The Case Of The Tudor Queen
A review of The Case of the Tudor Queen by Christopher Bush
This is another murder mystery story with a distinct touch of theatricality about it, one in which Christopher Bush excels himself in setting up a fiendishly difficult problem which takes all the ingenuity and brain power of his go-to amateur sleuth, Ludovic Travers, to resolve. First published in 1938 and now reissued by Dean Street Press, it is the eighteenth in the series and even the most ardent of Bush aficionados would be hard pressed to make a convincing case that it is one of the best.
The story opens promisingly enough. While driving in the countryside, Travers, accompanied by his manservant, Palmer, and, fortuitously, Superintendent George Wharton of the Yard, they come across a young woman in a bit of a state. She turns out to be the servant of Mary Legreye, the actress, and has returned to her cottage to discover that her mistress has left in a hurry, leaving her immediate personal effects behind. Intrigued, Travers and Wharton go up to the actress’ London house and make a horrifying discovery.
The body of Legreye’s servant, Ward, is found in the kitchen, clutching a glass, obviously poisoned. Upstairs, there is a more dramatic and graphic discovery. The body of Mary Legreye is found in a pose which reprises her greatest dramatic role, that of a Tudor queen, again seemingly poisoned. Were these double suicides or had Ward killed Legreye and then done away with himself? Or were these the acts of a third party or parties and, if so, who? Wharton and Travers in their inestimable fashion seek to resolve the conundrum.
One of the principal problems with the book lies in the sheer complexity of the plot. The investigators decide that the only way to establish what went on in the house is to interrogate each of Legreye’s associates and reconstruct their movements around the relevant times. In other words, it becomes a tale of alibi-busting, which can be tedious in the extreme, especially, as in this case, each lead seems to come to a crashing dead end. By about the two-third mark of the book, the investigation has come to a halt, both Wharton and Travers resigning to the awful truth that this is a case that has beaten even their collective resources.
Miraculously, though, some weeks later Travers has a brainwave and decides to follow up something that did not quite sit right in his mind. He digs around a bit, motors up and down the country asking questions, obtaining clues here and there until he is able to piece together a theory convincing enough to blow a hole in one person’s alibi and solve the mystery of the deaths which are now to be incontrovertibly regarded as murders. The conclusion, although resolving the case satisfactorily, is introduced a little too abruptly for my liking and is not one that is easily anticipated.
The murder plot is so deviously complicated that it needs a deus ex machina-like plot device to bring it to a conclusion which can upset the balance and pace of the book. Often this is the price to be paid when the complexity of the murder plot takes precedence over the artistic whole of the book. It might have been a more satisfying read had Bush inverted it, writing it from the murderer’s perspective and showing how they had defeated the brains of Travers and Wharton. However, that would not have sat well in a series where Travers’ genius shines bright.
I was disappointed by the book, but that it is not to say that it is a bad one. Bush has collected some interesting characters with some fascinating images, not least that of Mary Legreye in all her glory sitting, dead, on her throne. However, Bush is capable of better.
