An Extravagant Death: A Charles Lenox Mystery

By Charles Finch

In what promises to be a breakout in Charles Finch's bestselling series, Charles Lenox travels to the New York and Newport of the dawning Gilded Age to investigate the death of a beautiful socialite.

London, 1878. With faith in Scotland Yard shattered after a damning corruption investigation, Charles Lenox's detective agency is rapidly expanding. The gentleman sleuth has all the work he can handle, two children, and an intriguing new murder case.

But when Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli offers him the opportunity to undertake a diplomatic mission for the Queen, Lenox welcomes the chance to satisfy an unfulfilled yearning: to travel to America. Arriving in New York, he begins to receive introductions into both its old Knickerbocker society and its new robber baron splendor. Then, a shock: the death of the season's most beautiful debutante, who appears to have thrown herself from a cliff. Or was it murder? Lenox’s reputation has preceded him to the States, and he is summoned to a magnificent Newport mansion to investigate the mysterious death. What ensues is a fiendish game of cat and mouse.

Witty, complex, and tender, An Extravagant Death is Charles Finch's triumphant return to the main storyline of his beloved Charles Lenox series—a devilish mystery, a social drama, and an unforgettable first trip for an Englishman coming to America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Feb 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781250767141

Charles Finch

Charles Finch is the USA Today bestselling author of the Charles Lenox mysteries, including The Vanishing Man. His first contemporary novel, The Last Enchantments, is also available from St. Martin's Press. Finch received the 2017 Nona Balakian Citation for Excellence in Reviewing from the National Book Critics Circle. His essays and criticism have appeared in the New York Times, Slate, Washington Post, and elsewhere. He lives in Los Angeles.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

It was a sunny, icy late morning in February of 1878, and a solitary figure, lost in thought, strode along one of the pale paths winding through St. James’s Park in London.

He was a lean gentleman of middling height, with a walking stick clasped behind his back. Aside from him the park was empty, its grass frozen a stiff whitish arctic green, and the ruts in its muddy pathways—made by carriages during a thaw the week before—hardened into solid relief. For a moment he paused to gaze at these random tracks where they had frozen in place, and it occurred to him that human affairs, too, could unexpectedly take decisive shape just when everything seemed to be in flux.

The person’s name was Charles Lenox, and at that moment he was probably the preeminent detective in all of England, professional or amateur. It was this fact that he had been unhappily mulling during the chilly stroll from his house in Mayfair toward his destination, which was Parliament. The buildings of Britain’s seat of government rose unobstructed before him, the splendor of their honey-colored stone lofted above the softly curving flower beds and handsome empty trees of the park.

He might have come by carriage; certainly it would have been warmer. But he had chosen to walk. He wished to have a clear head before this meeting. Much of the last two months of his life had been dedicated to a dark, violent, and unpleasant investigation, and now that investigation was at its endpoint, and it was his duty to gather its threads into his fingers.

Numerous days had passed during that period in which he saw nothing of his family—not his wife, Lady Jane, upon whose clear-eyed intelligence and unflappable good sense he relied so deeply in the general course of life, nor his older brother Edmund, and never for more than a minute or two in the evenings his two beloved daughters, Sophia and Clara.

Edmund, at least, he knew he would see shortly. For once the prospect brought him little joy.

At one o’clock exactly Lenox arrived at a small wooden door, faded and scored, a humble detail in the vast, imposing design of Parliament. This was the Members’ Entrance. Lenox had once been a Member of Parliament himself—a fling of some five years or so with politics, following which he had rededicated himself to the study of crime—and was thereby entitled to use it for the remainder of his days.

It was Canfield, one of the post’s familiar old porters, who greeted him.

Mr. Lenox! said Canfield, standing up from his stool. How do you do? Come in.

Very well, Canfield—how are you?

Cold as charity, sir. Canfield smiled good-naturedly. He was an open-faced Londoner, cheerful, tall, and strong. Though come to think of it, why must charity be cold? Still, my mother always said it on days like this. Cut right along this way, sir, please, and I’ll follow along.

Lenox looked at the porter with surprise. Oh, I know the way.

Of course, sir, but I must take you.

Canfield’s attitude was polite but definite: He would go. Lenox hesitated for a moment, then merely nodded. The porter removed a ring of keys from a drawer and used one to lock the door to the Members’ Entrance from the inside; anyone who wished to come in would have to wait in the cold, very annoyed, Lenox thought, or else go round to the public entrance. They would be put out—being a population, the Members of Parliament, who were not as a rule much habituated to inconvenience.

