The Black Robe
The Dead Alive
A Fair Penitent
The Fallen Leaves
The Frozen Deep
The Guilty River
The Haunted Hotel
Heart and Science
Hide and Seek
I Say No
The Law and the Lady
The Legacy of Cain
Man and Wife
Miss or Mrs.?
My Lady's Money
The New Magdalen
Poor Miss Finch
The Queen of Hearts
Rambles Beyond Railways
A Rogue's Life
THE TWO DESTINIES
The Woman in White
Mr. Hethcote was the first to speak again.
BOOK THE SECOND. AMELIUS IN LONDON
BOOK THE THIRD. MRS. FARNABY'S FOOT
Amelius rose impulsively from his chair.
The young lady spoke first.
BOOK THE FOURTH. LOVE AND MONEY
BOOK THE FIFTH. THE FATAL LECTURE
BOOK THE SIXTH. FILIA DOLOROSA
The landlady of the lodgings decided what was to be done.
"Rufus! I don't quite like the way you look at me. You seem to think—"
BOOK THE SEVENTH. THE VANISHING HOPES
Two days later, Amelius moved into his cottage.
"Let me see the blister," said Amelius.
Toff returned to the cottage, with the slippers and the stockings.
BOOK THE EIGHTH. DAME NATURE DECIDES
"Where has he been found?" Amelius asked, snatching up his hat.
The last dreary days of November came to their end.
Early the next morning, Rufus rang at the cottage gate.
Toff was the first who recovered himself.
WHAT am I now about to write?
The history of little more than the events of one year, out of the twenty-four years of my life.
Why do I undertake such an employment as this?
Perhaps, because I think that my narrative may do good; because I hope that, one day, it may be put to some warning use. I am now about to relate the story of an error, innocent in its beginning, guilty in its progress, fatal in its results; and I would fain hope that my plain and true record will show that this error was not committed altogether without excuse. When these pages are found after my death, they will perhaps be calmly read and gently judged, as relics solemnized by the atoning shadows of the grave. Then, the hard sentence against me may be repented of; the children of the next generation of our house may be taught to speak charitably of my memory, and may often, of their own accord, think of me kindly in the thoughtful watches of the night.
Prompted by these motives, and by others which I feel, but cannot analyse, I now begin my self-imposed occupation. Hidden amid the far hills of the far West of England, surrounded only by the few simple inhabitants of a fishing hamlet on the Cornish coast, there is little fear that my attention will be distracted from my task; and as little chance that any indolence on my part will delay its speedy accomplishment. I live under a threat of impending hostility, which may descend and overwhelm me, I know not how soon, or in what manner. An enemy, determined and deadly, patient alike to wait days or years for his opportunity, is ever lurking after me in the dark. In entering on my new employment, I cannot say of my time, that it may be mine for another hour; of my life, that it may last till evening....
The evening shadows were beginning to gather over the quiet little German town, and the diligence was expected every minute. Before the door of the principal inn, waiting the arrival of the first visitors of the year, were assembled the three notable personages of Wildbad, accompanied by their wives—the mayor, representing the inhabitants; the doctor, representing the waters; the landlord, representing his own establishment. Beyond this select circle, grouped snugly about the trim little square in front of the inn, appeared the towns-people in general, mixed here and there with the country people, in their quaint German costume, placidly expectant of the diligence—the men in short black jackets, tight black breeches, and three-cornered beaver hats; the women with their long light hair hanging in one thickly plaited tail behind them, and the waists of their short woolen gowns inserted modestly in the region of their shoulder-blades. Round the outer edge of the assemblage thus formed, flying detachments of plump white-headed children careered in perpetual motion; while, mysteriously apart from the rest of the inhabitants, the musicians of the Baths stood collected in one lost corner, waiting the appearance of the first visitors to play the first tune of the season in the form of a serenade. The light of a May evening was still bright on the tops of the great wooded hills watching high over the town on the right hand and the left; and the cool breeze that comes before sunset came keenly fragrant here with the balsamic odor of the first of the Black Forest.
