Summary
'Tis the season--to be dead...
A holiday party takes on a sinister aspect when the colorful assortment of guests discovers there is a killer in their midst. The owner of the substantial estate, that old Scrooge Nathaniel Herriard, is found stabbed in the back. While the delicate matter of inheritance could be the key to this crime, the real conundrum is how any of the suspects could have entered a locked room to commit the foul deed.
For Inspector Hemingway of Scotland Yard, the investigation is complicated by the fact that every guest is hiding something--throwing all of their testimony into question and casting suspicion far and wide. The clever and daring crime will mystify readers, yet the answer is in plain sight all along...
Praise for Georgette Heyer:
"Miss Heyer's characters and dialogue are an abiding delight to me...I have seldom met people to whom I have taken so violent a fancy from the word 'Go'." -- Dorothy L. Sayers
"A writer of great wit and style." -- Daily Telegraph
"Ms. Heyer is one of the most entertaining writers I have ever ready." -- Reading Extravaganza
"Miss Heyer has the delightful talent of blending humor with mystery." -- Boston Evening Transcript
Author Notes
Georgette Heyer was born on August 16, 1902 at Wimbledon, London. She wrote The Black Moth as a story for her brother Boris. Her father, impressed with his daughter's imagination, suggested that she prepare it to be published, which it was by Constable in 1921. Having scored an instant success with The Black Moth at the age of nineteen under her own name, Georgette Heyer, she experimented with a pseudonym, Stella Martin, for her third book, published by Mills & Boon. She continued writing and in 1925 she married Ronald Rougier, a mining engineer.
After reasonable but not spectacular sales from her first few books the instant success of These Old Shades in 1926 brought her a solid source of income which was very necessary at the time since the family relied to a large extent on the income from Georgette Heyer's writing. She wrote over fifty books during her lifetime and created the Regency England genre of romance novels. She died on July 4, 1974 at the age of 71.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Excerpts
It was a source of great satisfaction to Joseph Herriard that the holly trees were in full berry. He seemed to find in this circumstance an assurance that the projected reunion of the family would be a success. For days past he had been bringing prickly sprigs into the house, his rosy countenance beaming with pleasure, and his white locks (worn rather long, and grandly waving) ruffled by the December winds.
'Just look at the berries!' he would say, thrusting his sprigs under Nathaniel's nose, laying them on Maud's card-table.
'Very pretty, dear,' Maud said, her flattened voice divesting her words of even the smallest vestige of enthusiasm.
'Take the damned thing away!' growled Nathaniel. 'I hate holly!'
But neither the apathy of his wife nor the disapproval of his elder brother could damp Joseph's childlike enjoyment of the Festive Season. When a leaden sky heralded the advent of snow, he began to talk about old-fashioned Christmases, and to liken Lexham Manor to Dingley Dell.
In point of fact, there was no more resemblance between the two houses than between Mr Wardle and Nathaniel Herriard.
Lexham was a Tudor manor house, considerably enlarged, but retaining enough of its original character to make it one of the show-places of the neighbourhood. It was not a family seat of long standing, Nathaniel, who was a wealthy man (he had been an importer from the East Indies), having purchased it a few years before his retirement from an active share in his flourishing business. His niece, Paula Herriard, who did not like the Manor, could not imagine what should have induced an old bachelor to saddle himself with such a place, unless Â- hopefully Â- he meant to leave it to Stephen, her brother. In which case, she added, it was a pity that Stephen, who did like the place, should take so few pains to be decent to the old man.
It was generally supposed, in spite of Stephen's habit of annoying his uncle, that he would be Nathaniel's heir. He was his only nephew, so unless Nathaniel meant to leave his fortune to his only surviving brother, Joseph, which even Joseph admitted to be unlikely, the bulk of the estate looked like coming into Stephen's graceless hands.
In support of this theory, it could perhaps have been said that Nathaniel seemed to like Stephen rather more than he liked any other member of his family. But few people liked Stephen very much. The only person who stoutly maintained belief in the sterling qualities to be detected beneath his unprepossessing exterior was Joseph, whose overflowing kindness of heart led him always to believe the best of everyone.
'There's a lot of good in Stephen. You mark my words, the dear old bear will surprise us all one of these days!' Joseph said staunchly, when Stephen had been at his most impossible.
Stephen was not in the least grateful for this unsolicited championship. His dark, rather saturnine face took on such an expression of sardonic scorn that poor Joseph was momentarily abashed, and stood looking at him with an absurdly crestfallen air.
'Surprising weak intellects isn't a pastime of mine,' said Stephen, not even troubling to remove his pipe from between his teeth.
Joseph smiled with a bravery which prompted Paula to take up the cudgels in his defence. But Stephen only gave a short bark of laughter, and buried himself in his book, and by the time Paula had told him, with modern frankness, what she thought of his manners, Joseph, whose invincible cheerfulness no brutality could long impair, had recovered from his hurt and archly ascribed Stephen's snap to a touch of liver.
Maud, who was laying out a complicated Double Patience, her plump countenance betraying nothing but a mild interest in the disposition of aces and kings, said in her toneless voice that salts before breakfast were good for sluggish livers.
'Oh, my God!' said Stephen, dragging his lanky limbs out of the deep chair. 'To think that this house was once tolerable!'
There was no mistaking the implication of this savage remark, but as soon as Stephen had left the room, Joseph assured Paula that she need not worry on his account, since he knew Stephen too well to be hurt by the things he said. 'I don't suppose poor old Stephen really grudges us Nat's hospitality,' he said, with one of his whimsical smiles.
Joseph and Maud had not always been inmates of Lexham Manor. Joseph had been, in fact, until a couple of years previously, a rolling stone. In reviewing his past, he often referred to square pegs and wanderlust; and, that nothing should be wanting to exasperate Stephen, would recall past triumphs behind the footlights with a sigh, a smile, and a gently-spoken: 'Eheu fugaces!'
For Joseph had been on the stage. Articled in youth to a solicitor, he had soon abandoned this occupation (the square peg) for the brighter prospects of coffee-growing (wanderlust) in East Africa. Since those early days he had flitted through every imaginable profession, from freelance prospecting for gold to acting. No one knew why he had left the stage Â- for since he had belonged to colonial and South American travelling companies it could scarcely be ascribed to the wanderlust that was responsible for his throwing up so many other jobs, for he seemed designed by nature to grace the boards. 'The ideal Polonius!' Mathilda Clare once called him.
Excerpted from Envious Casca by Georgette Heyer All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.