The Voice Upstairs
(Sprache: Englisch)
A girl who can see spirits must work together with a Lord's son in order to solve the mysterious deaths at the local manor home in this eerie historical mystery perfect for fans of The Bone Witch and Downton Abbey.
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A girl who can see spirits must work together with a Lord's son in order to solve the mysterious deaths at the local manor home in this eerie historical mystery perfect for fans of The Bone Witch and Downton Abbey.
Klappentext zu „The Voice Upstairs “
In 1920s England, a working-class girl who can see spirits works with a lord's son to solve mysterious deaths at the local manor home in this eerie historical mystery perfect for fans of The Haunting of Bly Manor and Downton Abbey.Wilhelmina Price has a dubious reputation in the village of Thrush's Green. Ever since her mother's untimely death, she has been able to see a person's spirit leaving their body days or hours before they die. Wil has never been able to prevent these deaths, so her unusual skill has made her an outsider to most except her lifelong friend, Edison, the youngest son of Lord Summerfield. But when a maid at the Summerfield's estate dies in the same mysterious way as Wil's own mother, Wil takes on a housemaid's position to investigate whether these women might, in fact, have been murdered.
There is nothing Ed Summerfield values more than his friendship with Wil, which is why he's desperate to disguise how hopelessly in love with her he's become-and his belief that he may be haunted by the ghost of his older brother, Peter. Because if Wil, with her supernatural powers, can't see the same evidence of hauntings that Ed does, he worries he may actually be losing his mind.
Together, Wil and Ed must dig deeper into the Summerfields' hoard of secrets, though the truth won't give itself up without a fight that could prove deadly to the both of them, as they face cunning adversaries among the living and the dead.
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Chapter One: Wil CHAPTER ONE WIL Dawn stained the eastern sky above Thrush's Green shell pink, dew spangled the village's clipped lawns and immaculate front gardens, and across the cobblestoned main road, Wilhelmina Price could see Jenny Bright's soul leaving her body.
The first thin, smokelike tendrils had just begun to drift from Jenny's eyes and mouth and nose, obscuring her features from a distance. She stood speaking with Mrs. Grey, the postmistress, entirely unaware of the process occurring within her, oblivious to the fate only Wilhelmina could detect. Within a day or two, Jenny Bright would be dead. Within hours, it would look, to Wil, as if she walked within a cloud of fog, blanketed in the shroud of her own departing soul.
How human spirits sensed when death was in the offing, Wil couldn't say. She only knew that they did.
Catching sight of Wil, Jenny pointedly turned aside. She was pretty in a faded, careworn fashion and had been a friend of Wil's mother. Wil tried not to let the snub sting and carried on down the road. Her deathsense had earned her no friends among the villagers-they viewed her at best as an unknown who ought to be kept at arm's length, and at worst as an object of suspicion and scorn. Wil knew better than to stop or speak to Jenny now, for if she did, the hollow guilt gnawing at her insides might get the better of her. She might try to offer a warning, and it never went well when she did. Three times now, she'd tried to say something, anything, that might ward off an impending death. It had never done any good, in every case casting a terrible shadow over the doomed party's last day and stirring up ill feelings and bitterness toward Wil in those they left behind. Wil half believed the deaths she foresaw were a matter of destiny-that once a soul began its departure, it could not be halted. She'd certainly never succeeded in arresting one as it drifted off to the haunted halfway place some spirits inhabited.
Even late
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spring in Thrush's Green was not enough to dissipate the gloom that foreseeing Jenny Bright's fate had cast over Wil. She walked onward, out of the village proper and down a quiet country lane, before slipping through a gap in the hedgerow. Beyond it lay a beech wood, where Wil waded through a sea of ferny undergrowth, the air a glory of shifting golden-green light. The woods that fringed the village's old millpond were redolent with birdsong and warm breezes, the ground soft beneath Wil's sensible galoshes, and she thought how unlikely it all seemed. How impossible, even, that within earshot of this lovely place, her own mother had met her end and Wil's uneasy bond with the dead and dying had begun, brought about in some inexplicable way by her mother's passing.
Letting out a slow breath, she squared her shoulders and tried to shake off her melancholy. Today, at least, was for the living.
As if to confirm the sentiment, the clarion song of a train whistle rang out, signaling the earliest stop at Thrush's Halt. Reaching the edge of a clearing carpeted with fading bluebells, Wil spread a blanket over the damp ground and settled herself to wait. She smoothed her handed-down, made-over skirt, ran careless fingers through her mop of sunny curls, and attempted to calm the nervous wings fluttering to life in her stomach. It was foolish to be anxious over this, and yet she was, every time. She always thought, deep down, that perhaps he wouldn't come. Perhaps he'd finally realized how very unlikely their long friendship was and decided to leave it behind, along with the rest of childhood's outgrown object
Letting out a slow breath, she squared her shoulders and tried to shake off her melancholy. Today, at least, was for the living.
As if to confirm the sentiment, the clarion song of a train whistle rang out, signaling the earliest stop at Thrush's Halt. Reaching the edge of a clearing carpeted with fading bluebells, Wil spread a blanket over the damp ground and settled herself to wait. She smoothed her handed-down, made-over skirt, ran careless fingers through her mop of sunny curls, and attempted to calm the nervous wings fluttering to life in her stomach. It was foolish to be anxious over this, and yet she was, every time. She always thought, deep down, that perhaps he wouldn't come. Perhaps he'd finally realized how very unlikely their long friendship was and decided to leave it behind, along with the rest of childhood's outgrown object
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Autoren-Porträt von Laura E. Weymouth
Laura E. Weymouth is the author of several novels, including the critically acclaimed The Light Between Worlds, A Treason of Thorns, A Rush of Wings, and A Consuming Fire. Born and raised in the Niagara region of Ontario, Laura now lives at the edge of the woods in western New York with her husband, two wild-hearted daughters, and an ever-expanding menagerie of animal friends. Learn more at LauraEWeymouth.com.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Laura E. Weymouth
- Altersempfehlung: Ab 14 Jahre
- 2023, 320 Seiten, Maße: 15,7 x 23,8 cm, Gebunden, Englisch
- Verlag: Simon & Schuster US
- ISBN-10: 166592683X
- ISBN-13: 9781665926836
- Erscheinungsdatum: 06.10.2023
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
"Weymouth (A Consuming Fire) skillfully conveys a growing sense of dread via the eerie, unsettling landscape and gradually escalating supernatural happenings; the charming dynamic between Wil and Ed further helps to bolster this captivating exploration of perseverance against darkness and familial trauma." Publishers Weekly
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