"Mr. Landlord," said the mayor's wife (giving the landlord his title), "have you any foreign guests coming on this first day of the season?"...
CHAPTER II. TWO YOUNG HEARTS.
CHAPTER III. SWEDENBORG AND THE SIBYL.
CHAPTER IV. THE CURTAIN FALLS.
CHAPTER V. MY STORY.
CHAPTER VI. HER STORY.
CHAPTER VII. THE WOMAN ON THE BRIDGE.
MY mother looked in at the library door, and disturbed me over my books.
CHAPTER VIII. THE KINDRED SPIRITS
CHAPTER IX. NATURAL AND SUPERNATURAL.
CHAPTER X. SAINT ANTHONY'S WELL.
CHAPTER XI. THE LETTER OF INTRODUCTION.
CHAPTER XII. THE DISASTERS OF MRS. VAN BRANDT.
CHAPTER XIII. NOT CURED YET.
CHAPTER XIV. MRS. VAN BRANDT AT HOME.
CHAPTER XV. THE OBSTACLE BEATS ME.
CHAPTER XVI. MY MOTHER'S DIARY.
CHAPTER XVII. SHETLAND HOSPITALITY.
"GUIDE! Where are we?"
CHAPTER XVIII. THE DARKENED ROOM.
CHAPTER XIX. THE CATS.
CHAPTER XX. THE GREEN FLAG.
CHAPTER XXI. SHE COMES BETWEEN US.
CHAPTER XXII. SHE CLAIMS ME AGAIN.
CHAPTER XXIII. THE KISS.
CHAPTER XXIV. IN THE SHADOW OF ST. PAUL'S.
In ten days I was at home again—and my mother's arms were round me.
CHAPTER XXV. I KEEP MY APPOINTMENT.
CHAPTER XXVI. CONVERSATION WITH MY MOTHER.
CHAPTER XXVII. CONVERSATION WITH MRS. VAN BRANDT.
CHAPTER XXVIII. LOVE AND MONEY.
CHAPTER XXIX. OUR DESTINIES PART US.
CHAPTER XXX. THE PROSPECT DARKENS.
CHAPTER XXXI. THE PHYSICIAN'S OPINION.
SIX months have elapsed. Summer-time has come again.
CHAPTER XXXII. A LAST LOOK AT GREENWATER BROAD.
CHAPTER XXXIII. A VISION OF THE NIGHT.
CHAPTER XXXIV. BY LAND AND SEA.
CHAPTER XXXV. UNDER THE WINDOW.
CHAPTER XXXVI. LOVE AND PRIDE.
CHAPTER XXXVII. THE TWO DESTINIES.
THE WIFE WRITES, AND CLOSES THE STORY.
THE hands on the hall-clock pointed to half-past six in the morning. The house was a country residence in West Somersetshire, called Combe-Raven. The day was the fourth of March, and the year was eighteen hundred and forty-six.
No sounds but the steady ticking of the clock, and the lumpish snoring of a large dog stretched on a mat outside the dining-room door, disturbed the mysterious morning stillness of hall and staircase. Who were the sleepers hidden in the upper regions? Let the house reveal its own secrets; and, one by one, as they descend the stairs from their beds, let the sleepers disclose themselves.
As the clock pointed to a quarter to seven, the dog woke and shook himself. After waiting in vain for the footman, who was accustomed to let him out, the animal wandered restlessly from one closed door to another on the ground-floor; and, returning to his mat in great perplexity, appealed to the sleeping family with a long and melancholy howl.
Before the last notes of the dog's remonstrance had died away, the oaken stairs in the higher regions of the house creaked under slowly-descending footsteps. In a minute more the first of the female servants made her appearance, with a dingy woolen shawl over her shoulders—for the March morning was bleak; and rheumatism and the cook were old acquaintances.
Receiving the dog's first cordial advances with the worst possible grace, the cook slowly opened the hall door and let the animal out. It was a wild morning. Over a spacious lawn, and behind a black plantation of firs, the rising sun rent its way upward through piles of ragged gray cloud; heavy drops of rain fell few and far between; the March wind shuddered round the corners of the house, and the wet trees swayed wearily.
