The slashing of a valuable painting at the renowned Ivory Gallery in London, followed by the murder of the proprietor's son-in-law, Robert, sets the stage for another finely tuned Allingham mystery. The proprietor's mother, 90-year-old Gabrielle Ivory, holds the key to the web of intrigue and danger that permeates the gallery. Previously published by Bantam.
Margery Louise Allingham was born in Ealing, London in 1904 to a family of writers. Her father, Herbert John Allingham, was editor of The Christian Globe and The New London Journal, while her mother wrote stories for women's magazines as Emmie Allingham. Margery's aunt, Maud Hughes, also ran a magazine. Margery earned her first fee at the age of eight, for a story printed in her aunt's magazine.
Soon after Margery's birth, the family left London for Essex. She returned to London in 1920 to attend the Regent Street Polytechnic (now the University of Westminster), and met her future husband, Philip Youngman Carter. They married in 1928. He was her collaborator and designed the cover jackets for many of her books.
Margery's breakthrough came 1929 with the publication of her second novel, The Crime at Black Dudley. The novel introduced Albert Campion, although only as a minor character. After pressure from her American publishers, Margery brought Campion back for Mystery Mile and continued to use Campion as a character throughout her career.
After a battle with breast cancer, Margery died in 1966. Her husband finished her last novel, A Cargo of Eagles at her request, and published it in 1968.
I love Golden Age mysteries, but have stalled before while trying to read the Campion books, so was keen to read this stand alone book. Published in 1940, it centres on a private art gallery, owned by the Ivory family. The elderly Mrs Gabrielle Ivory is the matriarch and, while her son, Meyrick, is away, the gallery is run by Robert Madrigal; who is married to Meyrick’s daughter, Phillida. There is also Phillida’s half sister, Frances, who feels that something is very wrong. Strange things have been happening, including a painting by the artist, David Field, slashed. There have also been a vase broken, a special catalogue burnt and a host of minor incidents that add up to make Frances uncomfortable. Add to that the fact that Robert is trying to push Frances to marry his former batman, the odious Henry Lucar, and we begin the story with a very uncomfortable feeling of dread, which is well written.
When David Field proposes a fake engagement, to help Frances out, she never imagines that it will cause anything but ill feeling with Robert Madrigal and Henry Lucar. The two men had returned from an expedition heroes, while their companion, ‘Dolly’ Godolphin was missing, presumed dead. However, when Mrs Gabrielle Ivory, the staunch Victorian, hears that someone she sees as a former servant intends to try to marry her granddaughter, she becomes involved in a family dynamic which will lead to murder…
This is a mystery full of mysterious disappearances and reappearances, intrigue, some good characters – Allingham makes full use of everyone in the household, including servants, who are so often ignored in mysteries at this time – and a little romance. I found some of the speech grating, especially that of the detective inspector, Mr Bridie; the staunch, unflappable Scotsman. Also, the parts where the elderly Mrs Gabrielle Ivory wandered (both physically and literally) as a ghostly presence throughout the book, was a little wearing. So, did this help improve my difficult relationship with this very well known Golden Age author? Slightly, yes, but I am still not completely won over. Rated 3.5 stars.
I'm a fan of the Albert Campion novels and have often revisited them, but hadn't read this standalone novel since I was a teenager. Published in 1940, it doesn't mention the war, but it is set in a London full of forebodings and rumours, so the atmosphere of the Blitz is not very distant. The story is set in and around a small art gallery and the home of the family who run it, 90-year-old matriarch Gabrielle Ivory and her descendants.
At the start of the book, there is shock when a painting in the gallery is slashed, the latest in a series of malicious tricks. Frances, Gabrielle's granddaughter, is worried about what is happening both to the business and to her family - especially when her brother-in-law, the domineering Robert, tries to force her to marry an unpleasant friend of his. Then there is a mysterious disappearance and the plot thickens.
I would have liked more of the book to be set in the gallery - there's actually less Bohemian atmosphere than I'd been hoping for. However, all the characters are interesting and I especially enjoyed the conversational style of dashing artist David, whose way of talking has hints of Campion. Gabrielle herself is a well-drawn character, too, with her once brilliant mind sliding in and out of focus. I wasn't so keen on the detective, though, a caricatured Scottish policeman whose dialect gets a bit hard to read.
