Post on 30-Jan-2023
Cherchez les Femmes:
Someone’s in the Kitchen With Charlotte: Classic
Detective Fiction, Victorian Womanhood, and the Private
Sphere in Anne Perry's Charlotte Pitt Series"
The relatively recent explosion in historical detective
fiction featuring women sleuths reflects an ongoing feminist
concern with unvoiced, marginalized women, the domestic spaces
they inhabit, and the public spaces they influence. As Gubar and
Gilbert note in No Man’s Land (1987), such genres as science
fiction and fantasy “liberate the political imagination to
consider the possible instead of the probable” (115-6), a point
that is certainly valid for historical detective fiction as well;
one of the strong points of this fiction is its firm positioning
in the realm of the imaginative probable. Anne Perry’s Charlotte
and Thomas Pitt series works particularly well in this aspect.
No impossibilities exist in these novels; Charlotte Pitt does not
step so far out of a woman’s conventional roles as to be
unbelievable, nor is she so effective at solving the mysteries
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all on her own that we find her a character impossible to
accept1.
Perry has grounded the Pitt series in late Victorian times,
and speaks in skillfully woven detective narratives of women’s
place in Victorian society and from a feminist position which
manifests in her penchant for revealing women’s lives. The series
works extremely well because the private, that is, the domestic
sphere, was both well defined and occupied by women, and Perry
both uses and subverts the ideology. Elizabeth Langland’s
Nobody’s Angels: Middle Class Women and Domestic Ideology in Victorian Culture
argues that far from being passive captives of the generally
accepted “Angel in the House” ideology, middle class women
controlled the dissemination of certain knowledges and thus
helped ensure middle class hegemony in mid-Victorian England”
(9). In Perry’s Victorian detective novels, women, rather than
being passive onlookers, cloistered literally or figuratively,
hidden away in boudoirs, or confined as “angels” to the home,
become active participants in the crime-solving process.
While Lynn Gorham contends that “Women were told that they
must remain within the domestic sphere both because their duties
2
were to be performed there and because contact with the wider
world would damage their ability to perform those duties” (4),
Langland sees women as far more active in maintaining middle
class hegemony. She contends that women served as “adjunct[s] to
a man’s commercial endeavours” and were also concerned with “the
acquisition of social and political status” (8). Whether either
of these views were true, for all Victorian women, at all times,
is, of course, debatable. How many contemporaneous Victorian
women accepted the division and how many did not is open to
question, as well. While Lynn Abrams contends, “It is only in
prescriptive literature that the bourgeois woman, who idly spent
her days exercising her creative talents, socialising with other
women and supervising the servants, can be found. In reality most
middle-class women were active both within and outside the home,”
most sources agree that as many as two-thirds of Victorian middle
and upper middle class women did not work outside the home,
leaving relatively few venues for outside involvement, other than
charity work (Ideals). To a degree, Jan Marsh disagrees with
Abrams, and her description of the activities of Victorian women
is echoed by Anne Perry in almost every book she writes:
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However, the majority of upper- and middle-class women never worked outside the home. . . . the notion of idle, unoccupied Victorian ladies is something of a myth. Women ran the house, undertaking domestic work and child care themselves, as well as supervising the servants employed to cook, clean, carry coal and run errands.
While middle class women would certainly have been occupied with
the hands on running of a household, I doubt that the women of
the gentry or aristocracy undertook much domestic work or
supervision of servants. And it is in this world that many of
Perry’s crimes take place. Although Charlotte fits Marsh’s
description perfectly, her sister Emily, who married into the
aristocracy, can be as idle as she wishes. Certainly the idea of
the private/public sphere is well enough recognized in the
literature of the time to use in discussing the many ways in
which Anne Perry uses the public/private sphere, to subvert
societal expectations in her Victorian mysteries.
Anne Perry’s women characters, Charlotte Pitt, her sister
Emily Radley (formerly Lady George Ashworth), Lady Vespasia
Cummings-Gould, and even Gracie, Charlotte’s maid, function
effectively as female “private” investigators. They employ
“women’s knowledge,” in some cases simple domestic knowledge, or
an understanding of the subtle mores of the socialscape, or an
affinity with women’s problems that Pitt lacks. Not only is it
territory within which men are not particularly knowledgeable, it
is also territory from which representatives of the public
sphere, i.e. the constabulary, are either restricted or excluded
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on two counts. For one thing they are male, and for another they
are not of an appropriate class. Although Pitt refuses to go to
the tradesmen’s entrance, as is expected, rarely does he have
access to the private rooms of the houses at which he calls.
Charlotte, Emily and Vespasia in particular, on the other hand,
do have access to the private rooms.
Perry’s privileging of the private calls attention to an
easily defined space and is easily linked to the classic
detective novel, a type of detective fiction also concerned with
the intersections of private and public space. George Grella
defines the classic detective novel as follows:
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The typical detective story presents a group of people
assembled at an isolated place -- generally an English
country house -- who discover that one of their number has
been murdered. They summon the local constabulary, who are
completely baffled; they find no clues or entirely too many,
everybody or nobody has the means, motive, and opportunity to
commit the crime, and nobody seems to be telling the truth.
To the rescue comes an eccentric, intelligent, unofficial
investigator who reviews the evidence, questions the
suspects, constructs a fabric of proof, and in a dramatic
final scene, names the culprit (5).
Grella makes two other comments important to Perry’s novels: he
defines the classic detective novel as “one of the last outposts
of the comedy of manners,” and notes that “The police [. . .] are
ordinary, bourgeois citizens who intrude into a closed,
aristocratic society” in which they are unsuccessful because they
are unable to “comprehend the complex and delicate social code.
The amateur detective, conversely, always is socially acceptable
and comprehends the code of the society he [or as the case may
be, she] investigates” (88). Substitute the enclaves of
privilege within London, and an investigator not known to be an
investigator, indeed, one whose entire success depends on being a
truly “private” investigator, and Perry’s detective novels fit
reasonably well within this definition.