Seven o'clock struck; and the signs of domestic life began to show themselves in more rapid succession.
The housemaid came down—tall and slim, with the state of the spring temperature written redly on her nose. The lady's-maid followed—young, smart, plump, and sleepy. The kitchen-maid came next—afflicted with the face-ache, and making no secret of her sufferings. Last of all, the footman appeared, yawning disconsolately; the living picture of a man who felt that he had been defrauded of his fair night's rest.
The conversation of the servants, when they assembled before the slowly lighting kitchen fire, referred to a recent family event, and turned at starting on this question: Had Thomas, the footman, seen anything of the concert at Clifton, at which his master and the two young ladies had been present on the previous night? Yes; Thomas had heard the concert; he had been paid for to go in at the back; it was a loud concert; it was a hot concert; it was described at the top of the bills as Grand; whether it was worth traveling sixteen miles to hear by railway, with the additional hardship of going back nineteen miles by road, at half-past one in the morning—was a question which he would leave his master and the young ladies to decide; his own opinion, in the meantime, being unhesitatingly, No. Further inquiries, on the part of all the female servants in succession, elicited no additional information of any sort. Thomas could hum none of the songs, and could describe none of the ladies' dresses. His audience, accordingly, gave him up in despair; and the kitchen small-talk flowed back into its ordinary channels, until the clock struck eight and startled the assembled servants into separating for their morning's work....
The weary old nineteenth century had advanced into the last twenty years of its life.
Towards two o'clock in the afternoon, Ovid Vere (of the Royal College of Surgeons) stood at the window of his consulting-room in London, looking out at the summer sunshine, and the quiet dusty street.
He had received a warning, familiar to the busy men of our time—the warning from overwrought Nature, which counsels rest after excessive work. With a prosperous career before him, he had been compelled (at only thirty-one years of age) to ask a colleague to take charge of his practice, and to give the brain which he had cruelly wearied a rest of some months to come. On the next day he had arranged to embark for the Mediterranean in a friend's yacht.
An active man, devoted heart and soul to his profession, is not a man who can learn the happy knack of being idle at a moment's notice. Ovid found the mere act of looking out of window, and wondering what he should do next, more than he had patience to endure.
He turned to his study table. If he had possessed a wife to look after him, he would have been reminded that he and his study table had nothing in common, under present circumstances. Being deprived of conjugal superintendence, he broke though his own rules. His restless hand unlocked a drawer, and took out a manuscript work on medicine of his own writing. "Surely," he thought, "I may finish a chapter, before I go to sea to-morrow?"
THE events happened soon after the first thirty years of the present century had come to an end.
On a fine morning, early in the month of April, a gentleman of middle age (named Rayburn) took his little daughter Lucy out for a walk in the woodland pleasure-ground of Western London, called Kensington Gardens.
The few friends whom he possessed reported of Mr. Rayburn (not unkindly) that he was a reserved and solitary man. He might have been more accurately described as a widower devoted to his only surviving child. Although he was not more than forty years of age, the one pleasure which made life enjoyable to Lucy's father was offered by Lucy herself.
Playing with her ball, the child ran on to the southern limit of the Gardens, at that part of it which still remains nearest to the old Palace of Kensington. Observing close at hand one of those spacious covered seats, called in England "alcoves," Mr. Rayburn was reminded that he had the morning's newspaper in his pocket, and that he might do well to rest and read. At that early hour the place was a solitude.
"Go on playing, my dear," he said; "but take care to keep where I can see you."
Lucy tossed up her ball; and Lucy's father opened his newspaper. He had not been reading for more than ten minutes, when he felt a familiar little hand laid on his knee.
"Tired of playing?" he inquired—with his eyes still on the newspaper.
"I'm frightened, papa."...
Ten people, each with something to hide and something to fear, are invited to a lonely mansion on Indian Island by a host who, surprisingly, fails to appear. On the island they are cut off from everything but each other and the inescapable shadows of their own past lives. One by one, the guests share the darkest secrets of their wicked pasts. And one by one, they die…
The night after the fourth of July, Layton Carlson Jr., of Red Wing, Minnesota, finally got lucky. And unlucky.
