Fyneshade

‘Dark, heady and bold, Fyneshade is a seductive treat, with a protagonist who is both wicked and irresistible. I was entranced from the first page to the last’Antonia Hodgson, author of The Devil in the Marshalsea‘With a satisfyingly dark anti-hero at its core Fyneshade makes for compelling storytelling and proves Kate Griffin’s a new standout voice in gothic fiction’Susan Stokes-Chapman, author of Pandora‘A tour de force! I thoroughly enjoyed this darkest of dark tales with its canny and complicated heroine, and a final twist that made me gasp out loud. Gloriously wicked’Rosie Andrews, author of Leviathan‘A darkly delicious joy of a historical gothic novel. Mature and accomplished storytelling that’s utterly compelling. I loved it’Essie Fox, author of The Somnambulist‘A dark and sophisticated gothic novel of the governess tale with a twist. Marta is the anti-heroine you won’t help rooting for’Laure Van Rensburg, author Of Nobody But Us‘Absolutely pitch-black brilliance. Dark, creepy and utterly compelling with characters who jump right off the page – this is gothic suspense at its very best’S.J.I. Holliday, author of Violet ‘What a devious and delightful tale. In Marta, Kate Griffin gives us one the most inventive and compelling characters of recent years. A gloriously gothic and often darkly funny story. I devoured it whole’Anna Mazzola, author of The Clockwork Girl‘A gothic triumph. With so many hidden secrets, you won’t know who to trust’A.J. West, author of The Spirit Engineer‘An elegant iron fist of a novel cast in tattered finery and soaked in velvet darkness. Its darkness cloaked me to the end. Magnificent’Matt Wesolowski, author of Six Stories‘I loved the gothic horror of Fyneshade. Dark flashes of Fingersmith, Jane Eyre and The Turn of the Screw, with witchy governess Marta taking on the secrets that scratch around the walls. Deliciously dark and twisty’Tina Baker, author of Call Me Mummy‘Stunning. With a refreshingly complex protagonist and a story as richly threaded as the tapestries within the beautiful rooms of Fyneshade itself, the novel left me guessing its secrets till the very end’Polly Crosby, author of The Illustrated Child ‘A piercing, acerbic, deliciously dark take on the governess tale; dripping with atmosphere, cobwebbed with twists, and with an anti-heroine you’ll never forget’Lizzie Pook, author of Moonlight and the Pearler’s Daughter‘A delightfully dark gothic tale, beautifully written, with a beguiling narrator. The seemingly innocent Marta turns out to be more than a match for the other occupants of a house full of secrets. An excellent read’Guy Morpuss, author of Black Lake Manor‘A bleak atmosphere and sense of foreboding whispers through the walls at Fyneshade. This historical suspense draws you in through its pages towards a looming fate. Full of gothic intensity, dread and a twist of seductive humour’Jo Furniss, author of All the Little Children‘I absolutely adored this unforgettable and original take on the For Stephen ‘It may be, of course, above all, that what suddenly broke into this gives the previous time a charm of stillness – that hush in which something gathers or crouches. The change was actually like the spring of a beast.’Henry James, The Turn of the Screw Contents Title PageDedicationEpigraphWolf Moon 1 Bone Moon 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Worm Moon 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 Egg Moon 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 Mother’s Moon 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 Rose Moon 42 43 Thunder Moon 44 Acknowledgements Copyright 1Grandmere died in the midst of a winter white and hard as the alabaster monument marking the entrance to the Van Meeran family crypt. Death took her slowly, gnawing her flesh to the bone before casting her aside. It was cruel that her mind was sharp until the end. Her eyes, black like mine, refused to shut even when the last breath left her body.I was safe while Grandmere was alive, but as I listened to the Reverend Van Meeran wheeze through the liturgy in the churchyard beside the rimed hole that swallowed her coffin, I knew that my days in the village would soon be over. Aunt Clare would see to that. And so would the Reverend, who had noted the way his son looked at me during his interminable sermons.I glanced up from the frosted earth piled at the edge of the grave. Nathaniel Van Meeran was staring at me now. Just for a second, the tip of his tongue appeared between his lips. I cast my eyes down, stepped forward and scattered a handful of dirt onto the coffin below. It pattered across the brass nameplate attached to the wood. I slid a look at the Reverend to reassure myself that he hadn’t noticed Nathaniel watching me today.If he knew the truth, I would have been sent from Croyle a long time before Grandmere died.For my part, I liked Nathaniel well enough. I liked his stiff red hair, his soft pink mouth and his hard green eyes. But most of all I liked the fact that one day he would be rich.Nathaniel was not destined for the Church. He would, in due course, inherit the family estate and a title. When his father’s older brother died without issue, the Reverend and his family would leave the flint-walled rectory and move to the fine old manor house on the hillside above the village.There had been Van Meerans in Croyle since the days of William and Mary. In six generations they had become prosperous without ever achieving anything of note, although I believe that many years back a variety of tulip – a startling