I’d previously read just one book by Cecil M. Wills, the Ramble House edition of Fatal Accident (1936), about which I remember nothing — though the fact that I didn’t review it might be telling. So when Galileo Publishers sent me an advance copy of Midsummer Murder (1956), I was intrigued to see how it stacked up: one (possibly) poor book does not a bad author make, and Galileo have shown some good taste in their unusual selections to date. And, well, I don’t know quite what to make of this, to be honest — Wills writes charmingly, and the enjoyable plot is communicated in easily-digested prose that flies by…but, equally, there’s a massive flaw at the core of this which can’t have passed by everyone else who’s read it…right?

We find ourselves in the cathedral town of Storminster, where a series of poison pen letters have begun making the rounds, full of the usual vague insinuations: financial skulduggery, infidelity, undeclared children…your standard, middle class Golden Age fare. Wills does good work sewing the discontent of this “initial success of the virus distilled by an unknown poison pen” as the various members of the community weave in and out of each other’s lives, some happy to discuss the claims or threats aimed at them and others living in pent-up denial. That the effect is felt, though, is undeniable:

“[A] thing like that can upset the whole tenor of life in any community. Everyone suspecting his neighbour of being the author — quite apart from the harm done by the raking up of old scandals and the rattling of skeletons in cupboards.”

It is the Reverend Selwyn Sneddicombe who first implies that he wishes to get to the bottom of the affair, and despite a hasty threat being sent his way he largely maintains his purpose — not always, it must be said, with the most godly of motives, especially when the comely Helen Battersby hoves into view. We confront the usual shock at suspecting “people we’ve known for years”, but then one of the recipients of a letter kills themself and things take a more sinister turn — especially by the halfway point, where murder is done.

The second half brings the official police into proceedings, and evinces some of the ill discipline in Wills’ writing. Up to that point the book has the delightful feel of both a superb village mystery and a late Golden Age commentary on the snobbery of and older generation and the contrasting views of their now grown-up children. One wonderful moment sees the socially hyper-conscious Mrs. Battersby declare that “the aristocracy are the backbone of the country!”, only for Helen to witheringly reply, “Then the country’s got curvature of the spine”. This is lost when it becomes at first a police procedural novel and, later, the record of a criminal trial, and I feel the book gets weaker when it loses sight of the colourful cast we spent the first half with.

Nevertheless, the formal police bring in the opportunity for some clever reasoning — the observation that closes out chapter IX, say — and a few forensic details that would absolutely not be introduced had the tone of the first half been maintained. It also throws in the pretty problem of two contradictory claims about the central murder, making the whole thing feel rather more like a J.J.Connington novel — a decidedly good thing as far as I’m concerned — even as the letters continue to flood Storminster, appearing at short notice and in surprising places…and filled with claims no doubt scurrilous which still manage to hit the mark.

What’s good about this is that the eventual reveal of the author of the letters is superb — I failed to anticipate it, possibly due to the shifting focus of the book — and the motive behind them ties in quite excellently to what has come before. It’s not detection, and it might leave a question or two unanswered, but I will remember it for a long time, and something which has that strong an effect isn’t to be discounted. What’s bad about this is that you really feel the late Golden Age loosening of expectations in the answer we’re provided, since it leaves, as far as I can tell, something fairly key unexplained — and not in a loosey-goosey ‘Well it’s up to your interpretation’ way, either, as has been done excellently elsewhere. This lack of explanation surely matters…and, so, I’m inclined to believe I’ve missed something and will go into greater detail below so that anyone else who has read this can potentially point out my error.

This curate’s egg, then, is an odd mixture of the delights it could have held — a village mystery with a priest digging into poison pen letters written in this voice is exactly the sort of book I want to read — and the many pleasures it so nearly fulfils. I would read more Wills on this evidence, and that’s more than I could say after my first encounter (honestly, I remember nothing of Fatal Accident; my apologies to Galileo if that’s in their plans). I encourage you to check this charming novel out, and here’s hoping someone can set my mind at rest about the flaw I see in it.

~

I don’t usually do this, but below, once you’ve read this book, is the difficulty I cannot explain. I’ll rot13 everything to preserve some sense of decency:

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

Gur gvzvatf qba’g jbex.

Fgevc njnl nyy gur snyfr grfgvzbal naq gur snpgf ner guvf: Ebqarl Nfuohea urnef gur fubg ng nobhg dhnegre gb gra, naq vzzrqvngryl ehaf gb gur fhzzreubhfr, gur fprar bs gur zheqre, neevivat gurer ng zbfg gjb zvahgrf yngre.

Gur cbyvpr erprvir n cubarpnyy – sebz gur xvyyre – ng n srj zvahgrf cnfg gra pynvzvat gung gurl’ir whfg urneq n thafubg – gur gvzvat bs guvf pnyy vf ybttrq ng gur fjvgpuobneq naq vf orlbaq qvfchgr. Gur zrffntr vf erynlrq gb gur cbyvpr pne ng rvtug zvahgrf cnfg gra, naq gurl trg gb gur fprar n srj zvahgrf yngre…naq eha vagb Nfuohea nf ur syrrf gur fhzzreubhfr ubyqvat gur envapbng ur cvpxrq hc.

Ohg…nyy Nfuohea qbrf vf tb vagb gur fhzzreubhfr ba gur vfynaq, frr gur qrnq obql, frr uvf jvsr’f envapbng, cvpx vg hc naq yrnir. Ubj qbrf gung gnxr uvz arneyl gjragl zvahgrf?

Nyfb, gur xvyyre fubg gur ivpgvz ng dhnegre gb gra naq ena gb gur rqtr bs gur cnex naq znqr gur cubar pnyy. Gur pnyy vf erprvirq ng (V guvax) guerr zvahgrf cnfg gra…ubj qvq vg gnxr gurz nebhaq 15 zvahgrf gb eha gb gur arneol cubar?

V gubhtug fbzrguvat pyrire jnf tbvat gb or qbar jvgu guvf, ohg V fjrne arvgure cbvag vf rire nqqerffrq. Ubjrire, Jvyyf jebgr guvf, uvf choyvfure cerfhznoyl ernq vg orsber choyvpngvba, naq Tnyvyrb zhfg unir ybbxrq vg bire orsber ercevagvat vg…fb gur zvfgnxr zhfg or zvar, evtug?