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The classic detective novel thus works particularly well for
Perry’s purposes, which I take to be foregrounding women in a
role more imbued with agency than is generally recognized.
Precisely because her characters are fictional and not historical
or realistic, per se they are less constrained than actual
historical personages might be.2 Linking the conventions of the
classic detective novel with Victorian domestic ideology,
specifically that of the “separate spheres,” works to
re/envision, and effectively subvert the absent presence of women
in history.3
If the women are empowered by having knowledge that men do
not have, cannot access, and do not understand, the effect must
be to shift the paradigms of power away from the masculine, the
arena of public, and toward the feminine, the arena of the
private. In a very cogent comment, Langland notes the importance
of the “trivial world of etiquette, household management and
charitable visiting” which “reveals how effectively power may
operate when its manifestations appear insignificant and
inconsequential” (8). Certainly it is in these arenas that
Charlotte operates. Perry takes great care to not only provide
the details of dress and society more commonly found in a novel
of manners but also grounds each novel firmly in everyday life.
Her novels faithfully reflect Victorian society from the
gradations of class, the status of women, the lives of the
respectable and the unrespectable, to the social minutiae of
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calling, and the vagaries of fashion. As Langland points out, the
minutiae are what is important – calling at an inappropriate
time, or having the wrong dress would mark a woman as an
outsider; for Charlotte’s purposes, this would be fatal (32-3).
Thus, Perry not only details everyday life with a very sharp eye
for detail, but also privileges the private sphere over the
public sphere, which is present but filtered through private
eyes, so to speak. Using most of the conventions of the classic
detective fiction, which concerns itself more with the private,
i.e. places and motivations, allows Perry’s fictional characters
to behave in a credible fashion.
Charlotte Ellison marries Inspector Thomas Pitt of the
Metropolitan Police, a love match which leaves her family and
friends aghast. She very soon finds herself taking an active role
in her husband’s cases, which conveniently enough, almost always
concern murders committed in upper-class society for motives that
are frequently concerned with the private rather than the public
sphere. If Perry's detective novels are to work, after all,
Charlotte cannot be isolated from her family; the premise is that
Pitt, despite being a gamekeeper's son, has had a good education
and acquired upper-class diction, which is why, even though he
remains socially unacceptable, he is assigned to upper-crust
murders. Several highly convenient plot devices come into play:
Charlotte is neither shunned nor cast off by her horrified
family, as well might happen; her younger sister Emily, who has
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looks, brains and social cunning, carries out a successful
campaign to marry Lord George Ashworth. She becomes nearly as
avid and sharp a sleuth as Charlotte, and has the good fortune to
meet and be accepted by the iconoclastic but extremely well
connected Lady Vespasia Cummings-Gould. Being accepted in society
as a relative of Lady Ashworth and as Lady Cumming-Gould’s niece
is of enormous use to both Charlotte and Thomas, as such
acceptance allows Charlotte at least to penetrate the private.
The whole entire point of their sleuthing activities is that
Perry’s P. I .’s are taken to be something other than they are.
Charlotte misrepresents herself at various times as someone’s
young woman cousin up from the country, Emily’s single sister,
Emily’s married sister, a young woman with an interest in
military affairs, or a social reformer -- anything, that is, but
1 I am thinking her of such improbable historical romances wherein thegirl defies her whole family and marries the man (occasionally a low born squire) and not only is successful, but keeps her front teeth!Both Charlotte and Emily are, for example, constrained by their husbands, certainly to a greater degree than a contemporary woman could accept. They are both aware of who wears the pants in the family and must often employ feminine wiles or work a round their husbands. 2 This does not imply that her research or detail is inaccurate; it isnot. It is more like such series as “Murder, She Wrote” or any ongoing series. How many times can Charlotte possibly masquerade before someone recognizes her?
3. By this comment, I mean to indicate, not that women did not exist and were not important, but that the patriarchal histories tended to ignore any contribution, which was, of necessity of the domestic or indirect deployment of power.
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what she actually is, the wife of Inspector Thomas Pitt.
Charlotte must masquerade as a member of Society, in which she
no longer actually belongs, in order to penetrate the private
spaces of the upper class. As the speaker notes, when Charlotte
prepares to investigate a particularly sordid murder in Bluegate
Fields, “If she could meet the Waybournes socially, when they were
not guarding themselves against the vulgarity and intrusions of
the police, she might learn something that would be of use to
Pitt. [. . . ] there were always people who would, as a matter of
course, know of relationships that would never be discussed with
persons of the lower order, such as professional investigators”
(32).
Perry’s detectives are in many ways exemplars of classic
investigators. Perry’s women talk to people, observe their
reactions closely, pry about in suspects’ dresser drawers, listen
to private speech, countercheck their alibis against information
accumulated, and confront the suspects, often in a drawing room
or at a social occasion, thereby eventually proving the innocence
of the unjustly accused and ensnaring the guilty. By so doing,
since they generally function in a social milieu, a private
domestic sphere; they exercise power in a way approved for
Victorian women, despite the essential public nature of their
activities.
Thus, due to her own very respectable birth, Emily’s very
successful marriage, and the connections that match brought,
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Charlotte is able to deploy the separate spheres of influence,
that demarcation so beloved of Victorian culture, to not only use
her skill in a more or less approved fashion, but Perry, by
setting the crime within the domestic, within the private, within
women’s territory, and invoking the indirect genteel method of
gathering evidence, is able to subvert the historical silencing
of women by using the detective conventions to reconfigure the
spheres of power and empower the woman as detective.
Paragon Walk, Bluegate Fields, Rutland Place, Silence in Hanover Close,
Pentecost Alley, and Seven Dials are novels in which the women either
solve the crime or are responsible for carrying out social
justice. In these novels, Charlotte penetrates private spaces to
uncover the hidden domestic secrets which provide the solution to
the crime.
