Thirteen Novels by Mary Stewart
Requirements: ePUB Reader, 4.28 MB
Overview: Lady Mary Stewart is a popular English novelist, and taught at the school of John Norquay elementary for 30 to 35 years, but has now retired.
She is one of the most widely read fiction writers of our time. The author of twenty novels, a volume of poetry, and three books for young readers, she is admired for both her contemporary stories of romantic suspense and her historical novels. Born in England, she has lived for many years in Scotland.
Genre: Romantic Suspense, Gothic
Airs Above the Ground: Lovely Vanessa March did not think it was strange for her husband to take a business trip to Stockholm. What was strange was the silence that followed. Then she caught a glimpse of him in a newsreel shot of a crowd near a mysterious circus fire in Vienna and knew it was more than strange. It was downright sinister.
The Gabriel Hounds: THE GABRIEL HOUNDS, like Mary Stewart’s previous bestsellers, is rich with authenticity, warm and lively people, and a story line that will hold you fast till the very end. Against the exotic backdrop of the Middle East is unfolded the tale of Christy Mansel, a spirited young Englishwoman who pays an unexpected visit to an eccentric old aunt in a crumbling Arabian Nights palace in Lebanon. Christy does not know it, but the moment she passes through the gates of Dar Ibrahim she unwittingly sets in motion a dark sinister force that carries with it both terror and death.
The Ivy Tree: A TRICK OF COLORING… HERWALK.. . THE WAY SHE SMILED.. .
If Mary Grey looked so much like the missing heiress, why should she not be an heiress?
To the lonely young woman–living in a dreary furnished room, faced with an uncertain future–the impersonation offered intriguing possibilities.
And so plain Mary Grey became the glamorous Annabel Winslow. But she did not live happily ever after. In fact, she almost did not live at all. Because someone wanted Annabel Winslow missing … permanently.
Madam, Will You Talk?: When Charity Selborne arrived in the picturesque French resort town of Avignon, she had no way of knowing that she was to become the principal player in the last act of a strange and brutal tragedy.
Most of it had already been played. There had been love–and lust–and revenge and fear and murder.
And now the killer, with blood enough on his hands, was waiting in the wings.
My Brother Michael: ONLY A MOMENT BEFORE
Camilla Haven had been sitting quietly in a crowded Athens cafe writing to a friend, "Nothing ever happens tome…"
Then, without warning, a stranger approached, thrust a set of car keys at her and pointed to a huge black touring car parked at the curb.
"The car for Delphi, mademoiselle. … A matter of life and death," he whispered and disappeared.
From that moment Camilla embarked on a nightmare of intrigue and terror beyond her wildest daydreams.
Nine Coaches Waiting: A STRANGE TERROR
coiled in the shadows behind the brooding elegance of the huge chateau. It lay there like some dark and twisted thing — waiting, watching, ready to strike.
Was it only chance encounter that had brought Linda Martin to Chateau Valmy? Or was it something planned?
The lovely young English governess did not know. She only knew something was wrong and that she was afraid.
Now she could not even trust the man she loved. For Raoul Valmy was one of them — linked by blood and name to the dark secrets of the Valmy past.
Rose Cottage: At the request of her beloved grandmother, war widow Kate Herrick returns to the idyllic English countryside and the tiny thatched dwelling of her childhood, Rose Cottage, where she must retrieve some valuable papers hidden in a secret safe. Yet Kate is intrigued to discover the mysterious documents have been stolen.
While eccentric villagers buzz with sightings of strange lights and ghostly apparitions around Rose Cottage, Kate uncovers a web of family resentment, jealousy, and revenge as tangled as the rambling vines in its garden. The twisted trail leads to a stunning revelation that opens the door to her own shrouded past–and an unexpected chance at love….
The Stormy Petrel: The isolated cottage on the island of Moila seems ideal for an aspiring poet in search of an ivory tower….
