A hunched, shadowy figure who watches from the cobwebbed stairs of a house that kills…this is the mystery at the heart of Sarah Rayne’s Property of a Lady, the first book in the captivating Michael Flint/Nell West gothic mystery series.

We first meet literary professor Michael Flint, and his ornery cat Wilberforce, in his ancient, stuffy rooms at Oriel College in Oxford. Michael opens an e-mail from his one-time schoolmate and American friend, Jack, who’s wife has had the fortune of recently becoming the next heir to Charect House in Shropshire. The family, previously unaware that they even had relatives in England, ask Michael to visit the house in person and research its vast history before they decide whether to sell it or move in. What happens next is a series of unexplained happenings and gruesome discoveries that make up Sarah Rayne’s deliciously satisfying homage to the classic British ghost story.

Jack’s wife, Liz, cannot be swayed from selling a historic country manor in the English countryside without first experiencing the romance of it. Thus, Jack finds himself dependent upon Michael’s research skills. Simultaneously, Jack contacts Nell West, a young and newly-widowed antique dealer in Marston Lacy, the town on the outskirts of where the house is located. The action is sudden and intense during Michael and Nell’s inevitable first meeting. It soon becomes apparent that Nell’s daughter, Beth, is having similarly vivid nightmares that complement the visions that Jack’s young daughter, Ellie, is suffering from across the world. When Beth disappears, and Jack and Liz decide to come across the pond to Charect House in an attempt to save Ellie from the increasingly vivid nightmares, the real terror escalates.

Now, the premise of this Gothic ghost story may seem cozy at first sight, but things are not always as they appear. One of the aspects that draws me so deeply into Sarah Rayne’s writing is that she incorporates surprisingly shocking moments that make you regret reading her books late at night. She lures you in with a false security that you’ve got a cozy mystery in your hands until, bam! You just can’t wipe out that gruesome figure from your mind’s eye, and no blanket can keep you warm against the unexpected chill she just sent down your back.