He’d picked the perfect spot to lose his virginity to his girlfriend, an abandoned farmyard in the middle of cornfields: nice, private, and quiet. The only problem was . . . something smelled bad—like, really bad. He mentioned it to a county deputy he knew, and when the cop took a look, he found a body stuffed down a cistern. And then another, and another.
By the time Lucas Davenport was called in, the police were up to fifteen bodies and counting. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, when Lucas began to investigate, he made some disturbing discoveries of his own. The victims had been killed over a great many years, one every summer, regular as clockwork. How could this have happened without anybody noticing?
Because one thing was for sure: the killer had to live close by. He was probably even someone they saw every day. . . .
They call them Travelers. They move from city to city, panhandling, committing no crimes—they just like to stay on the move. And now somebody is killing them.
Lucas Davenport’s adopted daughter, Letty, is home from college when she gets a phone call from a woman Traveler she’d befriended in San Francisco. The woman thinks somebody’s killing her friends, she’s afraid she knows who it is, and now her male companion has gone missing. She’s hiding out in North Dakota, and she doesn’t know what to do.
Letty tells Lucas she’s going to get her, and, though he suspects Letty’s getting played, he volunteers to go with her. When he hears the woman’s story, though, he begins to think there’s something in it. Little does he know. In the days to come, he will embark upon an odyssey through a subculture unlike any he has ever seen, a trip that will not only put the two of them in danger—but just may change the course of his life.
From the Hardcover edition.
Two children from Sierra Leone, Liberty and A’shai, are brought together by chance only to be forced apart by the most inevitable and tragic fate. Ashley and JaQuavis bring us this classic love story set against modern life’s most horrifying realities. Liberty is dying of a fatal heart condition, though she desperately wants to survive until her 25th birthday when her sister has promised to visit her. A’shai blames himself for not protecting Liberty, but all Liberty asks is for A’shai to tell her a story, to help her remember what brought them to this point. He knows that this is the last story he will ever tell and the last she will ever hear. As Liberty lies dying, A’shai walks her though their past, reliving their ill-fated journeys through the streets. Their story will take them from an arranged marriage, through Mexico’s drug cartel, child brothels, hustling in Detroit, to escaping the high-powered heads of L.A.’s underworld. But ultimately, this is a story of love and redemption that will leave you breathless from the unpredictable and mind-blowing ending.
Not even Emmy's ex-boyfriend, field agent Harrison "Books" Bookman, will believe her that hundreds of kidnappings, rapes, and murders are all connected. That is, until Emmy finds a piece of evidence he can't afford to ignore. More murders are reported by the day--and they're all inexplicable. No motives, no murder weapons, no suspects. Could one person really be responsible for these unthinkable crimes?
INVISIBLE is James Patterson's scariest, most chilling stand-alone thriller yet.
An explosive Lucas Davenport thriller from #1 New York Times bestselling author John Sandford.
All hell has broken loose in the capital. An influential state senator has been caught with something very, very nasty on his office computer. The governor can’t believe it—the senator’s way too smart for that, even if he is from the other party. Something’s not right.
As Davenport investigates, the trail leads to a political fixer who has disappeared, then—troublingly—to the Minneapolis police department itself, and most unsettling of all, to a woman who could give Machiavelli lessons in manipulation. She has very definite ideas about the way the world should work—along with the money, ruthlessness, and cold-blooded will to make it happen.
From the Paperback edition.
“The murderer is with us—on the train now . . .”
Just after midnight, the famous Orient Express is stopped in its tracks by a snowdrift. By morning, the millionaire Samuel Edward Ratchett lies dead in his compartment, stabbed a dozen times, his door locked from the inside. Without a shred of doubt, one of his fellow passengers is the murderer.
Isolated by the storm, detective Hercule Poirot must find the killer among a dozen of the dead man's enemies, before the murderer decides to strike again.
“What more . . . can a mystery addict desire?”—New York Times
Defense attorney Mickey Haller returns with a haunting case in the gripping new thriller from #1 New York Times bestselling author Michael Connelly.