Overall, I enjoyed it and found it very atmospheric, even though for me it isn't quite up there with her very best. The Kindle edition that I read has a preview chapter for one of the best Campions, Look to the Lady, at the end, which reminded me just how witty and compelling those books are. Unfortunately, the Kindle edition also has a lot of scanning errors which get very distracting, with the word "He" appearing as "lie" countless times.
I understand that older editions of the novel contain some uses of racist language, as with many detective stories from this era, but the worst of this had been removed from the edition I read.
Black Plumes is a murder mystery but does not feature Margery Allingham’s usual sleuth, Albert Campion (despite a mention of “Uncle Adolphus” that had my heart leaping with hope). So it lacks the bonus layer of interest that comes from following the development of a single character over many books and many years of his supposed life. Nevertheless, it was an absorbing mystery with many potential perps—and it fooled me, which doesn’t happen all that often!
The novel has a few annoying quirks—putting Godolphin’s nickname in quotation marks all the time, referring to Gabrielle as “old Gabrielle” as if we would forget who she was—and I am not fond of the neurotic female characters so common to writers of Allingham’s era (thinking of the ’20s and ’30s; later her characters, especially Amanda, came to appeal more to modern tastes). And there is repeated use of a word that is anathema to modern American readers especially.
In purely technical terms, the story contains some elements that feel underdeveloped, especially the art gallery, and Gabrielle’s shrewdness ends up with nowhere to go. But the characters are credible and the puzzle is absorbing, and for me, Allingham’s prose is capable and often deft. Not my favorite of her novels, but worth reading if you haven’t.
One of Allingham's best. What she does well is creat characterisation. What she does best, is deal in atmosphere. She is a wonderful ghost story writer (go find one of them if you don't believe me) and that ability to create atmosphere and tension with a few short words is found here in spades. The murder of a nervous wreck in an art gallery would not seem to provide much fodder for gothic tension and fear, however, both are found here in abundance. The willing suspension of disbelief in the reader is always a sign of a well-written book. This book must rank amongst Allingham's best. A complete and utter tour-de-force of the writer's craft, this deserves to be better known. I do more than recommend this - I DEMAND you read it!
Oh for the good old days of post-Victorian England where everyone knew their place. Upstairs and downstairs, them that has and those who don't, marriage for money, a Victorian pride in all things proper. And a whodunit involving a mysterious trip to the Orient, a servant who is above his station, a strong and cunning matriarch, polite policemen and strange goings-on in the upper crust household of an art dealer. Old Mrs Ivory is a great character who milks her old age to every advantage.
Margery Allingham is an author whose books I would love to enjoy but somehow they don't quite do it for me. I can appreciate she was a good writer and she creates some marvellous characters but somehow I just can't get to grips with her books and this one is no exception.
'Black Plumes' is a standalone novel which centres round the Ivory family and their prestigious art gallery. A spate of malicious incidents results in damage to a valuable painting but this is only the tip of the iceberg of what is going on within the family and murder is the result.
The Ivory family - still ruled by matriarch Gabrielle Ivory - has many secrets and it seems as though all of them are going to make an appearance before the murder is solved. I must admit to not liking the detective assigned to the case and this probably put me off the rest of the book. He has very annoying speech patterns and basically something of an attitude problem.
I found Philippa and Frances - the youngest members of the Ivory family a little hysterical at times as well. 'Dolly' Godolphin who finally returns as if from the dead is another character I could not take to. He is an explorer and seems to think that his ego will overcome all obstacles.
I'm sure Allingham's many fans will love this book but it wasn't one I particularly enjoyed and I don't think I would have persevered with it if I hadn't been listening to the audio book as I found it did send me to sleep!