It is easy to see Charlotte or Emily working to good
advantage in these situations, mingling, listening, catching the
false notes, observing the slightest nuances of body language,
and eventually figuring out the motive for murder. It is quite
understandable how Charlotte’s husband could not obtain this
information. Thomas Pitt, kindly described as disheveled, his
collar awry, his coat unevenly buttoned, his coat pockets stuffed
with odds and ends, and his hair standing on end, simply cannot
be portrayed balancing a tea-cup, ears pricked for social
innuendoes. Pitt will never idle the afternoon away, consuming
scandalous goings-on along with cucumber sandwiches, whipped
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cream pastries, and tea. Nor might Pitt recognize the seemingly
trivial scraps of knowledge as significant. But if Charlotte does
not, Emily or Vespasia certainly will. And once Charlotte is
within the private domestic space, despite the elaborate rituals
involved in paying calls, she can gather the information Thomas
needs to weave a comprehensible story out of the disparate scraps
of information he has. Although Pitt does not always appreciate
her “meddling,” Charlotte is extremely valuable to him,
especially when his superiors constrain him from upsetting some
noble suspect or another and he cannot, therefore, obtain
directly the information necessary to solve a crime. Especially
in the earlier works, Charlotte must “work around” Pitt, even
though he is perfectly aware that her knowledge of social
conventions and her superior access are extremely useful. While
Pitt can function superbly in the public sphere and the
rookeries, the equivalent of Chandler’s “mean streets” and has no
qualms whatsoever about confronting either noble suspects or his
superior officers, he is often at a loss to understand women’s
behavior or upper-class social convention. What is more, Pitt has
no access to private domestic space; he is received, grudgingly,
in the antechambers of the truly private domestic space; his
interviews are in rooms that share a public/private function,
such as a hall, a morning room, or a back parlor, whereas upper-
class visitors who call at accepted social times are usually
shown into the withdrawing room or boudoir. In Silence in Hanover
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Close, for example, the footman eyes Pitt’s attire swiftly and
decides that “He [Pitt] was not library material; the morning
room was good enough for him” (165). What is more, Pitt’s
interviews with the family are usually either observed or
mediated by the head of the household; in addition, his known
public status effectively bridles the tongues of those to whom he
speaks.
The murders in Paragon Walk, complex though the plot is, are
caused by simple jealousy. Rutland Place, Bluegate Fields, and Silence in
Hanover Close all have plots in which murders are committed to
hide the social sins of incest, pederasty, and transvestism,
respectively. All of these sins are uncovered and brought to
light in the domestic sphere. Incest and pederasty, while social
“crimes,” are also public transgressions; transvestism is a
private concern, until it leads to murder most foul. But while
the private sphere may easily become the public space, the
private sins public transgressions, both the perpetrators and
their families make every effort to keep the two categories
separate. For one thing, social ruin will follow swiftly upon the
revelation of the social sins, whether these sins are criminal
acts or not; and social ruin, as Charlotte points out to Pitt, is
a fate infinitely worth than death.
Charlotte’s ability to “read” the domestic provides Thomas
with the information needed to solve the crimes. Paragon Walk is a
text in which the action takes place entirely within an area
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supposedly exempt from sordid crimes by virtue of its class
exclusivity. AI don’t know what things is coming to, [says the
reporting constable] what with General Gordon killed by that
there dervish, and now we got a rapist loose in Paragon Walk.
Shockin’ I call it [. . .]” (3). The inhabitants of Paragon
Walk, are, of course, certain that this outrage is perpetrated by
some fiendish, lower-class outsider. Pitt is called in to
investigate the rape-murder of the first victim, the virginal
Fanny Nash. As this crime is followed by a second murder, another
rape, and then a suicide, evidently committed by Hallam Calley,
Fanny’s rapist-murderer, out of remorse, it becomes more and more
apparent that far from some outside lunatic, these crimes are the
work of a resident of Paragon Walk. Charlotte and Emily soon
discover many ugly secrets, among them a Satanic cult to which
the erstwhile innocent Fanny belonged. At the root of the
murders, though, is something private; the murderess has killed
Fanny, her sister-in-law and ward, in a fit of jealousy. Jessamyn
Nash never allows anyone to profit by her discards; one of the
clues to her guilt is that she never gives her cast-off dresses
to the maid. This clue is one that it is unlikely Pitt will
uncover; even if he did, he might not realize the importance of
such a seemingly trivial piece of information. When she is
finished with Calley, she still cannot stand to let anyone else
have him. Fanny, raped by Calley, comes to Jessamyn, who stabs
her in a jealous rage. Thus the rape and murder, which seem to be
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one crime, are actually separate, and the motive is that most
personal one of jealousy. Charlotte patches the story together
from pieces of information and acute observations of Jessamyn’s
anger and possessiveness and an understanding of women which Pitt
lacks. Furthermore, Charlotte can unobtrusively penetrate the
private space in ways which Pitt cannot; as Lady Ashworth’s
sister, she is accepted into the intimacies of the Walk’s
inhabitants almost without question. Indeed, while Jessamyn Nash
suspects that Charlotte is a social climber, attempting to gate-
crash an exclusive enclave, she never once suspects either that
Charlotte is investigating those very same inhabitants or that
she is a policeman’s wife. As in so many of Perry’s narratives,
all of the motives and evidence are readily available to someone
who understands both the social codes and the extent to which the
residents of Paragon Walk will go to keep their guilty secrets in
the private sphere. Pitt assumes that the rape and murder are one
crime and thus targets the men. It is Charlotte, looking for
domestic clues, with ready access to all the private space, who
realizes not only why Jessamyn stabbed Fanny but also how.
Jessamyn stabbed Fanny with a fruit knife, washed it off and put
it back. Such as item, sitting openly out next to a bowl of
fruit, part of the domestic scene, would easily be overlooked.
These are early days and early crimes, however: once Charlotte
has revealed the murderess, she is more than happy to turn her
over to Pitt.
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In Bluegate Fields, Arthur Waybourne, the adolescent son of Sir
Anstey and Lady Waybourne, is found drowned in the sewers of
Bluegate Fields, a highly unsavoury district much given to male
and female prostitution. The coroner discovers that he was
actually drowned in bath-water, which argues a private place. A
further examination reveals the first stages of syphilis. Mr.
