ANNABEL KROUT STANDS in the Golden Gallery of St. Paul’s, helping Lucy Woodrow to look over the balcony, and see the bird’s-eye view of the capital, spread before them without the obstruction of the railings. Yet, athough it is free of fog, the sky is still liberally smeared with dirty smudges of smoke, seeping from countless chimneys. Only the metropolitan churches are quite visible, however, dozens of steeples and towers pointing to the heavens whilst, in the distance, the royal parks resemble faint green islands, set in a swirling sea of dust. The smoke is worst along the river, the product of the factories that line the southern bank of the Thames, generating a thick haze, like dirty muslin, draped over the entire Surrey shore. In some parts it is difficult to make out where the city ends and the heavens begin.
Lucy Woodrow leans forward, peering down at the minute carts, cabs and omnibuses streaming along Ludgate Hill.
‘Can I go round again?’ she asks.
Annabel nods, lifts her down and lets the little girl walk round the Gallery on her own for the third time. She follows behind, keeping a watch on her young charge, not noticing the gentleman coming up the stairs.
‘Miss Krout,’ says a familiar voice.
‘Gracious! Inspector, you startled me. What on earth are you doing here?’
‘Your maid told me where to find you. I thought I would come and see how you were. I saw Mrs. Woodrow downstairs.’
‘She says she does not much like heights. I thought I would bring Lucinda up here.’
‘You can see Newgate from here, you know.’
‘I have seen it.’
‘I am sure he did not suffer. You did your best.’
‘I hope he sought forgiveness at the end. Have you heard? Did he say anything?’
‘Not a word, Miss. I’m sorry. How is the little girl?’
‘She seems well enough. You know, I blame myself, Inspector.’
‘For what?’ asks Webb.
‘If I had not persuaded her that she saw her father fighting with . . . well, things might have gone differently.’
‘It is not your fault, Miss Krout. You had everyone’s best interests at heart. There is little that we could have done.’
‘Mr. Woodrow might have been hanged, Inspector. Lord knows his faults are legion . . .’
‘You show considerable restraint in your choice of words, Miss. Still I don’t think we can hold him much longer. I can’t see the Commissioner deciding to charge him over the Eloi Chapel affair, not now; we don’t have much in the way of evidence. And, to be frank, I don’t think they want to see him in court again, if they can avoid it. The whole thing makes us look rather foolish. I’ve told Mrs. Woodrow she may expect him home in a week or two.’
‘But, don’t you see? I might have deprived Melissa of her husband, Lucy of her father.’
‘That would have been as much his doing as yours. Neither you nor the little girl could have known the truth. In any case, I gather there is some talk of emigration, a fresh start?’
‘I think there is no other hope for them, Inspector. Why, the marriage is not even legal. They must begin anew somewhere. I’ve asked my father if he might help.’
‘Is, ah, Lucinda not with you?’ asks Webb.
‘Oh, now where has she got to?’
Lucinda Woodrow looks back to see her cousin engaged in conversation. Peering through the railings of the balcony, she takes a moment to look down at the granite walls of Newgate Prison, and the block-like buildings within.
‘Lucinda!’ calls Annabel Krout. ‘Come back now.’
Lucinda Woodrow grudgingly walks back towards Annabel Krout and Webb. The latter kneels down in front of her.
‘Your father may be home soon, Miss,’ says Webb.
Lucinda Woodrow frowns.
Lee Jackson
‘It is some months since Miss Ellen Warwick last graced the London stage as “The Brick Lane Butterfly” but this has not lessened the sensation generated by the brutal manner of her death . . .’
In the darkness, a solitary figure stands upon the parapet of Blackfriars Bridge, reflecting on the violent scene she has just witnessed. Natalie Meadows jumps into the swift, silt waters of the Thames. But the river gives her up again to be rescued by a lone boatman. Natalie was once Ellen Warwick’s friend. Now she knows that she alone can discover who killed her.
But Ellen kept secrets. The more Natalie uncovers, the less she recognises the strange world Ellen inhabited. The greater the danger that she, too, will become a target for an elusive and dangerously active killer.
Peopled with a cast of characters that Dickens would have relished and portraying the dark side of Victorian London with consummate skill, London Dust is a staggeringly assured and compelling debut.