I read this book for the first time back in 1991 and reread it last night. It is one of my all time favorites because it captures England between the wars better than anything I've ever read. Allingham can sketch characters better than most and make them memorable. I'm fascinated with how she creates the interactions between the 90+ year old, formidable, Victorian, matriarch (Gabrielle Ivory) and her modern, twenty-something granddaughter (Frances Ivory). Best line ever when the two have different opinions about appropriate decorum. "It was a little skirmish across a century." She also creates a believable love story that is such a side show to this gothic mystery. The mystery is of course good, being Margery Allingham, but it is her mastery of setting, character, and mood that allows so much more going on than the mystery.
Black Plumes was published in 1940 and the most remarkable thing about it is how freely the word nigger is thrown around. Remarkable for readers today, that is - it was commonplace in English mystery fiction of the era.
The London art collecting family at the center of the novel is very upper class, and the most pertinent thing about the murder that happens in their midst is the sordidness and disgrace of it. A curtain of shame descends over the family - murder equals scandal, and there is nothing more upsetting to the upper classes than a scandal. Acquaintances and friends avert their glances and drop you. "We're going to be the Picadilly lepers," says someone. "You get away while you're uncontaminated." The murder is so scandalous that nurses won't even come to the house to tend to a mentally ill person.
Allingham has rich descriptions. The murder victim Robert has a "coffin-shaped face" which is appropriate because he's soon stabbed and stuffed in a cupboard. Someone named Margaret Fysher-Sprigge has a "haggard parrot face." An insult is lobbed at her - "that old trout."
The servants noticed a dark-complected person around the time of the murder. The detective says, "A lurkin' blackamoor, mebbe?" At this point the n-word starts flowing.
"No nigger for miles. Not a soul in or about those two houses on the night in question saw hide or hair of a nigger except those two hysterical women," says one detective. The other responds, "When those two women say they saw a nigger walk past the kitchen window into the yar-rd chust before dusk that day I was inclined to believe them."
"Well if that's so why wasn't this blinking nigger likely to be one of the ...er...strange pairsons with a right to be there?"
"It was the nigger," exploded the housekeeper. "It was the nigger come back to murder someone else."
"You saw him. It was the nigger again."
"She thought she saw a nigger on the day of the murder, and it's turned her blinking head."
The family matriarch says, "And was he a Negro?" "The enquiry, coming from her in all seriousness, was astonishing, and they gaped at her."
"The police seem to be taking a lot of interest in a nigger some scivvy thought she saw."
The dark skinned person the servants claim to have seen turns out to be a "Hindu", an Indian. (Maybe.) When the housekeeper sees the Indian she says, "The nigger! There you are, what did I tell you? That's the nigger I saw."
One of the upper class people then opines that all Indians look alike. "Can any European remember the difference between two Indians?"
Altogether there are twelve mentions of the word.
At another point the older paramour of the wealthy daughter defends his engagement to her by saying, "the child's free, white and twenty-one."
I am tempted to give this a higher rating because I did get a considerable amount of enjoyment from reading it. However, I did figure out both the who and the how; Allingham did manage to keep me second-guessing my choice but I thought that the guilty person was pretty obvious.
The audio for this is good, the laughs felt a little false but the different voices and accents bring it alive.
I enjoy Allingham, have read this a number of times over the years and in a fit of nostalgia picked up the audio. It's a classic cosy mystery; large house, un-mourned murders and a mix of personalities to come under suspicion with building tension. Really quite delightful. The wind is a major player setting scenes and adding atmosphere from the very start and gusting in at pivotal points through the story.
Set 1940 the book shows changing attitudes, to quote 'a squirmish between centuries' Gabrielle the frail yet fiesty Ivory family matriach; a relic of the Victorian era, the post-war generation in Phillipa a figure of selfish excesses and feeble histrionics, then our heroine the youngest Ivory; Frances in her early twenties. There's emphasis on the patriarchal great return to rescue the murderous situation, but it's anti-climatic to the different strengths of the various female characters shown.
Frances is naive and looking to love, while she sometimes gets treated as a sweet child she's intelligent and you can see her growing into a self-posessed woman. Her love interest David is a likeable rogue who ultimately has to prove himself worthy of her regard.
