Amateur sleuths Matthew and Harriet Rowsley solve a series of murders at a relative’s country manor house in 1861.
Although Col. Barrington and his wife, Lady Hortensia, did not unbend sufficiently to dance at their wedding, the Rowsleys are generous enough to attribute their kin’s reluctance to physical infirmity rather than snobbery. Col. Barrington suffered a grave war injury, and on the eve of the Rowsley nuptials, his Lady was on the verge of presenting him with a son and heir. So the common-born pair agree to visit their noble cousins at Clunston Park for a weekend of cricket. The slights begin immediately on their arrival. The couple is assigned a dark, pokey bedroom when grander quarters are readily available. The gentleladies avoid conversing with Harriet, preferring to share the latest gossip with their social equals. True, Lady Pidgeon does spare her a few words. And Gräfin Weiser, the widow of a Viennese count, seems inclined to treat the former housemaid as a confidante, earning the newcomer a sharp admonition from Lady Hortensia not to monopolize the noblewoman. When Biddlestone, a footman, refers to Harriet as Mrs. Faulkner, the name she used when she was in service, Matthew approaches his boiling point. But their ill-treatment by the Clunston household doesn’t deter the principled pair from doing their best when disaster strikes, and they gamely pitch in to investigate the murders that send the weekend festivities into a tailspin.
Snootiness appears a greater crime than murder in this offbeat cozy of manners.