Jerome, the curmudgeonly tutor, is accused of the murder, based
not on police work but on the allegations of two of his pupils,
the dead boy’s brother and cousin. The fathers refuse to allow
their sons to be questioned by the police, claiming invasion of
privacy. Jerome is convicted, apparently quite properly, in a
public trial, on unsubstantiated knowledge from the private
sphere. The dead boy’s family can draw a deep breath of relief;
an outsider, also accused of molesting his other pupils, is
safely convicted, and life can return to normal. Jerome refuses
to confess and vehemently denies any molestation. Eugenie, his
wife, is certain that her husband is innocent; naturally,
Charlotte becomes involved in helping her.
Charlotte does not believe Jerome is guilty and pushes Pitt
to reconsider his solution. The upper echelons of the police
force are satisfied that Jerome committed the crime and do not
wish to upset the members of the upper crust. Superintendent
Athelstan forbids Pitt to carry the investigation any further.
Thus, Pitt has reached the limits of the public sphere. Whatever
hidden knowledge exists in the inaccessible private sphere, the
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public sphere regards the matter as settled. Charlotte insists on
Jerome’s innocence, and Pitt brings the conversation to a swift
and complete halt:
“That is the end of the matter! I do not wish to
discuss the matter any further. Where is my dinner,
please? I am tired and cold, and I have had a long and
extremely unpleasant day. I wish to be served my dinner
and eat it in peace!” (Bluegate 111).
It may seem that the public sphere, represented by Thomas Pitt,
police inspector, wins out over the private, represented by a
mere wife/domestic servant, but such a reading reckons without
Charlotte’s well known persistence.
Once Charlotte decides to pursue a course of action, Pitt
often must surrender to domestic force majeure. Says Charlotte,
sitting demurely with her sewing, the picture of proper
domesticity,
“Let's imagine Jerome is innocent and he is telling the
truth! What do we know for a fact?” [ . . ] He smiled sourly
at the “we.” But there was no purpose in trying to evade
talking about it. He could see she was going to talk about it
to the bitter end. (Bluegate 145)
Pitt finally re-opens the investigation when he discovers that
one of his police inspectors has more or less invited a witness
into perjury. But he cannot unravel the mess and discover who
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murdered Arthur. It is Charlotte, visiting the Swynford’s home,
who asks Titus, the victim’s young cousin, a few questions and
discovers that he has no clear idea of sexual abuse. All his
father ever asked was whether Jerome “touched” him in any way and
Titus, without any idea of what is at stake, answers yes. It is
this private testimony that has woven a rope for Jerome’s neck
and Charlotte’s ability to infiltrate the private sphere which
leads to the solution. What is more, Lady Benita Waybourne and
Mrs. Callantha Swynford put their heads together and come up with
the actual identity of the molester/murderer, though as Callantha
says to Charlotte, “It will do you no good [. . . ] because I
do not think there is any way you will ever be able to prove it,
but I believe it was my cousin, Esmond Vanderley, who was
Arthur’s seducer.” (Bluegate, 263). Thus, despite the location of
the corpse and the public prostitutes who swore to the guilt of
the tutor, this is a very private crime, one that takes place in
the private realms of the family and the bedroom and not at a
male prostitute’s rooms in Bluegate Fields. And it is in the
private space that the truth lies; the effect of the women
solving the crime again deconstructs the importance of the public
and foregrounds the private.
The sin/crime of pederasty is solved by a convenient and
unprovable murder; Mortimer Swynforth reports that Esmond
Vanderley, his brother-in-law, has had a shooting accident. With
a hunting rifle. In London. In a drawing room. Pitt immediately
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realizes two things: Swynford has shot his brother-in-law to
preserve his social status, and Pitt will never be able to prove
it. While it is Pitt who decides to call Vanderley’s murder a
suicide in order to exact at least social retribution, it is
Charlotte who discovers the truth. Pitt can carry out some form
of justice, but without Charlotte’s ability to access private
knowledge, no solution could have been reached. In Rutland Place,
the sixth of the series, Mrs. Wilhelmina Spencer-Brown has been
poisoned, and only a Rutland Place inhabitant could possibly have
murdered her. As is typical of Grella’s comments, everyone has a
motive and an alibi, and no one is telling the truth. The truths
uncovered are both petty and significant. Mina, the murdered
woman, was a collector of other people’s petty secrets. Not all
the secrets, however, are petty. At the root of the murder of
Mina is both incest and abortion. Tormod Lagarde has not only
engaged in an incestuous relationship with his sister, Eloise,
but also forced her to have an abortion. Eloise, in turn, pushes
him off a carriage, which results in his crippling and eventual
death. Tormod had poisoned Mina to prevent her from disclosing
his relationship with his sister; social ruin would follow such a
revelation, and his plans to marry the rich widow Amaryllis
Denbigh would certainly not come to fruition. Despite Pitt’s
belief that Eloise killed Mina, Charlotte, observing the
residents and their reactions, and particularly Eloise’s, comes
to the conclusion that Tormod murdered Mina, and Eloise killed
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her brother. Charlotte, however, feels he received his just
deserts and does not turn the “murderess” over to justice. Thus
Charlotte chooses to keep private what happened in the private
sphere rather than exposing the whole sordid mess to the
attention of the public sphere. She deliberately conceals the
fact that another murder has taken place, choosing to protect
Eloise. As a “private” investigator, she can do so; the instant
she tells Pitt, the matter becomes public. Charlotte, by choosing
to remain silent, privileges private knowledge over public
revelation.
“Are you going to tell the police?” Eloise asked quietly.
“No. He killed Mina -- he would have been hanged for that
anyway. It was wrong to kill him, but it’s done now. I shall
never speak of it again” (Rutland 216)
In Rutland Place, it is the women’s voices who matter: Eloise,
pushed to the breaking point by the murder of the only child she
will ever have; Mina, poking and prying and hinting, and
Charlotte, whose voice decides what is just and what is not. Who
in either sphere has any power at all but Charlotte? “I shall
never speak of it again” is not only authoritative discourse, but
discourse defined by the private sphere. And her power, such as
it is, derives from private knowledge and not public law.