The detective is minor character, he doesn't lead the story or visibly the investigation, though by the end it's clear he directs the play. Far from fumbling there's sharp wits behind his Scottish burr.
The Gallery is a commercial art gallery owned by the Ivory family, the head of which, Mayrick, is currently somewhere in the Far East trying to strike a deal for a desirable piece of artwork. In the meantime the establishment is being run by Meyrick's son-in-law, the odious Robert Madrigal, who seems completely under the thumb of his even more odious ex-batman, Henry Lucar.
Robert is married to Meyrick's thoroughly neurotic daughter Phillida, and is trying to pressurize Phillida's younger half-sister Frances into marrying Lucar. In a defensive move, Frances agrees with an old friend, artist David Field, that they'll become officially engaged, just as a stratagem; surely that will shut Robert and Lucar up at least until Meyrick can get home and put an end to the nonsense.
Strange, seemingly malice-inspired things have been happening at the Gallery: a unique catalogue burnt, a valuable Chinese vase shattered, and now one of David's paintings slashed. When Robert suddenly goes missing after an argument with David, it seems merely the climax of this series of minor and not so minor catastrophes.
But then Robert's murdered corpse is discovered where it has lain for a week or more in a little-used cupboard. David, as the last person known to have seen the dead man alive, is an obvious suspect, even though Frances, falling rapidly in love with him despite the nature of their agreement, is sure in her heart of hearts he must be innocent. Or is she really so sure . . .?
It's obviously time to call in Albert Campion, except that in this novel, perhaps unexpectedly, Campion doesn't feature. Instead, it's Divisional Detective Inspector Bridie who takes the reins of the investigation.
And yet the real detective, in the end, proves to be not Bridie but Gabrielle Ivory, the family's ancient matriarch, whose mind sometimes wanders and who quite obviously doesn't have long to live . . .
We see events through Frances's eyes, which means we're as mystified as she is as the events unfold. She's a pleasant companion in the adventure, an enjoyable mixture of naivety and worldliness. But the character who really stamps herself on our minds is Gabrielle, even though, with her autocratic ways and the incurable snobbery in which she has spent a lifetime steeped, she's far from an entirely likeable creature: she commands our respect, even our awe, rather than our affection.
There are other dramatis personae in the story other than the ones I've mentioned but, even so, Allingham has kept her cast of suspects fairly limited -- in effect, even though the tale is set within London, this is a country-house mystery. It's a subgenre in which she excelled (if we politely ignore 1929's The Crime at Black Dudley), and this is one of the best examples of her work in it. The solution comes totally out of left field, yet as soon as it's announced we realize all the necessary clues have been meticulously laid out for us.
There are irritations. One is that Allingham heftily overuses the narrative device of "Had Frances but known that for years to come this moment would . . ." or "Ever afterwards Frances would look back on this moment and . . ." It's a narrative device that seems rather to have fallen out of favor today (I'll now, of course, come across it ten times in each of the next three modern books I read!), and the first couple of times it turned up here I thought this neglect by storytellers was a pity. But then came overkill.
The other main irritation is, in the edition I read, the use of the n-word. Back in 1940, when Black Plumes appeared, the word didn't carry nearly the same vituperative, antisocial impact that it does today; it was slightly off-color, but that was about it. Allingham carefully allows its use only among the "common" members of her cast (Gabrielle's snobbery again!) but, even so, it rankles quite a lot, like the casual antisemitism we find in so many detective novels of the so-called Golden Age. For a while the racism seemed to me to be perhaps Allingham's own, but then right at the end she threw my own preconceptions right back in my face:
In other words, Allingham has been silently as condemnatory of the ignorant prejudice behind the word as we have been.
(The offensive language has, I gather, been removed from later editions. I'm not normally in favor of altering older books to match modern sensibilities but in this instance I think it probably helps us read the original as it was meant to be read.)
These objections aside, Black Plumes is a great minor detective novel, with rich characterization and a stunner of a denouement.
