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Murder of Delicia
The Murder of Delicia is a thrilling mystery novel written by Marie Corelli. The story is set in the early 20th century and revolves around the murder of a young woman named Delicia. The main character of the story is a detective named Jack Fenleigh, who is tasked with solving the murder case.As Jack delves deeper into the investigation, he uncovers a web of lies and deceit, and discovers that everyone around Delicia had a motive to kill her. The suspects include her husband, her lover, her jealous sister, and even her own father.As Jack races against time to solve the case and bring the killer to justice, he must also confront his own demons and personal struggles. The novel is filled with twists and turns, and will keep readers on the edge of their seats until the very end.Overall, The Murder of Delicia is a gripping and suspenseful mystery novel that explores themes of love, betrayal, and the dark side of human nature. It is a must-read for fans of the genre, and a testament to Marie Corelli's skill as a writer.1896. More mystical fiction from Corelli. This book will appeal to any woman who has had her intellectual and spiritual nature retarded by an overbearing man.This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the old original and may contain some imperfections such as library marks and notations. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions, that are true to their original work.
276 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 1996
About the author
Marie Corelli
465 books198 followersMarie Corelli (born Mary Mackay) was a best-selling British novelist of the Victorian and Edwardian eras, whose controversial works of the time often label her as an early advocate of the New Age movement.
In the 1890’s Marie Corelli’s novels were eagerly devoured by millions in England, America and the colonies. Her readers ranged from Queen Victoria and Gladstone, to the poorest of shop girls. In all she wrote thirty books, the majority of which were phenomenal best sellers. Despite the fact that her novels were either ignored or belittled by the critics, at the height of her success she was the best selling and most highly paid author in England.
She was the daughter of poet, journalist, author, anthologist, novelist, and songwriter Charles Mackay. Her brother was the poet Eric Mackay.
In the 1890’s Marie Corelli’s novels were eagerly devoured by millions in England, America and the colonies. Her readers ranged from Queen Victoria and Gladstone, to the poorest of shop girls. In all she wrote thirty books, the majority of which were phenomenal best sellers. Despite the fact that her novels were either ignored or belittled by the critics, at the height of her success she was the best selling and most highly paid author in England.
She was the daughter of poet, journalist, author, anthologist, novelist, and songwriter Charles Mackay. Her brother was the poet Eric Mackay.
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
December 20, 2012
I find Marie Corelli a rather hit or miss author. Some of her works are really great, others have more issues. She comes across as a very opinionated woman. When I agree with her I enjoy that, when I don't, then I find her work a bit frustrating.
This work was a bit of a mixture. Part of what she was saying, how women should be treated the same as men and have equal rights. How imbalanced society's views about women and the nature of relationships between men and women I totally agreed with. But the problem was with the characters themselves and the way the story was told. Delicia herself was particularly unbearable. She was clearly made as a vision of the author as she would like to have been seen. She was "unconventionally" beautiful and always misunderstood, and was described as the most wonderful and amazing person ever, full of love and compassion. But in reality she was kinda hideous. She was totally blind to all the faults of her husband, she was also terribly judgemental, she hated the rich people for being snobs, she hated the lower classes for being common. She was caught up in her own world and when it shattered and she discovered that she'd married a total cad she decided to kill herself rather than to learn from her mistake and move on. She was one of the worst characters I've come across in literature. In a way I didn't blame her husband for having an affair with the actress. The actress was a much more interesting and honest character. I am disappointed this book wasn't better. To show the problems with relationships and the treatment of women at the end of the 19th century was an admirable goal. But the execution of it was unfortunately quite bad.
