Unnatural Death

By Simon Winchester

The third story from the mistress of the Golden Age mystery to feature the brilliant Lord Peter Wimsey When a wealthy woman comes to her untimely demise, Lord Peter Wimsey dives into the case, despite his lack of evidence or suspects. Just as Wimsey is getting familiar with the case, the woman's maid becomes the next victim. With two victims and no suspects, Wimsey is at his wit's end trying to prevent the next murder from happening. As senseless crime brings a dark shadow over this beautiful Hampshire village, will Wimsey be able to solve this case in time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dreamscape Media
• Release date: Jan 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781666623451

Simon Winchester

Simon Winchester is the acclaimed author of many books, including The Professor and the Madman, The Men Who United the States, The Map That Changed the World, The Man Who Loved China, A Crack in the Edge of the World, and Krakatoa, all of which were New York Times bestsellers and appeared on numerous best and notable lists. In 2006, Winchester was made an officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) by Her Majesty the Queen. He resides in western Massachusetts.

Book preview

Part I

THE MEDICAL PROBLEM

"But how I caught it, found it, came by it,

What stuff ’tis made of, whereof it is born,

I am to learn."

Merchant of Venice

CHAPTER I

Overheard

"The death was certainly sudden, unexpected, and to me mysterious."

Letter from Dr. Paterson to the Registrar in the case of Reg. v. Pritchard

But if he thought the woman was being murdered—

My dear Charles, said the young man with the monocle, it doesn’t do for people, especially doctors, to go about ‘thinking’ things. They may get into frightful trouble. In Pritchard’s case, I consider Dr. Paterson did all he reasonably could by refusing a certificate for Mrs. Taylor and sending that uncommonly disquieting letter to the Registrar. He couldn’t help the man’s being a fool. If there had only been an inquest on Mrs. Taylor, Pritchard would probably have been frightened off and left his wife alone. After all, Paterson hadn’t a spark of real evidence. And suppose he’d been quite wrong—what a dust-up there’d have been!

All the same, urged the nondescript young man, dubiously extracting a bubbling-hot Helix Pomatia from its shell, and eyeing it nervously before putting it in his mouth, surely it’s a clear case of public duty to voice one’s suspicions.

"Of your duty—yes, said the other. By the way, it’s not a public duty to eat snails if you don’t like ’em. No, I thought you didn’t. Why wrestle with a harsh fate any longer? Waiter, take the gentleman’s snails away and bring oysters instead. .. .. . No—as I was saying, it may be part of your duty to have suspicions and invite investigation and generally raise hell for everybody, and if you’re mistaken nobody says much, beyond that you’re a smart, painstaking officer though a little over-zealous. But doctors, poor devils! are everlastingly walking a kind of social tight-rope. People don’t fancy calling in a man who’s liable to bring out accusations of murder on the smallest provocation."

Excuse me.

The thin-faced young man sitting alone at the next table had turned round eagerly.

It’s frightfully rude of me to break in, but every word you say is absolutely true, and mine is a case in point. A doctor—you can’t have any idea how dependent he is on the fancies and prejudices of his patients. They resent the most elementary precautions. If you dare to suggest a post-mortem, they’re up in arms at the idea of ‘cutting poor dear So-and-so up,’ and even if you only ask permission to investigate an obscure disease in the interests of research, they imagine you’re hinting at something unpleasant. Of course, if you let things go, and it turns out afterwards there’s been any jiggery-pokery, the coroner jumps down your throat and the newspapers make a butt of you, and, whichever way it is, you wish you’d never been born.

You speak with personal feeling, said the man with the monocle, with an agreeable air of interest.

I do, said the thin-faced man, emphatically. If I had behaved like a man of the world instead of a zealous citizen, I shouldn’t be hunting about for a new job today.

The man with the monocle glanced round the little Soho restaurant with a faint smile. The fat man on their right was unctuously entertaining two ladies of the chorus; beyond him, two elderly habitués were showing their acquaintance with the fare at the Au Bon Bourgeois by consuming a Tripes à la Mode de Caen (which they do very excellently there) and a bottle of Chablis Moutonne 1916; on the other side of the room a provincial and his wife were stupidly clamouring for a cut off the joint with lemonade for the lady and whisky and soda for the gentleman, while at the adjoining table, the handsome silver-haired proprietor, absorbed in fatiguing a salad for a family party, had for the moment no thoughts beyond the nice adjustment of the chopped herbs and garlic. The head waiter, presenting for inspection a plate of Blue River Trout, helped the monocled man and his companion and retired, leaving them in the privacy which unsophisticated people always seek in genteel tea-shops and never, never find there.

