The Daughters of Foxcote Manor by Eve Chase (English) Hardcover Book

Description: The Daughters of Foxcote Manor by Eve Chase THE INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER, "A captivating mystery: beautifully written, with a rich sense of place, a cast of memorable characters, and lots of deep, dark secrets."—Kate Morton, New York Times bestselling author of The Clockmakers Daughter "Extraordinary…Absolutely her best yet."—Lisa Jewell, New York Times bestselling author of The Family Upstairs Three generations. Three daughters. One house of secrets. The truth can shatter everything . . . When the Harrington family discovers an abandoned baby deep in the woods, they decide to keep her a secret and raise her as their own. But within days a body is found in the grounds of their house and their perfect new family implodes. Years later, Sylvie, seeking answers to nagging questions about her life, is drawn into the wild beautiful woods where nothing is quite what it seems. Will she unearth the truth? And dare she reveal it? (Published in the UK as The Glass House) "The Daughters of Foxcote Manor is not really about a murder, or a creepy house, but about families - the ones were born into, the ones we make and especially the ones we flee."—The New York Times One of the New York Times "Novels of Suspense and Isolation"One of The Washington Posts Best New AudiobooksOne of Bustles Most Anticipated Books of SummerOne of PopSugars Best Books of JulyOne of New York Posts Best Books of the Week FORMAT Hardcover LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Author Biography Eve Chase is the author of Black Rabbit Hall, The Wildling Sisters, and The Daughters of Foxcote Manor. She lives in Oxford, England with her husband and three children. Review "Chase parcels out her clues slowly, without a hint of showiness. In the end, The Daughters of Foxcote Manor is not really about a murder, or a creepy house, but about families—the ones were born into, the ones we make and especially the ones we flee." —The New York Times "Like Lisa Jewells The Family Upstairs and Ruth Wares The Death of Mrs. Westaway, Chase takes a haunted house and exposes its ghosts, all those things that were hoped to stay hidden in the walls...A compelling story about how the secrets we hide from one another in order to protect actually can cause more harm than good, but thankfully, fate always has a way of interceding." —Paperback Paris "A captivating mystery: beautifully written, with a rich sense of place, a cast of memorable characters, and lots of deep, dark secrets." —Kate Morton, author of The Clockmakers Daughter"Eve Chase is an extraordinary writer and The Daughters of Foxcote Manor is absolutely her best yet. No one creates families as complex, loveable and utterly believable as Chase and she is the master of the dual time frame narrative." —Lisa Jewell, author of The Family Upstairs"Eve Chase is right up there with Tana French and Sarah Waters as an author who writes page-turning masterpieces that meld a vibrant sense of place with a heartbreaking cast of characters. I devoured her latest, and will be recommending it to everyone I know. Her plot twists floored me, and this haunting story will stay with me for a very long time." —Fiona Davis, author of The Chelsea Girls"I adored this beautifully-written, riveting mystery. Chase is peerless in her ability to stitch together dark secrets and tantalizing twists with unforgettable characters and enthralling imagery. I am a die-hard fan!" —Rosie Walsh, author of Ghosted"Gothic mystery The Daughters of Foxcote Manor by Eve Chase alternates between the past and the present to tell a story of mothers and daughters thats as chilling as it is moving." —PopSugar"[An] atmospheric mystery...Ample foreboding and evocative prose propel things to a gratifying close. Gothic suspense fans will be delighted." —Publishers Weekly"Chase deftly constructs a shadowy puzzle...A delicious mystery full of dark labyrinthine curves." —Kirkus Reviews "Exploring family dynamics by using alternating timelines, Chase captivates readers, especially fans of Kate Morton, with eloquent prose and sympathetic characters." —Booklist"Set in mysterious and witchy woods, The Daughters of Foxcote Manor is the perfect read for mystery lovers who prefer thrills without gore and violence." —BookPage"Eve Chases novels are about glamorous families with tragic pasts, set in wonderful locations. Her writing is rich and her stories full of dreamy mystery…This gorgeous meditation on motherhood is one of my favourite reads so far this year." —Daily Mail"This wonderfully evocative mystery chronicles the relationships among three mothers and their daughters and the secrets theyve buried." —Minneapolis Star Tribune"In