Silence in Hanover Close works on much the same model. Pitt’s
efforts to solve a three-year-old burglary/murder meet with a
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spectacular lack of success. The actual point of the
investigation, however, is to determine whether Veronica York,
the widow of the murdered Robert York, is in any way implicated,
and whether any link exists between York’s murder and sensitive
material “missing” from the Foreign Office. As her late husband
was employed in the Foreign Office, as is Julian Danvers, her
prospective second husband, what is really required is that Pitt
adroitly and quietly investigate whether or not she is guilty of
murder or adultery -- or any other improprieties. And, of course,
this is an impossible assignment: The York family is a very old
one, and the last thing they will discuss with Inspector Pitt is
whether their only son was murdered by his wife or his wife’s
lover. As it turns out, other circumstances exist which make it
certain that Pitt will receive no cooperation whatsoever; indeed,
by the last third of the novel, he has come too close to exposing
the truth and is locked up for murder. Close though Pitt comes to
the actual turn of events, he still could not have accessed the
secrets the York household will kill to maintain. As Charlotte,
discussing the case with the newly widowed Emily points out, “I
don’t know how Thomas will be able to make any inquiries. It is
hardly the thing a policeman can ask of her social
acquaintances.” Emily replies, “Of course we will find out. We
have done nothing but bake cakes and stitch seams for six months,
and I am ready to scream with it. We shall prove Veronica York’s
impeccable reputation, or ruin it entirely” (Silence 27). Neither
Charlotte nor Emily is necessarily interested in who murdered
Robert York: behind their lighthearted banter, they intend to
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investigate Veronica York privately, rather than have a public
official do so. As Charlotte points out, even if an investigation
uncovers nothing at all, society will automatically assume her
guilty of some crime, even if it is only the social crime of
having been investigated.
As the reader might expect, uncovering the truth of the York
murder is up to Charlotte and Emily. Emily, enlisting Jack Radley
in the cause, makes the division between the private and the
public perfectly clear. “No one will speak in front of the police
as they might with us, nor would the police understand the shades
of meaning if they did” (Silence 30). Jack readily agrees to
help, and he, Emily, Charlotte, and Aunt Vespasia engage in an
investigation, which before it ends, almost destroys the York
household, exposes some very raw emotions, unveils the source of
the missing information, clears Veronica of any “impropriety,”
almost results in Thomas Pitt being hanged for murder, and does
result in Emily deciding to marry Radley. Private and public
concerns are so interskeined in this plot that only private
methods of arriving at the truth have a chance of working. Pitt,
as an outsider, has no chance at all of arriving at the truth.
Charlotte, Emily and Vespasia carry out various deceptions to
eventually arrive at the very unsavory explanation for the
“murder” of Robert York. Charlotte masquerades as Miss Elisabeth
Barnaby, Jack Radley’s country cousin. Emily, since she is in
strict mourning and cannot directly engage the Yorks, decides to
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masquerade as Amelia Gibson and apply for the position of
Veronica York’s maid. Since Dulcie, Veronica’s previous maid,
talked to Pitt, a representative of the public space and was
shortly thereafter found dead on the public pavement after being
pushed from a private window, this employment is not without its
risks. Aunt Vespasia hosts the dinner which reveals the sordid
truths, and Jack, in order to stay in touch with Emily, disguises
himself as a chimney sweep. While the deceit has its humorous
side, all of the characters except for Vespasia are figures who
can penetrate the private sphere almost completely unremarked.
Who cares what is said in front of a maid? Who notices a chimney
sweep? Miss Barnaby is a welcome guest in the house, unlike
Charlotte Pitt, who were her true identity known, would be
decidedly unwelcome.
Much of Pitt’s investigation centers on “Cerise,” a mystery
woman who may have been Veronica York or a murderous spy. When
Pitt is arrested for the murder of the prostitute he thinks is
Cerise, he is imprisoned and faces trial and possible hanging. It
is obvious to Charlotte that the answers lie, not in the public
sphere but in the house in Hanover Close. With no assistance
whatsoever coming from the public sphere, Charlotte must take
action. When she goes to see him, she “lie[s] as easily as if he
had been a child instead of a man, someone to be protected and
comforted . . .”(286), just as she lies to Jemima and Daniel,
saying that their father is away on a special job rather than in
23
jail. This action also invokes the idea of the private sphere,
the woman’s duties to her children. Treating Pitt as a child in
need of comforting lies makes Pit’s helplessness very apparent;
inevitably, it increases Charlotte’s sense of agency and ability
to act independently. And of course, since she cannot act
effectively in the public sphere, she must use her understanding
of the private sphere.
Aware of time running out, she decides to provoke a reaction.
She writes notes to her suspects and ties them with a cerise
ribbon. Then, having gained access to the York’s as Miss Barnaby,
she slips away, dresses as Cerise, and confronts Garrad Danver.
That same evening, she witnesses Loretta confront Garrad and
realizes that Garrad loved “Cerise,” and that Loretta is obsessed
with Garrad. Her next move is to ask Vespasia to host a dinner
for her suspects where she plans to increase the pressure until
someone cracks. The denouement, in the most approved classical
tradition, takes place at this dinner party where the unwitting
suspects are assembled. Loretta reveals that she killed both the
prostitute and Dulcie, the maid, which still leaves Robert York’s
murder unaccounted for.
Ironically, none of the actions are concerned with an
actual spy, but all hide private sins. The elusive figure of
“Cerise” turns out to be, not a courtesan-spy, but Robert York,
who is a secret transvestite; the missing documents from the
Foreign Office are the result, not of a spy-ring, but of Loretta
24
York’s infatuation with and blackmail of Garrad Danver; Robert
York’s “murder” is unintentional -- committed by his wife when
she discovers that he is Cerise and not an intruder from outside.
Veronica York tells Charlotte, now revealed as Charlotte Pitt,
this last bit of information when they are alone. She expects
Charlotte to tell her husband:
“I suppose they will hang me.”