I feel, said the monocled man, exactly like Prince Florizel of Bohemia. I am confident that you, sir, have an interesting story to relate, and shall be greatly obliged if you will favour us with the recital. I perceive that you have finished your dinner, and it will therefore perhaps not be disagreeable to you to remove to this table and entertain us with your story while we eat. Pardon my Stevensonian manner—my sympathy is none the less sincere on that account.

Don’t be an ass, Peter, said the nondescript man. My friend is a much more rational person than you might suppose to hear him talk, he added, turning to the stranger, and if there’s anything you’d like to get off your chest, you may be perfectly certain it won’t go any farther.

The other smiled a little grimly.

I’ll tell you about it with pleasure if it won’t bore you. It just happens to be a case in point, that’s all.

"On my side of the argument, said the man called Peter, with triumph. Do carry on. Have something to drink. It’s a poor heart that never rejoices. And begin right at the beginning, if you will, please. I have a very trivial mind. Detail delights me. Ramifications enchant me. Distance no object. No reasonable offer refused. Charles here will say the same."

Well, said the stranger, "to begin from the very beginning, I am a medical man, particularly interested in the subject of cancer. I had hoped, as so many people do, to specialise on the subject, but there wasn’t money enough, when I’d done my exams., to allow me to settle down to research work. I had to take a country practice, but I kept in touch with the important men up here, hoping to be able to come back to it some day. I may say I have quite decent expectations from an uncle, and in the meanwhile they agreed it would be quite good for me to get some all-round experience as a GP. Keeps one from getting narrow and all that.

Consequently, when I bought a nice little practice at . . .—I’d better not mention any names, let’s call it X, down Hampshire way, a little country town of about 5,000 people—I was greatly pleased to find a cancer case on my list of patients. The old lady—

How long ago was this? interrupted Peter.

Three years ago. There wasn’t much to be done with the case. The old lady was seventy-two, and had already had one operation. She was a game old girl, though, and was making a good fight of it, with a very tough constitution to back her up. She was not, I should say, and had never been, a woman of very powerful intellect or strong character as far as her dealings with other people went, but she was extremely obstinate in certain ways and was possessed by a positive determination not to die. At this time she lived alone with her niece, a young woman of twenty-five or so. Previously to that, she had been living with another old lady, the girl’s aunt on the other side of the family, who had been her devoted friend since their school days. When this other old aunt died, the girl, who was their only living relative, threw up her job as a nurse at the Royal Free Hospital to look after the survivor—my patient—and they had come and settled down at X about a year before I took over the practice. I hope I am making myself clear.

Perfectly. Was there another nurse?

Not at that time. The patient was able to get about, visit acquaintances, do light work about the house, flowers and knitting and reading and so on, and to drive about the place—in fact, most of the things that old ladies do occupy their time with. Of course, she had her bad days of pain from time to time, but the niece’s training was quite sufficient to enable her to do all that was necessary.

What was the niece like?

Oh, a very nice, well-educated, capable girl, with a great deal more brain than her aunt. Self-reliant, cool, all that sort of thing. Quite the modern type. The sort of woman one can trust to keep her head and not forget things. Of course, after a time, the wretched growth made its appearance again, as it always does if it isn’t tackled at the very beginning, and another operation became necessary. That was when I had been in X about eight months. I took her up to London, to my own old chief, Sir Warburton Giles, and it was performed very successfully as far as the operation itself went, though it was then only too evident that a vital organ was being encroached upon, and that the end could only be a matter of time. I needn’t go into details. Everything was done that could be done. I wanted the old lady to stay in town under Sir Warburton’s eye, but she was vigorously opposed to this. She was accustomed to a country life and could not be happy except in her own home. So she went back to X, and I was able to keep her going with visits for treatment at the nearest large town, where there is an excellent hospital. She rallied amazingly after the operation and eventually was able to dismiss her nurse and go on in the old way under the care of the niece.

One moment, doctor, put in the man called Charles, you say you took her to Sir Warburton Giles and so on. I gather she was pretty well off.

Oh, yes, she was quite a wealthy woman.

Do you happen to know whether she made a will?

"No. I think I mentioned her extreme aversion to the idea of death. She had always refused to make any kind of will because it upset her to think about such things. I did once venture to speak of the subject in the most casual way I could, shortly before she underwent her operation, but the effect was to excite her very undesirably. Also she said, which was quite true, that it was quite unnecessary. ‘You, my dear,’ she said to the niece, ‘are the only kith and kin I’ve got in the world, and all I’ve got will be yours some day, whatever happens. I know I can trust you to remember my servants and my little charities.’ So, of course, I didn’t insist.

I remember, by the way—but that was a good deal later on and has nothing to do with the story—

"Please, said Peter, all the details."

