“‘Blackmail, my dear – just a little simple, innocent blackmail.’”
Genial and charming Gregory Porlock has made blackmail his main source of income, and when he invites a bunch of different people to his manor for the weekend, he does this with a view to enjoying and enriching himself simultaneously. Seeking to have some little private chitchat with nearly every one of his guests on the day of their arrival, he makes it clear to them that he knows one of their secrets and that his silence will come at a certain cost, and he likes not only the prospect of incoming money but also the feeling of power he derives from his friendly proposals. However, during a parlour game with his unwilling guests, the lights suddenly go out and when they go on again, there is a third blade between Porlock’s shoulder blades – and nearly everyone in the room had good reason to stick it there.
Wicked Uncle, also known as Spotlight is the first Patricia Wentworth mystery featuring the elderly sleuth Miss Maud Silver I have ever read, and I thoroughly enjoyed it – at least, most of it – because the mystery is well-crafted and Miss Silver uses a great deal of ratiocination to get some of the points, like, for example, where to look for fingerprints, clear. What I do not understand, however, is why the police allow an old lady so much influence in their murder investigation, all the more so since she is not concerned in the murder and brought into the story via a coincidence in a department store. Maybe, it would have been advisable not to start midway in the series but with one of the first books in which her special relationship with the police might be established? It should also be added that Wentworth has a deft hand in providing her readers with the necessary information in an elegant way, far superior to the repetitiveness of Ngaio Marsh in such cases: For example not all of Porlock’s conversations with his blackmail victims are given first hand and in chronological order so that Wentworth avoids straining the reader’s patience with an accumulation of similar scenes.
There is one point, though, that marred the overall positive reading experience for me, and that was the relationship between Dorinda Brown, a plucky young lady with her heart in the right place, and her remote cousin Justin Leigh, a rather self-important snob, who addresses her as “child” and regards her with a sense of protector- and private ownership, constantly patronizing her. Having not the faintest sense of humour in a brain too full of himself, Justin is yet looked up to with undue admiration and humility by Dorinda, who even speaks to him like this, ”’You like everything to be perfect, so you would have to marry a girl who would never, never make a mistake.’”
Dorinda, where the devil are his slippers?