Excerpts from the Published Works of Elizabeth Lord

The Chandelier Ballroom

Working with pickaxe and shovel to penetrate the thin cement floor, each stroke was a blow to his heart. Not for the man – he couldn’t have cared less for the man he’d killed – but for having killed the girl he had loved with such trust and devotion. He’d not meant to kill her. Dear God, he’d never have done such a thing had he not been so incensed discovering them together.

Trilogy: Butterfly Summers

Sometime in the night Henry James Adair Letts died – in the comfort of his own bed surrounded by rich maroon drapes, olive furnishings and the beautiful objets d’art he’d collected over the years. His physician put the time of death around three o’clock, announcing it had probably been in his sleep, saying “Quite the best way to go,” for all Henry Lett was only fifty-six.



Autumn Skies

The neighbours were giving her sidelong glances. She knew what they were whispering, counting on their fingers. "Why, my dear, you can see it! Who do you think the father can be?" Hands to their lips: "My dear, how absolutely dreadful."

Winter Wine

Overwhelmed by such kindness she had flung herself into his arms in love and gratitude while inwardly he’d cringed, feeling an almost physical stab of pain at his bold-faced lie. He should have explained, but he hadn’t. Now he wondered, would they all come to suffer because of his crass cowardice?

Historical:   Company of Rebels

John Melle felt the lance bite into the small of his back; saw the war horse above him, its eyes bloodshot behind the sockets of its head-guard, glimpsed the eyes of its rider glowing hatred behind the visor, saw Death descending through his own scream of pain . . .