Canfield hooked the keys into the inside of his gray wool jacket, where they hung next to a match safe. They were careful with fire here, Lenox remembered with a quick feeling of both amusement (the recollection of Guy Fawkes might make anyone a little cautious with matches) and of—well, what? Sanctuary, perhaps. It had been an arduous new year thus far, 1878, but after these weeks of hard exertion he found himself taken in by Parliament, and it was a more powerful relief than he would have expected, the large, slow-moving, well-ordered ship of state, as unchanging as the tides, welcoming him home.

He should have known that whichever porter he’d found here would accompany him, of course. For he was at Parliament not on any humdrum business, but to see perhaps the second most important personage in Great Britain, after the Queen: her Prime Minister, Benjamin Disraeli.

With sure footsteps, Canfield led him through the complicated corridors of the building, up a stairwell, and past the bar. It always gave Lenox a queer feeling to be in these halls again, a bit like being back at school. The place very familiar, but no longer quite so intimate as it once had been.

Though Parliament was in recess, a few gentlemen sat here and there, sipping glasses of hot cream whisky and negus, some reading, others conversing in low tones. Lenox spied Lord Whiston and the two exchanged friendly nods. The barman, too, bowed slightly; one remembered a tipper.

At last they stepped into a quiet hallway with shafts of light slanting down across its stone floor from a row of mullioned windows.

Had a good Christmas, sir? Canfield asked.

Very good, Lenox replied automatically. Christmas seemed like an event from years before, though it had scarcely been six weeks. And you?

Oh, yes! Nice for the little ones. They love to decorate the tree.

How many have you now, Mr. Canfield, if I may ask?

Nine, sir.

Nine! Gracious me. A large family.

Canfield smiled faintly, as if to say that perhaps that understated the affair.

So it is, sir, he said. And busy work they make for us, too, but we’re happy. Eliza, our eldest, will be sixteen next week. Perhaps you remember her from the staff party, many years ago—though perhaps not. She would have been nine then.

Of course I remember her. Please send her my regards.

And I have heard your good news, sir. A second daughter?

Oh! Yes. From Edmund, I suppose? I thank you.

The truth was that Lenox barely knew Clara, his new daughter, at all—only as a roly-poly bundle of warm, wriggling, happy life in this wintry world. She was still shy of five months old, awaiting her first summer, full of urgent hungers and curious little cooing smiles. She was sturdy, as he had heard second children tended to be; easily made happy by sleep and milk.

He loved her, of course, but at Canfield’s comment he reflected, tiredly, that he would like to know her as well.

They came to the end of the long hallway. It was colder here, with only the calls of a few winter songbirds from the courtyard breaking the silence.

The porter knocked at the door. A smartly dressed young secretary opened it and bowed to them with military brevity. Canfield, his duty completed, bid Lenox good day.

A pleasure to see you, sir, he said.

And you. Try and stay warm at your post!

I shall certainly try, sir. Now and then the kitchen staff brings down hot irons to keep by our feet. He grinned. And a tot of rum if we’re good. Good day, sir. I hope to see you again soon.

The porter took off back down the hallway, and the young secretary—Jones, was it?—led Lenox into a spacious, well-lit room in which several desks were occupied by a dozen nearly identical young men, all similarly dressed in sober gray twill suits, all with hair smoothed brilliantly down. This seemed peculiar. Disraeli himself was a rather unkempt fellow, respectably turned out to be sure, but with tobacco in his cuffs and usually a day past needing a shave and haircut.

Lenox trailed the secretary toward an imposing arched doorway. The Prime Minister’s own office.

Oh, hell, the detective muttered to himself.

He wasn’t intimidated by the setting, but he was conscious of being at less than his sharpest. Lenox was approaching his fiftieth birthday, and though he had managed to keep moving forward on three or so hours of sleep a night for the past several weeks, he couldn’t say, as he once might have, that the effort had placed no strain upon him.

The young secretary—Smith?—knocked crisply twice. There was a pause. Lenox glanced down at a handsome demilune table sitting snug against the wall next to the door, its glossy surface covered in neat ranks of calling cards left for the Prime Minister. Presumably all of these people, thirty or so, had tried and failed to get in that day. Lenox saw the card of old Whiston from the bar, sitting between that of a Russian diplomat and a famous essayist for the Saturday weeklies.

