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The Gilded Cage by Lucinda Gray


Interests/Topics: family, mystery, history, England, social etiquette

Curriculum Connections: English

Gender: F/M

Age: 14+

Blurb: I don’t know about you, but there are some days when I never get out of my pajamas. Obviously I have nowhere to go on these days, so I figure why bother? With the exception of yoga pants and a well-worn sweatshirt, pajamas are the most comfortable clothing I own. I can’t imagine living in a day when getting dressed in finery with a corset, stockings, and lace-up boots was the norm. How irritating that must have been.

Kat, and American farm girl in The Gilded Cage, experiences severe culture shock when she discovers that she and her brother George are heirs to a fortune in England. Suddenly she is Lady Katherine Randolph, dual owner of the extravagant Walthingham estate. Tutored by her cousin in all things proper for a lady of her stature, Katherine remains relatively satisfied with her new role until the morning her brother is found dead in the lake.

Alone and grief-stricken, Katherine can’t help but think that foul-play had a hand in her brother’s death. How else would he have received the deep gash on his forehead? And when a second body turns up, Katherine knows that something sinister is at play.

But Katherine’s claims are chocked up to be those of a hysterical young woman and she can’t get anyone to listen to her opinion.

Young and naïve, Katherine doesn’t realize—until it’s too late—that she should have kept her mouth shut.

Flavour: “George isn’t in his rooms. The fireplace in his bedchamber is empty, and the room is bathed in a cold gray light that makes me shiver. Someone’s walking over my grave, I think, and then close my mind to the thought.” (34)

“My brother’s death was no accident, I’m sure of it, and it never would have happened if we hadn’t come here.” (59)

“My arms are tied behind me with swift efficiency, the blankets stripped from my legs. They look pitifully bare and pale, the skirt of my nightgown riding up over them…. Fighting to keep my head upright, I try to look them in the eyes. Some instinct makes me do it—I think it will make them recognize the monstrousness of what they’re doing. But they won’t look back at me.” (137)


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