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Margery Allingham’s Albert
Campion met the not quite 18-year-old Amanda Fitton during an investigation,
when she all but proposes: “I shan’t be ready for about six years yet. But
then—well, I’d like to put you at the top of my list,” she says.
(Sweet Danger, 1933.) They become engaged during another
investigation The Fashion in Shrouds, 1938, and marry
(offstage) in Traitor’s Purse, 1941.
Unlike Lord Peter’s proposal in
Oxford and Harriet’s romantic acceptance, after about six years of courtship
and many previous proposals, Campion’s proposal and Amanda’s response are
prosaic, at best.
“‘Let’s get married early
tomorrow,’ he said… ‘I’ve only got thirty six hours leave… It’s time we got
married.’ ‘Yes,’ said Amanda, who never bothered with illusions, ‘It’s time
we got married.’” (The Fashion in Shrouds.) After this tepid
beginning, it’s hard to be interested in their marriage.
Michael Innes’s Inspector John (later Sir John) Appleby met, wooed, and
became engaged to sculptress Judith Raven in Appleby’s End, 1945.
After their marriage, she occasionally assisted with a case as in A
Private View, 1952. But we never get to know Lady Appleby very well,
and she is unconvincing as an assistant detective; indeed, in A Private
View, she acts positively idiotic.
Libraries are filled with books of the adventures of later
investigator-couples: Agatha Christie’s Tommy and Tuppence Beresford;
Dashiell Hammett’s Nick and Nora Charles; the Lockridge’s Pam and Jerry
North; Charlotte MacLeod’s Sarah Kelling and Max Bittersohn, etc. But none
of the couples, Golden Age or otherwise, captivate the imagination as do
Lord Peter and Harriet Vane. Mind you, I’d be delighted to be captivated if
someone would only create another fascinating couple.
Elizabeth George’s hero, Inspector Thomas Lynley, the eighth earl of
Asherton, is so star-crosssed in love, I despair of his ever finding
enduring happiness. In A Suitable Vengeance, 1991, published after
A Great Deliverance, 1988, but first chronologically in the lives of
her characters, Lynley is engaged to Deborah Coher, but loses her to
another. Later, after a long courtship, Lynley married his old friend Lady
Helen Clyde. But in her latest book, With No One As Witness, 2005,
George again ends Lynley’s conjugal happiness. Poor Lynley.
Meanwhile, in the truly terrible BBC television series loosely based on
George’s books there is a—dare I call it a flirtation?—developing between
Lynley and the ghastly Barbara Havers, prettied up and civilized for TV.
Indeed, rumor has it that the BBC will turn the into series a Havers-Lynley
romance. The mind boggles.
I had hopes for Adam Dalgleish.
When P. D. James introduced Dalgleish, he was a widower interested in
Deborah Riscoe, but she disappeared from the scene, and at one time, James
wrote that while her readers “take the view—to paraphrase Jane Austen—that
an unmarried detective who is in receipt of a good income is in need of a
wife,” she had “no plans at present to marry Dalgleish to anyone.” (See
www.randomhouse.com/features/pdjames for a list of James’s books)
In her last two books, James
appears to have capitulated to the desires of her readers by steering
Dalgleish towards marriage. In Death in Holy Orders, 2001, James
introduced Dr. Emma Lavenham. Dr. Lavenham “came once a term from Cambridge
to introduce the students to the literary heritage of Anglicanism” at the
small theological college where Dalgleish is investigating a death. James
describes Emma, 31, as “brilliant” and “beautiful,” but we learn
nothing concrete about either attribute, other than that she has dark hair.
Emma discovers a body, but she is
not a murder suspect, and may be in danger. Dalgleish stays with her
overnight in her room (in a chair) to protect her, since the door has no
lock. Emma is interested in him, comfortable with him, perhaps attracted to
him, but James doesn’t tell us how Dalgleish feels about Emma until they
meet after the crimes are solved. At that time, one of the priests tells
Dalgleish he should marry, and hints that Emma would make him a good wife.
Dalgleish—uncharacteristically humble—doesn’t believe anyone so young and
attractive would be interested in him, but decides to try his chances.
