A sinister figure stalks the gas-lit groves of Cremorne Gardens, the last pleasure - ground on the banks of the Thames. His weapon, a sharp pair of scissors. His victims, young women in the first bloom of youth. His crime - merely to remove a lock of their hair. Inspector Decimus Webb of Scotland Yard suspects a harmless lunatic is at large. But, when morbid obsession turns to murder, even Webb's loyal sergeant begins to doubt his judgement. As the press and his superiors clamour for answers, Webb's investigations lead him to Rose Perfitt, aspiring debutante and daughter of a respectable stock-broker. Will she fall prey to 'The Cutter' or does a worse fate beckon? One thing is certain - only Decimus Webb can save her. Lee Jackson's third Inspector Webb novel takes the reader into the forgotten world of the Victorian pleasure-garden, in a gripping mystery of garish gas-light and dark secrets.
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"Victorian London is brought vividly to life from the very beginning …plenty of wry humour …and engrossing historical detail". -- Time Out
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'Victorian London is vividly brought to life...For an atmospheric picture of the period, it's hard to beat' Sunday Telegraph
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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful
By Roman Clodia
TOP 50 REVIEWER
Format:Hardcover
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.
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.
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