The Stately Home Murder!

Our book today is a delectable 1969 whodunit called The Stately Home Murder (a distinct improvement on its original title The True Steel) by our old friend Kinn Hamilton McIntosh, better known to mystery aficionados as Catherine Aird. The book has all the beloved trappings of her other fictional outings: it takes place in the mythical county of Calleshire, it features a baker’s dozen quintessentially British signatures of the previous century, from hedgerows and dotty aunts to the Stately Home of the book’s title, and of course most central of all, it stars that unflappable lawman, Detective Inspector C. D. Sloan and his loyal but dimwitted assistant, Detective Constable Crosby.

The Stately Home in question this time around is Ornum House, open to the public every Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday (and bank holidays) from April to October, much to the grumbling chagrin of its current master, the thirteenth Earl of Ornum, who views the crowds walking around his grounds (designed by the legendary Capability Brown hundreds of years ago) with their picnic lunches and their guidebooks as just so many interlopers, although as usual in an Aird mystery, the genial narration offers inconspicuous judgements of its own:

The public, though, seemed to have got the idea of Capability’s pleasances. They were positively full of people taking conscious pleasure from walking in them, enjoying their alternating sun and shade and the smooth grass underfoot, and, every now and then, exclaiming at an unexpected vista carefully prepared by that master craftsman for them to exclaim at.

The House comes to the attention of Scotland Yard when – in a masterly opening gimmick worthy of Agatha Christie at her most shameless – a corpse is found inside one of the old suits of armor on display in one of the galleries (as commemorated on the cover of the old Bantam paperback, the – you’ll pardon the term – killer ‘hook’ is the lifting of the armor’s visor to reveal the dead man’s eyes staring sightlessly right at you). Soon enough, Sloan and Crosby are driving up the long entranceway to Ornum and having one of their droll exchanges – at Crosby’s expense, of course:

The gates were painted black, with the finer points etched out in gold leaf. If the state of a man’s gate was any guide to the man – and in Sloan’s working experience it was – the Earl of Ornum maintained a high standard. Surmounting the pillars were two stone spheres, and crouching on top of the spheres was a pair of gryphons.

Constable Crosby regarded them critically. “They’re funny-looking birds, aren’t they? Can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like that flying around.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Constable. They don’t exist.”

Crosby glanced up over his shoulder at the solid stone. “I see, sir.”

“A myth,” amplified Sloan. “Like unicorns.”

“Yes, sir.” Crosby slid the care between the gryphons and lowered his speed to a self-conscious fifteen miles an hour in deference to a notice which said just that. Then he cleared his throat. “The house, sir. I can’t see it.”

“Stately Homes aren’t meant to be seen from the road, Constable. That’s the whole idea. Carry on.”

The dead man turns out to be Mr. Osbourne Meredith, librarian to the thirteenth Earl, and the initial shock of his discovery is over when Sloan approaches the armor himself:

Sloan lifted the visor very very carefully … Inside was the face of a man verging on the elderly and more than a little dead. Inspector Sloan touched his cheek though he knew there was no need. It was quite cold.

There follows the usual quietly exquisite Aird murder appraratus, complete with false leads, red herrings, and plenty of wry asides from Sloan, who sees all, misses nothing, and is generally worth ten ordinary Detective Inspectors, a proper and imperturbable sleuth of a type most contemporary mystery authors seem reluctant to put before their readers (perhaps for fear of boring them? But then, isn’t the reading demographic for murder mysteries skewed well into geriatric brackets?). Re-reading The Stately Home Murder for the sixth time is every bit as enjoyable as reading it for the first time, I’m happy to report. And I’m equally happy to repeat: this is an author very much worth your time! Let me know if you’d like me to mail you some of her wonderful books.