Genre Fiction
![Katie Lumsden - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B09W1KC13D.jpg)
The Secrets of Hartwood Hall: A Novel
A gripping and atmospheric debut that is at once a chilling gothic mystery and a love letter to Victorian fiction.
Nobody ever goes to Hartwood Hall. Folks say it's cursed…
It's 1852 and Margaret Lennox, a young widow, attempts to escape the shadows of her past by taking a position as governess to an only child, Louis, at an isolated country house in the west of England.
But Margaret soon starts to feel that something isn't quite right. There are strange figures in the dark, tensions between servants, and an abandoned east wing. Even stranger is the local gossip surrounding Mrs. Eversham, Louis's widowed mother, who is deeply distrusted in the village.
Lonely and unsure whom to trust, Margaret finds distraction in a forbidden relationship with the gardener, Paul. But as Margaret's history threatens to catch up with her, it isn't long before she learns the truth behind the secrets of Hartwood Hall.
Nobody ever goes to Hartwood Hall. Folks say it's cursed…
It's 1852 and Margaret Lennox, a young widow, attempts to escape the shadows of her past by taking a position as governess to an only child, Louis, at an isolated country house in the west of England.
But Margaret soon starts to feel that something isn't quite right. There are strange figures in the dark, tensions between servants, and an abandoned east wing. Even stranger is the local gossip surrounding Mrs. Eversham, Louis's widowed mother, who is deeply distrusted in the village.
Lonely and unsure whom to trust, Margaret finds distraction in a forbidden relationship with the gardener, Paul. But as Margaret's history threatens to catch up with her, it isn't long before she learns the truth behind the secrets of Hartwood Hall.
Editorial Reviews
A SheReads Favorite Historical Gothic Mystery
"Who doesn't love a cursed manor house in the remote English countryside, especially one with an entire abandoned wing? I'm looking forward to diving into this modern gothic that also promises some Lady Chatterly's Lover action (there is a handsome gardener!)."
-CrimeReads
"[A] captivating debut. . . . Assured prose propels this well-crafted tale of family, friendship, and the cost of personal freedom. Fans of the great Victorian novels, in particular Jane Eyre, will have fun."
-Publishers Weekly
"Debut author Lumsden masterfully creates a believable atmosphere of the age, where science and logic are served side by side with the supernatural in everyday life."
-Booklist
"In her atmospheric debut, The Secrets of Hartwood Hall, Katie Lumsden enthralls us with a quintessential manor-home mystery. Fans of gothic literature will savor the peculiar characters, the abandoned corridors, the deceptions and twists behind every door... Ultimately a story about women and the haunting secrets they keep, Lumsden's debut reminds us never to trust first appearances. A mesmerizing debut!"
-Sarah Penner, New York Times bestselling author of The Lost Apothecary
"The Secrets of Hartwood Hall is exactly the book you want on a cold, stormy night when the wind is sneaking in the cracks. A thoroughly impressive debut with fantastically timed surprises throughout."
-Lyndsay Faye, author of The King of Inifinite Space and Jane Steele
"I loved this fresh take on the gothic genre. Vivid, haunting, surprising."
-Stacey Halls, author ofThe Familiars
"A full-blooded Gothic mystery with bite, great characterization and heaps of atmosphere. What a debut."
"Who doesn't love a cursed manor house in the remote English countryside, especially one with an entire abandoned wing? I'm looking forward to diving into this modern gothic that also promises some Lady Chatterly's Lover action (there is a handsome gardener!)."
-CrimeReads
"[A] captivating debut. . . . Assured prose propels this well-crafted tale of family, friendship, and the cost of personal freedom. Fans of the great Victorian novels, in particular Jane Eyre, will have fun."
-Publishers Weekly
"Debut author Lumsden masterfully creates a believable atmosphere of the age, where science and logic are served side by side with the supernatural in everyday life."
-Booklist
"In her atmospheric debut, The Secrets of Hartwood Hall, Katie Lumsden enthralls us with a quintessential manor-home mystery. Fans of gothic literature will savor the peculiar characters, the abandoned corridors, the deceptions and twists behind every door... Ultimately a story about women and the haunting secrets they keep, Lumsden's debut reminds us never to trust first appearances. A mesmerizing debut!"
-Sarah Penner, New York Times bestselling author of The Lost Apothecary
"The Secrets of Hartwood Hall is exactly the book you want on a cold, stormy night when the wind is sneaking in the cracks. A thoroughly impressive debut with fantastically timed surprises throughout."
-Lyndsay Faye, author of The King of Inifinite Space and Jane Steele
"I loved this fresh take on the gothic genre. Vivid, haunting, surprising."
-Stacey Halls, author ofThe Familiars
"A full-blooded Gothic mystery with bite, great characterization and heaps of atmosphere. What a debut."