Mickey Haller gets the text, "Call me ASAP - 187," and the California penal code for murder immediately gets his attention. Murder cases have the highest stakes and the biggest paydays, and they always mean Haller has to be at the top of his game.
When Mickey learns that the victim was his own former client, a prostitute he thought he had rescued and put on the straight and narrow path, he knows he is on the hook for this one. He soon finds out that she was back in LA and back in the life. Far from saving her, Mickey may have been the one who put her in danger.
Haunted by the ghosts of his past, Mickey must work tirelessly and bring all his skill to bear on a case that could mean his ultimate redemption or proof of his ultimate guilt. The Gods of Guilt shows once again why "Michael Connelly excels, easily surpassing John Grisham in the building of courtroom suspense" (Los Angeles Times).
DNA from a 1989 rape and murder matches a 29-year-old convicted rapist. Was he an eight-year-old killer or has something gone terribly wrong in the new Regional Crime Lab? The latter possibility could compromise all of the lab's DNA cases currently in court.
Then Bosch and his partner are called to a death scene fraught with internal politics. Councilman Irvin Irving's son jumped or was pushed from a window at the Chateau Marmont. Irving, Bosch's longtime nemesis, has demanded that Harry handle the investigation.
Relentlessly pursuing both cases, Bosch makes two chilling discoveries: a killer operating unknown in the city for as many as three decades, and a political conspiracy that goes back into the dark history of the police department.
Putting out chaos with gasoline is one play that even the women of the Dirty South can't control. One merciless kill vaults good-girl-gone-bad Ta’Shara into gangland's power elite—but an enemy she doesn't see is targeting everything she can't afford to lose. For former Vice Lord chief Lucifer, taking back her power means all-out war on her lethal lover, no matter what the cost. Gorgeous Cleo at last has her sister's killer in her sights—if she can survive one deadly game too many. And as Queen G LeShelle’s lies finally choke-hold her life, trusting someone more vicious than her husband Python may be the last mistake she'll ever make. Now these king divas will leave nothing standing—because if they can't reign, no one will…
In Southeast Minnesota, down on the Mississippi, a school board meeting is coming to an end. The board chairman announces that the rest of the meeting will be closed, due to personnel issues. “Issues” is correct. The proposal up for a vote before them is whether to authorize the killing of a local reporter. The vote is four to one in favor.
Meanwhile, not far away, Virgil Flowers is helping out a friend by looking into a dognapping, which seems to be turning into something much bigger and uglier—a team of dognappers supplying medical labs—when he gets a call from Lucas Davenport. A murdered body has been found—and the victim is a local reporter. . . .
From the Hardcover edition.
Now Bosch's ballistics match indicates that her death was not random violence, but something more personal, and connected to a deeper intrigue. Like an investigator combing through the wreckage after a plane crash, Bosch searches for the "black box," the one piece of evidence that will pull the case together.
Riveting and relentlessly paced, THE BLACK BOX leads Harry Bosch, "one of the greats of crime fiction" (New York Daily News), into one of his most fraught and perilous cases.
Her boss, private detective Cormoran Strike, is less surprised but no less alarmed. There are four people from his past who he thinks could be responsible--and Strike knows that any one of them is capable of sustained and unspeakable brutality.
With the police focusing on the one suspect Strike is increasingly sure is not the perpetrator, he and Robin take matters into their own hands, and delve into the dark and twisted worlds of the other three men. But as more horrendous acts occur, time is running out for the two of them...
Career of Evil is the third in the highly acclaimed series featuring private detective Cormoran Strike and his assistant Robin Ellacott. A fiendishly clever mystery with unexpected twists around every corner, it is also a gripping story of a man and a woman at a crossroads in their personal and professional lives.
Handsome, young, Muslim, and married to two women living in one house along with his mother, Umma, and sister, Naja: can Midnight manage all that he has on his plate? He is surrounded by Americans who don’t share or understand his faith or culture, and adults who are offended by his maturity, intelligence, and his natural ability to make his hard work turn into real money. He is calm, confident, and cool, Ninja-trained and powerful, but one moment of rage throws this Brooklyn youth into a dark world of dirty police, gangs, guns, drugs, prisons, and dangerous inmates. Everything he ever believed, every dollar he ever earned, and all of the women he ever loved—including his mother—are at risk.