Several of the cards had their corners folded down, indicating that their owners would wait upon Disraeli in the building. As he gazed at the calling cards with a naked curiosity that in a less tired moment he might have tried to conceal, Lenox tried to decide why he merited admission on this particular day when they hadn’t. There was a catch here. That he much he thought he could scent.

A gentleman in a well-cut black suit opened the door and greeted him. Lenox, good to see you.

Good afternoon, Elkin.

The secretary bowed and retreated, and Lord Elkin opened the door a bit farther.

He was a handsome man, with even white teeth and an imperious, impassive expression. His grandfather had made one of the nation’s great fortunes in coal and bought a title with a trifling percentage of the proceeds. Elkin himself was masterfully classless, neither too far above his roots in trade nor acceding to any condescension, a dab hand at games and an excellent dancer and shooter, part of the raucous yachting circle of the Prince of Wales. He was also Disraeli’s closest and most ruthless political confidant.

The chamber into which he led Lenox was not unlike a college library, large, hushed, and handsome. On one wall there were celestial figures painted in gold leaf on a dark blue background. A quiet fire blazed in the hearth (Fawkes!) and there were decanters of whisky, water, and various other reassuring liquids on the table between the gray armchairs and sofas. This had been Disraeli’s headquarters for years; even now, back in power, he used Downing Street less than most Prime Ministers did.

And there, at the far end of the room, he sat. He was turned in his chair so that Lenox saw him in profile, and speaking in a low voice to a third gentleman who stood a few paces back, near a window—and here Lenox realized that he had been wrong, for the gladness he felt at seeing his brother, Sir Edmund Lenox, was overwhelming, nearly physical.

Charles! said Edmund, noticing him.

Hello, Edmund. Lenox smiled. He bowed to Disraeli, who had stood and was patting his pockets for his snuffbox, looking amiable, as he always seemed to. Good afternoon, Prime Minister.

In truth there were few living men more formidable than Benjamin Disraeli. He was legendarily witty, and a famous novelist in his spare time, which gave him an air of genius that intimidated even the usually unflappable. He loved women, tolerated men. There were innumerable rumors about his affairs.

Lenox! he said. Very pleased to see you again. They had met many times, though they had never been particular friends. I wish it were under other circumstances. The whole thing is extremely regrettable. Still, I’m glad you intervened.

Lord Elkin spoke. We have been discussing with your brother how we may repay you for that.

Have you? said Lenox, who had never liked Elkin. How kind.

Disraeli picked up a fine coffee cup and gave it a single swirl. Yes, we have, he said, staring down at the drink. He looked up. Britain owes you an acknowledgment, Lenox. These have been very great exertions you’ve made.

Only my work.

Disraeli smiled and took a sip of his coffee. Perhaps I may phrase it differently in that case: We hope that you will consent now to do her one additional service. The Prime Minister paused, then sank the dagger. By leaving her shores at your earliest convenience.

Lenox paused for a moment, taking his time to reply. He made a note in his mind to have something sent to Eliza Canfield that afternoon. A few yards of damask? Lady Jane would know.

In some region of his thought this was what he had expected as he walked through the park half an hour before. Still, it stung. Having feigned an appearance of surprised contemplation for long enough, he hoped, at last he replied.

By leaving.

Disraeli nodded firmly. Yes. America, we thought. It would be the Queen’s pleasure to give you a knighthood, too, if you want it. But those are merely details to be sorted out.

CHAPTER TWO

After the meeting was over, Edmund and Charles went to find somewhere to talk.

There were more than a dozen places within the Palace of Westminster (as it was formally called, for the building remained a possession, technically, of the Queen) to eat and drink. They chose Kate’s, which was named after a beloved barmaid of the ’80s and ’90s. As far as was possible in such a well-trafficked building, it remained a secret, mostly home to a dozen or two comfortably taciturn older Members who preferred silence to badinage, and were content to let a few nods constitute their day’s exertion in the conversational arts.

After old Nupkin, the longstanding barman at Kate’s, had inquired after their health and pulled their pints of ale, the brothers made their way to a bow window nook with soft blue cushions lining its benches. Soon Nupkin came out and placed two dishes on the ancient oak table: Welsh rarebit on toast for Charles, and for Edmund a dark fragrant soup, steaming in its tureen.

