We meet Eleanor reading in a coffee shop in New York on a day of thunder and downpours in SOLSBURY HILL. She's waiting for her boyfriend, and she's quite a self- possessed, modern young woman. Before long however she has learned that her aunt Alice is dying in England and would love to see her; also that her boyfriend Miles is in a fact a jerk who deserves no more of her time.
Eleanor makes the journey alone. The big country house Trent Hall in Yorkshire is atmospheric and the wind blows unceasingly, just like in 'Wuthering Heights'. Maybe this is why she dreams of a girl sitting on her bed. Alice tells her that the women of this family have a tendency to choose between two men, not always correctly. Her heirloom ring of Whitby jet is supposed to help them choose. Then Eleanor finds that the house will pass down to her. The income from crops and rentals supports the place, so it needn't be sold. Local man Mead shows her around the countryside, dodging snowstorms in a rural pub. Somehow Eleanor can't bring herself to mention the girl she keeps seeing in the hand-sewn dress....
With a visit to Haworth Parsonage, home of the Brontes, and the moorland air making walkers and riders constantly hungry, there is a fine sense of place through this tale of love, generations and finding one's identity. Miles hastily repents and phones Eleanor to say he wants to come and join her; was I too suspicious that he had heard she would inherit? Mead has been the steward of the land, buildings and rare old books; Eleanor who was last in Britain as a child, feels she doesn't deserve any of these. She makes specialty wool clothing and she's finally achieving success with her line. As the modern age catches up and a phone is a guidebook to the old city of York, it is clear that something will need to change.
A mix of ghost story and the history of Emily Bronte, adds another dimension to this modern romance and keeps the reader interested. I enjoyed all the distinct characters and the way that the fast-paced New York life gives way to a slower rhythm in which tensed-up Eleanor gradually comes to relax. Written in a literary style which manages to be extremely readable, Susan M Wyler's book SOLSBURY HILL is enthralling and will please anyone interested in travelling to Yorkshire as well as lovers of old-fashioned romance.
"Susan Wyler's contemporary take on a classic love story
is utterly beguiling. Solsbury Hill is a gorgeously
well-written tale of a fraught love affair that takes you
from New York to the wild gothic setting of the Yorkshire
moors."โFiona Neill, author of Slummy Mummy and
What the Nanny Saw
The windswept moors of England, a grand rustic estate, and a
love story of one woman caught between two men who love her
powerfullyโall inspired by Emily Bronteโs beloved classic,
Wuthering Heights. Solsbury Hill brings the
legend of Catherine and Heathcliff, and that of their
mysterious creator herself, into a contemporary love story
that unlocks the past.
When a surprise call from a dying aunt brings
twenty-something New Yorker Eleanor Abbott to the Yorkshire
moors, and the family estate she is about to inherit, she
finds a world beyond anything she might have expected.
Having left behind an American fiance, here Eleanor meets
Meadowscarp MacLeodโa young man who challenges and changes
her. Here too she encounters the presence of Bronte herself
and discovers a family legacy they may share.
With winds powerful enough to carve stone and bend trees,
the moors are another world where time and space work
differently. Remanants of the past are just around a craggy,
windswept corner. For Eleanor, this means ancestors and a
devastating romantic history that bears on her own life, on
the history of the novel Wuthering Heights, and on
the destinies of all who live in its shadow
EXCERPT
Alone in the courtyard she was seized by fear: a choked
feeling in her throat and a chill, as if sheโd been brushed
up against. One hand squeezed the soft leather of her
suitcase handle and the other hand held tight to the strap
over her shoulder, as if these would anchor her, so she
startled when she heard a crunch behind her and turned to
see a man.
โIโm Granley,โ he said and reached to take the burden of her
suitcase. โDonโt be concerned, youโre in the right place.
Youโre Aliceโs niece, Miss Eleanor Sutton, eh?โ
โI am. Iโm Eleanor Abbott. Eleanor Sutton Abbott.โ She
smiled. She rarely used her full name. Reluctantly, she let
go of the suitcase, then shifted her bag and reached to
shake his hand, but he didnโt take it.
โYou were worried,โ he said.
She wrapped a strand of hair behind her ear. โI was a bit.โ
He picked up her suitcase and reached for her satchel. She
followed him. โIs it always this windy?โ
โโTis more or less this way always. โTis wutherinโ
weather.โ There were leaves hanging in midair. โThe dull
roarinโ sound of the wind, thatโs it.โ He threw his head in
the direction of the moor where the land rolled away from
the house.