Rose Fenemore hopes that two weeks away from her teaching post at Cambridge might awaken her dormant muse. Her brother Crispin, a doctor in need of a holiday, plans to join her.
Then one night before Crispin arrives, Rose is shocked to find a stranger in her kitchen-and a very attractive one. Ewen Mackay claims he grew up in her cottage-he has a key to prove it-and she is just at the point of believing him when another man seeks shelter from the storm. John Parsons also rouses Rose’s skepticism…and more tender feelings as well.
And as the truth about the two men unfolds, the stormy petrels, fragile, elusive birds who fly close to the waves, come to symbolize Rose’s confusion and the mystery of her future…
This Rough Magic: Beguiling young actress Lucy Waring came to visit Corfu prepared only for a pleasant holiday on that sun-drenched island in the Ionian Sea. Then, without warning, she found she had stumbled into a nightmare of strange violence, stalked by shadows of terror and sudden death.
When Lucy’s sister Phyllida suggests that she join her for a quiet holiday on the island of Corfu, Lucy is overjoyed. Her work as an actress has temporarily come to a halt. But the peaceful idyll does not last long. A series of incidents, seemingly unconnected – but all surrounded in mystery – throws Lucy’s life into a dangerous spin, as fear, danger and death – as well as romance – supplant the former tranquility.
Thornyhold: There was only one part of Gilly Ramsey’s lonely childhood that was magical-the visits from her godmother, Geillis Saxon, an extraordinary woman with special powers. When Geillis died suddenly, the grown-up Gilly inherited Thornyhold, Geillis’s charming cottage in Wiltshire, and went there to live in the lovely English countryside.
But nothing had prepared Gilly for the strange enchantment she was about to discover-sinister neighbors, messages from beyond the grave, and even the whisper of love. Just as Gilly began to return the love of an attractive stranger, the inexplicable aura of suspense and witchcraft surrounding Thornyhold turned all too real and far too dangerous…
Thunder on the Right: She had come to the convent–a brooding cluster of ancient buildings nestled deep in the wild upper reaches of the French Pyrenees–to find her young cousin, Gillian.
But the Convent of Our Lady of the Storms was not like others. There was something strange and frightening about the place… something that gave off an aura of evil, of hidden, violent things…
They told her Gillian was dead, but she did not believe them.
Searching out the truth meant trouble. She did not know, until too late, it also meant… murder.
Touch Not the Cat: Bryony Ashley knows that her family’s grand estate is both hell and paradise — once elegant and beautiful, yet mired in debt and shrouded in shadow. Devastated by her father’s sudden strange death abroad, she is nonetheless relieved to learn the responsibility of running Ashley Court has fallen to a cousin. Still, her father’s final, dire warning about a terrible family curse haunts her days and her dreams.
Because Bryony possesses a "gift" — a "sight" that has long enabled her to communicate with the mysterious stranger who is her destiny . . . the lover-to-be who waits for her now at Ashley Court. But passion is not all that will greet Bryony upon her return — for the crumbling walls of the old mansion guard dark secrets, tragic memories . . . and inescapable peril.
Wildfire at Midnight: I FOLLOWED MARCIA TO HER ROOM …
She pushed her door open and groped for the light switch.
When the lights went on I heard her gasp. She was standing as if frozen, her back to me, her hands up to her throat.
Then she screamed, a high, tearing scream.
"The murderer. Oh my God, the murderer. . . ."
She grabbed my arm and pointed to the bed, her lips shaking so much that she couldn’t speak coherently.
I stared down at the bed, while the slow goose flesh pricked up my spine.
Lying on the coverlet was a doll, the kind of frivolous doll I had seen dozens of times. But this one was different.
It was lying flat on its back on the bed, with its legs straight out and its hands crossed on its breast. The contents of an ash tray had been scattered over it, and a great red gash gleamed across its neck, where its throat was cut from ear to ear. . . .
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