Read more
Zusatztext “Eat your heart out! Charlotte Bronte! . . . Jane's narrative voice stays coolly crisp and witty! never losing its clarity of style and authenticity of tone! even in nerve-racking moments of excitement . . . captivating . . . delightful . . . Ms. Barron's skillful rendering of Austen's style! attuned to picking up the most delicate fluctuations in social behavior! reveals it to be an ideal vehicle for the classic cozy murder mystery. Who knew?” — The New York Times Book Review “The words! characters! and references are so real it is a shock to find that the author is not Austen herself.” — Arizona Republic “Delightful . . . captures the style and wit of Austen. . . . A real charmer.” — San Francisco Examiner “There's plenty to enjoy in this crime-solving side of Jane. . . . [She] is as worthy a detective as Columbo.” — USA Today Informationen zum Autor Stepahanie Barron Klappentext For everyone who loves Jane Austen . . . the second tantalizing mystery in a new series that transforms the beloved author into a dazzling sleuth! Jane and her family are looking forward to a peaceful holiday in the seaside village of Lyme Regis. Yet on the outskirts of town an overturned carriage forces the shaken travelers to take refuge at a nearby manor house. And it is there that Jane meets the darkly forbidding yet strangely attractive Mr. Geoffrey Sidmouth. What murky secrets does the brooding Mr. Sidmouth seek to hide? Jane suspects the worst-but her attention is swiftly diverted when a man is discovered hanged from a makeshift gibbet by the sea. The worthies of Lyme are certain his death is the work of "the Reverend," the ringleader of the midnight smuggling trade whose identity is the town's paramount mystery. Now, it falls to Jane to entrap and expose the notorious Reverend . . . even if the evidence points to the last person on earth she wants to suspect . . . a man who already may have won her heart. Leseprobe Bath being unbearably hot this August, and my father's health indifferent, we determined to exchange our rooms in town for more salubrious ones along the coast. We had little inclination to try the bustle and vulgarity of Ramsgate [1], though my brother Edward would take a large establishment there; Brighton was not even to be spoken of; and so to Dorsetshire we would go, and to Lyme Regis in particular, having made a several-weeks' trial of its delights the previous autumn. No coaching inn should be good enough accommodation on the present occasion, however; none of your Three Cups or Golden Lions would do for us--no, the Austens of Bath should travel in style, and take furnished lodgings. A cottage on the water, where my mother might gaze at the sea, and consider her Naval sons, and my father might indulge his passion for botany in walks along the shingle, should do very well. Cassandra and I meant to be happy with frequent turns about the Cobb [2], and even more frequent dances in the town's pretty little Assembly Rooms; our memories of the place were so cheerful, in fact, that the plan met with immediate approval. Bath was forgotten; Ramsgate consigned to those of little sense or taste; and Lyme become the object of all our fondest hopes. Being possessed of a fortune that no longer admits of a private carriage, but finding ourselves above the meaner conveyance of mail coach and stage--the former being adjudged too swift and precarious for my father's temper, and the latter too crowded and vulgar for my mother's--we were forced to adopt the only alternative, a post chaise initiating in Bath, with horses changed daily en route . Having descended towards the southern coast by way of Shepton Mallet, Somerton, and Crewkherne, as recommended by Paterson's [3], we were even yet embarked today upon the final stage of our journey, with a new po...
