Alfred Hitchcock - again

 

Alfred Hitchcock (1899-1980)

Today's (4th April) Daily Telegraph has a major piece on Alfred Hitchcock's films - all 52 of them. Their Film Critic, Tim Robey, 'ranks' (why is everything 'ranked' these days? The newspaper has regular features on such 'rankings' - best small towns in Britain, best marmalade, best county churches etc.) Hitchcock's oeuvre, as it is the 50th anniversary since the release of his final film, The Family Plot. The paper introduces the selection - London-born Alfred Hitchcock is recognised as perhaps the finest film-maker this country has ever produced. Among the features he left behind are an extra-ordinary run of cast-iron classics, but also a clutch of little-remembered curios and - inevitably in a career that spanned 52 films in as many years - the odd flimsy fiasco that's best forgotten. Pleasingly, all his Silent Movies are included.

Back, on 29th February 2020, I wrote a Blog on my and a (alas, late) friend's Hitchcock Top Ten. I found it interesting to compare Robey's list with mine.

Robey's Top Ten:

1. Psycho (1960)    2. Vertigo (1958)   3. Notorious (1946)   4. Rear Window (1954)   5. Strangers on a Train (1951)   6. Sabotage (1936)   7. North by Northwest (1959)   8. The 39 Steps (1935)   9. The Lady Vanishes (1938)   10. The Lodger (1927) 

I found it interesting that there are four pre-war films, from his 'English' period; three between 1935 and 1938; and one silent movie, back in 1927.

My Top Ten: with Robey's numbering at the end.

1. Notorious (1946) - 3   2. North by Northwest (1959) - 7   3. Strangers on a Train (1951) - 5   4. Shadow of a Doubt (1943) - -    5. Vertigo (1958) - 2   6. Rebecca (1940) - -   7 . Rear Window (1954) - 4   8. Dial 'M' for Murder (1954) - -   9. The 39 Steps (1935) - 8   10. Frenzy (1972) - -

I notice, for the first time, apart from the outliers  at No. 9 (1935) and No.10 (1972) my favourites are packed into the period 1940 to 1959.  As for a comparison between the two lists, Robey and I agree on six films being in the top ten. However, his No.1, Psycho, I had merely placed in the 'okay' bracket. 

As for the four of mine not in Robey's Top Ten - Shadow of a Doubt, which I had as high as No.4, came in at No.13; Rebecca, my No.6 was his No.15; whilst my No.8 Dial 'M' for Murder only reached No.21; and Frenzy, my No.10, a lowly No.28. On the other hand, I did write in my Blog that I 'favoured' The Lodger (his No.10)

What of the 'duds'?

Robey listed the following in his bottom ten (from the last upwards):

52. Topaz (1969)   51. Number Seventeen (1932)   50. Champagne (1928)   49. Torn Curtain (1966)  48. To Catch a Thief (1955)   47. Jamaica Inn (1939)   46. Under Capricorn (1949)   45. Waltzes from Vienna   44. Stage Fright (1950)   43. Mr and Mrs Smith (1941).

I can't comment on Waltzes from Vienna, having never watched it, and I can't really recall much about Number Seventeen or Champagne. I do agree with his thumbs down for the following four turkeys: Torn Curtain (boring and poor, wooden acting by Julie Andrews and Paul Newman - when wasn't the latter 'wooden'?); Jamaica Inn (the two ripe hams, Charles Laughton and Robert Newton, ruining Daphne du Maurier's story. No wonder she was reluctant to let Hitchcock loose on any more of her novels); Stage Fright - more bad casting of another 'wooden' actor, Richard Todd; and Mr and Mrs Smith - a failed attempt at a screwball comedy. I would like to add the film which would have been at the bottom of my list, but which climbed up to No. 39 with Robey - The Trouble with Harry (1955) - which he labels an acquired taste. Well, I certainly didn't acquire it - boring with a capital B.  I was slightly surprised to see To Catch a Thief, in such a lowly spot, as I found it quite a pleasant romantic caper.

A parting comment. If I could just take North by Northwest, Notorious and The 39 Steps and my DVD recorder and monitor to the desert island, I would be quite content. If The Trouble with Harry washed ashore, I would kick it into the ocean again.