Well, I remember going there one day and finding my patient not so well as I could have wished and very much agitated. The niece told me that the trouble was caused by a visit from her solicitor—a family lawyer from her home town, not our local man. He had insisted on a private interview with the old lady, at the close of which she had appeared terribly excited and angry, declaring that everyone was in a conspiracy to kill her before her time. The solicitor, before leaving, had given no explanation to the niece, but had impressed upon her that if at any time her aunt expressed a wish to see him, she was to send for him at any hour of the day or night and he would come at once.

And was he ever sent for?

No. The old lady was deeply offended with him, and almost the last bit of business she did for herself was to take her affairs out of his hands and transfer them to the local solicitor. Shortly afterwards, a third operation became necessary, and after this she gradually became more and more of an invalid. Her head began to get weak, too, and she grew incapable of understanding anything complicated, and indeed she was in too much pain to be bothered about business. The niece had a power of attorney, and took over the management of her aunt’s money entirely.

When was this?

"In April, 1925. Mind you, though she was getting a bit ‘gaga’—after all, she was getting on in years—her bodily strength was quite remarkable. I was investigating a new method of treatment and the results were extraordinarily interesting. That made it all the more annoying to me when the surprising thing happened.

I should mention that by this time we were obliged to have an outside nurse for her, as the niece could not do both the day and night duty. The first nurse came in April. She was a most charming and capable young woman—the ideal nurse. I placed absolute dependence on her. She had been specially recommended to me by Sir Warburton Giles, and though she was not then more than twenty-eight, she had the discretion and judgment of a woman twice her age. I may as well tell you at once that I became deeply attached to this lady and she to me. We are engaged, and had hoped to be married this year—if it hadn’t been for my damned conscientiousness and public spirit.

The doctor grimaced wryly at Charles, who murmured rather lamely that it was very bad luck.

"My fiancée, like myself, took a keen interest in the case—partly because it was my case and partly because she was herself greatly interested in the disease. She looks forward to being of great assistance to me in my life work if I ever get the chance to do anything at it. But that’s by the way.

"Things went on like this till September. Then, for some reason, the patient began to take one of those unaccountable dislikes that feeble-minded patients do take sometimes. She got it into her head that the nurse wanted to kill her—the same idea she’d had about the lawyer, you see—and earnestly assured her niece that she was being poisoned. No doubt she attributed her attacks of pain to this cause. Reasoning was useless—she cried out and refused to let the nurse come near her. When that happens, naturally, there’s nothing for it but to get rid of the nurse, as she can do the patient no possible good. I sent my fiancée back to town and wired to Sir Warburton’s Clinic to send me down another nurse.

"The new nurse arrived the next day. Naturally, after the other, she was a second-best as far as I was concerned, but she seemed quite up to her work and the patient made no objection. However, now I began to have trouble with the niece. Poor girl, all this long-drawn-out business was getting on her nerves, I suppose. She took it into her head that her aunt was very much worse. I said that of course she must gradually get worse, but that she was putting up a wonderful fight and there was no cause for alarm. The girl wasn’t satisfied, however, and on one occasion early in November sent for me hurriedly in the middle of the night because her aunt was dying.

"When I arrived, I found the patient in great pain, certainly, but in no immediate danger. I told the nurse to give her a morphia injection, and administered a dose of bromide to the girl, telling her to go to bed and not to do any nursing for the next few days. The following day I overhauled the patient very carefully and found that she was doing even better than I supposed. Her heart was exceptionally strong and steady, she was taking nourishment remarkably well and the progress of the disease was temporarily arrested.

"The niece apologised for her agitation, and said she really thought her aunt was going. I said that, on the contrary, I could now affirm positively that she would live for another five or six months. As you know, in cases like hers, one can speak with very fair certainty.

"‘In any case,’ I said, ‘I shouldn’t distress yourself too much. Death, when it does come, will be a release from suffering.’

"‘Yes,’ she said, ‘poor Auntie. I’m afraid I’m selfish, but she’s the only relative I have left in the world.’

Three days later, I was just sitting down to dinner when a telephone message came. Would I go over at once? The patient was dead.

Good gracious! cried Charles, it’s perfectly obvious—

Shut up, Sherlock, said his friend, the doctor’s story is not going to be obvious. Far from it, as the private said when he aimed at the bull’s-eye and hit the gunnery instructor. But I observe the waiter hovering uneasily about us while his colleagues pile up chairs and carry away the cruets. Will you not come and finish the story in my flat? I can give you a glass of very decent port. You will? Good. Waiter, call a taxi . . . 110A Piccadilly.

CHAPTER II

Miching Mallecho

"By the pricking of my thumbs

Something evil this way comes."

Macbeth

The April night was clear and chilly, and a brisk wood fire burned in a welcoming manner on the hearth. The bookcases which lined the walls were filled with rich old calf bindings, mellow and glowing in the lamp-light. There was a grand piano, open, a huge chesterfield piled deep with cushions and two arm-chairs of the build that invites one to wallow. The port was brought in by an impressive man-servant and placed on a very beautiful little Chippendale table. Some big bowls of scarlet and yellow parrot tulips beckoned, banner-like, from dark corners.