Dalgleish approaches Emma diffidently: “‘I would very much like to see you
again if the idea doesn’t repel you. I thought—I hoped—that we might get to
know each other.’ And then he turned to look at her and what he saw in her
face made him want to shout aloud.” (Adam? The controlled and chilly
Adam? Is this credible?) Curiously, he uses the word “repel,” just as Lord
Peter did when in Strong Poison he first approached Harriet Vane.
Emma’s reaction: “‘There’s a very
good train service between London and Cambridge, now in both directions.’
And she held out her hand.” (Another scintillating courtship.)
At
the beginning of James’s most recent work, The Murder Room, 2003,
Dalgleish thinks of Emma, and the future.
…next Saturday and Sunday were
free and nothing was going to interfere with that. He would see Emma and
the thought of her would illuminate the whole week as it now filled him with
hope. He felt as vulnerable as a boy in love for the first time and knew
that he faced the same terror; that once the word was spoken she would
reject him… he had to find the courage to risk that rejection, to accept the
monstrous presumption that Emma might love him… he would find the time, the
place, and most importantly the words which would part them or bring them
together at last.
Since Dalgleish is considering marriage, I inferred that a considerable
length of time and an extended courtship had taken place since I last saw
Dalgleish (Death in Holy Orders, 2001), especially since he uses the
term “at last.” Dalgleish is cautious, reticent, retiring, a loner; he
would not have come to this decision lightly. Perhaps years have passed?
But fourteen pages later, when Emma and her friend Clara are discussing
Dalgleish, Clara asks, “How much time have you spent together since that
first meeting? Seven dates arranged, four actually achieved… Four dates,
apart from that disorienting business when you first met. Murder is hardly
an orthodox introduction. You can’t possibly know him.”
I
was inclined to agree with Clara, but at this point in the book the romance
is put aside for the mystery and its solution. Emma is not mentioned again
until the last two pages of the book, when, at Kings Cross Station,
Dalgleish hands Emma a note proposing to her. He walks away to give her
time to read it, and after she reads it, she runs toward him. He says, “My
darling, do you need more time?”
“No more time. The answer is yes, yes, yes.”
Could there be a less informative courtship and proposal? (Even Albert
Campion’s chilling proposal is preceded by years of entanglement and
adventure.) Will Dalgleish become more interesting if he marries Emma?
Will Emma become involved in his work? Will they marry quickly after their
brief courtship? Will it last? Will we come to know her? Will we ever
learn what happened off-stage to make this unlikely pair behave so
impetuously?
In
any event, I do not think the Dalgleish-Levenham relationship will fascinate
readers. Nor do I think any other courtship/marriage in a detective/mystery
series will enthrall us as have Harriet Vane and Lord Peter Wimsey—unless,
that is, the writer pauses to analyze why their relationship is so
beguiling. Individually, each of them is a fascinating character; but their
romance also captivates because it is a fairy tale, a restatement of the
always appealing Cinderella story.
Vane, impoverished at an early
age, who earns her modest living as a writer of detective fiction, is
imprisoned and nearly convicted of murdering her former caddish lover. She
is not beautiful, and has become notorious, but nevertheless attracts a
prince charming—brilliant, accomplished, pursued by other women, and with
interests similar to her own—who saves her. But Harriet does not fall into
his arms with gratitude; far from it. She is battered and bruised; she must
not only recover from her past, but learn to trust Lord Peter, and to
overcome her feelings of inferiority. She sees him as morally, socially,
and financially her superior. She must come to believe that he will not be
ashamed of her or dominate her.
The reader watches her succumb to
Lord Peter’s patient, dependable devotion. In Gaudy Night, we are
delighted and amused by our hero’s enchantment of the Shrewsbury Senior
Common Room, and thrilled when Harriet, studying Lord Peter’s face while
they are punting on the Isis, is caught by him staring: “She was instantly
scarlet… Through the confusion of her darkened eyes and drumming ears some
enormous bulk seemed to stoop over her… he breathed as though he had been
running.”
And, “So, thought Harriet,
it has happened. But it happened long ago. The only new thing… is that now
I have got to admit it to myself. I have known it for some time.” Harriet
finally allows herself to know what we have known for some time, that she is
in love. We are not surprised when she at last accepts his proposal. We
know that their shared mutual interest in detection will help to keep their
interest in each other and our interest in them alive for years to come.
And we are grateful to Dorothy Sayers for breaking the rule and giving her
detective a lover, and a great romance. (To learn more about Sayers and her
books, see www.sayers.org.uk.)
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