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    Lost Echoes
    Lost Echoes
    Lost Echoes
    Ebook262 pages4 hours

    Lost Echoes

    By Rob Shelsky

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    About this ebook

    A love story that transcends time itself, a romance that battles with destiny. Peter Vincent journeys into the past to Elizabethan England. He searches for the beautiful and tempestuous Aurea. Finding her, he falls hopelessly in love, but is this to be an ill-fated romance? History says Aurea is soon to disappear, probably to be murdered. Can she survive or will their love become mere Lost Echoes?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRob Shelsky
    Release dateOct 31, 2010
    ISBN9781452316604
    Lost Echoes
    Author

    Rob Shelsky

    Rob Shelsky is an avid and eclectic writer, and averages about 4,000 words a day. He has several novels to his credit and two anthologies, with two romances out now, a Regency romance, Verity, along with the sequel, Faith, and soon to come, a time-travel romance.Rob has written science fiction articles for such magazines as The Internet Review of Science Fiction, numerous articles for AlienSkin Magazine, Neometropolis, Midnight Street (UK), Doorways, and other publications. Rob has had short stories published with Jim Baen’s Universe, Aberrant Dreams, AlienSkin, Gateway SF, Fifth Dimension, Continuum SF, Sonar4, Uncial Press, Planetary Stories, Pulp Spirit Magazine, Sex & Murder, and many more. He has a novella coming out in early 2010 with Aberrant Dreams Magazine’s first hardcover edition anthology, The Awakening. Rob’s novella, Avenger Of The People, will appear there alongside the works of such sci-fi greats as Alastair Reynolds, Ian Watson, Jana Oliver, Robert Madle, and just so many others. There is even an introduction by Jack McDevitt.Rob has a short story, Green Waters, now out with Sonar4’s Phase Shift anthology, and a paranormal story, Light On The Moor, coming out with Smashwords and Amazon.com.Now, Rob Shelsky is not only a writer, but a contributing editor for Currate.com travel articles, as well as being a reviewer for Novelspot. He is also a resident science fiction columnist for AlienSkin Magazine.Although widely traveled and continuing to travel, Rob now lives in North Carolina. He enjoys contemplating ideas for new stories while watching the sunsets over the mountains and sipping a glass of red wine, preferably a decent Merlot.Oh and check out this site for my Smashword books:Ebookswelove.com

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      Book preview

      Lost Echoes - Rob Shelsky

      * * * * *

      LOST ECHOES

      By

      R.R. Shelsky

      SMASHWORDS EDITION

      * * * * *

      PUBLISHED BY:

      RR. Shelsky on Smashwords

      Smashwords ISBN: 978-1-4523-1660-4

      Lost Echoes

      Copyright © 2010 by Rob Shelsky

      All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

      Smashwords Edition License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

      * * * * *

      There is one person I’d especially like to thank. I owe him so much. George Kempland, I wish to acknowledge you for your loyalty, dedication, mountains of help, and always just being there for me. Again, thank you, so very much.

      * * * * *

      LOST ECHOES

      * * * * *

      Prologue

      Boston, Present Day

      My God, look at this! Peter’s quartz-gray eyes narrowed, focusing on the miniature portrait.

      Set in the inner lid of a jewel box, the picture showed a face of palest complexion, as if formed from the rarest, most delicate of Dresden porcelains. The young woman had the high cheekbones of a noble born, the graceful, aristocratic neck. A cascade of black hair framed her face. The raven tresses fell in loose curls onto snow-white shoulders.

      The eyes transfixed Peter. Like twin shards of bluest sapphire, they gazed out at him from the painting. It was as if they favored him with an intimate stare, brushing him with a lingering look, as if she actually saw him standing there before her. Peter had never seen such an expression on the face of any modern woman and he had dated many.

      It’s English and late Sixteenth Century, the antique dealer said. It originally had a small stone inset above the clasp on the lid. See here? He pointed to a silver circlet pressed into the wood. It was empty. A sea star, or sapphire, I’d wager, judging by the style and period, but long gone. Still, it’s most attractive even without it, don’t you think? It would make a nice gift. The man’s time-lined face wore an anticipatory look.

      Do you know who she was? Peter continued to stare at the likeness.

      Her name was Aurea and she’s supposed to have been the niece of a Sir Thomas and Lady Katherine of Pentrose in England. Pentrose means five roses, which as you can see is the design repeated on the outside of the box. According to the wholesaler I bought it from, it was a gift from Aurea to her aunt and uncle. It’s a tragic story that one.

      How so?

      She disappeared, said to have died under mysterious circumstances while attending Hampton Court Palace. Supposedly, it happened shortly after she posed for the portrait.

      Do you have any details of that?

      The merchant gave a regretful shake of his white-haired head. I’m afraid they’re sketchy at best, but it had something to do with spies and treason.