Charles was starved, and Edmund must have been as well, for they both fell heavily upon the food, until, when a good two-thirds of it was tucked away, Charles finally leaned back, sighed, and took a sip of his ale.

He felt vastly better. He was glad the meeting was over.

A pot of tea and a plate of caraway biscuits arrived when they had finished, and Edmund, always tactful, at last ventured a remark. You’re determined not to accept the knighthood?

That’s correct, said Charles.

And I take it you will not leave.

Charles turned and looked at the river through the window, briefly silent. No. I don’t think I shall. I wasn’t sure what to say.

Mm.

There’s Clara to consider—Clara, Sophia, Jane.

The nine months during which Lady Jane had carried their child had been a period of continual apprehension. Being over forty, she had remained in bed for much of the last third of the term, and it had been with a sigh of relief that the doctor who attended the birth—old Sir James Marbury, a distinguished man—told Charles that mother and daughter were safe. Between the two of them, he’d said, he never felt quite easy attending a mother of Jane’s age, but now all would be well, all would be well.

Lenox had borne this trial stoically, only a bystander after all, but the constant edge of fear had wearied him. He felt it. The prospect of leaving Jane seemed alarming.

He stared at the Thames, steel colored and calm in the bitter midday light. One or two brave small craft were out upon it; virtual emptiness, by the river’s standards.

Lenox didn’t want a knighthood. It was reckoned an honor, he knew, but to be called Sir Charles for the rest of his days held no appeal for him—indeed, seemed, when he mulled it in his mind, like a positive encroachment upon his life as plain Charles Lenox.

Was there a time when he would have felt differently? Perhaps. Ambition had never driven him quite so hard as sheer curiosity did, but he hadn’t been free of it. He still wasn’t. Perhaps, in truth, there was even a trace of snobbishness in his resistance: Let the barristers at the Inns of Court be called Sir, after a lifetime of work, or the brewers of Newcastle, if it made them feel well in their hearts.

This realization of his own vanity in the matter almost inclined him (as he watched the river ripple toward its banks) to accept. But no. It was a different matter for his brother, who held his title as part of a line of baronets. On Charles the same Sir that Edmund bore with distinction would be a clumsy, distracting ornament.

America, though; that was the more difficult question.

It was hard to say how much of his brother’s thinking Sir Edmund intuited. Like Charles, he was about an inch or two above average height, but Edmund was larger through his chest and shoulders, with a dark brown beard and dark curly hair. His eyes were kind—stubbornly free of the urban acuity Charles’s had acquired, displaying, still, the ingenuity of a country gentleman who happened to find himself in a capital.

This belied his position, which was one of unexpected power. Indeed, Edmund had declined a place in Gladstone’s shadow cabinet a few months before. Charles, who had advised him to accept, was still not sure if Edmund had done it out of natural reticence, or because he was as yet enduring the state of awful grief that he had entered after the unexpected death of his wife, Molly, two years before. He still wore a black band on his arm.

I wonder if they’ve got any marmalade, said Edmund.

Charles looked at him moodily. If you never spoke you could be mistaken for someone with weighty thoughts, Edmund.

I am.

Do they mostly have to do with marmalade?

Edmund smiled, looking momentarily ten years old again. You mustn’t take it out on me that you have to become a knight and go to the colonies. I didn’t set out to break up Scotland Yard.

Nor did I.

Then you’ve had a jolly troublesome accident.

Very witty.

Edmund broke one of his biscuits in half. As if by magic, James Nupkin appeared at that instant with a small pot of marmalade; Edmund thanked him warmly and gave his younger brother a triumphant look, his epicurean instinct that the situation called for marmalade having been verified by no less an authority than the experienced barman himself.

Yet you have broken up the Yard, he said, as he spooned the bright orange chunks onto his plate. He looked up. I’ve still only heard it in bits and pieces, you know. Do you have it in you to tell me how it happened?

Of course.

The whole business had begun in January, he said, and Edmund replied, yes, Lightfoot, he knew that much. Charles nodded. Then he embarked upon his complicated tale.

Philip Lightfoot was a reputable chemist with a shop in Regent Street. One evening the prior December, after the shop’s closing, a man had appeared at the door and requested entry, complaining of dyspepsia.

The chemist had let him in to help, but the man had immediately pulled out a pistol and ordered Lightfoot’s hands in the air. He then tied the shop owner’s wrists, emptied the till, and left—though not before helping himself to a liberal assortment of liniments and compounds from behind the counter.