This work was a bit of a mixture. Part of what she was saying, how women should be treated the same as men and have equal rights. How imbalanced society's views about women and the nature of relationships between men and women I totally agreed with. But the problem was with the characters themselves and the way the story was told. Delicia herself was particularly unbearable. She was clearly made as a vision of the author as she would like to have been seen. She was "unconventionally" beautiful and always misunderstood, and was described as the most wonderful and amazing person ever, full of love and compassion. But in reality she was kinda hideous. She was totally blind to all the faults of her husband, she was also terribly judgemental, she hated the rich people for being snobs, she hated the lower classes for being common. She was caught up in her own world and when it shattered and she discovered that she'd married a total cad she decided to kill herself rather than to learn from her mistake and move on. She was one of the worst characters I've come across in literature. In a way I didn't blame her husband for having an affair with the actress. The actress was a much more interesting and honest character. I am disappointed this book wasn't better. To show the problems with relationships and the treatment of women at the end of the 19th century was an admirable goal. But the execution of it was unfortunately quite bad.
February 4, 2008
Delicia was murdered, but no court would ever get the case. She was murdered by the indiscretions of her husband, from the wounds they caused her, and due to her inability to go on with any lustre and feeling of triumph of love in her heart. So one might describe the general theme of "The Murder of Delicia," a late 19th century novel by Marie Corelli. She was a wealthy, much-heralded literary figure of her time, loved greatly by her adoring public, and wrote of serious matters that, in return for which, as a woman, she received precious little respectful comment from the "great literary critics" of her time. I refer here both to Ms. Corelli--and the lead character of this book, Delicia Vaughn whom, to anyone who knows the real author's life, knows how autobiographical this character is.
She's married to a rake, and as far-seeing and prescient is Miss Vaughn in her writing, she has a notable blind spot when it comes to seeing the true colors of her husband. Everyone else knows, for God's sake, her butler, for example, various public figures around town. It's the grist of local gossip, how her husband, Lord Caryleon, who spends only his wife's hard earned money--he's never worked and lives off his title and his good looks and charm--is seeing gallivanting around with every young promiscuous dancer, such as "La Marina," a particularly saucy number from the Empire dance hall.
Turns out, though, as fate would have it, Ms.Vaughn happens upon a jeweler in downtown London as she stopping in for no apparent reason and is shown, by the jeweler, a beautiful piece, a necklace romantically described, ordered by a "Lord Carlyeon." Now Delicia, never suspicious, after the jolt of hearing her husband's name, naturally assumes that the necklace is for her. But when she opines that it might be "for the wife" the jeweler instantly corrects her, even mentions the above-named dancer, and said, Oh absolutely it's for her. Then goes on to disparage the idea of such a man ordering for his wife!
Well she's taken way back (and soon after sees "La Marina" dancing with the said necklace glamorously adorning her chest), and over the next half of the novel suffers greatly. She's always been above the fray, not a socializer, someone who, while lionized, has always doubted the worth of fame. She's heard nasty rumors, but assumes the ethic of the rumormonger never includes truth, so she goes about--until this happenstance at the jeweler's--ignoring what's out there. And now, though, she becomes very hurt, destroyed inside, because her last rosy illusions are fading. In the modern sense, we'd assume it would be divorce next, cutting him out of her will, and then, one might hope, she'd meet a decent man and fall in love--or at least have some fun again.
But that was then, and it was a certain kind of personality this great writer possessed--not to allow for such folly, as she might have put it. No, she was made "to love only once" and now that that "one-time" had surely been destroyed, there would be no more love in her life. She would separate from the "Lord"--she could not legally divorce him because at that time while he wronged her and spent her money on such as "La Marina" he did not, by legal definition written by men, treat her with actionable "cruelty"--and go on writing and living, but without love. She even decided to forgive a leading actor of the time who had professed his love to her--but previous to the revelation at the jeweler's had, in Delicia's judgement, stepped way over the line when he intimated unfaithfulness on the part of Lord Caryleon and thus had been banned from her presence for his insult. But she told the man that she hoped he would understand--he did!--that she could never love another. He regretted it deeply, and went off to cry so desperately aware of that which would never be, but after the wool was pulled from Ms. Vaughn's eyes, at least there was a renewed "understanding" between them and, in the end, when Delicia did collapse and die (after revising her will and writing a new book that would be her "most serious" and also her greatest best-seller after her death) one of her behests was of her beautiful St. Bernhard, Spartan, to that actor.