The Daughters of Foxcote Manor, Eve Chase brings readers a richly crafted set of characters, and then places them in a delightfully decrepit house sitting in an eerie forest with a dark atmosphere...Told in chapters then and now, the past slowly creeps into the future, and the lives of the characters intertwine intricately, leaving readers with a sense of awe. This book is a pleasure and a thrill. The marvelous discoveries unfold right up to the last page, where the perfect ending resides." —BookReporter.com "Chases mastery of language is impressive, and her concrete images pack a considerable punch with their freshness and emotional resonance...A web of intricate threads links characters in both timelines, leading to a satisfying ending. Sure to please fans of Kate Morton and Diane Setterfield." —Historical Novels Review"Devilishly atmospheric...Chase builds a narrative laden with twists rendered so cleverly that readers likely will not foresee them. She does so with deeply formed characters, a setting guaranteed to evoke unease and prose that amplifies the ominous events. But Chase does not stop with an engaging tale. Her portrait of mothers and daughters...delves intensely into connections that can be as fraught as those between fathers and sons. With profound but restrained passion typical of Britons, Chase creates a rewarding, disturbing tale of transgressions of commission and omission, with a measure of redemption born of her innate decency and empathy." —Richmond Times-Dispatch"Utterly captivating, this is a glorious dream of a novel - an irresistible story of family secrets, beautifully written." —Emma Rous, author of The Au Pair"Bewitching and beguiling. . . . As suspenseful as the mistress of psychological drama, Daphne Du Maurier. Chase is simply brilliant." —Veronica Henry, author of How to Find Love in a Bookshop"I adored The Daughters of Foxcote Manor by Eve Chase. Sublime writing, secrets, lovable characters I didnt want to leave, and a ripping twisting plot that kept me guessing. An absolute jewel of a book." —Dinah Jefferies, author of The Sapphire Widow"If you like your mysteries atmospheric then I highly recommend The Daughters of Foxcote Manor...Beautiful, transportive writing." —Erin Kelly, author of We Know You Know and He Said She Said "I just love Eve Chases lyrical writing and evocative sense of place. The Daughters of Foxcote Manor is her best yet…A treat." —Louise Candlish, bestselling author of Our House "So beautifully and insightfully written, with characters I grew to love populating a compelling, moving story that kept me turning the pages right to the very last. Chase handles the various unexpected ways our earliest experiences shape and define us with huge empathy and sensitivity. Its an evocative and engrossing read." —Katherine Webb, author of The Legacy"Evocative and beautifully written The Daughters of Foxcote Manor sucked me into a mystery as atmospheric and densely packed with secrets as the forest in which its set." —Rachel Rhys, author of Fatal Inheritance"Rich, gripping, intriguing, beautifully written, diving deep into emotional truths, The Daughters of Foxcote Manor is an assured and lovely novel" —Elizabeth Buchan, author of Revenge of the Middle-Aged Woman Review Quote "Eve Chase is right up there with Tana French and Sarah Waters as an author who writes page-turning masterpieces that meld a vibrant sense of place with a heartbreaking cast of characters. I devoured her latest, and will be recommending it to everyone I know. Her plot twists floored me, and this haunting story will stay with me for a very long time." --Fiona Davis, nationally bestselling author of The Chelsea Girls "Utterly captivating, this is a glorious dream of a novel - an irresistible story of family secrets, beautifully written." --Emma Rous, author of The Au Pair "I adored this beautifully-written, riveting mystery. Chase is peerless in her ability to stitch together dark secrets and tantalizing twists with unforgettable characters and enthralling imagery. I am a die-hard fan!" --Rosie Walsh, author o f Ghosted "So beautifully and insightfully written, with characters I grew to love populating a compelling, moving story that kept me turning the pages right to the very last. Chase handles the various unexpected ways our earliest experiences shape and define us with huge empathy and sensitivity. Its an evocative and engrossing read." -Katherine Webb, author of The Legacy Excerpt from Book 1 Rita, Forest of Dean, 4 August 1971 The forest looks like itll eat them alive, thinks Rita. The lights gone a weird green and branches are thrashing against the cars windows. She tightens her grip on the steering wheel. The lane narrows further. Wondering if shes missed the turning