It was a simple crime. What the thief hadn’t known was that Lightfoot had recently joined a consortium of twelve shops around Oxford Circus that had convened to hire Lenox’s detective agency on an annual retainer. And as it had fallen out, Lenox himself had been the one to look into the matter.

He had expected that at most he might run some minor villain to ground in the thieves’ dens of Soho. In fact, piecing together eyewitness accounts of the incident, he had discovered that the thief was a police constable named Wogan. Appalled and confounded at being caught—he was built like a cart horse but outfitted with the wits of a bird—Wogan had immediately revealed to Lenox something genuinely surprising: that he had been acting under the orders of one of his superiors, a Sergeant J. Jonathan Clark.

From this relatively benign starting point (a tin of Larby’s Foot Balm was one of the most expensive of the missing items), Lenox had followed a dark and winding path toward a series of increasingly unsettling discoveries.

Their final result was declared on the front page of the very issue of the London and Brighton Star that hung at a jaunty angle on its wooden dowel by the bar here at Kate’s.

Three Chief Inspectors in Detective Branch to Be Tried

Wilde, Didion, Swett Charged for Crime Ring; Corruption

Lenox-Dallington agency responsible for findings;

Questions raised about outside involvement in police affairs

Lenox told his brother the story that had led to this headline, sparing no detail, glad to get it out to a neutral party—someone who wasn’t from his own agency or a member of Scotland Yard.

And so they were all in on it, Edmund said marvelingly, taking a sip of his tea. Three of the four chief inspectors of the Detective Branch! My gracious.

Yes. Rotten, the whole place. They had been organizing this kind of thing for more than five years. We found one from ’72, in fact. Once we started digging up unsolved robberies, it was hard to stop finding them.

And now they’re to be tried.

Yes, and barring some historic miscarriage of justice found guilty.

The press was in raptures (The defective department! shouted Punch, a humor magazine). The government was not quite so well-pleased.

That had been the subject of the day’s meeting. It was all to the good that Lenox had uncovered this corruption, as Disraeli had explained; very happy to have the Metropolitan Police begin with a fresh start, a new day; and yet, the Prime Minister had gone on, the embarrassment to several highly placed politicians and aristocrats, should Lenox choose to stay and testify in open court, before the ravenous press in their gallery, rather than providing a written testimony (a dry, thorough, unimpeachable testimony, Disraeli stressed) would be great. Ruinous, in at least a few cases. The Earl of Kestrel himself had overseen the appointment of all three men from his seat in the House of Lords, and he was at Buckingham Palace daily to exhort the Queen—his second cousin—to minimize the damage to his

Reviews for An Extravagant Death

[vesper1931 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

1878 Due to the results of a recent case Lenox is on a fact finding mission in the States. When he is invited to investigate a death in Newport, R.I. The death of socialite, 19 year old Lily Allingham.
A story showing the ostentatious flouting of the wealth of the inhabitants, and a good well-written historical mystery.
An enjoyable story with in the main, likeable characters. A good addition to the series.
An ARC was provided by the publisher via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

[dokfintong · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

There's a time warp in this story.This is a mystery not science fiction but there is a time warp or alternate Earth. February 1878 Charles Lenox is walking through icy St. James Park, London. 14 March 1878 he writes a letter from New York to his wife in London. The next day, presumably 15 March, he boards a train toward Boston but ends up going to Newport, Rhode Island where somehow it is summer. Balmy breezes along the ocean walks. Flower boxes in full bloom. Wispy dresses billowing in the aforementioned balmy breezes. Charles Lennox has appeared in 13 previous books. This is the first I have come across and, except for the extremely rapid climate change, it's not bad. A bit slow. A bit too happy to describe furniture. A bit too quick to describe people as having round faces. But the story is good. A young woman, a bit of a social climber but forgiven because she is stunningly beautiful, is murdered on the eve of her engagement to… well we aren’t sure. Several young gentlemen are claiming the honor. Several gentle families are glad their sons are off the hook. She wasn't really our type, you know. There is a lot of gossip.I prefer my mysteries to be a bit peppier. This one will not keep you distracted during a long airplane trip but it would work for a sojourn on a beach later this summer. I received a review copy of "An Extravagant Death" by Charles Finch from Minotaur through Gumshoe Review where this review originally appeared online in the April 2021 issue.

[cygnet81 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I hope it isn’t the end!

