From Publishers Weekly
In Dunn's cunning 16th Daisy Dalrymple mystery (after 2007's Gunpowder Plot), the charming Daisy stumbles over the corpse of the Chief Yeoman Warder at the Tower of London. Daisy and her husband, Scotland Yard's DCI Alec Fletcher, team up to unmask the killer. Daisy does all the really clever sleuthing, but she kindly allows her hubby to think he's putting things together himself. Things get tricky when one of the chief suspects, who may also be a blackmailer, disappears. And then there's the curious matter of the manner of death: the autopsy concludes that the Yeoman Warder died of a broken neck, so why was there also a partizan, or Yeoman Warder's halberd, sticking out of his back? Appropriate historical detail and witty dialogue are the finishing touches on this engaging 1920s period piece. (Sept.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
From Booklist
It is 1925, and Daisy Dalrymple Fletcher is ready to resume her career in journalism after giving birth to twins. An article about the Tower of London for an American magazine will allow her to work while remaining close to home and children. She does, however, need to spend one night in the Tower to observe the Ceremony of the Keys. Having toured the edifice, seen the Crown Jewels, and interviewed the Yeoman Warders (do not call them Beefeaters!) and the Ravenmaster, Daisy thinks that the assignment should be simple. An eerie night in the thick fog keeps her from seeing much of the ceremony, and she decides to leave early the next morning, but she trips over the body of one of the Warders and finds herself once again working with her husband, DCI Alec Fletcher of Scotland Yard, to solve the case. The odd folk who live in the tower and the tyrannical nanny who feels that parents have no place in the nursery add color to this historical cozy. Daisy's fans will be happy to have her back at work. Bibel, Barbara
Review
"Delicious . . . pleasantly reminiscent of the old-fashioned English mysteries of a bygone era."
--Denver Post on Gunpowder Plot
Book Description
In early 1925, the Honourable Daisy Dalrymple Fletcher, recent mother of twins, resumes her journalistic career by agreeing to write a piece about the Tower of London - the Bloody Tower - for an American magazine. Invited to observe the centuries old ritual Ceremony of the Keys, she's spending the night (her first time away from her babies) since the complex is locked and guarded, and the high walls are surrounded by a disused moat. Having been given a tour of the Crown Jewels, interviewed and observed the Yeoman Warders, and met the Ravenmaster, Daisy has more than enough material for her article and decides to leave as early as possible the next morning to return to her family. But when walking down the stairs, she almost trips over the dead body of one of the Yeoman Warders. That there's something seriously amiss cannot be denied, due to the pike sticking out of his back. With her husband, Scotland Yard DCI Alec Fletcher assigned to resolve the case, Daisy once again finds herself in the middle of a case of murder most foul.
About the Author
CAROLA DUNN is the author of a number of mysteries featuring Daisy Dalrymple. Born and raised in England, she lives in Eugene, Oregon.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
The Tower of London?” Alec, spreading marmalade on his toast, spoke with a sort of deliberate casualness. “That’s rather a macabre subject to write about.”
“One needn’t go into the gruesome details,” Daisy pointed out. “More coffee? The Americans will love it. Just think, 1070 a.d. to 1925, eight and a half centuries of history! They can’t match that even if they go back to Christopher Columbus.”
“True.”
“Mr. Thorwald says he’s willing to buy a series of three or four articles about the Tower for Abroad magazine.”
“You’ve already written to him?”
“His answer just arrived.” Daisy waved the telegram form from the top of the pile of letters by her plate. “See how keen he is? He telegraphed rather than waiting for a letter to reach me. I got the idea when we took Belinda to see The Yeomen of the Guard at Christmas.”
After a moment’s silence while he swallowed a bite, Alec voiced the question Daisy was expecting.
“What about the twins?”
She had her response ready. “I’ll only be gone for a few hours at a time, as I shan’t have to go out of town. That’s why it’s ideal. Honestly, darling, Nanny’s perfectly competent. In fact, she’s growing downright dictatorial. Since Mother went home to the Dower House—”
“And my mother retreated back to Bournemouth, thank heaven!”
“Exactly. Nanny no longer has their conflicting commands ringing in her ears. Isn’t it odd how both of them insisted that no one on their side of the family ever had twins? As though there were something disgraceful about it,” Daisy said indignantly.
“Yes, I never thought to hear Lady Dalrymple and my mother agree on anything except that we shouldn’t have married each other. But don’t try to change the subject, Daisy.”
“Try! I thought I succeeded nicely.”
“Only briefly. Quite apart from leaving the babies with Nanny—and I expect you’re right about that—are you sure you’re recovered enough from the birth to go exploring the Tower? As I recall, it’s nothing but stairs, stairs, and more stairs, most of them steep and narrow.”
“It’s nearly the end of April already! They’ll be two months old in a couple of days. I’m perfectly all right, just going quietly mad stuck here in the house with nothing to do but give Oliver or Miranda a bottle now and then, when Nanny deigns to permit. It was fun when Belinda was at home. She so enjoyed helping with them during the Easter hols. But now she’s gone back to school . . .” Daisy sighed. “I’m glad she’s enjoying boarding school, but I do miss her.”
“So do I. Well, love, I’m not about to come the heavy-handed Victorian paterfamilias—”
“You’d better not try!”
Alec grinned. “No, that’s exactly my feeling. But please don’t traipse off if I have to go out of town, and make sure Nanny knows how to telephone me at the Yard.”