Will his manhood be taken, broken, or altered? Can he maintain his faith? Outnumbered, overruled, and deeply envied—how can he possibly survive? Will the streets convert him? What can he keep? What must he lose?
Tayshawn Torres is a child born in the slums and cursed by the sins of his parents. His mother is a notorious drug addict and whore, more concerned with getting her next high than she is with his well-being. His stepfather hates him so much, that he literally treats him like an animal. Tayshawn is forced to sleep in a cage and scavenge for scraps of food wherever he can find them. Because of his squalid appearance, he is also the object of ridicule by all of the neighborhood kids who have given him the nickname, Animal. The only person to ever show him even the slightest bit of kindness is his older brother, Justice. Justice keeps him out of harm's way the best he can. However, when Justice is taken from his life, Tayshawn finds he is alone in the streets. With his guardian angel gone, he is now at the mercy of the world Justice tried to protect him from. Tayshawn quickly learns that if he is to survive the jungle, he will have to adapt. Love and companionship constantly elude Tayshawn, but death and heartache cling to him like a second skin. Gradually, the layers of the frightened child he had been are stripped away until there is nothing left of Tayshawn, and all that remains is, Animal.
Memphis is the crime capital of America, and no one knows that better than the women born and raised on its mean streets. It's put sisters Ta'Shara and LeShelle on opposite sides of the street game, where blood means nothing and loyalty doesn't last long. It's also got Yolanda, an ambitious drug mule, and Melanie, a police detective, caught up with the same man--the notorious hustler Python. These four women think they've got the game figured out, but the one man they have in common will have them living double lives and wondering who will come out on top. Forget what you heard about East Coast/West Coast, 'cause real vendettas are born in the Dirty South.
"Diamond's ear for street talk comes across loud and clear. . .a violent and profane tale, which launches a gritty new series. The divas here are realistic characters, and the pacing zooms. . .one of the best constructed street lit stories of 2010." --Library Journal
"A nonstop, hard-hitting page-turner." --Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker
After years of war on the streets the man known only as Animal is finally able to hang up his guns. He's paid his debt to society for the crimes he's committed, and thanks to the sacrifice made by the father he barely knew, old scores have been settled. For the first time in his life he's able to find the peace that had eluded him for so long, and settle down with his wife Gucci and their son T.J. Animal's future is looking bright, that is, until someone from his past resurfaces with a shocking revelation. When Animal's former lover, Red Sonja, shows up on his doorstep with a little girl, claiming Animal is the father, he and Gucci immediately fear it’s a ploy for money. But Red Sonja has come to collect a debt of a different kind, one that can only be paid in blood. A powerful man is hunting Red Sonja and her daughter, Celeste, and she calls on Animal to stop him, permanently. Animal is forced to break the promise he made to his wife upon his release from prison and once again picks up his guns. To keep his daughter and her mother safe, Animal sets out on a mission of murder, but this isn’t just any man Red Sonja has sent him after, it's one of the most powerful drug dealers in the country…her father.
FBI Special Agent Griffin Hammersmith, last seen in Backfire, has been recruited by Dillon Savich to join his unit in Washington, D.C. Savich sees something special in Hammersmith, an almost preternatural instinct for tracking criminals.
While on his way to D.C., Hammersmith plans to visit his sister, Delsey, a student at Stanislaus School of Music in Maestro, Virginia. Before he arrives, he gets a phone call that Delsey was found naked, unconscious, and covered with blood after a wild party. The blood isn't hers—so who does it belong to?
Meanwhile, back in D.C., Savich and Sherlock have their hands full when the grandson of former chairman of the Federal Reserve Bank is found murdered, every bone in his body broken, and frozen at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial.
Was Savich right—is Griffin gifted with a unique ability to "see" how criminals think? And will he figure out who was behind the attempt on Delsey's life—before it's too late?