A Betrayed Woman Writes About a Betrayed Woman - Blog Tour and Book Excerpt for "Shades of Yellow"

BOOK EXCERPT:

As soon as she emerged from the underground, she made out the abbey and kept it in view until she stood outside its precincts. Happy to leave the noisy traffic behind, she crossed the Sanctuary and passed through the gateway into Dean’s Yard, which took her to the side entrance of the cloisters. Based in the building around Dean’s Yard was the fourteen century Westminster School, brought back to life in the first years of Elizabeth I’s reign. Knowing Elizabeth visited the school many times, Lucy stopped to take photos of the squat stone Tudor gateways and the mullion windows. Sunlight tingled her skin. She released her hair from its ponytail, hoping her long, thick hair would offer some protection from the bright sun.

Her English kin thought summer days were too rare a treat to concern themselves about sunburn. Every sunlit day was a day to spend outside in sun worship, uncaring for their skin. They thought it hilarious that she often took a hat and sun cream with her on their outings in England. ‘Sun cream?’ Pop had said one time. ‘We need rain cream, not sun cream.’ But she had lived through enough harsh Australian summers to regret leaving behind her hat today. She just hadn’t thought she needed to bring it for a day spent in two libraries. 

The cloisters’ thick, ancient stone walls enfolded her in a welcomed coolness. Relieved to be out of the sun, she strolled down the dimly lit walkway where shadows flittered and danced, heading to the College Garden. Passing a wrought iron gateway, she paused to take a photo of the Victorian fountain that dominated a small, enclosed, formal garden.

Enfolded in the dim light, she headed left, feeling as if she walked within a mountain of stone. Light intensified, telling her the entrance to the garden was close. She turned one more corner and the open door beckoned her outside.

A green world embraced her as she stepped out of the abbey. Tall trees and flower beds edged the emerald lawn. The grass underneath a nearby enormous old oak tempted her to seek its shade, but she was tired. Too tired. She could see herself lying on the thick grass and falling asleep.

The abbey’s bells tolled three times. She wanted to be on the train for Eltham in another hour. Otherwise, she would likely travel with a horde of home-returning city workers and was unlikely to get a seat. The branches of the oak tree spread out as if holding the world, inviting her again to rest in its shade. She was alone. Utterly alone. Falling asleep in a public place was simply not safe.

An unoccupied bench on the edge of the path offered plenty of shade for her to risk sitting outside. Lucy strode over to the bench and sat.  Still shattered by her lunchtime meeting with Sarah, she settled back against the bench, seeking to regain the solid ground of the morning. She sighed. Even this glorious nine-hundred-year-old garden wasn’t helping her feel better.

She looked around. It was difficult to believe a bustling city was short minutes away. After her years growing up in a rural area, Amy likely thought London a busy place too. Where did Amy live in London during the months of Dudley’s imprisonment? Was she right in her assumption Amy was with her mother-in-law?

An early scene in her book came into her mind, set not long before Edward VI’s death, when Robert served the dying youth. He also spent a lot of time with the Princess Elizabeth, and hardly any time with Amy. Worrying about what was going on and unable to ignore the cracks appearing in her marriage, Amy had sent Elizabeth a message requesting to speak to her.

Lucy imagined them meeting here in this garden. She could see Elizabeth, her youthful, pale face hidden in the shadows of her cloak’s hood, walking briskly towards Amy. Some distance behind Elizabeth, another young woman followed.

Seated on a stone bench, Amy faced the abbey’s garden door, as if expecting Elizabeth to come that way. But Elizabeth came from the direction of the school. Following a trail in the meadow, her footsteps made no noise.