“She can always ring up and ask for me at the Tower.”
“I hardly think the Yeoman Warders will be willing to search that warren for—”
“Oh, but that’s the best thing. That is, not the best but what, added to G & S, confirmed that I’m positively meant to write about the Tower. Mrs. Tebbit and her daughter are living there now, in the King’s House, and they’ve invited me to lunch.”
“Tebbit?”
“Your mother’s friend. At least, one of your mother’s fellow bridge players. The divinely outspoken old lady.”
“With the rather limp daughter? Living in the Tower? Not, I take it, imprisoned for high treason?”
“Darling, as though your mother would be acquainted with anyone who might be suspected of high treason!” Daisy considered. “Mrs. Tebbit might commit lèse-majesté, perhaps, but one can’t be arrested for that nowadays, can one? Anyway, it seems the Resident Governor, Major General Carradine, is some sort of cousin, and—”
“Tell me later, Daisy. I must be off.” Alec gulped down the last drops of coffee, folded the News Chronicle and stuck it under his arm, and came around the table for a good-bye kiss. “Things are slow at present, so I’m hoping to clear up some arrears of paperwork before the Super has me arrested for dereliction of duty.”
Daisy returned his kiss with verve before saying hopefully, “Does that mean you’ll be home early enough to take me out for some driving practice? With what Mr. Thorwald is going to pay me, I’ll be able to buy a secondhand car!”
Alec groaned. “I’ll do my best. If you must have a car, it’ll be just as well if you learn how to drive it without running over too many bobbies on point duty. We can’t spare the men.”
“Beast!” said Daisy, and pursed her lips for another kiss.
Daisy went up to the nursery. It had been Mrs. Fletcher’s room while she lived with them, and Belinda had moved in when her grandmother moved to Bournemouth. Poor Bel had had to return to her tiny bedroom when the twins were born.
Not that the nursery was exactly large. In fact, it was definitely crowded with Nanny’s bed and two cribs. A wardrobe, half occupied with shelves, stood against one wall. There was an armchair on one side of the fireplace and an elderly ottoman on the other, full of clean nappies. Its padded top was useful for changing wet and dirty ones. Later it could metamorphose into a toy chest. In the window was a small table with two rush-bottom chairs.
Remembering her own childhood, Daisy guessed that the rush seats wouldn’t last long once the babies were up and about. Pulling bits out of them was irresistible.
Remembering her own childhood—The trouble was that she couldn’t help comparing this nursery with the spacious day-nursery, night-nursery, and schoolroom at Fairacres.
She had chosen to marry a middle-class policeman, chosen a life in a semi-detached house in the suburbs. She was content with her choice, but she had to admit to herself that she had never for a moment considered how it would affect her children.
Knocking softly on the door—after all the nursery was also Nanny’s bedroom—Daisy thought ruefully that she had made her bed and the twins were going to have to lie in it.
Ah well, they didn’t know anything different.
Nanny Gilpin opened the door with a finger to her lips. Her face was pink beneath iron-grey hair sternly pulled back under a starched cap. Her plum-coloured dress, mid-calf in length, had starched white collar and cuffs, and over it she wore a spotless starched white apron. In spite of all the starch, she was a kindly woman.
So, at least, said Daisy’s friend Melanie Germond, who had recommended Mrs. Gilpin. Furthermore, her daughter, Bel’s school-friend Lizzie, was still fond of her old nurse.
But Nanny Gilpin was undeniably old-fashioned. She expected absolute rule over the nursery, with parents admitted by appointment only. As she was, to all appearances, very good with the babies, Daisy was afraid of losing her and so catered to her whims, however reluctantly.
She had told Nanny she was going out to lunch and wanted to see the twins before she left.
“You may come in, Mummy,” Nanny whispered, “but I just put them down for a nap, so not a sound, if you please.”
Daisy tiptoed over to Oliver’s crib. He lay on his back, eyes closed, arms spread wide, hands relaxed. The soft down on his head had a distinct gingerish tone. He might end up a redhead, like his elder sister, but Nanny said it would probably change as he grew older.
He looked so tiny, so delicate. The doctor said twins were always smaller than the average baby, which made sense. Otherwise, how enormous she’d have been! They were both perfectly healthy though, thank heaven, and would catch up in height and weight in due course.
Oliver had kicked off his coverlet. Daisy leant forward to straighten it—then pulled back at a warning cough from Mrs. Gilpin.
“Now, Mummy, we don’t want to wake him, do we?”
Daisy swallowed a sigh. Of course Nanny knew best how to take care of babies, didn’t she?
The baby’s lips pursed in a sucking motion. One hand rose to insert a thumb in his mouth. It didn’t mean he was hungry, she assured herself, as she had been assured.
Nanny moved forward in a purposeful way. Daisy hastily turned to Miranda’s crib.
Miranda lay there quietly, good as gold, but her blue eyes were wide open. Catching sight of Daisy, she smiled. Daisy cast a quick glance behind her. Nanny was occupied with tucking in Oliver. Quick as a wink, Daisy scooped up her daughter in her arms for a quick kiss and cuddle before she was caught.
Miranda chuckled. Enchanted, Daisy kissed the top of her head, revelling in the softness of her dark fluff and sweet, milky smell.
“Now, Mummy—”
“She was awake, Nanny. I didn’t wake her, truly.”
“And how is she ever going to fall asle...