[auntie0nanuuq · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Charles has uncovered a major theft ring run by 3 top Scotland Yard CDI's... Rather than have Charles testify in person & disrupt his position as P.M., Benjamin Disraeli, sends Charles to America courtesy of the Queen.Upon arriving Charles is greeted with much pomp and is welcomed into "society", especially since his wife, Lady Jane, is well known as an English society VIP. Traveling to Boston, Lennox's train is stopped and his presence is demanded at Newport in order to solve the murder of one of society's most eligible debutants. The suspects, both of high ranking Knickerbocker heritage.As much as I enjoy this series and characters, I have to say I was disappointed in Lenox; as he allowed himself to be wounded by being careless, and that is out of character.I knew immediately who the murderer was, but the murder weapon made absolutely no sense to me.... - 1 *

[booksfordinner · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Another fun installment of the Lenox series. Interested to see how things shake out in the next book. Looking forward to any future storylines with the new head of Scotland Yard!

[emily_wai_catan · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Charles Lenox accepted the British Prime Minister’s offer to take his first voyage to the bountiful land of America in 1870s.Shortly after he had set foot on New York, Lenox was summoned to investigate the death of a charming young socialite. The adventure took him on a journey teeming with mysteries, surprises and great danger! The brilliant Charles Finch has expertly woven intricate and atmospheric plots in AN EXTRAVAGANT DEATH, an undeniable delightful yet devilish mystery.I would like to thank NetGalley and Minotaur Books for this wonderful read.

[clue_4 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

To his chagrin the newspapers in America are announcing the arrival of Charles Lennox by calling him "the best detective in the world." Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli has convinced Lennox to undertake the journey on a mission for the Queen. While Lennox is in New York, an appeal is made by a wealthy businessman to come to Newport, Rhode Island and investigate the death of a beautiful debutante who appears to have jumped from a cliff to her death. In addition to a good mystery and very good writing, we get Lennox's thoughts on the extravagance of the Golden Age, the impact of the Civil War on American society and of historical figures of the time. Near the end there is a hint to a major change for Lennox and I'm looking forward (I think) to seeing what it is!

[ladyofthelodge · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Fans of the historical mysteries about detective Charles Lenox will not be disappointed by this latest entry in the series. Charles arrives in the United States of America with the intention of learning more about detection techniques and meeting some interesting and famous people. However, soon upon his arrival, Charles is called upon to assist in solving the mystery of a young woman's death. In the process, Charles becomes involved with Newport, Rhode Island and its wealthy inhabitants. He also acquires an assistant! However, things are not as they seem, and Charles finds himself in imminent danger amidst the wealthy and powerful in Newport society.Those readers familiar with the series will enjoy the ways in which the characters have moved on with their lives, as well as this foray into American society. While some parts of the novel seemed to move slowly, the run up to the finale makes up for the slower parts of the novel. Although I read many mystery novels, this one certainly got the better of me! Many plot twists and turns will keep even the best armchair detectives puzzling this one out along with Charles Lenox. Returning to this series was like meeting up with old friends. Highly recommended.I received this novel from the publisher and from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. The opinions expressed here are entirely my own.

[brangwinn · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

You need not have read the previously written books about Charles Lenox to appreciate the story and humor in this book. He is the best detective in London, 1878, and has just solved a case in which he caught the crooked cops working for Scotland Yard. Now He’s been asked to go to America and work with law enforcement officials there on behalf of the queen. Leaving his wife, Lady Jane and their two young daughters he is sidetracked on his way to Boston because of the death of rich debutante. Itis another well-done story in the series with new characters making their appearance.

[eyes92c · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Vanderbilts, Astors, Stuyvesants! Lenox moves to American High Society!An extravagant death! An interesting title and one worth contemplating post read. I think the clue to many things, including Charles last investigation, possibly pave the way for a turn of the page for Charles Lenox’s future.It’s 1878 and Charles has been involved in a highly profiled dark investigation. Charles is now probably the most preeminent detective England.Having been requested by the Prime Minister (Disraeli) to leave the country for a period whilst the trial is underway, Lady Jane encourages him to do what he’s always planned to do—travel.Charles arrives in New York and through a set of circumstances ends up investigating the death of a young socialite, the fêted Lily Allingham, in Newport, near the famed Forty Steps along the Cliff Walk. The Cliff Walk is where the crème de la crème have their summer ‘cottages’. Charles’ impressions of the very rich in this part of the United States as contrasted to the titled but often much poorer aristocracy of England are noteworthy.The glimpses of life led by the wealthy upper crust of New York, the absolute extravagance of their lifestyles is eye opening. And we learn something more about the circles Lady Jane can move in. The food descriptions at Caroline Astor’s annual Newport Ball are staggering BTW.With the help of the very earnest and pleasant ‘Teddy Blaine’, scion of a wealthy Newport family Charles moves forward with his investigations.The resolution of Lily’s murder is somewhat of a shock, twisted and yet not, when you reflect.A St. Martin's Press ARC via NetGalley