      Changing the subject, he added, I guess I should point out the lining has a small slit in one side of it. Still, as you can see, other than the missing gem and that one minor flaw, it’s undamaged. Do you think the jewel case is suitable for your fiancée? He sounded anxious.

      That, I couldn’t say. Peter still gazed at the miniature. Dawn might not like opening this all the time and having to look at someone so much more beautiful than she.

      The dealer clutched arthritis-gnarled hands together. Oh, he said, his rheumy blue eyes reflecting a sudden concern. Then you don’t think it’s right for her?

      It doesn’t really matter. Peter had reached a sudden decision. I’ll buy it anyway.

      A look of relief swept over the shop owner’s wizened features. Oh, very good, sir, I’ll wrap it up for you. He held out his hand for the coffer, but Peter didn’t yet relinquish it.

      Instead, he asked, You said she died or disappeared at Hampton Court?

      The other man nodded. According to the story, she did. It was during the later reign of Queen Elizabeth--the first one, I mean. Why do you ask?

      Well, I’m leaving to go to London for three months. I’ll be working out of my firm’s Fleet Street office there. It’s why I was going to buy this, as a going-away present.

      Ah, so it’s a romantic keepsake to remind your fiancée of you. It’ll make a nice present, sir.

      I don’t think so… Peter’s words trailed away, his usually crystalline eyes now clouded, distant-looking.

      Then you have changed your mind? Now the dealer’s tone quavered with renewed apprehension. You don’t want it after all?

      Oh, I still want it all right, but not for Dawn. I’ll keep it for myself. Why not? Peter sounded suddenly defensive. I can use it for my cufflinks. And why shouldn’t I have something to remember her by? God knows, I’m sure she has no plans to buy me anything. Dawn’s not very sentimental that way. More is the pity. Anyway, I can always find her something else. Hampton Court, you’re sure?

      The shop owner again nodded. It’s a popular tourist attraction.

      I might just drop by there while I’m in England. I wonder if it’s open to the public this late in the year... Again, Peter’s voice trailed away. He still focused on the startling image of the young woman. He’d already forgotten his pressing need for finding a gift for his fiancée. Only the stunning face in the miniature and the overwhelming desire to know more about her remained with him.

      Aurea, Peter whispered.

      The old dealer’s face held a knowing expression. That this young man was falling in love with the girl in the portrait was obvious for anyone to see. However, was there ever such an impossible love, as this one would seem to be?

      Chapter One

      England--1586 A.D.

      Mistress Aurea, we must hurry. The Lady Katherine is waiting. Do stand still and prithee, try not to get crumbs on your new gown.

      Oh, Gilly, must you always chide so? You are the one who gave me the bread and told me to make haste in eating it. Besides, I’m almost finished. So saying, Aurea popped the last piece of coarse brown loaf into her pert mouth. She chewed the tough stuff as her kneeling maidservant, head bent in apparent concentration, continued adjusting the lace hem of Aurea’s dress.

      When she thought Gilly was too busy to notice, Aurea stretched out her right arm, the fingers of her right hand reaching for her cup of flat ale. The mug was on a nearby oaken table. Just managing to grasp it, she drew it to her and took a gulp. Although it was a drink made popular for breakfast by old King Hal, Aurea didn’t like it. However, her aunt insisted everyone imbibe a draught of it each morning as a restorative. Aurea swallowed, forcing down beer and dry bread together. The combination of the two made for a yeasty and particularly bitter flavor.

      She made a face and then said, There, my good Gilly flower, I’m done with breaking my fast.

      And none too soon, mistress. If you’d spilled anything on your gown, the Lady Katherine would have had a fit. God preserve us, this cloth is all of ninety-five shillings a folder. Silk, indeed! What’s wrong with good English wool, I say. Anyway, the middle-aged servant added as she stood, you are finished. She held out a silver-framed hand mirror for Aurea to view herself.

      Aurea twisted and turned to get bits of her in sight. She sighed. Not for the first time she wished her uncle would purchase a decent-sized mirror, but he always complained about the prices. Truth to tell, he was right. Good quality mirrors were hideously expensive.

      She leaned forward. Her hair looked perfect, she decided. Gilly had brushed the tresses into a midnight nimbus that floated like a gentle cloud upon her lace-collared shoulders. This style showed off the gentle curve of her neck to advantage and framed the delicate features of her fashionably pale face. Wide blue eyes gazed back at her with a thoughtful, self-critical expression.

      You’re a true artist, Gilly, she said at last. Pray, move farther away, so that I may see the gown in its entirety.

      The gray-haired maidservant dipped her head in a nod and then without looking behind her, stepped back several paces, almost upsetting a gilded footstool in the process. She tottered a moment before regaining her balance.

      Aurea couldn’t help laughing at the comical sight. When she’d recovered, she said, I think it is good enough, Gilly. We don’t want any harm to come to you through my vanity, do we? She smiled at the servant.