Readers Top Reviews
Marie SteckELEANO
The Secrets of Harwood Hall Hard Back book is a keeper. It kept me guessing till the end. My daughter-in-law wants to read it next. I will share the book with her and then probably reread it agin. Thsk you Katie Lumsden.
Suzanne JohnstonS
People say they shout at the characters in a book, “don’t do that!” That’s how I felt. Much was sort of over the top. Not that this was impossible, but the characters were just not realistic or the writing about them. Unclear how to express it but it seemed like a good story written by a teenager.
carmenSuzanne Joh
Unlike the author, I never cared much for the Brontës or Victorian Gothic novels, in general. I probably would have skipped over the recommendation, except that I was waiting on library books and thought I would sample a few of the books recommended for me. I was positive it wouldn’t pique my interest and I probably wouldn’t care for it, but what a surprise! This is a delightful book. Modern enough to keep an audience, like myself, entertained and waiting for the mystery to be revealed, yet written in the style of the Victorian authors. The big difference is that the story/mystery and dialogue was written, skillfully enough to satisfy those who love the Classics, but not in a way that would be unfamiliar to those of us who don’t.. It’s just a beautiful balance. I really like this author. She’s not caught up in herself and her own knowledge and she’s not pretentious. The story, along with the people, are honest. Read it for that enjoyment and for the mystery. This is a book that lives up to my belief that wonderful literature can be found everywhere. Winning prizes for writing is nice, but that means nothing to the average readers. I’m sick of struggling through high-minded books, recommended for Pulitzers, etc. We read to be entertained, to learn, and to escape. Based on those needs, this book completely satisfies. It’s an enjoyable read. I look forward to more by this author
Kassandra Boothca
A surprise secret. Overall the book was interesting and definitely not what I was expecting to read from this era. It was a little slow building in the first half, but it became a page turner.
Short Excerpt Teaser
When I think of Hartwood Hall, there are moments that come back to me again and again, moments that stain me, that cling like ink to my skin.
My first view of the house: a glimpse of stone, of turrets and gables, sash windows and long grass.
The sound of Louis's laugh. Bright and golden, eager and young.
Paul's hands in my hair, his body pressed against mine.
The silver locket, the dim portrait of the lost girl faded and worn within.
Lying cold in my bed at night, covers pulled tight around me, listening with my good ear to murmurs and taps in the darkness.
A figure in the distance, a shimmer beyond the lake. There, in the corner of my eye one moment. The next, vanished, leaving an empty impression behind.
The sound of a gunshot in the dark, running footsteps, burning flames and black, black sky.
CHAPTER I
Four weeks after we buried my husband, I found myself in the back of a carriage, trundling slowly uphill. The road was rough, the carriage ill-built, my black dress heavy, my eyes heavier. I had that kind of tiredness running through me that comes not from lack of sleep but from lack of rest, lack of calm. My body ached for something new.
Beyond the windows, I could see sweeping hills, tall grass swaying in hedged fields, rows of trees in distant apple orchards. We rattled by farmhouses and far-off villages, passed great houses set back from the road. Then green-brown wilderness for miles, not another carriage or even a laborer in sight. The sun streamed down on rivers and pathways, on dairy fields and scattered trees. This was a quiet part of the world, all mud and sun and sky.
I had caught the Great Western Railway from London to Bath the day before, emerged into a busy station in a cloud of steam. I'd stayed overnight in a quiet inn, then taken the post-chaise to a town I had never heard of. From there, a carriage was sent to meet me. I had thought at first it must be from the house, but when I inquired after Mrs. Eversham, the driver only scrunched up his nose and said, "I don't know, ma'am. Never heard of Hartwood Hall before now."
He had been instructed from afar, I supposed. He knew no more about Hartwood Hall than I did, and that was precious little. That the mistress was called Mrs. Eversham. That she, like me, was a widow. That she, unlike me, had a child. Louis Eversham. My new charge. A boy of ten years old.
And that was all.
I had met only with an agent in London-a stout woman of around fifty with iron-gray hair. The study in her house in Cheapside was gray, too, with dull-colored furniture and cushion-less chairs, a huge ledger adorning the pedestal desk.
"And you have been at several places, I see?" she'd asked, surveying my references.
"Yes."
"You are nine-and-twenty?"
"Yes."
"This last character is from three years ago."
I swallowed. Another mark against me. "I have been married, ma'am."
She glanced up, taking in my black dress, my widow's cap, with a quick nod. "A recent loss?"
I hesitated. If I told her how recent, she would think ill of me at once. "A little while ago," I said slowly.
That seemed to satisfy her. "You play the pianoforte, of course?"
"Yes."
"French? German? Latin?"
"Proficient in all, ma'am."
"You can teach mathematics and the sciences as well as reading and writing?"
"Certainly."
She glanced back down at her desk. "I see you have some trouble hearing."