[barbararogers-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

WOW! Talk about a book that was impossible to put down – this was definitely it. We are finally back to Lenox’s current timeline and I’m happy about that. I loved all of the books about his earlier life, but I’m happy to be back in his normal timeline now. It seems that no matter how far Charles travels, he finds himself investigating a murder – this time it is while he is visiting the United States. I believe this might be my favorite book of the series so far and I’m really looking forward to many more because I’m so excited to see where Charles’s future lies. One of the things I love best about the series is that Charles seems so very real – as does the history in the book.Charles has just wrapped up a very high-profile case that has taken down half of Scotland Yard as well as being rife with political implications. When Lenox is summoned to appear before the Prime Minister, Benjamin Disraeli, he is sure things are not going to go well for him. The Prime Minister asks Lenox to leave England – and tells him that the Queen will bestow a knighthood on him. No, Charles isn’t being banished, but it sort of feels like it. He declines the offer because he really wants to assure that the men from Scotland Yard are convicted, and his testimony should assure it. However, Disraeli keeps sweetening the pot until Lenox agrees – but adds a few terms of his own.Lenox’s tour of America has hardly begun before he is waylaid on his train and is demanded to appear in Newport to solve a murder. Charles is traveling in the name of the Queen of England and he’s incensed that someone would dare demand – for it was a demand and not a request – that he appear before them and solve a murder. He declines but is eventually convinced to at least check it out – out of curiosity if nothing else.When Lenox arrives, the body of the beautiful young woman is still lying on the beach where she was found. The police are there as is the coroner and a number of onlookers. The scene is totally trampled and the locals don’t seem to know how to investigate a murder – especially a murder among society’s elite.Charles’s investigation keeps him among the richest and most powerful people in America. One of them murdered that young woman – but there are few clues, no witnesses, and no really good motives. So, what could that lovely young woman have done to cause someone to murder her?Each lead seems to take him nowhere – and he keeps circling and circling – with no results. Until, finally, he knows the answer, but doesn’t want to believe it. It is really an exciting tale that puts Charles in danger of losing his life. Will he live long enough to see the murderer caught? Oh! My!I absolutely loved this book and could happily read it again and again. I loved seeing a young America through an Englishman’s eyes. The descriptions of Lenox’s impressions are wonderful – especially the descriptions of the hope that was so clearly on display among the upstart Americans. It just made me long for those hopeful times. I also loved the insights on the aftermath of the Civil War even twenty years later. I think the author did an outstanding job of conveying that rich sense of history and the hope of a young American nation.I also loved Charles’s career crisis thoughts – maybe it was a mid-life crisis. I will be so excited to read the next books and find out what the future holds for Charles, Lady Jane, and the rest of the recurring characters. The ONLY thing that I didn’t love was the references to how old Lenox was. The story treated him as if he were eighty rather than forty-nine – and he reinforced that. I know that fifty back then was ‘older’ than fifty today, but goodness – I can’t believe it was that different.I voluntarily read and reviewed an Advanced Reader Copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

