Mary was the daughter of a silversmith and then, the wife of one too. Her husband, Pierre Renard, is now more of a businessman than an actual smith; it's been a long time since he wielded his tools at the bench. Now he panders to the rich and influential, ingratiates himself with them to secure their business, and farms out the work to others, stamping over their mark with his own before presenting the finished product. Pierre is a man of great pretension and affectation, who considers himself a great man and worthy of much - worthy, in particular, of a perfect wife who will give him the perfect son in his own image.
But Mary was never good enough for Pierre, and eleven years as his wife has made her a ghost of herself. The girl she once was has been shrivelled to nothing under his withering gaze, impatience and high expectations - not to mention the times of actual violence. She lives in terror of him now, a fear that manifests in severe sleepwalking, to the point that the whole house must be locked at night, and all the doors within, too.
On this particular night in 1792, though, she is woken from a doze by a knock on the door. The physician, Dr Taylor, arrives with bad tidings: Pierre is dead, mugged perhaps, his possessions - especially his distinctive pocket watch - gone. Mary is left in a state of shock. So long under Pierre's thumb and shadow, his dictatorial word, she's adrift, lost even. She fears that in her sleepwalking she did something, is to blame. Her forthright and indomitable sister, Mallory, scoffs at this and had no love for Pierre - who had many enemies - but she can see Mary is sinking into a bleak depression.
In his will, Pierre left the whole business to his young apprentice, the nephew of the woman he wanted to marry but wasn't granted permission to. He left a codicil for his wife, stating that she should marry his cousin - thankfully, the cousin is dead, but with Mary's life and future held in the hands of Dr Taylor and the other men who stand as trustees, she soon feels pressure to hear the proposals of other men.
Newly returned to London, Alban Steele has come to help his ailing cousin, Jesse, with his trade. Jesse produces work for Pierre Renard, but as he weakens he needs more help. Alban arrives the same night Pierre's body is discovered, and the news reminds him of the time he saw Mary, before she was married, an image of her that has stuck with him all these years.
Also affected by the death of Pierre is Joanna, a lady's maid for a young newly-wed, Harriet Chichester, who married her for her family's wealth. The Chichesters had commissioned a set of silverware from Renard, and Joanna had also made a request of him: a locket to hold a piece of her beloved's hair. Over the following months, Joanna uncovers a secret that sheds new light on Pierre's death and puts her in a difficult position.
Watching it all from the shadows is the nightwatchman, Digby, a red-haired man who resents the rich and the life he wasn't born to, who nevertheless manages to be where he is needed and who sees much, and understands more.
Set during the reign of Mad King George (George III), The Silversmith's Wife takes place in a London stripped bare of its glamour, riches and beauty. This is a dark, minimalist, almost bleak London, the London of the tradespeople, domestic servants and others who work hard in this slippery world where death is a matter of fact and life. There's no sign of the swelling French Revolution that would have started four years before, or of life beyond the sphere of the characters of this story. You'd easily forget that there was a world beyond Bond Street or the shadows of Berkeley Square. This creates a tense, brooding atmosphere that serves the story well, giving it the sense that you're getting a glimpse into the "real" world of London in the late 18th century.
Tobin's debut novel begins with a murder but, since there was no forensic science available and even post-mortems were avoided, there is no actual investigation into the death. Digby, the watchman, is asked by a gentleman, Maynard, to keep his eyes and ears open, but Digby is under no real obligation to do anything. No one wonders very much over the death, assuming it to be a mugging turned mortally violent. Yet the lingering tension over a death unsolved remains, and is ever-present, adding an unsettling sense of unpredictability to the story. It's as if, even though everyone has pretty much forgotten the matter, the fact that there's a murderer out there - for whatever unknown reason - adds a dark sense of menace to this London. The characters don't pick up on it - for them, that kind of threat and menace is probably a fact of life. But it's enough to keep the reader reading.
Sadly, not much else about this story kept this reader reading. I do love a good historical fiction novel, but this one left me feeling distanced, even a bit alienated, and lacking in sympathy. It's a slow read and not a whole lot happens, yet it's also long. It's rich with historical detail, but such details seem like too much padding. For a debut novel, it's competent, and Tobin has much potential, but her actual writing lacked fluidity and an organic naturalness that makes for a smooth, effortless immersion in another world. Her narrative voice does a good job of feeling historical - it has a syntax and diction that echoes contemporary novels, making it feel less modern and more genuine. But it's not quite polished, hasn't yet hit its stride, and reads too sluggishly.
Combine a slow, uneventful plot with dour, unlikeable characters and a sluggish writing style, and you get a story that loses its lively promise under the weight of historical accuracy. It was an interesting story, but not a very enjoyable or captivating one. I wasn't engrossed, only mildly curious. And after the slow, heavy-footed hobble to the finish, the climax was decidedly anti-climactic, serving only to vindicate (mildly) and answer the question that got us reading in the first place: who killed Pierre and why?
My thanks to the publisher for a copy of this book.