To her amazement, Charlotte answered immediately and without
a quiver. “I don’t see why they should.”
“Won’t you tell them?”
“No-no-I don’t think there is any point. [ . . .]. I don’t
know if its right, but I think I know how you might have
felt.”(344).
As in Rutland Place, the voice of ultimate authority is
Charlotte’s voice. Not only has she solved the crime, she has
done so without Thomas and has also decided that Veronica York
will be free to live her life out. Thomas, who has been
languishing in jail, accused of killing ACerise,” and thus unable
to function in the public at all, is released due to Charlotte’s
effort in the private. More than most of Perry’s works, this
novel emphasizes the importance of the private and the women who
occupy it, understand it and use it for their own purposes.
Charlotte can function as a private investigator not because she
has learned investigative technique from her husband but because
she has learned social rules and behavior and knows what lies
25
behind the public masks; Emily can pass as a maid because she has
watched her own lady’s maid and can adroitly use the maid’s role
to effectively investigate in the private sphere. Thus, the
private space and the women who understand it are central to the
solution. Not only do Charlotte, Emily and Vespasia privilege the
private; they also completely co-opt the public. The crime is
solved, not by the institutions whose job it is, but by Charlotte
and company. In the final scenes, in a privileging of the role of
the private, Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould calls her friends at the
Home Office and procures Pitt’s immediate release.
During the course of the Pitt’s marriage, they have bought
several homes, always improving their standard of living. The
house as the center of warmth and a refuge has grown in
importance to both Charlotte and Thomas. Charlotte spends much
time making their homes habitable, and Thomas is often described
as hastening home or feeling his heart lighten as he approaches
home; the kitchen is frequently described as holding the warmth
of the house, and the kitchen, of course, is where Charlotte is
most frequently occupied. Perry makes the importance of the
kitchen unmistakable; at one time or another Lady Emily Radley,
Lady Vespasia Cummings-Gold, Assistant Commissioner John
26
Cornwallis, and Victor Narraway, Head of Special Branch, sit in
the kitchen for tea. Using the kitchen so positively subverts the
public-private division of space. As Langland comments, kitchens
were supposed to be away from the public spaces of the house;
odors were unacceptable and cold food preferable (42). Perry’s
use of the kitchen as the heart of the home deconstructs both
this attitude and the use of space.
In The Hyde Park Headsman, Charlotte has fallen in love with
the Keppel Street house, which is in need of much work, and, at
least at first, she is somewhat less than her usual involved self
in Thomas’ case. In fact, she is much more concerned with the
state of the plaster. The description of the house, with its
French doors, garden with apple trees, lawn, and withdrawing
room indicates not only Pitt’s rise in rank but the importance of
the home. The house might be the catastrophe Emily descries,
rather than the disaster Charlotte will make into something fine,
but Charlotte is clearly more involved with the private sphere
than is usual. When Pitt is dismissed from his position, which
threatens the house and their rising status, Charlotte
investigates, going so far as to break and enter in search of
27
proof of murder. Yet again the motive for murder lies in the
private sphere. Dulcie Arledge murders her husband for the chance
of a life with her newly widowed lover. Charlotte, however, asks
Pitt whether he will regain his old position.
Pentecost Alley showcases both Charlotte’s investigative skills
and the importance of matters domestic. Even though Thomas has,
at the time, gained promotion to the Superintendency of Bow
Street, he is still not a “gentleman,” and the women’s social
knowledge remains important. Pitt has come to a dead end in
attempting to trace the torture and murder of two prostitutes. A
Hellfire Club badge, engraved with the name Finlay FitzJames is
found in the bed of Ada McKinley, a prostitute who has apparently
been tortured and murdered. This evidence indicates that
FitzJames, son of the autocratic and powerful Augustus FitzJames,
is involved in the death, but neither Pitt, nor Inspector Ewart,
who worked the earlier case, can make sense of the case, and Pitt
hits dead end after dead end. Safe in the privilege that wealth
and power bring, the FitzJames can easily fob Pitt off. He is
dismissed as a public servant, who has no chance to access any
private knowledge. Aware that he cannot access the private
28
knowledge he needs, Pitt himself considers that Charlotte could
be of great help in this case, as could Emily; these thoughts
validate the importance of the private sphere and the women who
inhabit it. As he thinks, “Had there been time, it was the type
of investigation Charlotte might have helped with, and had done
so excellently in the past. It needed subtlety and acute
observation . . . Perhaps Emily was the one to ask. She moved in
society and might hear whispers which would at least tell him in
what direction to look” (127). Quite coincidentally, Emily has
already made the acquaintance of Tallulah FitzJames and decides
to help her on both a private and a public scale: Tallulah is in
love with Jago Jones, formerly a member of The Hellfire Club, and
now a minister who cares for the extreme poor. He has no time for
flighty, pleasure-loving, wealthy Tallulah, as he has turned his
back on a life of pleasure some six or seven years before.
Moreover, she is worried that a very shrewd policeman is pursuing
her brother Finlay for the murder of a prostitute. Emily enlists
Charlotte’s aid in checking whether Tallulah’s claim that she
can alibi Finlay for the night in question could be true.
Tallulah foolishly attended a very racy party, where opium was
29
being smoked, saw her nearly insensible brother, but lied about
her whereabouts. She can not now claim to have seen Finlay, for
who would believe here? Charlotte and Emily investigate the house
and decide it is possible that Tallulah is telling the truth.
Emily has already had a fake Hellfire Club badge made; she
intends to conceal it and somehow provoke another search. In
addition, she and Tallulah meet Rose Burke, the prostitute who
provided the identification of Finlay. They lie about being
friends of Ada’s and claim the butler who ruined Ada and forced
her to the streets has committed his crime again; as a result
Rose loses her certainty about Finlay FitzJames’ presence. In
this case, Emily and Tallulah have used private knowledge and
private means to subvert public justice. Ada’s pitiful domestic
tragedy is used to gain Rose’s sympathy, and Emily and Tallulah’s
access to private means procure the substitute brooch.
