08 Mar LELITA BALDOCK WIDOW’S LACE COFFEE POT BOOK CLUB BLOG TOUR #HistoricalFiction #HistoricalMystery #WidowsLace #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub @BaldockLelita @maryanneyarde

FEATURED AUTHOR: LELITA BALDOCK

It is my pleasure to feature Lelita Baldock as part of The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour being held from March 8th — March 19th 2021. Lelita Baldock is the author of the historical fiction/mystery, Widow’s Lace, which was independently released by the author on 23 March 2020 (242 pages).

Below are highlights of Widow’s Lace, Lelita Baldock’s author biography, and an excerpt from her book.

HIGHLIGHTS: WIDOW’S LACE

Widow’s Lace

by Lelita Baldock

A hundred year old mystery, the widow left behind, a fallen soldier, the abandoned fiancée, an unnamed body and the young student determined to find the truth.

In 1886 famous English poet Edward Barrington moves from Derbyshire, England to a farm on the Finniss River, in South Australia. Two years later he disappears.

25 years later Archie Hargraves abandons his fiancée Clara and travels from England to meet with Edward’s widow, Rosalind. He plans to write a biography and make a name for himself, independent from his wealthy father. Returning to England in 1914 he abandons his work to join the war in Europe. His journal of notes from Australia is never released.

Ellie Cannon, a young PhD candidate at Sydney University, is writing a thesis on one of Barrington’s last known poems, The Fall. It’s not going well. Struggling with her relationship with her mother and loss of her father, Ellie is on the brink of failure.

Then a body is found by the Finniss River, 130 years after Edward’s disappearance. Could it be the famous poet?

The discovery draws Ellie into the worlds of Edward, Archie and Clara, taking her across Australia and England in her search for the truth.

Covering life in remote South Australia, the social pressures of 1900s Britain and the historical role of women, Widow’s Lace is an historical fiction, mystery cross-over dealing with themes of obsession, fear, love, inner-secrets, and regret. But also the hope that can come from despair.

Buy Links:

Amazon UK • Amazon US • Amazon CA • Amazon AU • Barnes and Noble

Is your book on Kindle Unlimited?  Yes

AUTHOR BIO: LELITA BALDOCK

Lelita has a passion for stories, especially those with a dark undercurrent, or a twist to be revealed. 

She hopes to tell interesting stories that people will find themselves drawn into. Stories that are for entertainment and escape, and hopefully a little thrill of the unexpected. She truly enjoys the experience of writing, exploring human traits and reactions as well as the darkness that can lurk unexpectedly inside anyone.

Born and raised in Adelaide, Australia, Lelita holds a Bachelor of Arts majoring in English and History from the University of Adelaide and a Bachelor of Education from The University of South Australia. During her twenties she worked as an English teacher in both Australia and the United Kingdom, working with the International Baccalaureate curriculum.

Now Lelita and her husband run a web development business, and she makes time for writing after hours and on weekends. It can mean long days and late nights, but she doesn’t mind, stories are her passion.

Lelita’s long term goal as a writer is to be able to publish her stories regularly and hopefully appeal to a wide range of readers.

Lelita currently resides in the United Kingdom with her husband Ryan and beloved rescue-cat, Jasmine.

Social Media Links:

Website • Twitter • Instagram • Facebook • Book Bub • Amazon • Goodreads

EXCERPT: WIDOW’S LACE

Part one: Edward

Chapter 8

Slithering, slippery mud peeks between the auburn.

Reveals the lie.

The Indian Ocean, 1886

Tick-tock, tick-tock, clicked gently against his consciousness. Edward rolled away from the sound, clinging to unconsciousness. Sleep his only sanctuary from the endless expanse of the Indian Ocean.

Tick-tock.