      Now Aurea returned her attention to the mirror. Now she could see her full reflection, but so small was the image at such a distance, it was hard to make out details. Still, she felt she looked presentable enough. The watered blue silk of the gown contrasted with her sable locks and fair complexion to good advantage. The tight-laced narrow waist made her hips look full. Her bodice, though somewhat revealing as was the current fashion, was still demure, made so by the addition of a French ruff, a frothy thing of purest white and of high quality. Pulled low in front, it rose in gauze-like wings behind her neck.

      That was one thing about Aunt Katherine; she didn’t stint on fabrics. No cheap Saint Audrey’s, or as the English now referred to it, t’awdry convent lace, for her.

      Indeed, it is well fitting, Aurea pronounced.

      My thanks, but you must hurry, mistress. I’m certain your aunt will already be in the solar, waiting. It would be best, I think, not to keep her waiting too long.

      Aurea nodded. Too true, she said. Aunt Katherine’s a dear, but a dreadful stickler for punctuality.

      Amen, mistress, Gilly muttered as she gathered her scattered grooming and sewing supplies. Amen to that, I say.

      Aurea tossed her another smile as she turned and made for the doorway. Her skirts swirled about her as she moved. Her train trailed long behind her. Gathering the folds of her dress in her hands to prevent tripping, she hurried down the chambered corridor, passing from one oak paneled room to the next and heading for the stairs at the end. Her shoes made a subdued rustling noise on the thick rushes and herbs. These lay strewn about the stone floor. The savory scent of rosemary and the sharp-sweet, almost pungent odor of lavender rose from the bruised aromatic plants.

      Aurea’s breath came in short gasps. The tight-laced bodice didn’t allow for deep breaths of air and the distance she had to traverse was no small one. Pentrose House was large and rambling. Built in the style fashionable back in 1530, it had every convenience nobles felt were necessary at the time. This meant a lot of closets, offices and general rooms through which she must pass to reach her destination.

      Puffing, she mounted the stairs and hurried through more chambers, all of which had the same dark paneling. These rooms had wall sconces lit at regular intervals to provide much needed light. The smoking torches burned with a fitful orange glow.

      At the top of yet another and narrower flight of stairs, Aurea stopped just outside of the solar. Here, she paused to catch her breath and to summon her courage before entering. This was her aunt’s personal sanctum, her bed sitting room. To Aurea, it breathed of an austere, even forbidding sort of privacy, a palpable barrier discouraging entrance.

      She steeled herself and hesitating no longer, called to her aunt. Not waiting for an answer and swinging wide the heavy door kept closed to hold in warmth, Aurea entered the solar room. She squinted at the unaccustomed light shining through tall and narrow casements. White brightness flooded the room. Her Aunt Katherine sat by one of the windows, silhouetted in its glare and bent over her sewing.

      Good morrow, Aurea. Katherine favored her niece with an appraising glance, a small and swift wisp of a smile. You seem well and particularly beautiful this day. Perhaps it’s partly your new gown. Blue suits thee, it seems.

      Katherine had a severe face, with hawk like features and piercing dark eyes. Aurea knew she’d been beautiful once, because old portraits of her showed it. Nevertheless, years of determined Romanist asceticism had taken their toll. Her good looks had faded, her once ample figure melted away under the continuous onslaughts of too many religious fasts, too much kneeling on cold stone floors in the dark early hours of morning. Still, there were faint suggestions, mere lost echoes left of such beauty even now. They softened Katherine’s otherwise acute appearance.

      A generous compliment, milady, Aurea said as she curtsied, bobbing her head forward in a brief bow of acknowledgement. You fare well this morning, I hope? And pray, I also hope I’m not too late in coming here?

      Her aunt smiled. For a moment, her wintry features glowed as with spring sunshine. Dearest girl, she said. You’re punctual as always. Your uncle’s the tardy one. No doubt, he lingers over his breakfast and wine. I repeatedly tell him ale makes for a better physic, but he’ll have none of it. In any case, sit down and we’ll have a chat before he arrives. I’ve something to tell you. She leaned over and patted a Turkish ottoman near her own cushioned bench.

      Aurea gave a gentle nod of assent and seated herself. She waited with patience, aware her aunt would speak only when she felt like it. Aurea took the opportunity to examine her appearance. Katherine wore her usual dull black gown with a white-laced head rail framing her face. It hid her hair, so not even a single faded bit of it showed. She included no bombast in her clothing to give it a fuller look and as a result, her clothes drooped like a sack on her emaciated frame.

      Katherine’s one concession to personal adornment was a heavy silver crucifix. It hung from a chain around her neck and glinted argent in the window’s light. A small, leather-bound bible dangled close by her side, suspended from the girdle draped around her waist. Aurea wondered if the Lady Katherine’s close resemblance to a Catholic Sister was mere coincidence, or a secret desire on her aunt’s part to emulate those whom she so much admired. Either way, she looked as if she belonged in a convent.

