By Charles Finch
Getting back from a continental honeymoon along with his lifelong pal and new spouse, girl Jane gray, Charles Lenox is requested by way of a colleague in Parliament to refer to within the homicide of a footman, bludgeoned to demise with a brick. His research uncovers either unsettling evidence concerning the kinfolk he served and an odd, moment identification that the footman himself cultivated.
Going into the boxing golf equipment and public homes, the Mayfair mansions and servants' area of Victorian London, Lenox steadily realizes that an outdated buddy will be implicated within the footman's loss of life. quickly a suspect is arrested, yet Lenox has his doubts. Desperately attempting to stability the hole of Parliament and what he feels convinced is a dismal mystery, he quickly discovers that the killer is an individual shockingly innocuous—who might be ready to spill blood back, even a detective's.
In Detective Lenox, girl gray, and their circle of shut affiliates, Charles Finch has created a solid of inviting, flesh-andblood characters. His evolving sequence, with its willing eye for interval aspect and razor-sharp plotting, deals readers an exceptional model of appeal, sophistication, and suspense.
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Additional info for A Stranger in Mayfair (Charles Lenox Mystery, Book 4)
One fist clutched a telephone; with the other hand he was jotting additions to a long list of items. He had an odd, glazed expression, and his glance flicked over Chris without seeing her. After what seemed a very long time, he mumbled a good-bye and hung up. "Liberated women," he snarled into the air above Chris's head. " She took one step closer to the counter. " the man snapped. " Chris looked over her shoulder, ready to run if necessary. "I suppose when you grow up you're going to want a career," the man jeered.
Uncle Ralph seemed pleased to have a job. He hurried off, and Grandma patted the bed beside her. "Sit here, Chrissy," she invited. "Now, how are things going? " The words spilled out. "Uncle Ralph doesn't want me with him. Oh, we get along okay"—she wanted to chase away Grandma's worried frown—"but he'll be glad when I'm gone. And so will I," she added. Grandma hugged her. "My Ralph is a loner, I'm afraid. He's lived by himself for a long time, and he's used to it. But I'm sure he's glad to have you with him, dear.
Time passed, and her muscles ached, but she stayed in her sheet-tent. When she peered out at last, the first gray light of morning was touching the windows. She stayed in bed another half-hour, listening to the world wake itself up. A cardinal sang. A squirrel scolded. The lake made its soft, lapping sounds. When she opened her bedroom door, the house was very still. Uncle Ralph's door was closed. The attic door was closed, too. There was nothing unusual to see, except for the chest. It stood out from the attic door at an angle, as if it had been roughly thrust aside.