By Margaret Miles
A wintry weather of discontent...
January 1766. a perilous mishap brings younger widow Charlotte Willett abruptly to bleak and marshy Boar Island, a couple of miles from the village of Bracebridge and residential to 2 eccentric aged ladies. a few say that smug, unpopular Alexander Godwin — the one villager to usually name upon the island's citizens — hopes to inherit the cavernous condo while its proprietor ultimately passes on.
But while Alexander is brutally murdered after the town's annual wintry weather fête, Charlotte and her neighbor Richard Longfellow can not help yet ask yourself who between Alexander's detractors should be accountable. Is his dying attached to his actions on Boar Island — or to the unearthly trickery rumored to happen there? may well the competition over a stunning younger girl have sparked a extra harmful ardour? and may the solutions display themselves earlier than loss of life moves Boar Island back?
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Extra info for A Mischief in the Snow
The main objection to the stamps (beyond their added cost to business) was that for generations the colonial assemblies had raised royal revenues themselves. This new order given by a distant body— one that lately seemed to ignore the pleas of America's own popular houses—was not only an insult, but a threat to liberties long enjoyed in all the provinces. The people of Boston had made it clear enough that any official attempting to support or sell the stamps would be sorry for it—which was why Governor Bernard had gone to sit in his castle as well, comforted by two British men-of-war anchored nearby.
Surely no one had come this way looking for a place to picnic! … Charlotte smiled uncomfortably, recalling her earlier embarrassment for both women, and her pain at the treatment of the younger. She'd pitied Mrs. Knowles, hearing of her youthful difficulties. But then she'd seen her lead a merry dance at the expense of a silent partner. The thought of dancing caused her skin to prickle, for it reminded her of the uncanny mirror, with its strange lights and colors. Just then, she heard a rustling behind several fallen rocks only a few yards away.
It may be easier to take a novel apart than to put one together,” she decided. “A laudable answer. ” “Could any of us rest, imagining you dreadfully obedient to Mr. Walpole? But I imagine you are far too sensible to be impressed by such fare. No—I would like to test this new work on a mind of lesser capacity. ” Charlotte's eyes widened. ” “As a fellow prone to superstition, he should be a proper audience for Walpole's litany of horrors. I will offer a reward, of course—after all, he will be plowing rather stony ground.
A Mischief in the Snow by Margaret Miles