The Queen’s Spy
In 2021, photojournalist Mathilde is used to living alone in her converted ambulance, so nothing prepares her for discovering she has a family and an inheritance in Norfolk. But Lutton Hall seems full of secrets from the past. While in 1584, deaf apothecary Tom is relieved to obtain work at Greenwich Palace. His ability to lip-read brings him to the attention of Elizabeth’s spymaster Walsingham, just as a Catholic plot is building to its climax.
Like a lot of dual-period novels, one plot is more successful than the other. I like the psychological truth that, traumatised by her past, Mathilde doesn’t have an instant personality transplant as soon as she finds her family. The gentle pace at which she unravels the mystery surrounding a strange artefact seems right. The sedate pace feels less appropriate for the historical strand. Conspirators reveal every detail of their plots in Tom’s presence without him having to work for the information, and it seems absurd that Walsingham would have Tom introduced to Babington’s inner circle and then expect him to watch them from a distance and not have his cover blown.
Occasionally the novel can feel repetitive: Mathilde’s dreams mirror Tom’s experiences so exactly that they don’t add anything new, and Tom wonders so many times why one lady-in-waiting is risking her reputation by seeking him out (even though he cannot communicate with her and she knows nothing about his personality) that it seems as if the author is struggling to convince herself.
Grammatical errors proliferate—the persistent use of “may” (present tense) instead of “might” (past and conditional tense); frequent confusion between “to lie” and “to lay”; and the modern horror of “was sat/stood” (rather than “sat/stood” or “was sitting/standing”). There are also practical reasons why ancestors can’t tend their descendants’ graves. A curate’s egg of a book.
