A year of stories behind the story

And a new book

A double celebration this week! Today I published my tenth novel, Murder On The White Cliffs, the sixth in my 1920s murder mystery series following the adventures of private detective Marjorie Swallow. Co-incidentally, it’s almost a year since I began this regular newsletter about the stories behind the story, the research I enjoy while preparing to write my books.

Celebrating publication with afternoon tea at the Walpole Bay hotel

I thought I’d revisit some of the most popular posts from the past year and how they’ve informed the books. All have had paywalls removed for the occasion.

The introductory novella in the Marjorie Swallow series, Murder At The Ritz, was written after a wonderful trip to London’s Ritz Hotel, to take afternoon tea with a friend. I’d already been toying with the idea of a 1920s-set detective series. During that tea, Marjorie Swallow was born. I wrote about it in:

The post also explores how my own family history informed Marjorie’s story.

What happens in Murder At The Ritz? It’s London, 1922. Draper’s daughter Marjorie is job-hunting, determined to live life to the full after the privations of the War. She’s summoned to an interview over afternoon tea in the Ritz’s Palm Court, expecting to be grilled about her secretarial skills. But her would-be employer, the mysterious Mrs Jameson, is a private investigator – which comes in handy when one of the guests keels over among the cucumber sandwiches. Marjorie’s job interview turns into an impromptu test of her detective abilities. Will she get the job? Will they solve the murder? And will Marjorie ever get to try the chocolate fondant cake? Only one way to find out… this short novella is free and exclusive to subscribers or members of my author newsletter.

The first full novel in the series, Blackmail In Bloomsbury, takes place among the literary and artistic set in London’s bohemian quarter, which I wrote about in:

Here’s the teaser for the book: When a bohemian party in the square ends in murder, there’s no shortage of suspects. Half of Bloomsbury wanted nasty Mrs Norris dead – but who wielded the knife? Was it the handsome but troubled artist? The vivacious young actress? Or the brilliant historian who hosted the gathering? Everyone seems to have had a secret they needed to protect from Mrs Norris. But only one person was prepared to kill to keep it quiet.

When the police arrest the wrong man, Marjorie and Mrs Jameson set out to find the true killer. From the garden squares of Bloomsbury to the seedy backstreets of Soho, Marjorie is drawn into the glamour and peril of Jazz Age London.

Blackmail In Bloomsbury involved Marjorie’s first introduction to the power of jiu-jitsu, the martial art taught to the Suffragettes by diminutive instructor Edith Garrud. I had fun writing about Edith in:

There’s more jiu-jitsu in The Soho Jazz Murders, in which flappers meet gangsters at the hottest jazz club in London! As you can imagine, researching the illicit clubs of 1920s London was great fun, and this post about Kate Meyrick, queen of Soho nightlife, got a lot of love.

The Soho Jazz Murders might be my favourite of the series. When Marjorie goes dancing with the flapper niece of the American ambassador to London, she thinks that The Charleston will be her biggest challenge. But when the night ends in tragedy, she goes undercover as a dance hostess at the notorious Harlequin Club, plunging into a shady world of jazz music, cocaine deals and opium dens.

Who is dealing cocaine to the club’s patrons? What is the role of the terrifying Armstrong Brothers? And does the answer lie closer to home than Marjorie and Mrs Jameson suspect? During this book, Marjorie’s side-kick Frankie O’Grady becomes a more central character and helps to save the day.

For the third book in the series, Death At Chelsea, I plunged into the exciting world of the early 20th century plant hunters, travelling the world on expeditions to China and India to bring back new plants for the fashionable gardens and gardeners exhibiting at the Chelsea Flower Show.