Travelling through the Suez Canal had provided some distraction, to see with one’s own eyes the immensity of the endeavour to carve out a passage between continents was truly breathtaking. But the knowledge that soon his horizons would widen again as they crossed the seemingly inexhaustible ocean, caused his skin to prickle. As the sails were hauled up for the run south across the Indian Ocean, that prickle had grown into a buzz of invisible pressure that enveloped his limbs.

Tick-tock.

Restlessness had overtaken his body. His nights spent tossing and turning, his days tense and tight. Even the daily walks Mary insisted he take around the ship provided no release. Other passengers seemed to have found a stride that simply eluded him; groups of young men set up cricket matches on the deck or played cards in the sunshine, lounging calmly. Edward felt he might snap.

Tick-tock.

He longed for the oblivion of sleep. Hours where the boat sailed on and he was floating in the dark, thoughtless, senseless, nothing.

Tick-tock.

It knocked against his mind more firmly this time, and he felt it, the shift between sleep and consciousness. It was subtle, but it was there. He threw the sheet off of his torso, seeking a cooling breeze to relieve his clammy body. But there was no fresh air to be had, the porthole windows firmly closed against the waves. Twisting about, his legs became entangled in the sheet, forcing him to kick and wiggle to free his feet, bringing himself fully awake in the process. He lay still for a moment, taking deep breaths, willing his eyelids to grow heavy, his mind dim.

Tick-tock.

No use. He tore the remaining entangled sheets from his legs and sat up on the bed. Lighting a candle, he checked the insistent clock beside the bed. 11p.m., he had not even managed an hour of rest since he had come to bed. Edward sighed. It was a silly time of night, one made only for rest. But his body and mind were not going to comply. He needed distraction.

He considered his options. He could light his desk lamp and work on his travel journal, or perhaps read. Both were heavy with effort. A hacking cough sounded from the next room. Even through the walls he could hear the solid wetness of the sound; death made manifest and soggy. He listened as Mary rose and shuffled over to his wife, the soft murmur of her soothing croon drifting to his ears. He longed to go in and care for his wife himself, but he knew Rosalind would only turn him away. Their pretence that all was well had been wearing thin this last few weeks.

He had to get out, to move. Hastily he dressed. Perhaps the saloon would still be open and he could enjoy a whiskey to dull his restless mind. Grabbing up his journal and pencil, he quietly exited the room.

The lights were still on in the saloon casting the ornate brass finishings of the room in a comfortingly warm glow. Strolling in he found the bar unattended. He waited a moment, hoping that the waiter had simply popped out briefly. In truth Edward had no idea of the schedule of the boat at large. When they first set out he had taken lunch in the restaurant with the other first class guests, but the constant enquiries after his wife had taken on the tone of gossip, driving him back to his rooms. The excuse of seasickness could only work for so long.

After waiting a moment more Edward sighed, he was clearly too late to be served. Surprised at the disappointment he felt at missing out on a drink, he turned to leave.

‘Ah, excuse me, Mr. Barrington?’ a gentle voice came from the side of the lounge. Edward glanced over. A man, younger than himself by a few years, sat in a plush armchair, book in hand. Edward swept his eyes over the youth, almond coloured hair and eyes glittered in the soft light as he crossed the space between them. He looked familiar, though Edward could not recall his name.

‘George Harbot,’ the young man supplied, smiling warmly, ‘we were at the same table the night before the Canal.’ He held his hand out in greeting. Edward took it, the warmth of the contact surprising him.

‘Of course,’ he replied.

George stood before him, awkwardly silent. The moment stretched and Edward, damning himself for leaving his rooms on this foolish quest, was about to wish him goodnight when, ‘You only just missed the waiter. 11pm is close. But, I’ve most of a bottle of wine left. You would be welcome to join me.’

‘That’s very kind…’ Edward began.

‘The company would be most welcome,’ George smiled again. An urgency came over his face as he did, giving his round, open features a sense of desperation. Despite himself, Edward found himself nodding his acceptance of George’s offer and made his way over to the table.