The Writings of Martin Dubow
Francey's nightmares are a very real cause for concern. So graphic, and so terrifying have they become, that the next one could very well end her life. A frantic search for the key to their unraveling leads her through a maze of past lives straight into the teeth of a web of intrigue so insidious that it has remained undetected for three and a half centuries; whereupon the path stops dead in its tracks at the gravesites of Lady Susan Sebastian and Edward Delaney. What possible connection could Francey have with the seventeenth century star-crossed lovers? And if there is one, how is she to draw the answer from them? This chasm of impossible proportions must be crossed, for only with the resurrection of the dead, and their secrets drawn from deep within their souls, can the little girl be saved.
Lord Crimson was a self-made man. His vast fortune had been amassed by sweat and hard work, and his title, handed him on a silver platter by the Queen of England. Love, adoration, respect—these he had in abundance. And while a fraction of what he possessed would surely have been enough for any man, for Lord Crimson there was only sorrow and remorse. What horrific crime had he committed that his conscience should weigh so heavily upon him? A good question, but one whose answer had forever remained a mystery, for Lord Crimson had led a good and decent life and had never once failed to let another’s needs stand above his own. According to those who knew him best, there was no reason for his sadness. At least, that’s how it seemed.
At the outset, let’s be clear about one thing. References to Lord Crimson as a young man, and stories of Lord Crimson’s rise to fame and fortune, though as interesting and inspirational as any you’re likely to hear, will not be found among these pages. The tale with which we are concerned had its start on the day Lord Crimson turned seventy-five and began an adventure that can scarcely be imagined. Perhaps you’d best sit down.