If you can't say anything nice don't say anything at all but my goodness this novel is a hot mess. I can only conclude after reading it (Thankfully only 50c from a Habitat for Humanity store) that Margery Allingham was a little bit bonkers. The police sit around and let things unfold (quite literally in one case where a plain-clothes cop sits on the stairs in the main house for no particular reason, letting Margery's characters go their merry way) which makes for a rather dull murder mystery. Two murders occur, an adventurer returns from the dead after an exotic travel experience, there's a polygamous marriage involved, the relationship between one of the potential suspects and a 20 something girl is emotionally and physically abusive and bears no resemblance to any normal romantic impulses, that I can see. "He squeezed her hand violently" to give one example.
In addition there is a ridiculous red herring in the shape of a "nigger" who later turns out to be a white man dressed as a "Hindu" Ho ho ho, here Margery attempts to quell any racist accusations by including this nugget " Working on the theory that when Mrs Sanderson said 'nigger' she might easily mean a high-caste Hindu whose ancestors were discussing theology while her own were leaping from twig to twig." Well that's all a-ok then.
I searched the net for reviews other than on Goodreads and most give this novel reasonably good reviews, reader, beware is my take!!!
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Most enjoyable Allingham I have read to date. This might be because there was no Campion in it.
Weirdly, despite thinking I hadn't read any Margery Allingham, this was really familiar. I remembered the first half, so I know I've read at least that much of it before. This is the fourth Allingham that I have borrowed thinking it was new only to discover that it was a reread. Unfortunately, I returned the others before I added them to Goodreads.
I’ve started to reread Allingham, and was disappointed in the first attempt. This is a title I had not read before and it was very satisfying. There is so clearly a clever brain at work as the plot progresses - recedes, teases, and resolves. The characters are sketched - but so skilfully that we engage and fill the gaps. I especially like Gabrielle - an astute, dominant, sometimes lucid, sometimes not, ninety year old. I also liked the backgrounded detective who nevertheless applies his intelligence without getting in the way of the character narrative.
There are some lovely turns of phrase. There are also a few errors from scanning.
"Margery Allingham stands out like a shining light. And she has another quality, not usually associated with crime stories, elegance." —Agatha Christie
There you see it said, and you there you see who said it.
This is my first foray in the novels of Allingham, I gather it is a lesser work, but that electric elegance made the rather standard drawing-room mystery a very fine & finely wrought thing.
I had never heard of this book by Allingham, but decided to give it a go. It was all a bit feverish, though I suppose a group of people thrown into a murder mystery would feel like that. I guessed who the murderer was and what the mysterious weapon was, so the elaborate denouement didn't have me on the edge of my seat.
Okay, but not as good as Allingham's later Campion books.
My first Margery Allingham will definitely not be my last! She kept me engaged in the story and guessing what the solution of the puzzle would be right to the end!
this classic doesn't doesn't hold up very well. the writing is way too florid and OMG the histrionics over a single measly murder. the whodunit would have been better served by far less. i think that's way Agatha Christie's work, from the same period, holds up much better.
Originally published on my blog here in December 1999.
Allingham's novels which are not about Albert Campion tend to have a dark and eerie atmosphere. Black Plumes is one of the best of them, and is almost totally mystifying as a detective story. The point of view from which it is written is to a large extent responsible for this, because the central character is one of the witnesses, who has almost no idea of what is going on. Allingham uses Frances Ivory to convey something of the fear and confusion which must surround becoming involved in a murder investigation, placing the story on a more human footing than is often the case with novels following the detective at work.
Frances belongs to an old London family, owners of a private art gallery and art dealers. In recent times strange things have begun to happen: a series of attacks on the gallery, strange behaviour by the head of the business, Frances' brother in law Robert Madrigal, and his encouragement of the obnoxious Henry Lucar. Then Madrigal's body is discovered, Lucar having disappeared, seemingly the obvious (and welcome) suspect.
Characteristically, Allingham populates the novel with grotesques. As well as Lucar, there is the redoubtable ancient Gabrielle Ivory, Frances' grandmother, applying the standards of a forgotten erat; Frances' invalid stepsister, Phillida; and the hearty explorer Godolphin, rescued from the Tibetan prison where he has lain for years, believed dead.