[katebaxter_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This fourteenth book in series, is yet another brilliant addition to the Charles Lenox mysteries by talented writer, Charles Finch. The depth of Finch's historical research appearing in each story is tremendous and spot on. The books usually hold more than just one mystery, and this one was no exception. The richness of descriptive detail transports the reader to a different time and place wrapping them in a richly woven blanket of observation and sensation. The subtle clues are all there but not easily discerned, thus pulling the reader along through all the various cat and mouse moments and red herring. The energy builds up gradually over the course of the story to a striking moment and gently eases off toward a satisfying conclusion. It is a marvel how Mr. Finch weaves the delicate dance of Parliamentary politics into his story, thus bringing characters of history to life. His portrayal of Prime Minister Disraeli, the man of great intellect and political maneuvering, is nothing short of brilliant. His description of an 1878 transatlantic voyage is marvelous, (of note: an escorting pod of dolphins alongside ship). The descriptions of the various strata of the American people of late nineteenth century, whether it's of the aspiring new immigrant class, the nouveau riche or the well established scions of wealth, were rich and historically accurate in the telling - even amusing at times. Yet, beyond the usual tension and machinations of a fine mystery, Finch also brings to bear a wonderful depth in his characters. As we hear the tender ruminations of Lenox regarding his young family or observe his irritations as a detective thwarted by those in power and wealth, we appreciate the humanity of his character. We grin at the playful exchange of emotion and banter between Lenox and his brother or his wife, Lady Jane. Our hearts melt at the tender moments shared between father and precocious child #1. All in all, this was a most enjoyable read and this reader for one, eagerly awaits the next installment in this richly told tale. I am grateful to author Charles Finch and his publisher, Minotaur Books, for having provided a complimentary uncorrected digital galley of this book. Their generosity, however, has not influenced this review - the words of which are mine alone.Synopsis (from publisher's website):London, 1878. With faith in Scotland Yard shattered after a damning corruption investigation, Charles Lenox's detective agency is rapidly expanding. The gentleman sleuth has all the work he can handle, two children, and an intriguing new murder case.But when Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli offers him the opportunity to undertake a diplomatic mission for the Queen, Lenox welcomes the chance to satisfy an unfulfilled yearning: to travel to America. Arriving in New York, he begins to receive introductions into both its old Knickerbocker society and its new robber baron splendor. Then, a shock: the death of the season's most beautiful debutante, who appears to have thrown herself from a cliff. Or was it a suicide? Lenox’s reputation has preceded him to the States, and he is summoned to a magnificent Newport mansion to investigate the mysterious death. What ensues is a fiendish game of cat and mouse.Witty, complex, and tender, An Extravagant Death is Charles Finch's triumphant return to the main storyline of his beloved Charles Lenox series—a devilish mystery, a social drama, and an unforgettable first trip for an Englishman coming to America.

[kimkimkim-7 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Another solid Sir Charles Lenox mystery. I believe all the previous Lenox mysteries have been set in England, but this story unfolds in 1878 across the pond in Newport, Rhode Island. The set-up for his travels is believable if not exactly comfortable. After destroying Scotland Yard, Disraeli wants Sir Charles far away when the legal proceedings begin. What I found so interesting and engrossing was the American history lesson regarding the celebrated “Four Hundred” of high society. Finch, through Lenox’s character, exposes the Knickerbockers as well as the “nouveau rich” as being less than admirable for all their money, but he does it with dignity – a bit of an oxymoronic comparison.The descriptions of the “Newport Cottages” were spot on and if you have had the pleasure of visiting this New England city you will readily recognize the territory. If you enjoy period pieces, a solid mystery, and a bit of the history of who, how and where American “High Society” originated and flourished you will not be disappointed. I would like to thank NetGalley and Minotaur Books as I received a complimentary copy of this book. Opinions expressed in this review are completely my own.

[lindapanzo · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

After several prequels, the Charles Lenox series is back in chronological order, this time with Lenox heading off to America at the Prime Minister's request. Part of what I like best in this series is Lenox, Lady Jane Grey, and the others in 1870's London, but, even so, I enjoyed this book very much. I'd hoped to see more of 1870's America through the eyes of Lenox but, of course, this is a murder mystery so, again of course, Lenox is drawn into it. This is a solid installment in the long-running series. Highly recommended!!(I received a copy from the publisher, via Net Galley, in exchange for a fair and honest review.)

[jetangen4571 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I have not read any of the previous books in the series so I have no bias in reading this except that I geek history and this is set mainly in Newport, RI and NYC in 1878. Due to other circumstances, the very British Lenox is sent to the states without his wife and children but with astounding credentials and winds up becoming involved in a murder investigation halfway between NYC and his destination. Fortunately his assigned valet is well able to help him with the due diligence he would be unable to do quietly and that the local police are glad for his aid because the moneyed class is as intolerant of police in Newport as they are in Britain. He also has the aid of a past acquaintance as well as a new and eager one, both of whom are both moneyed and familiar with the milieu. Good sleuthing by all! I found it quite enjoyable.I requested and received a free ebook copy from St. Martin's Press/Minotaur Books via NetGalley. Thank you!