As a bit of a Victorian 'buff' and lover of crime fiction, I looked forward to reading this novel. It got off to a cracking start with a body discovered in a Metropolitan Line train and I read on avidly to discover how the murder had been committed in such a public place. Nevertheless, this was hardly explored, I felt, nor were other aspects, such as the habits of the middle-class who liked to visit the haunts of the poor. They were known as 'slummers' but in this novel the police seemed surprised at such an activity. In fact the police were remarkably dense, which is the worst cliche of crime fiction. Cliches also abounded in the traditional view of Victorian London: the fog, the dirty Thames, the squalor,laudanum, poverty and middle class hypocrisy. It seems to me that the author, who has his own Victorian London website, is more interested in telling us about these things than creating believable characters and plot. I guessed who the murderer was pretty early on but I wouldn't have minded that, had the motivation of any of the characters held my attention. As the previous reviewer so rightly pointed out, none of the characters made us care enough about them. And like many male writers, the author can't get under the skin of women. There's a female character who should hold our sympathy but doesn't because she ends up behaving like no woman would ever behave. Too much would give away the plot, so I'll say no more.
The main problem, though was viewpoint. The author kept explaining for the benefit of twenty-first century readers things that the people who lived through those times would take for granted. For example, how to stop a hackney carriage or that the streets were muddy and that crossing-sweepers only plied their trade in the smarter areas where they could expect a penny or two for their efforts.
I also felt it was a bit patronising and lacking any humour. Most of us know what Victorian London was like. Dickens got there first.