Pitt, having indeed found the badge and lost his main
witness, is forced to conclude that FitzJames is innocent. Ada’s
pimp is convicted and hanged, and everyone is extremely relieved,
Pitt’s superior, John Cornwallis, going so far as to say that the
murder of a prostitute by her pimp is “in a sense – almost a
30
domestic matter” (226).
The plot thickens when Nora Gough, a second prostitute is
found murdered and tortured in the exact manner as Ada McKinley;
Pitt discovers the murderer of the second prostitute is Rose
Kelly, the woman who lost her lover to the murdered woman, but he
still has no idea why the death scenes are identical.
Emily, Tallulah and Charlotte mount their own investigation,
masquerading as prostitutes who are looking for rooms. It is in
the private domestic spaces, in the kitchens, that they finally
uncover the truth. Charlotte learns that an earlier murder
occurred, six years ago, with the same aspects of torture; her
information, privately uncovered, gives Pitt has the wherewithal
he needs to solve the case. That they do so sitting in the
kitchen chatting with brothel-keepers about the room rates still
reflects private space. It is the domestic space of the kitchen
that matters, women among women. Charlotte’s information leads to
the exposure of Inspector Ewart, who was bribed by Augustus
FitzJames to hide the incriminating evidence. In addition,
Police Surgeon Lennox’s young sister “Mary Smith” is the original
prostitute, who was tortured and strangled by Finlay FitzJames.
31
Lennox, in pursuit of private vengeance, as Ewart was in pursuit
of private success, set each murder up to imitate his sister’s
murder and implicate Finlay FitzJames, who did indeed kill
Lennox’s sister. When FitzJames is arrested and hauled off to the
public jail from the bastions of privilege, one sees, yet again,
the importance of women and women’s talk and accrued knowledge.
In the novels following Pentecost Alley, Charlotte’s role
diminishes; although the private sphere remains significant as
the importance of the political increases. In Ashforth Hall,
Charlotte assists Emily with the house party from hell, a meeting
on the Irish Question and the near collapse of the meetings
following murder; while she is helpful on the social front, she
is not investigating as she has done in earlier novel; indeed, it
is Gracie who provides the clue that solves the murder. In
Brunswick Gardens, Charlotte is only peripherally involved. Her
former brother-in-law, Dominic Corde, is one of three suspects in
the murder of Unity Bellwood, a rather unpleasant depiction of
the “New Woman.” The plot thickens when a second murder, that of
Dominic’s mentor Ramsey Parmenter follows. It is, however,
Charlotte’s private knowledge of her own infatuated and obsessive
32
feelings for Dominic and her ability to search Vita Parmenter’s
bedroom that finally results in Vita’s apprehension for murder.
Charlotte finds a broken heel in the potted palm, which explains
an evidential contradiction, and a trifling collection of
Dominic’s belongings in Vita’s bureau drawer. Her understanding
of the private sphere helps solves the murder, though we see that
she is not as central to the investigation.
In Bedford Square, again, she plays a less central part,
although both Vespasia and Gracie function in the private sphere
to solve both murder and blackmail. Blackmail, of course, is a
crime that takes private knowledge and harms the victim with
threats to make that knowledge public. Charlotte attempts to aid
her old friend General Brandon Ballantyne disprove a
blackmailer’s accusations that he showed cowardice in the face of
an enemy. Pitt is investigating who murdered the man found on the
steps of Ballantyne’s home in possession of the General’s
snuffbox. As the plot unfolds, more and more influential men
admit to the same situation. Neither Charlotte or Thomas can
discover any meaningful connection among the victims, and are not
having their usual successes, as neither can find any proof or
33
set of facts that leads to a solution.
Vespasia is trying to help her god-daughter, Theodosia,
prove that her husband, Leo Cadell, was not the blackmailer. He
committed suicide, but she cannot accept such a solution. It is
Vespasia who finds a letter at his home, among his private
correspondence and realizes that all the blackmailees are members
of a committee of the Jessup Club concerned with funding an
orphanage. General Ballantyne has raised concerns about the money
going to the orphanage; he believes that too little money is
being requested for the children’s maintenance. Pitt has checked
the orphanage, the books, etc., and can find no reason for
blackmail. In fact, the public face of the orphanage is beyond
reproach.
Pitt returns home, and in a continuing motif, goes to the
heart of the home, the kitchen. The warm space, the scrubbed
wood, the pleasant smell of drying laundry, the tea kettle
simmering, the smell of food cooking, all reveal the importance
of the intimacy of the home. Pitt reports his findings – which
reflect an orderly public face. Gracie responds “Then you was
took proper” (314). Pitt, despite his certain knowledge of the
34
horrible lives of the poverty-stricken endure in London still
cannot believe her.
“They were happy and healthy, playing.”
Gracie responds, “”Til they get placed . . . There’s good
money in that. Sell an ‘ealthy kid for quite a bit . .
‘specially if you got a reg’lar supply, like” (315).
The “kitchen” knowledge provide the solution. Sigmund Tannifer,
one of the members of the Committee, has sold the orphans into
virtual slavery. Confronting the Tannifers, Pitt says “ I’m sorry
you had to know that, Mrs. Tannifer. But the proceeds from this
trade are what has finished this beautiful house and bought the
silk gown you are wearing” When her husband says “They were not
children of people like us,” Parthenope shoots her husband,
reveals that she killed Leo Cadell, believing he was blackmailing
her husband, and then turns the pistol on herself (325). Thus,
although Pitt has indeed discovered the truth and would arrest
Tannifer, the verdict and penalty are again rendered privately.
In this novel, as in many others, the private and the
public are hard to separate. Tannifer certainly uses private
information for private gain, but his victims reflect the public
35
sphere. His wife, a denizen of the private sphere, shoots him for
using his public role to live luxuriously within the private
sphere. Although Charlotte is not an active presence, the
importance of the private sphere does not diminish, as Vespasia
and Gracie contribute their various private knowledge.
