Kathleen McGurl - The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall - A gripping novel of family, secrets and murder

When Gemma discovers a pair of ancient duelling pistols encrusted with rubies in the basement of the local museum, she is immediately intrigued…

On a fateful night in 1838, two sisters were found shot in the cellars of Red Hill Hall. And when Gemma delves deeper into their history, she begins to realise that the secrets of that night are darker than anyone had ever imagined.

As the shocking events of the past begin to unravel, Gemma’s own life starts to fall apart. Loyalties are tested and suddenly it seems as if history is repeating itself, as Gemma learns that female friendships can be deadly…

Perfect for fans of The Emerald Comb , The Pearl Locket , Rachel Hore and Kate Morton.

Praise for Kathleen McGurl

‘There were twists and turns galore that had me gripping my Kindle to within an inch of its life…’

– Becca’s Books on The Pearl Locket

“…exciting, fast-paced and impossible to put down…”

– Books Reviews by Em on The Emerald Comb

“Two stories: one historical, the other contemporary, cleverly interwoven with conflict, mystery and passion…an absorbing read”

– Jane Hunt on The Emerald Comb

“Infuriatingly well-written…an intelligent and refreshingly different read”

– Read Reviewed on The Emerald Comb

“An edge of your seat read, that is a page turner and gripped me from page one”

– Comet Babe on The Emerald Comb

“…beautifully written and left you wanting more. More of everything.”

– Feed Me Into Books on The Emerald Comb

Also by Kathleen McGurl

The Emerald Comb

The Pearl Locket

The Daughters of Red Hill Hall

Kathleen McGurl

www.CarinaUK.com

KATHLEEN McGURL

lives in Bournemouth with her husband and teenage son; her older son being away at university. She always wanted to write, and for many years was waiting until she had the time. Eventually she came to the bitter realisation that no one would pay her for a year off work to write a book, so she sat down and started to write one anyway. Since then she has written several books and sold dozens of short stories to women’s magazines. She works full time in the IT industry and when she’s not writing, she’s often out running, slowly. For more information or to get in touch, please visit kathleenmcgurl.comor follow @kathmcgurlon Twitter.

My thanks are due as always to my editor Victoria Oundjian and everyone else at Carina, for their advice, support, superb editing and wonderful cover designs.

Thanks also to my writing buddies – the other Carina authors, the Write Women and my friends in the Romantic Novelists Association. Writing is a lonely activity, and the online chats and occasional meet-ups are what keep me going.

My sons, once again, helped me out with this book. Fionn McGurl gave me valuable feedback as my beta-reader, and Connor McGurl acted as a sounding-board and helped me work out some tricky plot twists. My heartfelt thanks to both of them.

Thanks to Della Galton, whose writing classes I attended for many years. This novel grew from a prologue I wrote for one of her end-of-term competitions.

And finally, thanks to my husband Ignatius McGurl who was so enthusiastic about that prologue that it spurred me on to complete the entire novel.

For my husband Ignatius

This is the book you said I should write!

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Praise

Book List

Title Page

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Excerpt

Endpages

Copyright

Prologue

August 1838

The pain was unimaginable. Red-hot blades of it shot through Rebecca’s furiously throbbing shoulder, pumping blood across the cellar floor. She lay in agony, groaning, but managed a glance over to where Sarah lay, just a few feet away. The other girl was also bleeding profusely from a shot to her abdomen. The pair of pistols lay discarded on the floor where they had been dropped, their ruby-encrusted stocks glittering in the candlelight.

Rebecca felt strangely detached from the scene. She watched as blood from her shoulder flowed across the floor to meet with the pool that spread from Sarah’s skirts. Their life forces mingled and combined, indistinguishable from each other. It was fitting, she thought, that two women who’d been so close in life should be together as they died. For she was certain they would both die from their wounds. It was better that way. They couldn’t both live. Not after all that had happened between them, after all the hurt they had caused each other.

Sarah moaned in pain, and her eyes flickered open. Rebecca stared at her across the cellar and a wave of compassion flooded through her. She reached out a hand towards her one-time best friend and adopted sister, causing her pain level to escalate yet further. She watched as with a huge effort Sarah shifted her position and reached out too, until their fingers touched. One last heave and Rebecca was able to entwine her fingers with Sarah’s. She felt a weak squeeze in return, telling her the gesture was appreciated. Sarah groaned and sighed, and Rebecca watched as her adored sister’s eyes closed. Only then did she allow her own eyes to close as she slipped into blissful, pain-free darkness.

Spencer, the butler, had heard something. He’d been putting away the glassware used at dinner when he heard the explosion. It sounded like a shot, or rather two shots, coming almost simultaneously. He hurried along the servants’ corridor in search of the source of the noise, and spotted the door to the cellars standing open. It should have been locked shut – they kept a valuable store of wines down there. Spencer snatched up an oil lamp, rushed down the cellar steps and made his way through the labyrinth of rooms and tunnels that made up the cellars of Red Hill Hall. ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’ he called, his voice sounding shaky and nervous even to himself. Another door was standing open – the one that led to the coal store. From there a flight of steps led to the grounds of the hall. Someone could have come in – and then escaped – by that route.

At last, in an empty room beyond the wine cellar, Spencer found the source of the noise. He gasped as he angled the lamplight onto the two mounds on the floor and recognised them as Miss Rebecca and Miss Sarah. His adored Sarah – that wonderful, vivacious girl who could light up a room with her smile. Their fingers were linked together, as though they’d been holding hands when they were shot, perhaps trying to save each other.

‘Oh my word, girls, what has happened?’ he muttered as he approached. His foot kicked something, and looking round he saw one of the old master’s duelling pistols. The other one lay close by as well. He cursed himself for not keeping the pistols under lock and key. Someone had clearly got in, probably via the coal store, stolen them from where they were kept in a cupboard in the first cellar, and shot the two beautiful young ladies, whose whole lives had been ahead of them. But why had the girls been in the cellar? He shook his head. Now was not the time to ponder such things. He knelt down in the pool of still-warm blood and checked for signs of life. One of them had no pulse. There was nothing he could do for her. But the other was breathing and had a faint, if erratic, pulse. If he acted quickly, maybe, just maybe, she could be saved.