Classic Crime: Death Comes to Kellings

This is a review of a book I have not read that does not actually exist.

Needless to say, I thoroughly enjoyed this dive into the golden age of crime and detective fiction. An isolated country house in winter and a cast of quirky characters none of whom are quite what they seem.

There are family secrets, unrequited love and betrayal, grudges that have festered for decades, and a dark shadow that dates back to the Great War. These are characters haunted by a past they would rather forget. All of them have a reason to see the first victim dead.

This evocative cover is the paperback edition of this 1935 classic by one of the queens of crime fiction – Lauden McVey, better known perhaps by her pen name Darcy Andrews, the prolific author of girls boarding school stories  – First Term at St. Nicola’s, Beryl Goes to School and all the rest.

We see the bonnet of a powerful motor car. Its headlamps show a bleak wintry lane and the gatehouse to Kellings Manor. It is late afternoon and the sun has already slid below Welham Down. Guests are arriving for a house party at the home of Major Barrington St.John Gibley, DSO, retired, formerly of the Honourable Artillery Company. Perhaps the weather will cooperate, the house cut off by a blizzard, the phone lines down and the road to the village impassable.

As the guests make their way through the gathering gloom they do not know why they have been summoned for a weekend in mid-January. But all of them know to accept.

Tom Ruddle the groundsman is at the gatehouse with a lantern to guide the arrivals. Ruddle, who served with Major Gibley in Flanders, is also a part of the story. He too is not quite what he seems.

The driver of the car is the major’s only son –  Gerald. Beside him is his wife Penelope, second daughter to the disgraced Earl of Rednor. Recently married, neither has spoken since the car passed through Chiswick on the Great West Road some hours before. He is nursing a hangover.

In the dicky seat, Gerald’s business partner, and former Bright Young Thing – Neville Smitley – sits with his eyes closed and wrapped in a travel rug. He drained the thermos of absinthe-laced coffee before Newbury and his bladder is now uncomfortably full.

Bruce T. Stadtmuller – machine tool manufacturer and vegetarian from Cleveland Ohio, and an expert on the health advantages of the high-fiber diet and accompanied by his second wife the former April Fay of the West End stage now known as Elspeth – is a few miles behind. Proud of his new Alvis Firebird Tourer, he drives in the center of the road to limit the chance of hedgerow scratches to the paintwork.

No house party in a crime novel is complete without a writer and Kellings has two, Bodley Brigham has been to the house before and knows it is drafty, and that the windows in the barely heated bedrooms rattle.

He has packed a Swan electric kettle, two hot water bottles, wool flannel pajamas, bedsocks, and a bottle of brandy. The room might be cold, the bed damp, but at least he will retire with a hot toddy.

He also has his Good Companion portable Imperial because he has a deadline to meet.

Mrs. Eugenie Peckham writes romantic fiction. Her true literary talent, however, is for the poison pen letter written in indetectable script on deckle-edged paper and cleverly composed to cause the maximum and – of course –  richly deserved distress to the recipient.

Miss Marjorie Murrin is traveling by train on the 4.50 from Paddington. Given the sudden drop in temperature, she is pleased with her decision to wear her Vyella liberty bodice for the journey. A linen handkerchief is tucked into the sleeve of her tweed jacket and in her handbag are a bottle of smelling salts and – wrapped in parachute silk and hidden in the lining – a small revolver. She never travels without either.

Miss Murrin knows the major from France and indeed went to school with his late wife. She is slight in stature, deferential in demeanor, quiet, and self-possessed.  But do not be beguiled. Seated next to Stadtmuller at dinner, she is quite capable of requesting the gravy boat and – without another word – pouring the contents down his starched white shirt and dinner jacket. Or indeed of quietly standing to her full height of five feet two, gripping the table cloth and pulling it until the entire contents of the table – the fish pie in its brown earthenware dish, the silver chafers of braised mutton, roasted potatoes, and Brussel sprouts, cutlery, wine glasses, water glasses, mint sauce, mustard pot, salt shaker and all – are on the worn red Wilton of the dining room.

She is reading the property advertisements in The Lady, and keeping an eye on the man in the brown suit in the corner seat across from her. He has a narrow face, a sallow complexion, and is nervously playing with a tin of Balkan Sobranie that he takes from an inside pocket, only to replace moments later. Although she does not know it, he too is traveling to Kellings and also knows Major Gibley from Étaples.

There are other characters too, and each will play a role as the mystery unfolds. There’s the housekeeper Mrs. Babbage and her interest in foraging for local mushrooms; and her slow-witted son Albert who brings in the firewood, stokes the boiler, sharpens the kitchen knives, and prowls the woods at night. There is the local innkeeper with the twirled mustache who drops by unexpectedly for a heated discussion with the major and leaves muttering imprecations. 

For reasons known only to himself, the Major has invited the well-known private detective Max Morgan, explaining only that staying incognito is essential and to keep a watchful eye on the guests.

Stumped by the first murder, the local police call in Scotland Yard. Chief Inspector Langwill and his sergeant, Bill Trotten, are convinced they have cracked the case. When their suspect is found floating face down in the village pond they turn to Max Morgan to solve the mystery.

Before denouncing the culprit – Max Morgan must untangle the mysteries of Kellings:

Why have they all been invited?
Why have they all come?
What is the origin of the Major’s recent fortune?
How did he come into possession of the ancestral home of the Upley-Munders?
What happened at Étaples in 1917?
What is the connection between Neville Smitley and Eugenie Peckham?
Why does Mrs. Babbage want to see Gerald disinherited?
What exactly is Bodley Brigham writing and who is upset enough to try and destroy his manuscript?
Just who is the man in the brown suit and why is he so afraid?

TRIGGER WARNING ALERT:

Before you decide to read this outstanding example of classic crime fiction please note that the sensibilities of today have evolved. Some people may find themselves unduly distressed by the rather crude stereotypical references to a young man with violet eyeshadow, the intellectually challenged lad from the village, the monocled woman in sensible shoes with an absurd affection for Siamese cats, and the Levantine merchant.

In recommending this book, please know that this reviewer does not condone ableism, xenophobia, homophobia, misogyny, racism, or anti-semitism in any shape or form.

Times change and we must all be sensitive and strive not give offense or commit literal violence to anyone marginalized and vulnerable however annoying, misguided, privileged, parasitic, and narcissistic they may be. And that includes vegetarians and all others with outlandish habits, opinions, behaviors, and attitudes.

Times change and we must cleanse our language and our thoughts. We must Be Kind and intersectionally inclusive of even the most intolerant and intolerable.

The cover is “Night-Time Approach” by Christopher Wynne Nevinson (c.1935) and used without permission.
The featured image is of additional tiles by Lauden McVey. I have not read any of them and indeed they have not been written.
And this is all thanks to a tweet by Richard Morris @ahistoryinart of richardmorris.org