‘Full of power and substance, London Dust is an assured debut . . . a compelling and evocative novel that brings the past, and its dead, to life again’
Guardian
Lee Jackson
The last train of the night pulls into the gas-lit platform of Baker Street underground station. A young woman is found strangled, her body abandoned in a second-class carriage.
The brutal ‘Railway Murder’ brings Inspector Decimus Webb to the newly-formed Metropolitan Line one bleak winter’s night. His investigation leads him through the slums of Victorian London to the Holborn Refuge, a home for ‘fallen women’, and to Clara White, a respectable servant. As her past is revealed, Inspector Webb must decide whether she is merely a victim of circumstances, or prime suspect. Only then can he unearth a dark secret, hidden in the depths of underground London.
Lee Jackson’s second novel brilliantly recreates the sights, sounds and smells of Victorian London, taking readers on a suspense-filled journey through its criminal underworld.
‘Once again Mr. Jackson has succeeded in creating the atmosphere of 19th-century London’
Sunday Telegraph
‘[Lee Jackson] demonstrates quite brilliantly what the genre can do. This is a rare and succulent piece of work.’
Literary Review
Olen Steinhauer
It is 1948; three years after the Soviets liberated a tiny nation from German occupation. But the ideals of the revolution have dissipated – the Red Army stills patrols the rubble-strewn streets of the Capital; everyone is careful to address one another as Comrade. Lawlessness and corruption are the rules of the City.
The young homicide inspector Emil Brod, fresh from the police academy, is unprepared for the instant hatred his colleagues appear to have towards him. It seems they believe he is a spy. When the wealthy state songwriter, Janos Crowder, is found murdered, the case is, surprisingly, assigned to Emil. It’s not long before Emil discovers threads that link Crowder’s death to the very highest levels of the Party.
Emil’s investigations threaten to lead him into more and more danger. And Lena, Crowder’s beautiful widow, complicates matters further. But Emil’s choice is simple – between the truth and that of his and Lena’s safety.
‘Bleak and uncompromising, this powerful novel grips from beginning to end’
Sunday Telegraph
Olen Steinhauer
Eastern-bloc Europe, 1956. Ferenc Kolyeszar, homicide detective, is finding his life increasingly frustrating. His career as a published author appears to be at a standstill, his job is acquiring a political dimension that is making him uncomfortable, and his wife is cheating on him with a colleague.
Then the celebrated painter Antonín Kullmann is found dead, his arms and legs shattered, his body set on fire. It’s an exceptionally brutal murder and, as an artist himself, Ferenc becomes obsessed with solving the case. Peeling away the layers of deception and duplicity that surround the case, Ference discovers a secret – a secret with devastating repercussions, particularly in this politicially turbulent time.
As his country moves from a tenuous democracy into a brutal totalitarian state, Ferenc learns what it means to betray others, and what it means to be betrayed.
‘We can only marvel at the rumbling undertone of dread that Steinhauer builds around what appears to be a routine investigation of a suicide but turns out to be just the tip of a murderous political conspiracy’
New York Times Book Review
John Harvey
Fifteen years ago Susan Blacklock disappeared. Although Detective Inspector Frank Elder has taken early retirement, the case still plagues his mind. Prime suspects, Shane Donald and Alan McKeirnan, were convicted a year later of the brutal rape and murder of a young girl, and now that Shane has been granted parole, Elder feels compelled to revisit the past.
Then Shane disappears and another young girl is murdered. Elder’s involvement is now crucial. Taunted by postcards from the killer, an increasingly desperate Elder battles to keep his estranged family from being drawn into the very heart of the crime.
‘John Harvey is lights out one of the best and with this book the word is going to spread far and wide’
Michael Connelly
Order further Arrow titles from your local bookshop, or have them delivered direct to your door by Bookpost
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A Metropolitan Murder Lee Jackson | 0 09 944002 4 | £6.99 |
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London Dust Lee Jackson | 0 09 943999 9 | £6.99 |
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The Bridge of Sighs Olen Steinhauer | 0 09 945198 0 | £6.99 |
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The Confession Olen Steinhauer | 0 09 945338 X | £7.99 |
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Flesh and Blood John Harvey | 0 09 946622 8 | £6.99 |
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