Dark At Noon Author:Jill Tattersall In her most suspenseful novel to date, Jill Tattersall draws the reader into the compelling story of an unforgettable heroine, alone in an urgent search to unlock her memory and the sinister past she knows it will reveal. — A coach plunges down a rugged ravine in Northern Wales, a beautiful young woman, the sole survivor of the accident, is struc... more »k with amnesia... Is she Mary Ramsey, the plain countrywoman? Or Victoria Marten, the recently widowed heiress to the vast Castell Marten estate?
In the vulnerable role of a stranger, she gradually finds she can no longer trust those who have come to her aid-the clever and tempestuous Sarah Vaughan; the reclusive and frail Lord Dyffren, who closely guards the secrets of Castell Marten and its inhabitants; and the Lord Lucian Castelmarten himself, the brooding master of the estate whose forceful presence and powerful attraction dominates the book-and the fate of its heroine.
Excerpt for this dramatic scene:
The top-heavy coach had tipped beyond hope of recovery. With a sound to rival the thunder of the river, it overturned into the pistyll, dragging down the screaming horses with it and hurling the coachman and the guard into the abyss...
In the foam-flecked amber pool below the cataract, twin shapes turned slowly, one upon the other. The eddy tugged at torn black cloth, while two shades of long brown hair, darkened by the water, mingled with the twisting river weeds. Then the icy stream pulled the bodies apart, and a crested ring slipped off one of the pale fingers to go spiraling down to a shallow patch of silver sand, where it lay glinting in a watery shaft of noon sunlight that had pierced the massing clouds above.
One of the bodies was now traveling with the current. It passed between the boulders and floated several feet downstream until it was halted by a tree trunk, half submerged. There it lay submissively, while the water rippled through the folds of the ruined mourning gown, giving the drowned corpse an illusory appearance of vitality.
In the other body, also that of a young woman, some life remained. The movement of the restless river had nudged the bleeding head onto a rock, and the parted lips, though pale and cold, were open to the air. The body was numb, half-frozen by its immersion in water frigid with barely melted snow. It had been for several minutes beyond feeling, but gradually the fading sunlight began to revive it, and a voice penetrated at last to the half-conscious brain...« less