to the house or if its around the next corner, she takes a bend too fast, then slams her foot on the brake. Rita sucks in her breath, her eyes widening behind the Morris Minors insect-spattered windscreen. Shes not sure what she was expecting. Something smarter. More Harrington. Not this. Behind a tall, rusting gate, Foxcote Manor erupts from the undergrowth, as if a geological heave has lifted it from the woodland floor. The mullioned windows on the old house, a wrecked beauty, blink drunkenly in the stippled evening sunlight. Colossal trees overhang a sweep of red-tiled roof that sags in the middle, like a snapped spine, so the chimneys tilt at odd angles. Ivy suckers up the timber-and-brick gabled faade, dense, bristling, alive with dozens of tiny darting birds, a billowing veil of bees. Its as far from the Harringtons elegant London townhouse as Rita could possibly imagine. For a moment no one in the car speaks. Unseen, in the trees, a woodpecker drums its territorial tattoo. Sweat trickles down the back of Ritas left knee. Only now does she register her hands are shaking. Although shes done her best to disguise it from Jeannie and the children, shes been panicky ever since they turned onto the forest road, almost five hours after leaving London. Its not just the worry shell kill her precious passengers. Every so often her vision has actually shuddered, disoriented by all the soaring trees, the lack of sky, and the knowledge of quite how hard a tree trunk is when hit at fifty miles an hour. Now theyve survived the journey, she covers her mouth with her hand. Everythings still going too fast. How on earth has she ended up here? A forest. Of all places. She hates forests. It was meant to be a London nannying job. Fourteen months ago, Rita had never been to London. But shed dreamed of it longingly, the Rita she might be there, far away from Torquay, everything that had happened. And the metropolitan family-just like the Darlings in Peter Pan-whod embrace her as their own. Theyd live in a tall warm house that didnt have a coin-gobbling electricity meter, like Nans bungalow did. Shed get a bedroom of her own, with a desk and a shelf, perhaps a view of the churning, thrilling city. And the mother she worked for would be . . . well, perfect. Someone delicate and kind and soft. Cultured. With tiny earlobes and fluttery birdlike hands. Like her own mother, whom Rita hazily remembered. Everything shed lost in the accident. And that a bit of her kept searching for. On the morning of the interview, shed gazed up at the Primrose Hill houses sugar-white stucco and cascading wisteria, and immediately known this was it. Her new home. Her new family. She could feel a tingling sensation, like the first fizz of pins and needles, as shed knocked on the smart front door, her heart scudding beneath her best blouse that didnt look best in London. Now its her second-best blouse, packed in the boot along with any other clothes-practical, plain, rarely long enough in the arm or leg-she could salvage after the fire that tore through that London house last weekend. Even after the long cycle at the launderette, her clothes still whiff of smoke. Rita glances across at Jeannie in the passenger seat. Wearing a new haul from Harrods, she is defiantly dressed for London, clutching a black patent leather handbag as if for dear life. She looks fragile, upset. Her recent weight loss is painfully obvious in that cream crepe skirt, tightly belted, another hole in, a powder-blue cashmere twinset, and a white silk scarf, wound like a bandage around her stemlike neck. And shes wearing those sunglasses again, the tortoiseshell ones, with lenses big as Hartleys jam-jar lids, she always puts on after a night of crying. Jeannie hadnt wanted to leave Claridges. (Rita neither: shed never stayed anywhere she hadnt had to make her own bed before. The maid wouldnt even let her help with the tricky mattress corners.) Jeannie certainly hadnt wanted to come here: "Monstrous place. Walters way of isolating me," shed whispered last night, out of the childrens earshot. Peering up at Foxcote Manor now, Rita cant help but wonder if Jeannie was right. When shed started the job, everything was different. She remembers Jeannie reading her reference out loud on the day of the interview, her slowly spreading smile, her hands stroking the sun of her heavily pregnant belly. "Loyal, kind, and adored by my four children. Brilliant with the baby. Not so good on laundry or cooking. Very nervous driver. Would hire again in a heartbeat." Walter hadnt been particularly interested. A reserved man with a carefully curated mustache, sinewy in a slim-cut brown suit, hed been friendly but businesslike. After briskly shaking her hand, he excused himself, blew some