3.5 stars
Originally released in 1968, The Secret House of Death is a masterclass in precision plotting from the brilliant Ruth Rendell. In the course of less than two-hundred-pages the ingenious sleight of hand she performs means that the real import of what has taken place only becomes apparent in the course of the final pages. Set in the fictional suburb of Matchdown Park, located in the furthest recesses of north-west London, the residents of Orchard Drive enjoy nothing more than twitching their curtain nets and speculating on the effrontery of the carefree, Mrs Louise North, as she entertains her lover in plain sight. Except for Susan Townsend, a divorcee and single mother at twenty-six-years of age whose marital woes have left her reticent of speculating on the adulterous encounters of anyone else. Ex-husband, Julian Townsend, has remarried and moved far away from a neighbourhood that he sneered at for its small-minded and nosy inhabitants. But Susan can’t deny the scurrilous rumours that married Louise North is entertaining a central heating salesman whilst her handsome and dutiful quantity surveyor husband, Bob, is out at work. After all, the green Ford Zephyr of Bernard Heller has started to become a regular fixture on Orchard Drive and with briefcase in hand he is warmly welcomed over the North threshold, all the while as husband, Bob, denies having any intention of even having central heating installed. As the wronged woman and still rather raw, the gossip of her neighbours washes over a disinterested Susan, but as a tearful Louise arranges a coffee morning and a seemingly suspicious Bob attempts to catch her eye, Susan cannot help being drawn into their plight. The following day the intended coffee morning is prevented when Susan discovers Louise and her lover, Bernard, locked in an embrace and both dead in the bedroom, therefore heading off any attempt at the sharing of confidences.
As Susan finds herself giving evidence at the inquest and becoming closely acquainted with widowed, Bob, a burgeoning relationship starts to flourish, despite Bob’s seeming inability to converse on any topic other than the fateful day his wife and her lover were found dead. The evening before a chronic bout of influenza leaves Susan confined to her bed for a week, a tormented Bob beseeches her to destroy the love letters from Bernard to Louise which refer to him as a violent bully. Handing over the two letters seems to lift a weight off Bob’s mind and offer an end to his continual torment and a lonely Susan begins to enjoy having the company of a man back in her life again. Meanwhile, she also decides to sell her own house which contains far too many memories of the horrific events on the other side of the adjoining wall and is unsettling son, Paul. Julian is more than happy to cede to her demands and as his new wife sends a potential buyer, set designer David Chadwick, to view the property, they discover a mutual connection in the neighbouring house of death. Chadwick suspects that all is not what it appears and consults Detective Inspector Ulph, a man who has his own suspicions on a case that always seemed unsatisfactory resolved to his mind. With Chadwick having spent part of night prior to the double death in the company of Bernard and met his young wife Magdelana, a chance meeting with the bereaved Mrs Heller just hours after her husband's inquest spurs the dogmatic amateur sleuth to go the extra mile, and potentially saves divorcee, Susan Townsend, from being caught in the crossfire.
The residents and social conventions of the era date this novel slightly, with the take up of central heating, the addressing of neighbours by their formal titles and the promptness of the inquest all marking it out as late 1960’s, but the realistic characterisation and faultless plotting make this a pleasure. Admittedly, readers need to stay in it for the long haul before the eventual payoff becomes clear, and on occasions I confess to some irritation with the ponderous prose and some questioning over where Rendell was taking the story. However, persevere onwards through the slightly subdued early stages which offer little by way of excitement or intrigue, for it is Rendell’s plotting excellence and not her manner of her execution that is the highlight. Savvy readers will find plenty of clues along the way and perhaps see the solution appear before their very eyes, yet it does nothing to diminish the brilliance of the unexpected twist.
Not the most readable or fascinating novel from the annals of Ruth Rendell, but yet another example of her forward-thinking and sleight of hand.