“Aye, I believe that the Queen has good reason to fear that her cousin Mary Queen of Scots’ presence may stoke Catholic rebels.
I happen to have eavesdropped on one of Sir Walsingham’s agents—Master Thomas Phelippes—who revealed that Mary has started to receive communications from a rebel named Sir Anthony Babington through coded letters hidden in beer barrels.
He informed Mary that he represented a group of conspirators who were planning to kill the Protestant Elizabeth and install Mary as the new Queen of England.
I believe Babington has asked for her support of their plan,” Howard explained.
“Well, that most certainly is intriguing, my friend! If the rumor is true, and Mary responds to the letters or asks for more details, I believe that she may be put on trial. Even if she fiercely protests having any knowledge of a plot, Walsingham will most certainly provide the letters as evidence and she could very well be found guilty of treason for her involvement and may even be executed,” James replied.
“Yes, I am of the same mind, my friend,” said Howard.
“I am well informed that for the nearly the past twenty years Walsingham has been determined to see Mary executed, thereby protecting England from Catholics. He has built a dense network of highly-educated, well connected, and loyal spies. In fact, he has even founded a spy school to formally train his saboteurs and informants.”
“Well then, it seems as if we must tread lightly during our stay at court,” James suggested.
“Aye, I agree that is the wisest course of action,” Howard agreed.
****
Meg felt shock and bewilderment when she saw what appeared to be a younger version of Dr. Howard Shrewsbury approach her and Lady Dorothy accompanied by a younger nobleman who she immediately recognized as Sir James Winstanley from his devastatingly handsome looks—those same looks she had been so drawn to in his portrait—the pale slate grey eyes, the midnight black hair with facial features that were all angles and planes, well-chiseled.
She recognized the slight muskiness of his skin coming from his tall broad frame. ..
As Meg studied Sir James, she found that his mind was a closed book to her.
She did not understand the extreme reserve of this man.
For one moment their eyes met, and she felt something stir in her.
He had such an intense, mesmerizing gaze.
Margaret felt her spine tingle as she looked deep into his eyes and felt the same pull as she had felt from his portrait.
Why was he staring at her in that way? He seemed brooding and distant as if grieving with some secret sadness.
She knew she must gather her thoughts together as soon as possible.
She found it unbearably difficult to hide her emotions.
“Greetings, Lady Margaret Hardwick and Lady Dorothy Edmunds,” said the older man amiably.
Sir Winstanley asked, “You know these two lovely ladies, Shrewsbury?”
“But of course. Lady Margaret is my second cousin, and Lady Dorothy is a lady-in-waiting to the Queen.”
“Why have I not met you before now, Lady Margaret? How do you come to be at Her Majesty’s court?” asked James.
The blood froze in Meg’s veins. Why is Dr. Shrewsbury referring to me as his second cousin? He knows perfectly well who I am. I must play along with this charade until I get my bearings...