kisses in the direction of the kids, and rushed out to work, trailing the faint soapy scent of shaving foam. Back then, Walter was happy to leave all of the domestic decisions to his wife. He ran the Harrington Glass headquarters in Mayfair, not the family house. And he seemed perfectly nice. If there had been warning signs, Rita didnt spot them. Shed never wanted a job so much. Carefully lowering herself to the sofa, shed laced her hands together tightly, so they couldnt fidget, and crossed her untidy legs at the ankle, tucking them in, as Nan had instructed ("Itll make you look smaller, love. More feminine"). She tried very hard not to smile too much, to appear a serious professional, older than her twenty years. Worthy of such a plum post. Jeannie had called the then-five-year-old Teddy into the drawing room. "Hes delicious," she said. And he was. Rita had to fight the urge to ruffle his curls. Then-twelve-year-old Hera appeared, less obviously delicious and, as if to compensate for this, offering a slice of cake-Jeannie called it p%tisserie-on a bone-china plate with a minuscule silver fork. As Hera shyly explained how to pronounce her posh name-"Here-rah"-Rita took the plate. It tipped and the cake, in horrifying slow motion, slid off and landed in the deep-pile carpet next to the potted aspidistra. Hera giggled. Rita caught her eye, then disastrously giggled too, and tried to disguise it as a coughing fit. Obviously shed blown it spectacularly and would be sent packing back to Nans bungalow, cloying small-town life-and her own ugly secret. But that giggle, Jeannie told her afterward, had won her the job. She wanted the baby to have a fun young nanny, not some cross old boot. But the baby never heard Ritas giggle. Or anyone elses. Shes a tiny ghost doll, stiff, white, frozen in time, a presence constantly felt but never, God forbid, mentioned. And Rita . . . well, what is she now? Not just the fun young nanny. And shes got more than what theyll eat for tea weighing on her mind. Even the trees seem to peer down at her accusingly, shaking their leafy heads. "Our little arrangement," Walter calls it. When he suggested it two days ago, Rita didnt want any part. She felt such disquiet about his motives. "You want to think about it?" Hed snorted. "This is a job, not a dessert menu, Rita." The choice was stark: agree or leave ("immediately, without a reference"), and hed hire someone more compliant. "I have to remain in London, what with the business, so you must make notes on my wifes state of mind." Walter smoothed his rapidly retreating hair. "Keep me informed of her moods. Appetite. Quality of mothering. Ill expect your absolute discretion, of course. My wife mustnt find out." Ritas mind had raced. First, if she left, where would she go? How would she live? Nan had died a few months earlier-not a bad case of indigestion, after all-and the council had reclaimed her bungalow. She had been determined to give Nan a proper send-off and a gravestone. The cost had wiped out her savings. And she couldnt bear the thought of walking away from Jeannie, Hera, and Teddy when they needed her most. Itd be like giving up on them. Or saying, "I cant help you anymore," even though shes sure she can-she knows about grief, the way it scars you, not on the skin but on the soft suede of the soul inside. (And how it is to grow up different, like Hera, the one who doesnt fit.) So yes, surely better she "report" on Jeannie this summer, fudging whenever necessary, than some strict new hire, she reasoned. Even this morning it felt like the right decision. But now that theyre here, enclosed by these somber, looming trees, in a spot so remote it feels like theyre the last survivors on the planet, shes no longer sure. Her mouth is dry and metallic. It tastes of betrayal. "Rita?" Jeannie touches her lightly on the arm, interrupting her spiraling thoughts. Jeannies voice is thick with the mornings medication, the reason Rita is driving. ("Funny, I see halos," Jeannie observed over Claridges flawless poached eggs at breakfast.) "Are you ready?" "Oh, yes! Sorry." Ritas cheeks blaze. Her conscience lies too close to the surface. "Well, lets get this bloody awful thing over with, shall we?" Jeannie whispers grimly. Rita nods and grapples wi Details ISBN0525542388 Author Eve Chase Pages 368 Language English Year 2020 ISBN-10 0525542388 ISBN-13 9780525542384 Format Hardcover Publication Date 2020-07-21 Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2020-07-21 NZ Release Date 2020-07-21 US Release Date 2020-07-21 UK Release Date 2020-07-21 Publisher Penguin Putnam Inc Imprint G P Putnams Sons DEWEY 823.92 Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:137598108;

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