Footsteps In The Dark
A review of Footsteps in the Dark by Georgette Heyer – 250422
When I download a book on to my Kindle I take it on trust that what has been delivered is the novel that I was anticipating. While I was reading Footsteps in the Dark, the first in Georgette Heyer’s country house mysteries originally published in 1932, the thought struck me whether it was really by Heyer and not an errant copy of an Enid Blyton’s Famous Five series. It is full of blundering amateurs on an adventure trying to unmask the identity of the Monk, a ghost who is making their life in their new home a misery.
For fans of ghost stories there is much to like in this tale. Who can resist an old house which has lain empty for some time until its new residents take residence after inheriting it from a late uncle with its own live-in ghost, a warren of secret passages, a priest hole complete with a skeleton and a skull that bounces down the stairs? Into this maelstrom of spooky happenings step the plucky Margaret, the epitome of the British spirited woman, her sister, Celia, and brother, Peter. The quintet is completed by Celia’s husband, Charles, and the redoubtable, no-nonsense Aunt Lilian.
While not aristocrats our protagonists are upper middle class and are portrayed as being a cut above the representatives of the lower classes, the butler Bowers and his wife, and the bumbling slow-witted village bobby, Flinders. Social life consists of evening soirees and games of bridge with some of the local bigwigs including Colonel Ackerley, the vicar and his wife, and the eccentric entomologist, Ernest Titmarsh.
The grounds of the Priory seem to be a thoroughfare at night and someone who seems to be at the centre of much of the action is the shadowy Michael Strange whom all, with the exception of Margaret, view with suspicion. Add into the mix a local pub with an unfeasibly large electricity plant and a busy clientele, a part-time vacuum salesman with a criminal background, and an eccentric French painter, M Duval, shake vigorously and see what transpires. The production of counterfeit money, the 1930s equivalent of a cannabis factory prhaps.
As a mystery it is rather disappointing. The identity of the Monk who murders Duval is easy to spot, a rather massive clue given fairly on in the narrative, and one of the notable features of Heyer’s approach to detective fiction is her willingness to sprinkle very heavy hints at various points in the narrative rather than to hold her cards close to her chest. A sign of inexperience or a deliberate strategy, who knows?
Equally, it is easy to work out who Strange really is and what his role is. He is portrayed as a rather blinkered individual, eyes set rigidly on the chase to the exclusion of pretty much, but not quite everything, else. He does find time to sweep Margaret off her feet in the strangest and most English of engagement scenes. Heyer, the doyenne of romantic historical novels, cannot resist adding a spot of romance although to modern eyes it does seem a little quirky. Had Strange been more open with the Famous Five his task might have been made easier.
The book also adopts a rather leisurely pace and a sharper focus could easily have reduced the number of pages by a third or so. That said, if you are looking for an undemanding, mildly entertaining page turner, then this fits the bill. It is very much of its time, but none the worse for that.
