The Silent Companions: A Novel by Laura Purcell (English) Paperback Book

Description: The Silent Companions by Laura Purcell Originally published: London: Raven Books, 2017. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description "[An] extraordinary, memorable and truly haunting book." —Jojo Moyes, #1 New York Times bestselling authorLaura Purcells THE SHAPE OF DARKNESS is now out from Penguin!Some doors are locked for a reason. When Elsie married handsome young heir Rupert Bainbridge, she believed she was destined for a life of luxury. But pregnant and widowed just weeks after their wedding, with her new servants resentful and the local villagers actively hostile, Elsie has only her late husbands awkward cousin for company. Or so she thinks. Inside her new home lies a locked door, beyond which is a painted wooden figure—a silent companion—that bears a striking resemblance to Elsie herself. The residents of the estate are terrified of the figure, but Elsie tries to shrug this off as simple superstition—that is, until she notices the figures eyes following her.A Victorian ghost story that evokes a most unsettling kind of fear, The Silent Companions is a tale that creeps its way through the consciousness in ways you least expect—much like the companions themselves. Author Biography Laura Purcell worked in local government, the financial industry and a bookshop before becoming a full-time writer. She lives in Colchester, the oldest recorded town in England, with her husband and pet guinea pigs. Fascinated by the darker side of royal history, Laura has also written two historical fiction novels about the Hanoverian dynasty. Review "A perfect read for a winter night . . . An intriguing, nuanced, and genuinely eerie slice of Victorian gothic."—The Guardian"If The Silent Companions lands on your night table, dont plan on leaving your bed anytime soon. Immersive, meticulous, and reminiscent of the masters of gothic fiction—not only a compulsively readable ghost story, but a skillful, loving ode to the entire genre."—Lyndsay Faye, bestselling author of Jane Steele"Purcell crafts a virtually flawless work of Gothic fiction with this deeply atmospheric, foreboding story. . . . In inviting us into her eerie Gothic world, Purcell masterfully attends to every atmospheric detail—from the dirty hems of skirts to the slanting light of dawn. Her novel is reminiscent of the work of all the greats, particularly Shirley Jackson and Daphne du Maurier, but Purcell has a style all her own. A must for all lovers of Gothic literature."—Library Journal (starred review)"An atmospheric, eerie Victorian gothic novel . . . its combustible tale of a 19th-century woman tormented by an English country houses creepy curios does produce sparks."—Publishers Weekly"This perfect fireside read combines all the best characteristics of the gothic genre."—Booklist"Irresistibly creepy, this romps along, Purcell turning her screws with skill. Its what crumpets and dismal afternoons were made for."—Glamour (UK)"A genuinely creepy Victorian ghost story, itll keep you up half the night reading it . . . and you wont want to turn off the light."—Good Housekeeping (UK)"One of the most well-written horror stories Ive read this year, The Silent Companions is proper Gothic fare. . . . What is commendable is how Purcell is able to weave all these [classic] elements in a story that is layered and psychologically complex till the very end."—Book Riot"The chill of The Silent Companions sneaks up on you and then settles in like a gray mist on a British moor . . . a shivery treat."—BookPage"Laura Purcell weaves a classic tale of gothic horror. . . . Purcell has all the finest ingredients of the gothic tradition. . . . Reminiscent of Susan Hills The Woman in Black and even du Mauriers Rebecca, The Silent Companions will chill readers who fall under its spell."—Shelf Awareness"Ghost stories are having a revival at present, and The Silent Companions . . . is a worthy newcomer to the genre. . . . These silent companions . . . are one of the creepiest concepts Ive come across in a ghost story, both frightening and original. . . . The writing is strong and the concept provides a fresh twist on an old classic."—The Historical Novels Review"Layering on the dark and creepy, this intriguingly plotted novel is the full-blown Gothic, maintaining throughout an unsettling claustrophobic atmosphere mixed with some unusual historical detail."—Daily Mail (UK)"A sinister slice of the Victorian Gothic . . . It is a measure of Laura Purcells skill...that she spins these tropes into something creepy and page-turning."—The Times (UK)"This atmospheric Gothic novel tells a deliciously creepy ghost story."—Sunday Express (UK)"Chilling."—Sunday Post (UK)"Creeptastic . . . Laura Purcell has nailed it with a story that conjures up Susan Hills The Woman In Black, Henry Jamess The Turn Of The Screw and a little bit of Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier."— Emerald Street"You may want to leave the light on once you put down this intensely spooky gothic chiller. . . . Irresistibly creepy."—The People (UK)"A superbly atmospheric, tense novel full of creeping dread."—Red Magazine (UK)"Really tense and unnerving. It still wont let me go."—Woman & Home Magazine (UK)"A creepy, unsettling tale that I had to finish reading in broad daylight."—Stylist, "10 must-read books for October" (UK)"A delightfully creepy, unsettling gothic ghost story that will send a shiver down your spine and stay with you long after youve turned the final page. Prepare to be chilled!"—Dead Good"Writing in the tradition of country house ghost stories, Laura Purcell has created a book that is unnerving and compelling in equal measure. The Silent Companions is an atmospheric gothic tale that chills the blood."