Anne Mather - Whisper Of Darkness

Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline , my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.comand I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Cover

About the Author Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author ANNE MATHER Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the publishing industry, having written over one hundred and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages. This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful, passionate writing has given. We are sure you will love them all!

Title Page Whisper of Darkness Anne Mather www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

THE track to Ravengarth wound up over the rise, or so the bus driver had informed her, casting a rather amused glance at her high heels. It followed the contours of the low stone wall, narrow and pitted with tyre tracks, and treacherously slippy after the rain the night before.

‘There’s no proper road to Ravengarth,’ he had insisted, when she had protested she had been told otherwise, and the murmurings among the other passengers had convinced her that she was holding them up unnecessarily. She had climbed down, lugging her heavy suitcase behind her, and coughed in some resentment at its departing expulsion of fumes.

The road she was on was little more than a lane as it was. High hedges, thick with the fruits of autumn, hugged the ditches at either side, and the only sound after the bus had departed was the distant bleating of some sheep. It was remote, and isolated, and even slightly unnerving, a sensation Joanna was not at all used to feeling.

Stiffening her shoulders, she determinedly pushed such fanciful notions aside. There was no point in indulging in regrets. She was here. She had a job of work at last. And anything was better than the hand-to-mouth existence she and her mother had lived for the past six months.

Even so, as she began to climb the muddy track, sticking as close to the wall as she could to avoid the more obvious potholes, she couldn’t help a wry grimace at the realisation of how ill-prepared she had been to face a situation as this. Who would have thought that her education at an exclusive girls’ school, followed by an equally expensive sojourn at a finishing school in Switzerland, should have produced someone so evidently lacking in useful accomplishments? It was true that her schooldays had been dogged by reports that read: ‘Joanna is an intelligent girl, but she pays too little attention to her lessons.’ Or: ‘Joanna is very popular with her school friends, but she must spare more time for her studies.’ Nevertheless, her results had been only a little below average, and what use were ‘O’ or ‘A’ levels to someone who was destined to marry into a wealthy family like her own, and whose main task in life would be the running of her husband’s home?

At the top of the rise she stood for a moment, regaining her breath as she surveyed the distance she had yet to cover. The track wound down for a while, disappearing into a belt of trees, and beyond the trees she could vaguely see the chimneys of a house. That must be Ravengarth, she thought a little irritably. At least half a mile away. Couldn’t they have sent someone to meet her? There were not that many buses that ran from Penrith to Ravensmere. Surely someone could have taken the trouble to find out what time her train arrived.

Realising there was no point in wasting time in silent imprecations, she picked up her case again and began to descend the downward track. Although the climb she had just undertaken had been harder, she soon realised it was easier to keep one’s feet going up than coming down. Stones, seemingly embedded in mud, moved when she placed her foot upon them, and once or twice she had to snatch at the stone wall to keep her balance. Her temper was not improved by the knowledge that the mud would doubtless stain the navy blue suede of her boots, and it squelched sulkily beneath her, as if anticipating her eventual downfall.