A young artist lost in a Border country blizzard stumbles upon Kelpieshaw, a black-turreted house rising from the white drifts like something from a fever dream. This is J.S. Fletcher at his most atmospheric, trapping his protagonist in a web of secrets where nothing and no one is quite what they seem. The copper box of the title draws visitors to Kelpieshaw's doors like moths to flame: the ominous Mr. Pawley, the mysterious Sir Charles Sperrigoe, and the sardonic guardian Parslewe, who watches over the radiant Madrasia Durham with eyes that give nothing away. What secrets does the box contain, and who will stop at nothing to possess it? Fletcher writes with a light hand that distinguishes this from darker mysteries of the era. His characters face intrigue and mounting danger with a good humor that feels distinctly British, swapping witticisms even as shadows gather. The result is a cozy mystery that rewards readers seeking atmosphere and charm over grit, a snowbound adventure that proves sometimes the most dangerous place to be is inside a warm room with secrets.