G.P.R.James' 'Prince Life. A Story for my Boy' 1856

T. Cautley Newby first edition - 1856

G.P.R. James moved with his family to America in July 1850, partly to build up his finances again (he had been successfully sued by the engraver who had been engaged to furnish plates for a uniform edition of his works and was out of pocket to the tune of several thousand pounds). They stayed first at the old New York Hotel and then at the alarmingly named Hell Gate, opposite Astoria. Longfellow met James and subsequently wrote that he was very frank, off-hand, and agreeable. In politics he is a Tory, and very conservative. James lectured at Boston as well as in New York, for instance speaking at a Dinner in the Metropolitan Hall called for the purpose of raising a memorial statue to J. Fenimore Cooper, who had died the previous year. James and his family moved to Massachusetts, where he rented a furnished house at Stockbridge. Here he met Nathaniel Hawthorne, who wrote of their meetings in his Journal during the summer of 1851: James is certainly an excellent man; and his wife is a plain, good, friendly, kind-hearted woman, and his daughter a nice girl. Another Journal entry recalled the son, who seemed to be about twenty, and the daughter, of seventeen or eighteen...and Little Charley, who was five.

Charles Leigh James - aged 12

When S.M. Ellis wrote his biography of G.P.R. James - The Solitary Horseman in 1927 - he acknowledged the help of Miss Blanche James, granddaughter of the author, who had allowed him access to the manuscript autobiography of her father, the late Charles Leigh James, whose early recollections provide the principal records of the family's time in America. It was while the James family were living at Stockbridge that James wrote Prince Life for Charles. The latter wrote in his autobiography: I wanted something written for me like The Wonder Book for Hawthorne's children. 

The fairy tale is only 46 pages long and in larger font than usual and, one assumes, it was written to be read at bed-time to the little boy. There are elements of Pilgrim's Progress about it, with very much a didactic frame work. The Prince's misfortune was that he had everything on earth he could want or desire, and a little more. had a fine palace and a fine country, obedient subjects and servants, and true friends...a fairy, called Prosperity, gave him everything he desired as soon as he desired it. Of course, he was bored. Worse, a little, drowsy gray dwarf, called Satiety, followed the Prince about wherever he went. Finally, having had enough, the Prince breaks out of his palace on his horse Expedition. He passes through a fine estate which belongs to a gentleman and lady, Activity and Ease. Between them, the estate is well-run. However, beyond lie the land of Labour and the forest of Adversity. The Prince hacks his way through the latter to a cave, where he encounters one of the most tremendous monsters ever man's eyes lighted upon. The monster's name is Necessity and the Prince must wrestle with him to prove his bravery. He is shown out the following day, only to meet up with a little old woman - Industry, who runs a tight ship for both human and beast. Two very nice, pretty girls work for her, one called Economy and the other Order. The Prince was assigned some work - Industry showed him the way, Order helped him a good deal and Economy provided him with the materials.

Again, his way is pointed out - this time on a road called 'the Right Path'. He was warned not to turn off the thoroughfare and, luckily as he was tempted to do so looking for sustenance, he catches up with a man trudging on before him. His name is Perseverance and, true to his name, he ensures the Prince remains on the straight and narrow. The two finally approach a fine castle; but, with one problem still ahead - two terrible monsters lie close by the narrow drawbridge. Their names? Difficulty and Danger!  Luckily, a man comes running down from the castle gate, a good, serviceable fellow by the name of Courage. The Prince crosses into the castle and is taken into the presence of a beautiful lady to receive a crown. It is called the crown of Contentment. I reserve it for those who, led on by Perseverance. come to me by the Right Path, in spite of Difficulty and Danger...(and what about any danger from the dwarf?) there is a rich jewel called Moderation, in the crown of Contentment, which is too bright and pure to be looked upon by Satiety.

Now, it is unlikely any child of the twenty-first century would be enthralled or convinced by such a moralistic story; but the early Victorian-age child would probably lap it up. I did, because it is another, very rare, G.P.R. James first edition!

Gordon Bowker's 'George Orwell' 2003

 

Little, Brown first edition - 2003

At just over 430 pages of text, this biography of George Orwell (Eric Blair), was another 'blockbuster' which has rested unread on my bookshelves for far too long. I knew very little about Orwell - having merely read Down and Out in Paris and London (1933), A Clergyman's Daughter (1935), and Animal Farm (1945). (No - I have never read 1984!) I found the story of his life fascinating, but I don't think I would have liked him. Interestingly, at one stage in his life he described himself as a Tory-anarchist; which is what I subscribe to! The book is far too detailed to be analysed is such a short Blog as this, so I have just put below some of the salient points I gained from its reading.