An echoed crunch of gravel as they walked across the drive,
Granley led her inside the shadow of an arch into a well-lit
entrance hall whose walls were paneled in aged darkwood.
With the bags set down, he reached to take her coat. Again,
she startled.
โSteady,โ he said. She felt his gaze unwavering on her face.
โAre ye timid?โ
A girl in lace leggings and a short skirt. โIโm not. Iโm
really not.โ She laughed at herself. Took a deep breath to
calm down. Tucked her hair behind her ear again.
โI help Alice with most everything needs doing โround here.
Well, not everything . . .โ He cocked his head for her to
follow and led her into the kitchen. She smelled fresh-baked
bread. โThe women take care of some things,โ he said. He
stooped as he stepped through the doorway because he was too
tall for the passage. Inside the spacious kitchen, with
well-worn yellow-stone floors and ancient fixtures, were two
women busy as if it were the middle of the day.
The older of the two, handsome and somehow elegant despite
the white apron tied around her middle, turned and gasped,
โEleanor, youโre here!โ She wiped her hands and took off her
apron, then opened her arms and gave Eleanor a warm hug.
โIโm sorry itโs so late.โ
โNo, we were expecting you.โ
The kind stranger stepped back and looked into Eleanorโs
face. โYouโre much like your mother, do you know that? Alice
is going to be so pleased.โ She held Eleanorโs face in her
hands and saw her confusion. โIโm Gwen Angle, dear. We spoke
on the telephone.โ
Eleanor nodded and smiled. She noticed that under the apron
was a well-cut wool dress. Ms. Angleโs face was long, lean,
with a broad jaw and high cheekbones. Her eyes were
intelligent and deep blue. Her cheeks were flushed from the
heat of the oven.
โThis is Tilda,โ she said briskly, introducing the woman
whoโd just pulled fresh loaves from the wood-burning stove.
Tilda nodded her head with a confident smile.
โWill you sit down and have a bite? Thereโs dinner warm in
the stove and itโs good.โ
โIt smells incredible, but Iโm not at all hungry right now.
Later maybe?โ
While Ms. Angle kicked off her slippers and stepped into a
pair of heels, Eleanor had a chance to take in the room,
pristine and intact from another century: the refectory
table and a mismatched collection of tatty Windsor chairs,
dishes draining on a rack, stone walls, and a brick
fireplace deep and almost tall enough to stand inside.
โThe kitchen could use an update,โ Ms. Angle said as she led
Eleanor out, under the front stairs, into a large sitting
room with high, coffered ceilings. It was gracious, with
deep upholstered furniture and a lush Oriental rug that was
pretty, feminine, with an abstract design in ivory, pale
apricot, and celadon.
โAlice is sleeping, of course,โ she said. โIโm sure youโre
eager to see her. You must be exhausted. Will you have a
glass of sherry?โ
Granley interrupted, โMs. Angle, sheโs all set. In the best
room.โ
โThank you, Granley, good night.โ Ms. Angle rolled her eyes.
โAliceโs idea of the best room is an odd, small room at the
corner of the house with a lovely view. If itโs not all
right . . .โ
โSheโll like it,โ Granley broke in abruptly and left the
room.
โIโm sure I will,โ said Eleanor.
โThereโs another one across the hall from it, if you donโt.
Sit down, darling,โ Ms. Angle said.
There was a log fire blazing in the fireplace and Eleanor
picked a large chair close to the warmth of it. She was out
of sorts, felt a buzz at the edge of her skin, was confused
by the stately home and by Ms. Angleโs warm and familiar
welcome at such a late hour.
โItโs such a pleasure to see you,โ Ms. Angle said. She
seemed in good spirits.
โItโs good to meet you, too.โ
โI hope you donโt mind not seeing Alice tonight, but Iโm
worried she wonโt sleep again if we wake her now. Do you
mind terribly? Waiting till the morning?โ
โNot at all, itโs fine. Of course. Is she any better?โ
โShe will be when she sees you, dear. It means the world to
her, your coming. Since she fell ill, itโs been a steep
slope down, and sheโs been working so hard since then. It
seems like her soul is urgently taking care of things,
packing for a very long journey, youโd think.โ She poured
dark sherry into a small, tulip-shaped crystal glass and
handed it to Eleanor.
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