—Sophia Tobin, bestselling author of The Silversmiths Wife"Magnificently creepy . . . I really wished it were longer."—Natasha Pulley, author of The Watchmaker of Filigree Street "Frighteningly atmospheric, genuinely haunting and psychologically astute, the horror of The Silent Companions lingers like truth in the darkest corners of the human mind."—Helen Sedgwick, author of The Comet Seekers"Compelling and claustrophobic. The pages all but turn by themselves."—Essie Fox, author of The Last Days of Leda Grey"Not since The Little Stranger has a book so entranced and haunted me. Compelling, bewitching and beautifully written. Read it if you dare."—Anna Mazzola, author of The Unseeing Review Quote "If The Silent Companions lands on your night table, dont plan on leaving your bed anytime soon. Immersive, meticulous, and reminiscent of the masters of gothic fiction--not only a compulsively readable ghost story, but a skillful, loving ode to the entire genre." --Lyndsay Faye , bestselling author of Jane Steele "Writing in the tradition of country house ghost stories, Laura Purcell has created a book that is unnerving and compelling in equal measure. The Silent Companions is an atmospheric gothic tale that chills the blood." --Sophia Tobin , bestselling author of The Silversmiths Wife "Magnificently creepy . . . I really wished it were longer." --Natasha Pulley , author of The Watchmaker of Filigree Street "Frighteningly atmospheric, genuinely haunting and psychologically astute, the horror of The Silent Companions lingers like truth in the darkest corners of the human mind." --Helen Sedgwick , author of The Comet Seekers "Compelling and claustrophobic. The pages all but turn by themselves." --Essie Fox , author of The Last Days of Leda Grey Excerpt from Book st josephs hospital The new doctor took her by surprise. Not that there was anything unusual in his arrival - doctors came and went often enough. But this one was young. New to the profession, as well as the place. There was a brightness to him that made her eyes ache. This is her? Mrs Bainbridge? The Mrs was a nice touch. She could not remember the last time shed been given a title. It played like a tune she could only just recall. He looked up from his notes, intent upon her. Mrs Bainbridge, my name is Dr Shepherd. I am here to help you. To make sure we are giving you the sufficient level of care. Care. She wanted to stand up from where she sat on the edge of the bed, take his arm and gently guide him to the door. This place was not for innocents. Next to the stocky, middle-aged hag of an attendant he looked so vibrant, so alive. The limewashed walls had not yet leeched the colour from his face or dulled the tone of his voice. In his eyes she saw the gleam of interest. This disturbed her more than the attendants scowl. Mrs Bainbridge? Do you understand? Told you. The attendant sniffed. Youll get nothing from her. The doctor sighed. Tucking his papers under his arm, he came farther into her cell. That does happen. Often in cases of great distress. Sometimes the shock is so intense that it renders the patient unable to speak. It seems likely, does it not? They bubbled up, the words in her chest. Her ribs ached and her lips tingled with the force of them. But they were ghosts, echoes of things that had been. She would never experience them again. He bent forwards so that his head was level with hers. She was acutely aware of his eyes, wide and unblinking behind his spectacles. Palest rings of mint green. It can be cured. With time and patience. I have seen it done. The attendant sucked in a disapproving breath. Dont get close, doctor. Shes a fierce one, all right. Spat in my face once. How steadily he watched her. He was close enough for her to smell him: carbolic soap, cloves. Memory flickered like a tinderbox. She refused to let the flint spark. You do not wish to recall what happened to you. But you can talk. The smoke inhalation was by no means bad enough to render you mute. She wont talk, doctor. This ones no fool. Knows where theyll put her if she aint in here. But she can write? He looked about the room. Why is there nothing here for her to write with? Have you not tried to communicate with her? Wouldnt trust her with a pen. A slate then, and chalk. You will find them in my room. He fished in his pocket and thrust a key at the attendant. Fetch them. Now, if you please. With a frown, the attendant took the key and shuffled out the door. They were alone. She felt his eyes upon her - not hard but uncomfortable, like the tickle of an insect crawling over her leg. Medicine is changing, Mrs Bainbridge. I am not a man who will give you electric shocks or plunge you into cold baths. I want to help. He cocked his head. You must know that certain . . . accusations have been made against you. Some people suggest you should be moved to a more secure facility. Or that perhaps you do not belong in an asylum at all. Accusations. They never explained the basis of the charge, only called her a killer, and for a while she had lived up to the reputation: throwing cups; scratching the nurses. But now she had a room of her own and stronger medication, it was too much effort to act the part. She would rather sleep. Forget. I am here to decide your fate. But in order to help you, I need you to help me. I need you to tell me what happened. As if he could understand. She had seen things beyond the comprehension of his small, scientific brain. Things he would deny were possible until they stole up beside him and pressed their worn, splintered hands against his. A dimple appeared in his left cheek as he