Victorian London is almost synonymous with murder thanks to the infamous Ripper murders. However, our image of such a place is often in the din and squalor of the slum boroughs, the middle and upper class districts are the preserve of Mary Poppins and A Christmas Carol in our public consciousness. Grizzly murders never happen here, don’t they?
In The Lady in the Cellar, Sinclair McKay takes readers on a guided tour of the world surrounding 4, Euston Square where the body of an elderly woman was discovered, mostly decomposed, in the coal cellar of Severin and Mary Bastendorff’s boarding house. McKay documents both the discovery and trial of the crime, but also the fallout for the suspects involved. Not only a briefing of a tangled criminal case, McKay builds a detailed history of those involved, whether recreating the journey of an idealistic country born housemaid with music hall stars in her eyes, or the challenges faced being an immigrant in the bedlam of in one of the biggest and busiest cities in the world.
Written in prose it is fairly easy read, however, around halfway where McKay more or less transcribes and paraphrases court transcripts, and pamphlets the pace does lull to a drag as descriptions give way to ‘he said, she said’. The book was at its greatest strength when McKay’s attention was given the freedom to examine the details that were not included in court or police reports. For fans of true crime that prefer their books to have a single minded focus on the crime it may feel like a detour, or tangent, to explore the tense between wives and maids, or the social hierarchy in boarding houses; but for me it provided vital context and a view in to an alien time period.
Unlike many true crime books McKay does not linger on his own theories, rather the reader is directed to the actions and circumstances of those involved in the years that followed the trial. The information is laid out for us to draw our own conclusions without dramatic suppositions. There are gaps, for which I assume is the fault of time, and the reaction of press and public who were more interested the macabre details of the body, and suggestions of sexual scandal. As such, I think it was appropriate for McKay not to throw theories around, and add to any sense of morbid exploitation of a woman’s death. Perhaps that would bother you, not to have a concrete answer but that’s never stifled interest in the Ripper case, now has it?
Yet I feel something was missing, like McKay was asked to trim his word count by several thousand words. As the book stands it’s a fantastic glimpse in to the Victorian world, and McKay’s descriptive prowess is remarkable. I would heartily recommend this to any one interested in the Victorian period as it is more than just a ‘whodunit’, and fans of historical true crime alike.
Full disclosure: I received an advanced copy through NetGalley for free in exchange a review. All opinions are my own, content of the final product may vary.
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