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|publisher=Alma Books
|date=September 2013
|summary=A very awkward book to review, as it certainly holds much that is memorable in its pages, and is so close so to succeeding in its intentions, but ultimately falls short of greatness.
|cover=1846882958
|aznuk=1846882958
|aznus=1846882958
}}
David Morris is a book trader and valuer in some indeterminate Victorian year, when he is given the job of perusing a great and valued collection held in a rich house in rural Somerset. One can guess – especially given the mood that leaps off these pages from the first and never relents – that something might go wrong, just him and the house's sole servant and her cats. But the clues build when we find just how much she dislikes a neighbour – who seems a decent enough fellow, living in seclusion, and culture and intellect wise the only equal to Morris for his short working holiday. But whose unusual behaviour can Morris trust – and who is Isabel?
There's very little one can say about the plot of this book, however rich and deep it is. It is a story whose discovery should be savoured. Everything is present and correct, from the Hammer-style warnings from the rural yokels about the goings-on in the big house, to the many gaps in people's pasts that have to be filled in. Beyond the plot, to repeat, there is the mood, and this is unequivocally fine, given to us with Morris's first person narration, so clear and in keeping. One is instantly reminded of [[The Woman in Black by Susan Hill]] with the learned professional going to the rural house and possibly finding more than he could ever fear, but the book is clever enough to depart from all such gothic precedents and, without forcing too much modernity on us, plough its own furrow.