• from childhood he suffered from ill-health. Cursed by a weak chest, he did not help matters by being a heavy, life-long smoker and taking little care over his well-being
• his relationship with women was problematic. He never stopped desiring them - frequenting prostitutes in Burma and London, living with one in Paris and on several occasions almost forcing himself on colleagues or friends - even though he regarded himself as 'unattractive'. The many shrewd women who knew him almost invariably referred to his sadism and that he saw women as inferior
• he was prejudiced against Scots, disliked homosexuals and public schools. However, he was a staunch atheist but retained an affection for Christian beliefs and wished to be buried in a churchyard; he was a rationalist who took poltergeists and ghosts seriously
• Bowker sums Orwell up: Orwell was no saint; he was a flawed human being, full of contradictions and strange tensions - a faithful and gentle friend, yet a man with a poor attitude towards women, an enemy of state torturers with his own streak of sadistic violence, a champion of human decency yet a secret philanderer, a man with an ambiguous attitude towards Jews
• during and after his time in Spain - his hatred of Stalinism and the Soviet Union, which led to his suspicion of others such as Victor Gollancz, was almost visceral
• his sojourns on the island of Jura, where he rented Barnhill ( a kind of Cold Comfort Farm to one young student!) are made totally understandable by Bowker.    
• I found this comment of Bowker's a shrewd one: as a novelist Orwell had his shortcomings. He was insufficiently interested in individuals to be able to explore character, except his inevitably autobiographical central character. He could experience an intense imaginative vision of an inner life, but he could do it by looking in the mirror but not by looking outwards.
• I think he was a successful journalist cum sociological essay writer but not a great novelist; primarily a literary man with a sociological eye.

It is a fascinating story. his schooldays at St Cyprian's and Eton; his role as a Probationary Assistant Superintendent in the Burmese Police Force; his essentially 'fake' down-and-out days in Paris (his first manuscript was called A Scullion's Diary) and London; his short time as a (quite popular) teacher; his relative failure as a novelist - with A Clergyman's Daughter and Keep the Aspidistra Flying; his increasing well-thought-of articles in various journals, magazines and newspapers (e.g. his later involvement with Tribune); his time at the BBC during the  Second World War; and his two masterpieces - Animal Farm and 1984 - the latter written when he was increasingly ill. I am glad I read Gordon Bowker's book; whether it persuades me to read more of Orwell's work is another matter. We are certainly nearer the horror of the world depicted in 1984, than Orwell was in 1948 or even in the real-life 1984. Dystopia feels more real than Utopia these days.

Poor Eric was hit firmly in the solar plexus with the publication just over two years ago of Anna Dunder's Wifedom: Mrs Orwell's Invisible Life. Her aim was to rescue this droll, warm-hearted woman from oblivion and in the process wrench herself back into hard-won artistry. Funder suggests that any literary ambitions Eileen had were relinquished in order to cater for Eric's needs, including having perfunctory sex she did not enjoy. As one Reviewer of the book put it, she earned the lion's share of their income, kept house, nursed him through fits of tuberculosis, typed up his notes, edited his typescripts and 'encouraged' his work.  Funder cited several contemporaries who saw Eileen's 'fingerprints' all over Animal Farm - a book that displays a psychological acuity and humanity that Orwell lacked. Certainly Orwell does not come out of this telling well: he denied Eileen visits to her family and friends, let her clean out the cesspit and deal with mice while he got on with his books upstairs. Funder focuses on the couple's time in Spain, when Eileen kept her husband out of danger and often risked her own life for her ant-fascist comrades. Dying of cancer during an operation, at just 39, Eileen's life appears a tragic one. What might she have achieved - in spite of her famous husband?  

To the Lighthouse? No - To the Museum

 

I took Mrs. Dalloway to Ashby de la Zouch Museum this morning - not the woman, but our Penguin copy of Virginia Woolf's novel. I am having to clear space for my steady purchase of the Crime-Book Society's "Pocket" Library paperbacks. One paperback 'in', therefore one paperback 'out'. That's now our 'house rule'. I'd never read Woolf's novel, yet it had been on the shelves since the 1980s. Tucked inside the back cover was an article by Philip Hensher from The Daily Telegraph of Friday, 24th January 2003. It had a hyperbolic strapline: Few authors make one want to vomit: Virginia Woolf does.

Virginia Woolf (1882-1941)

Now, one shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but Hensher makes a pretty good stab at it. I am going to quote his article in some detail, mainly because I know exactly what he is on about!