      Now, Aurea, her aunt said. She had returned to her sewing and didn’t raise her eyes as she spoke. Deft and nimble fingers plied the needle with an expert’s touch, sewing the aiglets into the front of her husband’s linen shirt. We’ve some important news we hope you’ll find agreeable.

      News, milady? This surprised Aurea. Nothing much ever happened out here in the country. Not that she cared. Aurea preferred the serenity and quiet of rural life to city living. Moreover, her circumstances were not difficult ones here. Lady Katherine and Sir Thomas had provided every comfort for her.

      Of what nature, she prompted when her aunt didn’t immediately speak. Is someone coming to visit?

      Katherine breathed a long sigh. She set aside her sewing on the small table situated to the left of her bench. She folded her hands in her lap.

      Disregarding Aurea’s last question, Katherine said, I suppose I should wait until your uncle arrives, but truly, there’s no point, since it’s a settled and done thing. Still, his help would have been a welcome.

      Settled, milady? Aurea’s mental warning flags rose at this. She felt her fragile eyebrows furrow into a slight frown. From prior experience, she knew the use of the word settled meant her Aunt Katherine would brook no disagreement. Pray, what is it which is so very settled? she asked, her tone a shade tart.

      Now it was Katherine’s turn to frown. Hers was a deeper one, her dark eyebrows coming together to form a pronounced v-shape.

      You don’t do your usual good manners justice, Aurea, she said. We’ve only the best intentions for you. You must know this. Haven’t we always treated you with the utmost kindness since you came to live with us?

      Aurea lowered her head. Out of long habit, she nibbled at her lower lip a moment before admitting, Of course, Aunt Katherine. I’m sorry. It’s this tongue of mine. Sometimes, it seems to have a mind all its own. I meant no disrespect, truly.

      Katherine smiled at her and then said, No, my dear, of course you didn’t. Perhaps it is I. I’m a little on edge of late. I do wish your uncle were here. He’s well and truly late. I begin to suspect this is intentional upon his part.

      May I ask again what it is that’s settled?

      Ah, I had almost forgotten. Katherine stroked her crucifix in an absent gesture, her fingers running over the polished metal of it in a random fashion. Your uncle has such an effect on me. He can be quite vexing at times. Anyway, my dear, it seems you’re going to Court.

      Pay a visit at Court, is that all? Aurea couldn’t hide the relief from her voice. Oh, it is nothing, Aunt Katherine. I’ve never been to Court. I should very much like a holiday there. She clapped her hands together in anticipation.

      I wonder if I’d fit in there though? Aurea asked, now worried. From what I hear, all they do there is dress up in their best finery and gossip about each other all day. That and try to curry favor with Her Majesty.

      Katherine gave a disdainful sniff. Indeed, she said, and ’tis truth you’re not far wrong there, my child. The English Court has descended to most wicked depths these last years, but through no fault of our good queen. She added this last in seeming haste. "Despite her high office, she is but a woman, after all. Those young courtier crows who flap around and flatter her are the ones to blame for the Court’s failings, and not she.

      In any case, Katherine continued, I think you misunderstand my meaning. You are not going for just a short visit. You’re to be a handmaiden to one of the queen’s ladies, the Lady Gwyneth of Mansgate. It’s to be a position of some permanence. Sir Thomas’ friend, the Marquess of Rendlesham, arranged the appointment and he’ll act as your chaperone while there. Of course, the queen is nominally your mistress, but Her Majesty seldom concerns herself with the lesser gentry. She has so little time to spare from affairs of state.

      Bu…but, I like it here. Aurea stumbled over her words in her haste to make her own desires known. I love you, Aunt Katherine and dear Uncle Thomas, too. I don’t wish to leave. Pentrose House is my home.

      I know, Aurea. And truth be told, we enjoy having you here, for we love thee, too. Still, it’s time for you to enter the world. You must find a husband, one who can keep you well and in comfort. You’ll not find him out here in the country, my dear.

      But there’re many of the gentry nearby, Aurea reminded her aunt, her tone once more sharp. Surely, someone amongst so many would do for me? There’s no need for me to travel so far as Richmond Palace, is there?

      Katherine shook her head. You see, child? she said. You’ve just proven my very point. You don’t keep up with the affairs of this world. Her Majesty isn’t in residence at Richmond or Nonsuch Palace for that matter. She’s been at Hampton for many months. It’s said to be her favorite of the three. I shouldn’t wonder. After all, it’s rumored it was her own witch mother, the six-fingered Queen Anne Boleyn, who snatched it from the clutches of the traitorous Cardinal Woolsey.

      Her aunt stopped speaking and

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