Death Comes to Pemberley

 

P.D. James

 

What an amazing woman is P.D. James.  She was born in 1920, the same year as my mother, and here she is, still writing international bestsellers.  This book was recommended to me by a friend, and when I saw it in the boutique of the local hospital auxiliary for $3.00, I snapped it up.  The next day I came down with a miserable winter cold, went to bed and read Death Comes to Pemberley in a day!

Take yourself back to the day you read the last page of Pride and Prejudice and remember all your hopes and worries for your favourite characters.  Did Mr. Darcy live up to expectations?  Did the vapid Mr. Bingley really make Jane happy?  What about Lydia and Mr. Wickham's further adventures?  Surely their elopement would be followed by other colourful adventures.

In Death Comes to Pemberley, P.D. James has given us the answer to all our questions and tossed in a murder mystery, of course.  All the mannerisms and tedious niceties of early 19th century society are recreated in Jane Austen style.  The tone of Pride and Prejudice lives on, as does the slow pace, however the plot driver is not the acquisition of suitable husbands but the solution of a mystery.  The action moves from the salons to the saloons and gives us a peek at nineteenth century justice.

Much of the action takes place in the dark and menacing woods of Mr. Darcy's Pemberley estate.  A body is found there, and the infamous Mr. Wickham, a sure troublemaker, seems to be responsible for the death.  Servant girls claim that there have been mysterious visitors to the woods, and a secluded cottage there, the site of the suicide of a Darcy ancestor, is now inhabited by an unwed mother and her terminally ill brother.

Clues are scattered and eventually reassembled to form a satisfactory conclusion to the mystery, and we have the pleasure of following our favourite characters through an exciting interlude in their domestic humdrum.  Indeed, Misters Bingley and Darcy have proved to be satisfactory husbands, the nurseries are full of the pitter-patter, and Elizabeth admits to enjoying her great wealth.  In fact, we feel considerable sympathy for these families so burdened by their great estates that they must spend their lives looking after their inheritances and their servants, giving traditional balls and fulfilling expectations.  Noblesse Oblige!