It is hard to escape the conclusion that Woolf's novels are responsible for putting more people off modern literature than anything else. In many ways, they are truly terrible novels: inept, ugly, fatuous, badly written and revoltingly self-indulgent...the idiotic The Waves, for instance, in which six incredibly uninteresting people engage in interminable and ludicrously over-written monologues, interrupted from time to time by fey prose-poems about the sun rising over the sea, or something. Orlando, an unstoppably arch fantasy about someone living for ever...is one of very few works of literature than can actually make the reader want to vomit. Well, there you go! Actually, where Hensher goes next is really the point of this Blog.

To the Lighthouse is about an enormous house-party in the Hebrides, and crucially about the question of whether a trip will be undertaken to the lighthouse the next day. Halfway through the novel, a long stretch of time passes in a few pages, during which the hostess of the party, Mrs Ramsay, is killed off in half a sentence. In the last section of the novel, some of the characters return to the house and actually go to the lighthouse...the great problem with To the Lighthouse is that Woolf is completely incapable of imbuing any of her characters with any kind of memorable life...About the world, and about human motivation [Woolf] obviously knows almost nothing...famously, poisonously snobbish - "How I hated marrying a Jew", she wrote once - she is led by this to say the most preposterous things. "Possibly the greatest good requires the existence of a slave class".

But the single worst thing about her books is how badly written they are. They were published by Woolf herself, without any editorial intervention, and it shows.

Back to To the Lighthouse and my interest in the above piece. I suffered the dreadful book studying for my 'A' Level English Literature course. I thoroughly enjoyed the two years spent in the Sixth Form, reading, reading, reading (well, and other things). I could never decide which subject I enjoyed most - English or History. I eventually chose to study History at university as I thought I lacked the imagination for English. Paper IV was  The Novel. I adored Barchester Towers, thoroughly enjoyed Hard Times, Wuthering Heights, Tess of the D'Urbervilles (though I preferred reading The Woodlanders) and Room with a View; was pleased we decided not to study stuffy Henry James's The Portrait of a Lady' and absolutely hated reading To the Lighthouse. I remember saying to the boy next to me - "I wish they would get to the bloody lighthouse". Luckily, one didn't have to write about it in the ensuing exam. The result was I have never read another Woolf novel to this day. How Mrs Dalloway got into my Library I really have no idea - perhaps she was a companion of my wife. Anyway, it has gone to the local museum's secondhand book sales. I have retained the only other Woolf novel on the shelves - out of a perverse sort of nostalgia. It is, of course, To the Lighthouse. I must make sure I dust it occasionally.

My Top 10 Ricardian (Richard III) Fiction and Non-Fiction Books

The Richard III Society's quarterly publication - The Ricardian Bulletin - latest Spring Issue landed on my doorstep this morning. Highlighted on the cover was the article on The greatest Ricardian reads of all Time' - 50 Fiction and 50 Non-Fiction. These were judged by a panel of twenty 'eminent' Historians, including me! Inevitably subjective, it was fascinating to read the lists and compare them with my own offerings. I counted 28 novels on the list of 50 Fiction written this century; just over half - four in the top ten. Some of those 28 I had never heard of! My most recent novel chosen is as long ago as 1982. Where we did agree was putting the same three in the top four, albeit in a slightly different order.

MY Fiction top ten (with their position in the Society's overall List in brackets)

1.  Rosemary Hawley Jarman - We Speak No Treason 1971 (No. 3)

2. Sharon Kay Penman - The Sunne in Splendour 1982 (No.2)

3. Patrick Carleton - Under the Hog 1938 (No. 8)

4. Josephine Tey - The Daughter of Time 1951 (No. 1)

5. G.P. R. James - The Woodman 1849 (No. 27=)

6. Rhoda Edwards - Some Touch of Pity 1977 (No. 4)

7=. Marian Palmer - The White Boar 1968 (No. 13)

7=. Carola Oman - Crouchback 1929 (No. 49=)

7=. Marjorie Bowen - Dickon 1929 (No. 33)

7=. Mary Sturge Gretton - Crumplin' 1932 (No. 49=)

Clearly, no one else had probably heard of, let alone read, Crouchback or Crumplin', as they both scored a grand total of 2.5, compared with Josephine Tey's The Daughter of Time, which racked up 111 votes. I was actually surprised that James' The Woodman garnered 6 votes. Good old William Shakespeare managed to come in at No. 12, with a score of 19 votes. Interestingly, Scott Mariani's The Tudor Deception (2023) made the top 10 and received 24 votes.

As for the Non-Fiction - again, there were major differences between my list and the Ricardian panel's. I eschewed the most recent, rather controversial ones. Seeing who was on the panel, I realised these books were bound to figure, two in the top five.

1. Charles Ross - Richard III 1981/1999 (No. 6)

2. David Horspool - Richard III: A Ruler and his Reputation 2015 (No. 31=)

3. Rosemary Horrox - Richard III: A Study in Service 1989 (No. 4)

4. Caroline Halstead - Richard III 1844 (No. 14)

5. Michael Hicks - Richard III: The Self-Made King 2019 (No. 9=)

6. Paul Murray Kendall - Richard III 1955 (No. 1)

7. ed. James Petrie - Richard III. Crown and People 1985 (No. 36=)

8. Jeremy Potter - Good King Richard? 1984 (No.2)

9. Anne Sutton and Peter Hammond - The Coronation of Richard III 1983 (No. 9=)

10. Anne Curry and Glen Foard - Bosworth 1485 (Not on the list!)

I had thought of putting James Gairdner's Richard III on my list, but I am not surprised that it failed to make the top 50.  I was surprised that Clements Markham was second to last, at No.49, but not to see three of John Ashdown-Hills's books there - (at least Rosemary Horrox equalled this). After all, the list was compiled by Ricardians.  Also, it was The Greatest Reads, not the most sound History books; hence Kendall was bound to come out top.

Scott Mariani's 'The Knight's Pledge' 2025

 

Hodder  & Stoughton first paperback edition - 2025 

There is always a concern for any reader (and, one assumes, any author) that, after a strong start to a projected series, the following book will be deemed inferior. Scott Mariani can rest assured: building on the experience gained from his thirty Ben Hope novels, he has again delivered a first-rate tale with zest and verisimilitude. He has thoroughly immersed himself in the late 12^th century and skilfully blends in his fictional heroes with real historical characters. After previously being beset by tempests in the Bay of Biscay, Berber pirates and enemies within the Christian force, Will Bowman has finally reached the Holy Land. With his companions, the Irish Gabriel O’Carolan and Samson ‘powerful and hulking in stature’, he knows deadly battles awaits his fellow pilgrims and that many would not be returning to their homeland.  Both the Mussulmen of Saladin and Mariani would ensure this.

But first the Christian fleet have to deal with a Saracen ship armed with the fireball from hell – the Byzantine Greek fire – which destroys one Christian galley and is on the way to destroying several more. Or rather, Will Bowman deals with it, by swimming through a hail of arrows, to disable the ship’s steering oar. Congratulated by King Richard, Will is not only made the king’s man-at-arms, but given one of the monarch’s own swords. Can it get any better? Well, yes.

Whether Mariani is describing the sea battle or the attacks and counter attacks on Acre; the ‘teeming marketplace’ of the Christian besiegers’ camp or a claustrophobic night raid on one of their tents by Saracen assassins; all are spellbinding in their intensity. It is on the ramparts of Acre that Will links up with a ‘diminutive figure…working a crossbow with greater expertise than Will had ever seen before’. He meets the green-cloaked sharpshooter again, as they defend the pilgrim camp from a major raid by Saladin’s forces. She is Sophia Valena, who had set out with her father and brother from their home city of Constantinople for Outremer. Both men were dead; she alone was left to fight the Saracen. Unlikely?  In his useful ‘Historical Note’, Mariani points out that 12^th century chronicles tell stories of women involved in the conflict, including a Christian woman dressed in a green hooded cloak, shooting arrows from a wooden bow. Perhaps a forerunner of Greenmantle!

Sent out with five others by King Richard to guard wagons fetching water from the nearby river Belus, they are captured by the Emir Shïrküh Ibn al-Shawar and sentenced to death. Will’s prowess at chess enables him to defeat the Emir, another afficionado, who therefore honours his promise to release the six men. Further adventures follow, including a dangerous mission into enemy-held territory, where they meet up with one Sir Percival of Dudley, a leper knight of the Order of St Lazarus and are forced to sojourn in the atmospheric and dilapidated fortress of Bethgibelin.

King Richard the Lionheart is again a forceful presence, who raises the siege of Acre, defeats the Saracens at the Battle of Arsuf, and moves to Jaffa to establish his new headquarters there. Meanwhile, Will Bowman persuades Sophia to set sail for Constantinople while he returns to Jaffa. As the author remarks - whatever his destiny might have in store for him, every parting, every ending, was only the beginning of something new. To Bowman and his companions, Saracens, Moors Mussulmans, Berbers, Turks, they were all one. The scourge of the world…

Mrs. Belloc Lowndes' 'Motive' 1938

 

Crime-Book Society paperback edition No. 81 - 1940

Marie Adelaide Elizabeth Rayner Belloc Lowndes was the older sister of Hilaire Belloc. She wrote over 40 novels, mainly mysteries with some of them based on real life crimes. Although I regularly see her books advertised for sale in my 19th and early 20th century book catalogues, I have never read, let alone purchased, any of her works until this Crime-Book Society's volume. 

She doesn't disappoint. The Prologue introduces us not only to the second footman at Blackmere Castle, Cuthbert Gell, but also his employers, Lady Flora and Sir Thomas Clarkson. When Lady Flora tells Cuthbert to take a cup of tea to her husband, we follow the second footman into the latter's study. The room was in darkness, but Cuthbert could make out Sir Thomas apparently asleep, leaning prone over the wide, brass-inlaid writing-table. Cuthbert switches on the electric light: Sir Thomas Clarkson was not asleep. Sir Thomas Clarkson was dead. Half of his head had been blown off. The shotgun nearby suggests it is suicide.

Marie Belloc Lowndes (1868-1947)

Shock, horror.  As well as Lady Flora and Cuthbert, there are in the castle Colonel Richard Wroxton, a long-time friend of Flora's deceased father, the Marquis of Lindore, recently owner of Blackmere Castle and Flora's friend, Mrs. Klint. Twenty-five year-old Sir Thomas was purse-proud, hectoring, and at times very rude to those in his employment. This compared badly with Lady Flora's character - she was not yet twenty. Sweetly pretty she was, and so kind, so unassuming, and so gentle in her manner. But, however unpleasant Sir Thomas was, who would want him dead? The first Chapter ends and now we go back eighteen months before that New Year's Day - this back story takes the reader from page 19 to 134. 

We learn that Lady Flora Cheyne (as she was then) had a sweetheart - Chase Bigland, the only child of the local vicar. Chase is determined to become a successful lawyer; already a barrister, he has accepted a post in India, because he believed it would help him in his profession, and partly because the amount of the fee offered had dazzled him. Of no private means, he knows Flora's father would forbid any marriage to a poor suitor. Blackmere Castle is actually in hoc to creditors, thanks mainly to the Marquis' spendthrift ways. However, Chase and Flora plan to persuade her father after he 'makes it' in India and move to a posh address in Mayfair, London. To no avail. Flora is actually sent to London to 'come out', in the charge of Mrs. Ada Durham (who had been lover of the Marquis years ago, and they both still held candles for each other!). Both the Marquis and Ada feel Flora must marry someone with  money. Their choice alights on the sulky millionaire Clarkson. Flora is forced to write to Chase to break off their relationship (in fact, they were secretly engaged). The author spends several pages constructing a (psychological) history of Clarkson - an only child of a successful business man (who regarded Thomas as a half-wit) and a possessive, philistine mother. He was now, aged 23, an exceedingly rich orphan. His wealth was just what the Marquis realised would put the Blackmere Castle estate to solvency again.

Lindore needed money; Sir Thomas wanted the kudos of high society. Unfortunate, arrogant, and ignorant young man! He felt he had now entered a kingdom of which he had never yet caught a glimpse - that is the Kingdom of Romance. The Marquis of Lindore, Lady Flora Cheyne, and the grey stone castle which formed their background, stirred something in his sluggish imagination... Thus, everything is set up for an Agatha Christie-like novel. The marriage proves a disaster. The Marquis dies. Colonel Wroxton becomes increasingly the 'uncle' on whom Flora lays her head (in fact, we find out he would like more). Mrs. Doris Klint  (36 years-old, genuinely poor, good-humoured, good-looking, and attractive to men) becomes the shoulder for Sir Thomas to moan on. They all end up at the Castle for that fateful Christmas and New Year. Chase, who has not got over Flora's behaviour, is back from India early and meets her by chance in the castle grounds, the day before Sir Thomas' demise. In fact, Dr. Raven, the local coroner has proved it was not suicide but murder. (As an aside, I found the ensuing relationship between Raven and Mrs. Klint rather forced, unlikely and not really adding to the story).  Doris Klint sends an anonymous letter revealing Chase and Flora had met up. Things look black for poor Chase. So black is it that not only is he put on trial for the murder, but found guilty and sentenced to death. Only then does the true murderer reveal himself/herself. Actually, I had guessed who it was from the first  few pages! However, the plotting was clever; the narrative drive sustained; and the characters stood up to scrutiny.