As soon as I found out about these intrepid explorers, the novel came alight. The mystery would begin with the precious Himalayan Sapphire Lily, brought back to England by plant hunter Ernest Buckler through dubious means. Mrs Jameson and Marjorie are called to investigate when renowned garden designer Constance Hall suspects that someone is sabotaging the priceless lilies, ahead of the Chelsea Flower Show. But soon it’s not just the flowers that are dying. Rival gardeners, Ernest’s former wife (now married to his former exploration partner), current wife (now getting alarmingly close to Constance Hall’s son) and even King George V are caught up in a poisonous bouquet with its roots deep in the mountains of Tibet. The story reaches its climax at the Chelsea Flower Show of 1923, a notoriously wet occasion, when the King spots something untoward among the rhododendron bushes!

I decamped to the south of France for the next in the series, The Riviera Mystery. I’ve spent several happy holidays in Nice and always prefer to travel down by train when time allows. I thought it was about time Marjorie got to experience the glamour of Nice and the famous Blue Train, as I wrote about in:

The Riviera Mystery was a lot of fun to write (not least the research time in my favourite European city), and involved a romantic sub-plot for Marjorie which didn’t end well.

Marjorie and Mrs Jameson have been invited to stay at the palatial Villa Beau Rivage for a month in the sun, after a dismal summer in London. Surrounded by diamond merchants, film stars, artists and art dealers, Marjorie is swept off her feet by her first experience of the beauty and colour of the Côte d’Azur. She faces a dilemma when one particular artist sets her heart racing – but soon they are both caught up in the aftermath of a tragic death at a glamorous party (yes, another one!). Luckily Mrs Jameson is there to keep Marjorie’s mind on the case, as they investigate just how far some people will go for money.

It was back to London for my next, Death On Fleet Street. I was on home turf in more ways than one, back in the newspaper world where I’d started my career (although the papers had long gone from Fleet Street when I was a cub reporter). One of the joys of writing about newspapers and printing was remembering the arcane jargon that comes with the turf, which I wrote about in:

I enjoyed creating a particularly unpleasant murder victim for this book. When the Daily Post, the top-selling newspaper of 1924, receives a notice announcing the death of Lord Ravensbourne, something is clearly up. Not only is his lordship the owner of the Post, but he’s still very much alive.

Marjorie and Mrs Jameson must find out who sent the death notice, before the threat becomes reality. But Marjorie quickly discovers that Lord Ravensbourne, a belligerent bully, collects enemies like other men collect stamps. Everyone seems to have good reason to wish him dead.

Marjorie goes undercover as Lord R’s secretary for a dive into the murky world of 1920s Fleet Street, where back-stabbing journalists will do anything for a scoop, inky-fingered printers strike at the drop of a trilby hat, and the presses rumble deafeningly in the basement.

Which brings me right up to date with the latest book, Murder On The White Cliffs. The book is set in Broadstairs, a quintessentially English holiday resort. I’ve recently written about its setting in the Kingsgate Bay Hotel. But what about the book?

Marjorie and Mrs Jameson enjoy a trip to a glamorous clifftop hotel for a very English seaside holiday… until a mysterious Italian woman in white appears, anxious to speak to Mrs Jameson. Whoever she is, Mrs Jameson definitely doesn’t want to talk to her. And when a corpse is discovered on the beach, Marjorie is unsure who to trust. What exactly is Mrs Jameson hiding, and why doesn’t she want to investigate? As Marjorie is drawn deeper into the mystery, she realises how much she still has to learn about her employer… Will she finally learn what happened to Mrs Jameson’s husband in Rome?

Finally, my thanks to reader

Alison Baxter

who wrote to me about staying at “the delightfully eccentric Walpole Bay hotel, with its authentic 1927 lift”. I took her advice and celebrated the launch of Murder On The White Cliffs with afternoon tea. We would have sat outside on the terrace, but in true English style the heatwave had ended with thunderstorms and rain. The pianist played Singin’ In The Rain as we sipped darjeeling and ate scones - a perfect end (for now) to my Marjorie Swallow series.

I’m taking a break during August, and will be back with more adventures in research in September. As always, please do hit the heart button if you enjoyed this post. Have a wonderful summer!