As to her husband, she arranged with lawyers to give him "250 a year" which they'd assured her, would be enough, except of course he wouldn't be able to live as lavishly, nor adorn his young women with expensive gifts.
The thing about the husband was he always was "hurt" and "miffed" and "angry" and "furious" whenever he felt what he believed was reproach, or even evidence of independent behavior, on the part of his wife. She was wronged--he'd flaunted his extramarital activities and on top of that did so only with his wife's money (but which money she freely gave as he was her world!)--and all he could conclude from her hurt is that she had wronged him? And all he could think about was how different men and women were, how odd it was that his wife would achieve fame without the need and support of men, how much she would fail to understand the woman's place and, towards the end, how much she failed to understand the rights of man (in infidelity and a host of other self-indulgences) in contradistinction to her own.
He ended up embarrassed, not really from his own behavior, so much as in the inability of his wife to see how there really was no need to change the tenor of their relationship, just due to what are the most common acts of a modern man with modern sensibilities.
The "Murder of Delicia" was just that. Imagine the news today: "A woman was murdered tonight. Her body was found, finally released from life's troubles, by the fireplace in her well-appointed living room. Arrested was her husband of 13 years, who, according to police, had failed to respect the sanctity of their marriage and who had gallivanted around town with a young saucy model. The woman, the city coroner says, appears to have died from a "broken heart." The man protested his innocence. Prosecutors say he could get life."
She's married to a rake, and as far-seeing and prescient is Miss Vaughn in her writing, she has a notable blind spot when it comes to seeing the true colors of her husband. Everyone else knows, for God's sake, her butler, for example, various public figures around town. It's the grist of local gossip, how her husband, Lord Caryleon, who spends only his wife's hard earned money--he's never worked and lives off his title and his good looks and charm--is seeing gallivanting around with every young promiscuous dancer, such as "La Marina," a particularly saucy number from the Empire dance hall.
Turns out, though, as fate would have it, Ms.Vaughn happens upon a jeweler in downtown London as she stopping in for no apparent reason and is shown, by the jeweler, a beautiful piece, a necklace romantically described, ordered by a "Lord Carlyeon." Now Delicia, never suspicious, after the jolt of hearing her husband's name, naturally assumes that the necklace is for her. But when she opines that it might be "for the wife" the jeweler instantly corrects her, even mentions the above-named dancer, and said, Oh absolutely it's for her. Then goes on to disparage the idea of such a man ordering for his wife!
Well she's taken way back (and soon after sees "La Marina" dancing with the said necklace glamorously adorning her chest), and over the next half of the novel suffers greatly. She's always been above the fray, not a socializer, someone who, while lionized, has always doubted the worth of fame. She's heard nasty rumors, but assumes the ethic of the rumormonger never includes truth, so she goes about--until this happenstance at the jeweler's--ignoring what's out there. And now, though, she becomes very hurt, destroyed inside, because her last rosy illusions are fading. In the modern sense, we'd assume it would be divorce next, cutting him out of her will, and then, one might hope, she'd meet a decent man and fall in love--or at least have some fun again.
But that was then, and it was a certain kind of personality this great writer possessed--not to allow for such folly, as she might have put it. No, she was made "to love only once" and now that that "one-time" had surely been destroyed, there would be no more love in her life. She would separate from the "Lord"--she could not legally divorce him because at that time while he wronged her and spent her money on such as "La Marina" he did not, by legal definition written by men, treat her with actionable "cruelty"--and go on writing and living, but without love. She even decided to forgive a leading actor of the time who had professed his love to her--but previous to the revelation at the jeweler's had, in Delicia's judgement, stepped way over the line when he intimated unfaithfulness on the part of Lord Caryleon and thus had been banned from her presence for his insult. But she told the man that she hoped he would understand--he did!--that she could never love another. He regretted it deeply, and went off to cry so desperately aware of that which would never be, but after the wool was pulled from Ms. Vaughn's eyes, at least there was a renewed "understanding" between them and, in the end, when Delicia did collapse and die (after revising her will and writing a new book that would be her "most serious" and also her greatest best-seller after her death) one of her behests was of her beautiful St. Bernhard, Spartan, to that actor.
