Ashworth Hall

Zusatztext Intelligently written and historically fascinating. The Wall Street Journal A political thriller and a rousing whodunnit . . . [Anne] Perry interweaves history and fiction so deftly that this narration assumes a seemingly monumental importance. Chicago Sun-Times Though one of the pleasures of Anne Perry's mysteries is her atmospheric and vivid rendering of Victorian England! the plot of her satisfying new novel! Ashworth Hall! is as contemporary as today's headlines. San Francisco Chronicle The Troubles perfectly suit Perry's gift for rooting large-scale social conflict in the minutiae of domestic intrigue. Kirkus Reviews [A] rewarding series. The New York Times Book Review Informationen zum Autor Anne Perry was the bestselling author of two acclaimed series set in Victorian England: the William Monk novels and the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt novels. She was also the author of a series featuring Charlotte and Thomas Pitt's son, Daniel, as well as the Elena Standish series; a series of five World War I novels; twenty-one holiday novels; and a historical novel, The Sheen on the Silk, set in the Byzantine Empire. Anne Perry died in 2023. Klappentext When a group of powerful Irish Protestants and Catholics gather at a country house to discuss Irish home rule, contention is to be expected. But when the meeting's moderator, government bigwig Ainsley Greville, is found murdered in his bath, negotiations seem doomed. Unless Superintendent Thomas Pitt and his wife, Charlotte, can root out the truth, simmering hatreds and passions may again explode in murder. Leseprobe Pitt stared down at the body of the man lying on the stones of the alley. It was a gray October dusk. A few yards away on Oxford Street the carriages and hansoms were whirling by, wheels hissing on the wet road, horses' hooves clattering. The lamps were already lit, pale moons in the gathering darkness. The constable shone his lantern on the dead face. "'E's one of ours, sir," he said with tight anger straining his voice. "Least 'e used ter be. I know'd 'im. That's why I sent for you personal, Mr. Pitt. 'E went orff ter summink special. Dunno wot. But 'e were a good man, Denbigh were. I'd swear ter that." Pitt bent down to look more closely. The dead man -- his name was Denbigh, according to the constable -- looked to be about thirty and was fair skinned, dark haired. Death had not marred his features. He looked only slightly surprised. Pitt took the lantern and shone it slowly over the rest of him. He was dressed in very ordinary cheap fabric trousers, plain cotton collarless shirt and poorly cut jacket. He could have been a laborer or factory worker, or even a young man come in from the country looking for employment. He was a little thin, but his hands were clean, his nails well cut. Pitt wondered if he had a wife and children, parents, someone who was going to grieve for him with the deep, hurting pain of love, more than the respect this constable beside him felt. "What station was he from?" he asked. "Battersea, sir. That's w'ere I knew 'im. 'E weren't never in Bow Street, which is w'y you don't know 'im, sir. But this isn't no ordinary murder. 'E's bin shot, an' street robbers don' carry guns. They uses knives or a garrote." "Yes, I know that." Pitt looked through the dead man's pockets gently, his fingers searching. He found only a handkerchief, clean and mended carefully on one corner, and two shillings and ninepence ha'penny in change. There were no letters or papers to identify the body. "You're sure this is Denbigh?" "Yes sir, I'm sure. I know 'im quite well. Only for a short time, but I remember that mark wot 'e got on one ear. Unusual, that is. I remember people's ears. Yer can make a lot of things look different, if yer wants ter ...

ldquo;Intelligently written and historically fascinating.”*—The Wall Street Journal

• “A political thriller and a rousing whodunnit . . . [Anne] Perry interweaves history and fiction so deftly that this narration assumes a seemingly monumental importance.”—Chicago Sun-Times
   
  “Though one of the pleasures of Anne Perry’s mysteries is her atmospheric and vivid rendering of Victorian England, the plot of her satisfying new novel, Ashworth Hall, is as contemporary as today’s headlines.”—San Francisco Chronicle
   
  “The Troubles perfectly suit Perry’s gift for rooting large-scale social conflict in the minutiae of domestic intrigue.”—Kirkus Reviews
   
  “[A] rewarding series.”—The New York Times Book Review

Auteur

Anne Perry was the bestselling author of two acclaimed series set in Victorian England: the William Monk novels and the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt novels. She was also the author of a series featuring Charlotte and Thomas Pitt's son, Daniel, as well as the Elena Standish series; a series of five World War I novels; twenty-one holiday novels; and a historical novel, The Sheen on the Silk, set in the Byzantine Empire. Anne Perry died in 2023.

Texte du rabat

When a group of powerful Irish Protestants and Catholics gather at a country house to discuss Irish home rule, contention is to be expected. But when the meeting's moderator, government bigwig Ainsley Greville, is found murdered in his bath, negotiations seem doomed. Unless Superintendent Thomas Pitt and his wife, Charlotte, can root out the truth, simmering hatreds and passions may again explode in murder.

Échantillon de lecture
Pitt stared down at the body of the man lying on the stones of the alley. It was a gray October dusk. A few yards away on Oxford Street the carriages and hansoms were whirling by, wheels hissing on the wet road, horses' hooves clattering. The lamps were already lit, pale moons in the gathering darkness.

The constable shone his lantern on the dead face.

"'E's one of ours, sir," he said with tight anger straining his voice. "Least 'e used ter be. I know'd 'im. That's why I sent for you personal, Mr. Pitt. 'E went orff ter summink special. Dunno wot. But 'e were a good man, Denbigh were. I'd swear ter that."

Pitt bent down to look more closely. The dead man -- his name was Denbigh, according to the constable -- looked to be about thirty and was fair skinned, dark haired. Death had not marred his features. He looked only slightly surprised.

Pitt took the lantern and shone it slowly over the rest of him. He was dressed in very ordinary cheap fabric trousers, plain cotton collarless shirt and poorly cut jacket. He could have been a laborer or factory worker, or even a young man come in from the country looking for employment. He was a little thin, but his hands were clean, his nails well cut.

Pitt wondered if he had a wife and children, parents, someone who was going to grieve for him with the deep, hurting pain of love, more than the respect this constable beside him felt.

"What station was he from?" he asked.

"Battersea, sir. That's w'ere I knew 'im. 'E weren't never in Bow Street, which is w'y you don't know 'im, sir. But this isn't no ordinary murder. 'E's bin shot, an' street robbers don' carry guns. They uses knives or a garrote."

"Yes, I know that." Pitt looked through the dead man's pockets gently, his fingers searching. He found only a handkerchief, clean and mended carefully on one corner, and two shillings and ninepence ha'penny in change. There were no letters or papers to identify the body.

"You're sure this is Denbigh?"

"Yes sir, I'm sure. I know 'im quite well. Only for a short time, but I remember that mark wot 'e got on one ear. Unusual, that is. I remember people's ears. Yer can make a lot of things look different, if yer wants ter pass unnoticed, but almost everone forgets their ears stays the same. Only thing yer can do is get 'air wot id…