I have been back working on Daughter Misplaced. Not writing - but fixing a glitch. Seems I can't find it anywhere! But luckily I printed out a copy of the manuscript. So now, in my spare time, I am retyping it.
Here's a small excerpt from Daughter Misplaced. . .
Beatrice Wallace was taller than most girls her age,
slender with delicate features. When she was thirteen and began showing signs
of breasts and a waist, she still looked like a girl, with glimpses of the
grace and beauty that would be her greatest asset. Thanks to the implacable
vigilance of Elizabeth, who made her young niece walk hours with books balanced
on her head or sit hours at the piano doing her exercises with a metal rod
strapped to her backbone, Beatrice would sit straight as a spear. She grew by
leaps and bounds, and with the years kept the same deceptively young look that
would save her more than once. She was such a little girl at heart that when
she reached puberty she continued to sleep curled up in a ball, surrounded by
her dolls. She spent hours huddled behind the drapes in the library, devouring
the classics one by one, Elizabeth’s romantic novels, and anything else she
could get her hands on, however boring. In the storeroom, she found her uncle
Charles’ old maps, travel books and logs, which gave her a feel for the shape
of the world. Tutors hired by Elizabeth taught her writing, history, geography,
French, and some Latin. Beatrice’s extra reading as well as her Uncle Charles’
tales fed her imagination. That world traveling uncle would appear with his
arms loaded with gifts, stirring her fantasy with his extraordinary tales. On
each of his visits everything else was set aside. Time went by fast waiting for
him and putting pins on a map of where he had been. Beatrice lived in a closed
world, and she had little contact with other girls her own age. The girl
listened and observed attentively, she had a rare gift for making herself
invisible to others, blending into the furniture, curtains and rooms.
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