As to her husband, she arranged with lawyers to give him "250 a year" which they'd assured her, would be enough, except of course he wouldn't be able to live as lavishly, nor adorn his young women with expensive gifts.
The thing about the husband was he always was "hurt" and "miffed" and "angry" and "furious" whenever he felt what he believed was reproach, or even evidence of independent behavior, on the part of his wife. She was wronged--he'd flaunted his extramarital activities and on top of that did so only with his wife's money (but which money she freely gave as he was her world!)--and all he could conclude from her hurt is that she had wronged him? And all he could think about was how different men and women were, how odd it was that his wife would achieve fame without the need and support of men, how much she would fail to understand the woman's place and, towards the end, how much she failed to understand the rights of man (in infidelity and a host of other self-indulgences) in contradistinction to her own.
He ended up embarrassed, not really from his own behavior, so much as in the inability of his wife to see how there really was no need to change the tenor of their relationship, just due to what are the most common acts of a modern man with modern sensibilities.
The "Murder of Delicia" was just that. Imagine the news today: "A woman was murdered tonight. Her body was found, finally released from life's troubles, by the fireplace in her well-appointed living room. Arrested was her husband of 13 years, who, according to police, had failed to respect the sanctity of their marriage and who had gallivanted around town with a young saucy model. The woman, the city coroner says, appears to have died from a "broken heart." The man protested his innocence. Prosecutors say he could get life."
July 10, 2024
Often this book had me howling with laughter, which I’m sure was not the author’s intent. As some of you may know, I have a strange fascination for Marie Corelli, late-Victorian England’s best-selling author, whose novels on religion and the supernatural are totally ridiculous, mass market perversions of “Decadent” literature, and yet they are often thoroughly entertaining. Corelli was the model for AE Benson’s series of Lucia books, which poked fun at Corelli’s pretensions and egotism. This 1896 novel allows Corelli to talk about her favorite subject: Herself, while engaging in an elaborate revenge fantasy. Corelli is thinly disguised as Delicia Vaughn, best-selling authoress. She is brilliant (she compares her to Shakespeare), beautiful, in an elfin and unadorned way, and humble (HA!)! She marries an officer, the physically god-like Lord Carylon, who does nothing but spend her money and cavort with actresses (very much like Corelli’s real-life husband). At first, she doesn’t mind. She is so pure, sweet and talented and there is always more money to be made. All the nasty rumors are just JEALOUS gossip! But when she sees her husband at the theatre with the sensual dancer La Marina, all bets are off. The book allows Corelli to go after her enemies—the literary elite who fail to recognize her genius, the aristocracy who fail to recognize her natural gentility, antiquated divorce laws that favor men, and men in general for controlling all aspects of life that make women subservient. While the dialogue is melodramatic and pompous drivel, this oddly feminist novel offers a blazing critique of Late Victorian England’s many flaws while entertainingly exposing Corelli’s narcissism and lack of literary talent.
January 12, 2026
Easy to read, quick read, and I enjoy reading about 19th century rich society. I love that the author is so unashamed of tropes that she names several side characters by their singular literary purpose; “Deferential Listener” over here etc. Is it literature? No. Is there character development? No. The whole point is to cast real-life people as tropes and expose the scandal of their lives by publishing a book about it. It’s in the introduction. Corelli is That Bitch. Good for her; as a woman, yes, being “unsexed” by your achievements because they are inconsistent with the submissive, subservient qualities expected of a traditional woman by a masculine man is still unfortunately relevant. The story rightfully exposes injustice and calls for change. Unfortunately the story is probably not well executed enough to bring about that change, then or now.
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews