Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co. first edition -1899
A very uneven book! I tried to find out something about the author, Henry Hudson, but the Internet search only directed me to William Henry Hudson, the famous naturalist and regional writer. Neither was there anything about this novel. It certainly feels like a 'one off' effort, by one who is not a natural novelist. The title is rather a misnomer, as Kynaston is rarely centre stage. The main (rather haphazard) story is a romance between Clifford Ainsleigh, junior officer of His Grace King Henry the Seventh's brig of war "The Vulture" and Mistress Dorothy Baldwyn, daughter of Squire Baldwyn. Frankly, she comes across as a bit of a milksop - albeit a tall, fragile maiden of some nineteen summers...with a lithe, erect and graceful figure. Notwithstanding an exceedingly brief glimpse of her, Clifford falls passionately in love and when she, almost as speedily, reciprocates, it's all systems go.
Apart from Kynaston, the only character with any real interesting aspect is Geoffrey Burgoyne, Clifford's friend and shipmate: of squarer and stronger build, his breadth of shoulder and depth of chest indicating a more robust constitution than Clifford's...the glow of health shone through the almost olive tint of his sunburnt cheeks; his eyes...indicated a firm determination of character and an inflexible will.
An ideal late 19th century Public Schoolboy type then; just the right image for the dedicatee of the book, Lieutenant Colonel Thorneycroft, JP, DL whose photograph adorns the page opposite the first Appendix. He is pictured mounted on a black horse in full military regalia. In his Preface, the author states that his mother's maiden name was Frances Kynaston and it was she who told him stories woven round her [in]famous ancestor. Henry makes a brave stab at a tale, but he is no natural novelist.
The most irritating aspect of his style, is the assumed olde worlde language he uses whenever any character speaks, viz.: then another danger thou wottest not on doth threaten thee. He also interposes authorial advice every so often, which is rarely needed and often gives too much away as to what was to follow. The sheer unlikelihood (impossibility?) of Bella, an old crone who passed as a witch, turning up at Kynaston's deathbed, casting aside her disguise and revealing the young and pretty features of his wife, "I am thy lost Isabella" my dear Wild Humphry, is too amusing for words. Nearly as unlikely is Dorothy and others failing to recognise Clifford after only three years away, even if he had now broadened out, improved his beard, got a sun tan and a large facial scar.
Early on in the book, the author beseeches us: Gentle reader, if I weary you not with my simple narrative, follow me through to the end and learn, yea learn, how true love and manly devotion ennobles frail humanity. Well I followed his advice, and enjoyed the simple canter.
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