London, 1895. Die Malerin Clara Whitmore erhält den Auftrag, das Porträt einer geheimnisvollen Einsiedlerin zu malen. Doch als sie auf dem Ellsworth-Anwesen eintrifft, findet sie eine Frau vor, die langsam vergiftet wird. Clara hilft ihr zu entkommen - und wird des Mordes beschuldigt. Auf der Suche nach der Wahrheit deckt sie ein Netz aus Lügen auf, das Jahrzehnte zurückreicht. Ein viktorianischer Krimi und ein fesselnder Psychothriller.

London, 1895. Artist Clara Whitmore is hired to paint the portrait of a mysterious recluse. But when she arrives at the Ellsworth estate, she finds a woman being slowly poisoned. Clara helps her escape, only to be accused of murder. As she hunts for the truth, she uncovers a web of lies that reaches back decades. A Victorian historical mystery and an addictive psychological thriller.

They invited a doctor to the country for a quiet weekend. They should have known a doctor notices things. Arthur came to Bromley Hall for fresh air and rest, with his wife Clara at his side and nothing on his mind but bad tea and a motorcar that rattled like a bag of bones. But Arthur watches people the way other men read the weather. And this house, where nothing has changed since 1895, is suddenly full of small things that have. Lady Bromley, half her husband's age, fretting over his digestion at every single meal - loudly, publicly, like a performance staged for an audience he can't quite name. Miss Thatcher, the silent ward, watching the lady the way a cat watches a birdcage. Tomas Blake, the gardener, working the borders where the foxgloves grow tall and purple and patient. And Lord Bromley himself, sixty-three and ailing, with a medicine cabinet arranged like a chemist's display. When the old man dies, the household calls it a weak heart. Arthur calls it digitalis. Foxglove. Beautiful. Common. Growing in the very garden outside the dead man's window - and stewed, perhaps, into a cup of tea brewed too dark and too bitter to taste. Then a missing bottle reappears where it shouldn't be. A button surfaces in the dirt. A syringe turns up hidden in the gardener's shed. A child cries twice in the night. And a will worth killing for changes everything. Everyone in this house carries a debt. Everyone has a motive. And someone is very good at crying on cue. "Tell me honestly, Doctor," Lady Bromley said, her hands trembling just so. "Do you truly believe someone here is a murderer?" Arthur believed it. He simply didn't yet know whose tears were real. Because in a house where nothing changes, the smallest change tells the whole story - and the killer has already counted on no one looking twice. The Foxglove Poisonings is an atmospheric Golden-Age country house mystery about a poisoning dressed as a natural death, family secrets, a contested will, false accusations, and a quiet observer who sees what everyone else misses. Perfect for readers who love Agatha Christie, snowbound manor mysteries, amateur-sleuth detectives, twisty whodunits, and a slow-burn investigation with a sting in the final page. A standalone mystery with a satisfying, fully solved ending.