It’s 1839, and 20-year-old Bonnie is fleeing an arranged marriage. She arrives in London in 1839, where she meets Crawford, a charming conman, who makes money tricking people in a range of schemes, among which is selling dodgy burial sites. Bonnie falls for the rakish Crawford, doing his bidding willingly. But one evening something goes horribly amiss, and Bonnie’s in trouble. To keep her safe from the authorities, Crawford sends her to a strange Gothic house, Endellion House, in Twickenham, to work as a lady’s maid for Cissie, the highly-strung daughter of Mr Moncrieff, Endellion’s sad owner. The reclusive Cissie writes love letters to herself from an imaginary lover, which she pastes into her precious scrapbook. Her father spends most of his time drawing plans for a mausoleum for his dead wife. Her death pervades the house, her bedroom perceived as a kind of shrine to her memory.
Death is a central theme of this fast-paced historical thriller. It must be remembered that Victorian England was obsessed with death. Grieving families were a huge market. Think of the new wardrobes required by the bereaved – not only widows’ weeds, but black clothing for children, black armbands. There was a wealth of other mourning paraphernalia for homes, horses and carriages, and floral tributes. And of course funeral and burial fees. All this could add up to rather hefty amounts. Add to that, the Victorian preoccupation with commemorating the dead by erecting large and elaborate cemeteries (think Kensal Green and Highgate for example). The money to be made in death was considerable.
Because Bonnie has been working with Crawford, she’s well aware of this. She suggests to Mr Moncrieff that he has ample land to build a cemetery, because ‘ground is worth more to house the dead than the living’. This becomes a project that inspires Mr Moncrieff, who as we know has long desired to provide a fitting monument to house his dead wife. And because his fortunes have been depleted, he recognises that this may bring him some income.
Then Crawford turns up at Endellion House. Bonnie is pleased to see him, but she’s also slightly perturbed about the small deceptions he foists upon her and others, because she’s grown fond of Endellion and its denizens.
By the way, Endellion House (based on the real-life Strawberry Hill House, the mansion owned by eighteenth-century writer and politician Horace Walpole) is marvellously described, a house where ceiling friezes are papier-mâché, fireplaces are made of wood rather than stone, walls are paper-thin, and thick dust grimes windows. Everything is shabby and down-at-heel. But Bonnie is pleased to be gainfully employed and safe from the authorities. Not only that, but she manages to bring Cissie out of her shell a little. Bonnie feels useful.
Now that Crawford has appeared, passing himself off as Bonnie’s brother, and, significantly, an expert in building cemeteries, the plot well and truly thickens. Mr Moncrieff welcomes him, but we know that Crawford really is the most dreadful scoundrel, full of lies, a master of manipulation. As his ulterior motives become clearer, Bonnie – at times self-deluded, at times perceptive – wrestles with her conscience, and makes some life-changing decisions.
The Burial Plot is a story of exploitation, coercive control, and repression. It’s a story about how easily people can be tricked into believing whatever tall tales are told them; and it’s a story of a young woman coming to realise how she’s been used and abused. Well-plotted, there are some very pleasing twists and turns, some predictable, some not. The characterisations are terrific, and the whole atmosphere is suitably gothic. An engrossing read.
Published by Picador, 330 pages
ISBN 978-1-5290-9095-6
RRP $34.95
