Deadly Kin by Lucinda Brant

Narrated by Matthew Lloyd Davies

It’s been a while since Lucinda Brant released the last book in her series of Georgian-era historical mysteries featuring former diplomat, reluctant marquess and amateur sleuth Alec Halsey. (When I checked, I saw that book three, Deadly Peril, came out in November 2015.) I enjoyed the previous instalments in the series very much; Ms. Brant’s eye for period detail is remarkable, her plots are tightly written and full of devious twists and turns and she’s created a truly memorable leading man in the handsome, urbane and fiercely intelligent Halsey.

Eagle-eyed (eared?) listeners will notice that the narrator’s chair for Deadly Kin is occupied by the reliably good Matthew Lloyd Davies (who has taken over from Alex Wyndham) and I’m pleased to be able to say that his performance is top-notch.

Deadly Kin opens some months after the conclusion of Deadly Peril and sees Alec and his wife Selina residing at Alec’s family estate of Deer Park in Kent while they await the birth – any day now – of their first child. Alec’s elevation to the marquessate of Halsey is recent and not completely welcome; he had made himself a name in diplomatic circles, and is still adjusting to the change of pace that has come along with his change in status. Along with his new title, he has inherited his late brother’s crumbling Kentish estate at Delvin Park – which he has renamed Deer Park – and if were up to him, he’d pull it down and build something more modern, but Selina loves the old pile and Alec loves Selina so… renovation it is.

Their relative peace – if living amid all the noise and upheaval of the repairs can be said to be in any way peaceful – is disturbed when Alec is informed that the workmen have discovered an underground room or crypt beneath the flagstones of the Stone Court that doesn’t appear on any of the plans of any of the buildings that comprise the house. Even more surprising is the reaction of his long-time steward Paul Turner, who protests Alec’s instructions to have all the flagstones removed and safely re-laid, insisting instead that the hole should be boarded up without any investigation into the room below so that work can continue without incurring delays and extra expense.

Further disturbance comes quickly on the heels of that discovery, when Alec learns receives news of the murder of thirteen-year-old Hugh Turner, the steward’s son. Hugh’s body has been found in the woods of Deer Park, his throat cut, his right hand severed from his arm, a traditional way of punishing poachers. But Alec’s gamekeeper is adamant that there is no poaching on the estate – although Alec has cause to doubt that assertion. Even more puzzling, a second hand – a second right hand – is found close to Hugh’s body… but who does it belong to, and where is the victim?

These two seemingly unrelated events see Alec once again bringing his considerable intellect and sleuthing experience to bear as he investigates Hugh’s death and begins to uncover a number of shocking family secrets. One of the threads running through the series has been the mystery surrounding Alec’s paternity; the rumours abounding in society have it that he’s the product of his mother’s affair with a mulatto footman, although the author has dropped hints throughout the earlier books that this may not have been the case and that the truth is much more complicated. (Spoiler: It really is!)

One of the foundations of Alec’s life and something which has been a delight to hear in every book, is his relationship with his irascible, radical and wonderfully supportive uncle, Plantagenet Halsey, who has been so much more than a father figure to Alec – he brought him up and has been a father to him in all but name. Here, however, their relationship becomes strained as “Uncle Plant” is obviously keeping secrets from Alec (as are a number of those living on the estate or nearby, villagers and gentry alike). The revelations – when they come – come thick and fast, some of them things I’d guessed at before, some of them quite new, and I very much appreciated finally learning about Alec’s early life and why he was cast out by his family. Both mysteries are well-conceived, and the one surrounding Alec is especially engrossing, based as it is on an ancient law of inheritance known as Gavelkind that applied mostly in Kent in England (as well as in Wales and Ireland) and which, unlike the prevailing system of primogeniture, saw inheritances divided between male heirs rather than being inherited by only the eldest. Another important plot point revolves around the Black Act of 1723, a law that responded initially to poaching but which also specified a large number of other capital crimes and intensified the punishments for offenders convicted of them.

However. While the plot and the historical background behind it are fascinating, the story takes a looooong while to get going. For around half the book, we’re bogged down in repetitive explanations and long, rambling conversations that don’t seem to arrive anywhere conclusive and which are too often interrupted at key moments in what seemed to be an obvious strategy to delay the Big Reveals. Not only was this frustrating, it also meant that by the time the reveals finally came around, I’d figured most of them out anyway and they ended up being somewhat anticlimactic.

Something that wasn’t anticlimactic though was Matthew Lloyd Davies’ excellent narration. I’ve listened to and enjoyed a number of his performances, so I was delighted when I saw he’d signed on to narrate Deadly Kin. His smooth, rich baritone is a perfect fit for historicals, and his portrayal of Alec is superb, expertly capturing the character’s intrinsic decency, his humour and his kindness, and switching seamlessly – and with the slightest change in tone – between that man and the powerful aristocrat who doesn’t suffer fools. Uncle Plant is equally well served with a gruffer timbre and lively delivery, and all the secondary characters, from servants to gentry, are clearly differentiated. I was especially fond of his portrayal of Alec’s poisonous aunt, Lady Ferris, whose ultra-posh, nasally tone made her all the easier to dislike! It’s a well-paced, expressive performance overall – but I can’t close this review without giving special mention to Mr. Lloyd Davies’ work on some particularly emotional scenes between Alec and his uncle, which was perfectly judged.

If you’re a fan of historical mysteries, this is a series I’d definitely recommend, although I’d suggest starting at the beginning with Deadly Engagement so as to gain more insight into the characters and their backgrounds. If, like me, you’ve been waiting for more of Alec Halsey having enjoyed the previous instalments… well, I have to confess Deadly Kin proved to be a little bit of a disappointment when compared with the tension and drama of Deadly Peril. The storylines themselves are gripping, but the way they were drawn out did them a disservice and meant that any anticipation and tension the author built up was quickly dissipated. That said, things picked up in the second half of the book and Matthew Lloyd Davies’ terrific performance was a definite asset throughout – so I’m recommending with reservations.

Caz

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