And a comment I posted on this review on re-reading the novel in April 2012:
Re-read this recently, and one word jumped out at me. The witnesses tell the police that they saw a dark skinned man running away from the scene of the crime, and at one point the policemen are discussing it and use the n-word. This is clearly appropriate, in that it would in 1940 be casually used in conversation, but to a modern reader it is jarring in a way that it was never intended to be by Allingham. This is perhaps an argument for censorship, albeit not for the usual reasons: language usage has changed sufficiently that this word effectively no longer has the meaning it did in 1940.
Golden age crime fiction is something that I have quite recently stumbled upon and possibly become a little obsessed by. I love the very particular time invoked by these novels and find it surprising and almost refreshing the way with which the gruesome murders at the core of the books are frequently treated quite lightly and occasionally light-heartedly as a means simply to provide the basis of a puzzle. Margery Allingham is an entirely different proposition to the standard ‘golden age’ crime fiction writer and not in any way what I was expecting: much less Agatha Christie and much more Evelyn Waugh. The purpose of this book is not to establish a puzzle or whodunit but is really a study of changing times and perspectives and expectations from post Victorian to just pre-war in the upper middle classes. The majority of the book focuses on the impact of a scandal on the resilience and cohesion of a ‘society’ family which happens for the period covered by the novel to centre on an unfortunate event. This is done with precision and poise and surprisingly no little humour. However, the fact that the event at the centre of this novel is “the one social sin which everyone still takes seriously” as the author puts it, is certainly not ignored; the police turn up as expected and a number of scenes do involve a detective and there is of course a scene where the main characters are called to meet in a room when the explanation is expected and the murderer revealed. But that is where the classic crime tropes end; the characters appear real, interacting and responding to each other and events portrayed in ways that feel genuine rather than two-dimensional or stereotypical as would often be the case in crime fiction from this period. So, yes I did enjoy this book, and really quite a lot, once I settled into it and got over the fact that this was not the detective/crime/mystery novel I was expecting, and it was all the better for that. Received e-book for no charge as part of the ‘Crime Classics Advance Readers Club’.
While the director of the Ivory Art Gallery has been out of the country, someone has been vanadalizing the gallery. As if that weren't enough, someone's gone and killed the acting director, Mr. Robert Madrigal, the director's son-in-law. With a long list of suspects, the police certainly have their hands full, especially when another dead body turns up.
The book seemed to drone on and on -- Allingham is very into her characters and she seems to have done them to death here. Her characterization of Phillida (the wife of the dead assistant art gallery director) as a blithering ninny had me wanting to reach into the pages and slap her. And I couldn't believe her characterization of the police inspector from Scotland was nothing but a major stereotype and cariacture. I put this book down several times, and returned to it only because I just couldn't leave it unfinished. By the time I got to the end of this one, I just didn't care. In short, it wasn't one of my Allingham favorites.
This one I would very guardedly recommend to those who are fans of Margery Allingham; it's not a Campion novel but a standalone. Maybe readers of British mystery would like it, but I didn't care for it all that much.
I have 18 of Margery Allingham's books on my bookshelf, mostly the Campion novels which I read many years ago. Discovering this one, and remembering that I enjoyed the others I had read, I purchased this audiobook to accompany me as I worked at not-so-entertaining weed pulling in the garden. I enjoyed this story very much. Not only was the mystery a good one and characters well-drawn, but the author used a technique that gave this story a thriller quality. That is, she hints at events that are to come before telling what those events are. It gave me the sense of "Oh, no, what happens?" Since I have lately been enjoying some well-written Regency Romances (by Georgette Heyer and Marion Chesney) I like the touch of a romantic story incorporated into this pre-WWII British mystery as well.
I think I will seek out other Allingham novels that I never knew about.
This is my favourite book so far in 2012. It's a nice, tense, parlour-style mystery. Set in one house in London, there are murders committed and the family must deal with a police investigation and their suspicions of each other. It moved along nicely, the characters are interesting and the story is well-written. I particularly liked the main female lead; Frances Ivory and also the Scottish Police investigator, Inspector Bridie. Very well-done. This is my second Margery Allingham and I look forward to reading more of her mysteries.