SNEAK PEEK OF MY NEWEST NOVEL!

 

 

 

Hi, all! I hope you enjoy this sneak peek of my newest novel, To Mask A Soul, and start getting as excited as I am about it's upcoming release! Dedicated to "the ones who search", this novel is a fictional recreation of an emotional journey towards ultimate redemption and self-appreciation, and I put so much of my own emotions in it that the main character, Diggory, feels like something of a beloved child to me! Now, without further ado, let's get into the good stuff!

 

Title: To Mask A soul

 

Genre: Historical

Synopsis

An emotionally unstable man grapples with demons of the past as he fights to find his place in the judgmental structure of Victorian high society, but an adversary bent on revenge threatens any semblance of peace he may find. Will Diggory Cotterill find himself as he struggles to be who he needs to be, or will he give in to the guilt that threatens to overwhelm him?

Excerpt

                  Diggory opened the door and found himself in what appeared to be the lobby of the inn. A single dusty chandelier swung from the ceiling – too close to his head, but then, he was on the taller side. The room looked like it was trying to imitate the posh hotels of grand cities such as London, but it was failing miserably, at least in Diggory’s mind. He walked up to the desk on the far side of the room, where a little man was sitting reading the newspaper.

                “Point me in the direction of the pub, please.” Diggory pushed his chest out and looked over his nose at the small man.

                The man’s eyes widened behind his spectacles. “Lord Carlton! Is it true? Blimey, by my own eyes I see it!”

“Please, sir, if you would just point me in the direction…”

The little man pointed. “Through that door.”

                Diggory thanked him and walked into the pub, his coattails flapping behind him, an absurd display of wealth in the tiny hotel.

                The pub was not well lit. A woman with a smoky voice was playing the piano and singing. The bartender was talking with a man with dark, curly hair. Some men played poker in the corner, and a pretty girl stood next to them, offering them some drinks.

                Diggory walked up to the bar counter. “Your strongest, sir.”

                “’Sir’!” He exclaimed, winking at his younger companion. “That's summit I ain't been called in a while!”

                The curly-haired man scoffed and threw back the last of his beer.

                “'re ya Bobby ya can 'andle our strongest, Masta Carlton? Ya butcher's pretty young ter be aahhht drinkin' this Liz Hurley.” The bartender smiled at Diggory.

                Diggory stared blankly at him. “What?”

                The curly-haired man chuckled. “You’re obviously from London, old chap! Don’t you know rhyming slang when you hear it?”

                Diggory straightened his shoulders. “Never been to the East end, and I pray to God I’ll never have to.”

                “Well, you are hoity-toity one, are you not.” The man had a sparkle of fun in his dark eyes and a quick smile. “Seeing as you don’t seem to be feeling the need to blend in, I suppose I’ll translate for you.” He leaned over and whispered something in Diggory’s ear.

                Diggory pulled back sharply. “That’s not what he said!”

                The man laughed aloud. “No. I guess that’s just what I think of you.”

                Diggory frowned, slightly confused.

                “What’s your name, old chap?” The curly haired man put out his hand, and the smiling bartender set another flask into it.

                “Diggory de Lae Carlton the Third.” Diggory said splendidly, as if his name would matter to a bunch of country bumpkins.

                “Lord Carlton, ah, I see.” The man’s blue eyes turned thoughtful. “Carlton…as in Carlton Worldwide Vessels?”

                “That’s right.”

                “Well. The Third! That’s an impressive number.” The man grinned that charming grin and stuck out his hand. “James Gangfield. I go by Gangfield.”

                Diggory shook his hand. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Gangfield.”

                Gangfield laughed at him and took a pipe out of his pocket, and lit it. “Good to meet you, Carlton. Seeing as you’re the richest man in Sherfield, how about buying a poor bloke a drink?”

               Diggory bought Gangfield a drink. And another. And another. And by eight that night, the two had wits as sharp as a couple of pillows.

                “So what’re ya doin’ in this ‘ere vill’ge, anywho?” Gangfield slurred, accidentally knocking over what was left of his beverage all over the counter. “Celebratin’ the ‘scension of the new queen? She can’t be much older’n you, for all yer airs an’ graces…”

                “Long live ‘er majesty, Victoria,” the bartender muttered, cleaning a flask with an old rag.

                Diggory, red-faced and bleary, tried to make a joke. “They put the craziest rooster farthest away from the henhouse…” And he laughed heartily over it.

                “The rooster…!” Gangfield cackled. “So you’re a bit balmy on the crumpet, then, are you?”

                “Senseless as a bat!” Diggory agreed, still laughing about his henhouse crack. “My parents are…are…wait.” He looked like he was about to pass out.

                “Oh, no.” Gangfield put his hands on Diggory’s shoulders and shook him. “Not now. What about your parents? Come on!”

                Diggory, as drunk as he was, tried to figure out what was wrong with Gangfield. He wasn’t as sleepy as Diggory was? “Wait a minute…”

“I need to know, Carlton!” Gangfield shook him a bit more.