After Pitt is transferred to the Special Branch, his
position, in effect undercover, leaves much less room for
Charlotte’s participation.4 This pattern continues through the
following books. Charlotte is not involved in Half Moon Street at
all, although she is integral in The Whitechapel Conspiracy, where she
unearths Charles Voisey as the Head of the dread Inner Circle,
but peripheral at best in Southampton Row, as she is in Dartmoor
for most of the novel.
Much like Pentecost Alley, Seven Dials turns around a plot of long
secret crimes with far reaching consequences. Unlike Pentecost Alley,
however, Charlotte’s involvement is almost purely domestic, that
is to say, concerned with the private sphere. She and Gracie are
trying to find Tilda Garvie’s missing brother, valet to Stephen
Garrick, both of whom have evidently disappeared; it is not a
police matter at all, simply a matter of a sister who has not
seen her brother in three weeks and cannot get information as to
4 In The Whitechapel Conspiracy.
36
where he might be. Although Charlotte is unaware of it, her
investigation is closely tied to Pitt’s: Garrick is one of the
perpetrators of the secret crime, a religious massacre in Egypt;
in fact, his guilt has literally driven him insane. Charlotte and
Gracie cannot find Martin Garvie because both he and his master
have been committed to Bedlam. The course of her investigation
does take her to the unsalubrious slum of Seven Dials, where
Charlotte eventually persuades Reverend Sandeman to disclose the
whereabouts of Garvie.
On a parallel course, Pit is trying solve the politically
sensitive murder of Edwin Lovat, also one of the “guilty four.”
The suspects are an Egyptian national, Ayesha Zakhari and Savile
Ryerson, a British minister. Both are implicated in the murder
and Zakhari is Ryerson’s beloved mistress. Victor Narraway,
Pitt’s superior, fears that the murder is politically motivated
and may cause rebellion to flare up in Egypt, with disastrous
effects on cotton imports.
Charlotte’s investigation, which started as a matter of
tracing a servant, again provides the solution. Once Charlotte
tells Pitt that Sandeman has told her that Garrick and Garvie are
in Bedlam, the pieces fall into place, as Sandeman is one of the
guilty four. Pitt and Narraway get them out and bring them to the
Pitt’s home as a safe refuge. Stephen Garrick is a pitiable mess,
37
and it is Charlotte who cares for him. Here we see the kitchen,
again representative of the heart of the home, and Charlotte as
“the Angel in the House.” Her attitude, cradling him in her arms
as he wept during questioning is exactly what would be expected.
Pitt watches her “with a fierce pride, remembering the stiff
protected young woman she had been . . . Now her compassion made
her more beautiful than he had ever dreamed she could be” (283-
4). It is not her part in solving the crime but her compassion in
the role of nurturing woman that makes Pitt proud. As Narraway
takes Garrick to a safer place, he “turned desperately for one
last look,” and “Pitt realized it was Charlotte he clung to, not
the house” (285). Although Thomas, Charlotte and Narraway
discover what happened by questioning Sandeman, Charlotte’s role
is over. In the last two novels, she is further marginalized. As
Pitt thinks in Buckingham Palace Gardens, “Since joining Special
Branch, he could no longer tell her [Charlotte] the details of
his cases, which meant that she was unable to help in the
practical ways she used to when he dealt with simple murders.”
(168). Vespasia and Gracie increase in importance, thus
preserving the importance of women and their agencies. In Long
38
Spoon Lane and Buckingham Palace Gardens, respectively, it is Vespasia
and Gracie who function in Charlotte’s place to provide Pitt with
the knowledge he needs to solve the cases.
Thus, Perry uses the classical detective formula in
narratives which foreground the private sphere and the women who
operate in it to re/map and re/envision their sense of identity
and their sense of agency. Because the historical is rendered so
precisely and in such detail, the women sleuths become not only
engaging characters, characters with whom we can identify, but
provide a way to imagine the women of the Victorian Age as well.
Since Perry gives women interests in the public life of the time,
while foregrounding the importance of the domestic, she makes
these women realistic enough to at least make readers question
what women did in Victorian times and what kinds of power they
exercised. Charlotte Pitt, her sister Emily, Vespasia Cummings-
Gould and Gracie Phipps, all of whom are supposed to be contained
and silenced within the boundaries of the private sphere and
entirely without influence on anything happening in the public
sphere, use the knowledge of the private sphere to solve crimes;
by so doing, they privilege not only the supposedly powerless
private sphere over the powerful public sphere, but they empower
the women who deploy the public sphere in the interests of truth,
justice and the Victorian way.
39
Works Cited
Abrams, Lynn. “Ideals of Womanhood in Victorian Britain.”
http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/trail/victorian_britain/women_home/i
deals_womanhood_05.shtml Published: 2001-08-09 Accessed 10-04-09
Gilbert, Sandra M., and Susan Gubar. The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination. New Haven:Yale UP, 1979.
Gorham, Deborah. The Victorian Girl and the Feminine Ideal. Bloomington, Indiana
UP, 1982.
Grella, George. “The Formal Detective Novel,” 5. Dimensions of Detective Fiction, eds. Larry N. Landrum, Ray B. Browne and Pat Browne. (Bowling Green: Bowling Green U Popular P, 1976).
84-102
Langland, Elizabeth. Nobody’s Angels: Middle Class Women and Domestic Ideology in Victorian Culture
Marsh, Jan. “Gender Ideology and Separate Spheres.” http://www.vam.ac.uk/collections/periods_styles/19thcentury/gender_health/gender_ideology/index.html n.d. Accessed 10-04-09.
Perry, Anne. Bedford Square. New York: Ballantine, 1999.
---. Bluegate Fields. New York: Fawcett Crest, 1984.
---. Brunswick Gardens. New York: Fawcett Crest, 1998.
---. Buckingham Palace Gardens. New York: Ballantine, 2008.
---. The Hyde Park Headsman. New York: Fawcett Crest, 1994.
---. Paragon Walk. New York: Fawcett Crest, 1981.
---. Pentecost Alley. New York: Fawcett Crest, 1996.
---. Rutland Place New York: Fawcett Crest. 1983.
---. Silence in Hanover Close. New York: Fawcett Crest, 1988.
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