"None that has ever caused me difficulty, ma'am," I said at once. "I cannot hear in my left ear, but my right is very good. You will see, I think, that my former mistress mentions it only to note how little it affected my abilities."
Once more she nodded, and I shifted uneasily in my chair. I needed work. I needed something. I had lost positions before because of my bad ear. Some mistresses caught word my hearing wasn't perfect and decided another woman would be more suitable for their child.
"That won't be a problem," she said. "I believe I may have something for you, Mrs. Lennox."
I breathed out. Here was salvation. A life to build. A fresh start.
That was a week ago. Characters from my previous employers had been sent, letters had been exchanged, and finally I was engaged. And now I was sitting in this carriage, heading toward my new life. It felt as though I had never been anything but a governess, as though it had been only a few weeks since I left my last place. Three years of my life, vanished into thin air. Three years of my life, and nothing but widow's weeds to show for it. I thought of Richard, his dark eyes, his freckled face, his gaunt figure those last few weeks.
I shut ...
My first view of the house: a glimpse of stone, of turrets and gables, sash windows and long grass.
The sound of Louis's laugh. Bright and golden, eager and young.
Paul's hands in my hair, his body pressed against mine.
The silver locket, the dim portrait of the lost girl faded and worn within.
Lying cold in my bed at night, covers pulled tight around me, listening with my good ear to murmurs and taps in the darkness.
A figure in the distance, a shimmer beyond the lake. There, in the corner of my eye one moment. The next, vanished, leaving an empty impression behind.
The sound of a gunshot in the dark, running footsteps, burning flames and black, black sky.
CHAPTER I
Four weeks after we buried my husband, I found myself in the back of a carriage, trundling slowly uphill. The road was rough, the carriage ill-built, my black dress heavy, my eyes heavier. I had that kind of tiredness running through me that comes not from lack of sleep but from lack of rest, lack of calm. My body ached for something new.
Beyond the windows, I could see sweeping hills, tall grass swaying in hedged fields, rows of trees in distant apple orchards. We rattled by farmhouses and far-off villages, passed great houses set back from the road. Then green-brown wilderness for miles, not another carriage or even a laborer in sight. The sun streamed down on rivers and pathways, on dairy fields and scattered trees. This was a quiet part of the world, all mud and sun and sky.
I had caught the Great Western Railway from London to Bath the day before, emerged into a busy station in a cloud of steam. I'd stayed overnight in a quiet inn, then taken the post-chaise to a town I had never heard of. From there, a carriage was sent to meet me. I had thought at first it must be from the house, but when I inquired after Mrs. Eversham, the driver only scrunched up his nose and said, "I don't know, ma'am. Never heard of Hartwood Hall before now."
He had been instructed from afar, I supposed. He knew no more about Hartwood Hall than I did, and that was precious little. That the mistress was called Mrs. Eversham. That she, like me, was a widow. That she, unlike me, had a child. Louis Eversham. My new charge. A boy of ten years old.
And that was all.
I had met only with an agent in London-a stout woman of around fifty with iron-gray hair. The study in her house in Cheapside was gray, too, with dull-colored furniture and cushion-less chairs, a huge ledger adorning the pedestal desk.
"And you have been at several places, I see?" she'd asked, surveying my references.
"Yes."
"You are nine-and-twenty?"
"Yes."
"This last character is from three years ago."
I swallowed. Another mark against me. "I have been married, ma'am."
She glanced up, taking in my black dress, my widow's cap, with a quick nod. "A recent loss?"
I hesitated. If I told her how recent, she would think ill of me at once. "A little while ago," I said slowly.
That seemed to satisfy her. "You play the pianoforte, of course?"
"Yes."
"French? German? Latin?"
"Proficient in all, ma'am."
"You can teach mathematics and the sciences as well as reading and writing?"
"Certainly."
She glanced back down at her desk. "I see you have some trouble hearing."
"None that has ever caused me difficulty, ma'am," I said at once. "I cannot hear in my left ear, but my right is very good. You will see, I think, that my former mistress mentions it only to note how little it affected my abilities."
Once more she nodded, and I shifted uneasily in my chair. I needed work. I needed something. I had lost positions before because of my bad ear. Some mistresses caught word my hearing wasn't perfect and decided another woman would be more suitable for their child.
"That won't be a problem," she said. "I believe I may have something for you, Mrs. Lennox."
I breathed out. Here was salvation. A life to build. A fresh start.
That was a week ago. Characters from my previous employers had been sent, letters had been exchanged, and finally I was engaged. And now I was sitting in this carriage, heading toward my new life. It felt as though I had never been anything but a governess, as though it had been only a few weeks since I left my last place. Three years of my life, vanished into thin air. Three years of my life, and nothing but widow's weeds to show for it. I thought of Richard, his dark eyes, his freckled face, his gaunt figure those last few weeks.
I shut ...
