By Margaret Miles
A iciness of discontent...
January 1766. a perilous mishap brings younger widow Charlotte Willett unexpectedly to bleak and marshy Boar Island, a couple of miles from the village of Bracebridge and residential to 2 eccentric aged girls. a few say that boastful, unpopular Alexander Godwin — the one villager to frequently name upon the island's citizens — hopes to inherit the cavernous condo while its proprietor eventually passes on.
But whilst 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 could be in charge. Is his loss of life hooked up to his actions on Boar Island — or to the unearthly trickery rumored to happen there? may perhaps the competition over a gorgeous younger lady have sparked a extra harmful ardour? and may the solutions show themselves earlier than demise moves Boar Island back?
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Extra info for A Mischief in the Snow
It would be a long climb to the house, with no one to protect her from the savage creatures. But then she recalled that for a year at least, a youth had made lone visits to the island. And she'd not heard that Alexander Godwin had ever been injured. Beggars could not be choosers, she decided at last. With slow fingers, she'd managed to re-attach both skates to her soggy boots. Regaining her feet, she imagined her friends in Bracebridge would be less likely to learn of her accident if she did visit Mrs.
Two ravens, strutting as though they might be gatekeepers, hopped off, and her eyes rose further to gaze at the startling edifice before her. Regaining her breath, she studied its many peculiarities. Longer than the houses she knew, this one had a dozen dark windows in each of two stories; then, perhaps forty feet from the ground, a steep roof began with eaves that were studded with horrible heads, their mouths agape, each carved from stone. Above stretched decorative turrets, which she guessed concealed several chimneys.
Charlotte looked first to the top of a vaulted central hall—it seemed to separate two halves of the house— then down one of a pair of broad staircases made entirely of stone. Behind these steps, thin windows of colored glass directed north light into the murk below, where it reflected on what appeared to be ancient weapons of war. Lining a series of alcoves were lances, swords, shields, even a wicked crossbow, all hung above empty candle sconces, each one under a thin canopy kept by attentive spiders.