smiled. I see what you are thinking. Every patient says the same, that I wont believe them. I confess, there are many delusions here, but few are without foundation. Some experience has formed them. Even if it sounds extraordinary, I should like to hear it - what you think happened. Sometimes, the brain cannot cope with the information it has to process. It makes sense of trauma in odd ways. If I can hear what your mind tells you, I might be able to understand how it works. She smiled back. It was an unpleasant smile; the one that made the nurses edge away. He didnt flinch. And perhaps we can turn your predicament to our advantage. When a trauma has occurred, it often helps the victim to write it down. In a detached way. As if it happened to someone else. The door whined; the attendant had returned with the chalk and slate in hand. Dr Shepherd took them and reached towards the bed, offering the items like an olive branch. So then, Mrs Bainbridge. Will you try for me? Write something. Tentatively, she reached out and picked up the chalk. It sat strangely in her hand. After all this time, she could not remember how to begin. She pressed the tip to the slate and drew a vertical line. It squeaked - an awful, high-pitched squeal that set her teeth on edge. She panicked, pushed too hard. The end of the chalk snapped off. I really do think a pencil would be easier for her. Look, she is not dangerous. She is simply trying to do as we ask. The attendant glared. On your head be it, doctor. Ill bring one later. She managed to scrape out some letters. They were faint, but she was afraid to use force again. Just visible on the slate was a shaky Hello. Dr Shepherd rewarded her with another smile. Thats it! Keep practising. Do you think you could build it up, Mrs Bainbridge, and do as I asked? Write down all you remember? As easy as that. He was too young. Too fresh and full of hope to realise there would be times in his life he would want to erase - whole years of unbearable moments. She had pushed them down so deep that she could only reach one or two. Enough to confirm she did not want the rest. Whenever she tried to think back, she saw them. Their awful faces barring the way to the past. She used the cuff of her sleeve to wipe the slate clean and write again. Why? He blinked behind his glasses. Well . . . Why do you think? Cure. Thats right. The dimple appeared again. Imagine if we could cure you? Set you free of this hospital? God love him. No. No? But . . . I do not understand. Told you, doctor, said the attendant in her harsh, magpie voice. She did it, all right. She tucked her legs up and lay flat on the bed. Her head throbbed. She raised her hands to her scalp and gripped, trying to hold things in place. Bristles prickled from her shaved head. Hair growing, months passing, locked away. How long had it been? A year, she supposed. She could ask them, write the question on the slate, but she feared to learn the truth. Surely it was time for her medicine, time to deaden the world? Mrs Bainbridge? Mrs Bainbridge, are you well? She kept her eyes shut. Enough, enough. Four words, and she had written too much. Perhaps I have pushed her too hard for today, he said. But still he hovered, an unsettling presence by her bed. This was all wrong. Her mind was thawing. Finally, she heard him straighten up. Keys jangled, a door creaked open. Who next? The door closed and muffled their voices. Their words and steps petered away down the corridor. She was alone, but the isolation did not comfort her as it used to. Noises that usually went unnoticed came painfully loud: the rattle of a lock, laughter far away. Frantic, she buried her face beneath her pillow and tried to forget. o The truth. She could not stop thinking about it during the cold grey hours of silence. They didnt get newspapers in the day room - at least, not when she had been allowed in there - but rumours had a way of seeping under doors and through cracks in the walls. Journalists lies made it into the asylum long before she did. Ever since she awoke in this place, she had been given a new name: murderess. Other patients, attendants, even the nurses when they thought no one could hear: they twisted their mouths and bared their teeth as they said it, ravenous. Murderess. As if they wanted to frighten her. Her. It wasnt the injustice she loathed but the noise, its syllables hissing in her ears like - No. She shifted in bed and hugged her goose-pimpled arms tight, trying to hold herself together. Until now she had been safe. Safe behind the walls, safe behind her silence, safe with the beautiful drugs that drowned out the past. But the new doctor . . . He was the clock signalling with a dread knell that her time was finished. Perhaps you do not belong in an asylum at all. Panic spiralled in her chest. Back again to the same three options. Say nothing and be presumed guilty. Destination: the gallows. Say nothing and, by some miracle, be acquitted. Destination: the cold, sharp world outside, no medicine to help her forget. Only one choice remained - the truth. But what was that? Gazing back to the past, the only faces she saw clea Details ISBN014313163X Author Laura Purcell Pages 320 Language English Year 2018 ISBN-10 014313163X ISBN-13 9780143131632 Format Paperback Short Title The Silent Companions Subtitle A Novel DEWEY 823.92 Place of Publication New York, NY Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2018-03-06 NZ Release Date 2018-03-06 US Release Date 2018-03-06 UK Release Date 1900-01-01 Publisher Penguin Putnam Inc Publication Date 2018-03-06 Imprint Penguin USA Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. 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