Set in Victorian London this is a murder mystery with more than a touch of Anne Perry with its engagement with the dark and sexual underside to the late C19th.
In Cremorne Gardens (the eponymous pleasure garden) in Chelsea a man is stalking attractive young girls and cutting off their hair. The police are called in to investigate and come up against an obessive Reverend determined to shut down the gardens because of their impact on the morals of the area; and a neighbouring stockbroker and his family. And then the murders begin...
The problem I had with this book is that it's all surface and no depth, a bit like biting into a meringue: it looks substantial but then you find yourself with a mouthful of air...
Jackson creates atmosphere (albeit with none of the tangibility of a real Victorial novelist) but the story is very superficial. When we get to the denouement, via a rather clumsy last-minute twist, we're left no closer to understanding WHY anyone did what they did. Personally I prefer a bit more 'psychology' to my mysteries, however cod it might be. Here there were no clues, no development that left the reader pitched against the book's detective, no gradual uncovering of the truth, no tension.
And the rather odd style of writing constantly in the present tense gets a little tiring at times.
So overall this is a rather slight murder mystery which taps into the fashion that sees all Victorial culture as ultimately being pruriently about sex, and where the smooth writing promises far more than the story ultimately delivers.