Julia Seales clearly had a good time writing this novel, which is absolutely silly and apparently a spoof of 19th century novels. It’s too bad, then, that she bothered so little to get the details right. It’s the second novel I’ve read recently that doesn’t bother with that, so why, I ask, place it in a historical context? Is this kind of laziness a trend?
Beatrice Steele has a secret. She is fascinated by crime and follows the exploits of Sir Huxley and his assistant, Inspector Vivek Drake, by stealing her father’s newspaper. She must hide this activity, because she lives in Swampshire, which has stern rules for the behavior of females.
The Steele family is preparing for a ball that evening at Stabmort Park, hereditary home of the Ashworths. A guest of honor is Edmund Croaksworth, a wealthy gentleman who was friends with Beatrice’s best friend Daniel Ashworth before the Croaksworths broke off the connection. Edmund’s father has died, and he is ready to resume the connection.
The Steele family is not only broke, but if they don’t produce a male heir before Mr. Steele dies, their property will go to their hated cousin, Martin Grub. So, Mrs. Steele’s hopes rest with her beautiful second daughter Louisa, who she thinks will fascinate Edmund Croaksworth into an immediate proposal. Beatrice herself assumes she will marry Daniel, but neither of them seems to be in a hurry.
I guess you can tell from the names that Seale’s sense of humor is not exactly subtle. She finally gets us to the ball while managing to get just about every detail of a 19th century ball wrong, including when soup would be available and how many guests a ball generally entails (hint—more than 16). There, Beatrice is surprised to recognize among the guests Inspector Vivek Drake—a person whom I had already guessed is to Sir Huxley as Laura Holt was to Remington Steele (that is, if you’re not old enough to remember, the real solver of the crimes), but Beatrice doesn’t believe that.
During the dance, Beatrice finds out Grub’s dastardly plan to have her father declared incompetent so that he can take the estate earlier, and since Mr. Steele is an idiot who is constantly playing practical jokes on people, this is a possibility.
Then Edmund Croaksworth is murdered, poisoned apparently during a card game that no one will admit playing. Inspector Drake is asked to solve the murder because the entire party is stranded in the house by a terrible storm. Beatrice is deputized to help him stay within the bounds of propriety.
I definitely didn’t share the author’s sense of humor here, although I might have had more patience with the novel if she could have been a little up on her subject. To successfully make fun of Victorian customs and manners, I think you have to know what they are first.
The mystery itself was all over the place, designed to get as many ridiculous details in as possible. Still, I at least finished the book.
What? Me Read? 