The doctor had just written his new acquaintance down as an æsthete with a literary turn, looking for the ingredients of a human drama, when the man-servant re-entered.

Inspector Sugg rang up, my lord, and left this message, and said would you be good enough to give him a call as soon as you came in.

Oh, did he?—well, just get him for me, would you? This is the Worplesham business, Charles. Sugg’s mucked it up as usual. The baker has an alibi—naturally—he would have. Oh, thanks. . . . Hullo! that you, Inspector? What did I tell you?—Oh, routine be hanged. Now, look here. You get hold of that gamekeeper fellow, and find out from him what he saw in the sand-pit. . . . No, I know, but I fancy if you ask him impressively enough he will come across with it. No, of course not—if you ask if he was there, he’ll say no. Say you know he was there and what did he see—and, look here! if he hums and haws about it, say you’re sending a gang down to have the stream diverted. . . . All right. Not at all. Let me know if anything comes of it.

He put the receiver down.

Excuse me, doctor. A little matter of business. Now go on with your story. The old lady was dead, eh? Died in her sleep, I suppose. Passed away in the most innocent manner possible. Everything all ship-shape and Bristol-fashion. No struggle, no wounds, hæmorrhages, or obvious symptoms, naturally, what?

"Exactly. She had taken some nourishment at 6 o’clock—a little broth and some milk pudding. At eight, the nurse gave her a morphine injection and then went straight out to put some bowls of flowers on the little table on the landing for the night. The maid came to speak to her about some arrangements for the next day, and while they were talking, Miss . . . that is, the niece—came up and went into her aunt’s room. She had only been there a moment or two when she cried out, ‘Nurse! Nurse!’ The nurse rushed in, and found the patient dead.

Of course, my first idea was that by some accident a double dose of morphine had been administered—

Surely that wouldn’t have acted so promptly.

No—but I thought that a deep coma might have been mistaken for death. However, the nurse assured me that this was not the case, and, as a matter of fact, the possibility was completely disproved, as we were able to count the ampullæ of morphine and found them all satisfactorily accounted for. There were no signs of the patient having tried to move or strain herself, or of her having knocked against anything. The little night-table was pushed aside, but that had been done by the niece when she came in and was struck by her aunt’s alarmingly lifeless appearance.

How about the broth and the milk pudding?

That occurred to me, also—not in any sinister way, but to wonder whether she’d been having too much—distended stomach—pressure on the heart, and that sort of thing. However, when I came to look into it, it seemed very unlikely. The quantity was so small, and on the face of it, two hours were sufficient for digestion—if it had been that, death would have taken place earlier. I was completely puzzled, and so was the nurse. Indeed, she was very much upset.

And the niece?

The niece could say nothing but ‘I told you so, I told you so—I knew she was worse than you thought.’ Well, to cut a long story short, I was so bothered with my pet patient going off like that, that next morning, after I had thought the matter over, I asked for a post-mortem.

Any difficulty?

Not the slightest. A little natural distaste, of course, but no sort of opposition. I explained that I felt sure there must be some obscure morbid condition which I had failed to diagnose and that I should feel more satisfied if I might make an investigation. The only thing which seemed to trouble the niece was the thought of an inquest. I said—rather unwisely, I suppose, according to general rules—that I didn’t think an inquest would be necessary.

You mean you offered to perform the post-mortem yourself.

Yes—I made no doubt that I should find a sufficient cause of death to enable me to give a certificate. I had one bit of luck, and that was that the old lady had at some time or the other expressed in a general way an opinion in favour of cremation, and the niece wished this to be carried out. This meant getting a man with special qualifications to sign the certificate with me, so I persuaded this other doctor to come and help me to do the autopsy.

And did you find anything?

Not a thing. The other man, of course, said I was a fool to kick up a fuss. He thought that as the old lady was certainly dying in any case, it would be quite enough to put in, Cause of death, cancer; immediate cause, heart failure, and leave it at that. But I was a damned conscientious ass, and said I wasn’t satisfied. There was absolutely nothing about the body to explain the death naturally, and I insisted on an analysis.

Did you actually suspect—?

Well, no, not exactly. But—well, I wasn’t satisfied. By the way, it was very clear at the autopsy that the morphine had nothing to do with it. Death had occurred so soon after the injection that the drug had only partially dispersed from the arm. Now I think it over, I suppose it must have been shock, somehow.

Was the analysis privately made?

Yes; but of course the funeral was held up and things got round. The coroner heard about it and started to make inquiries, and the nurse, who got it into her head that I was accusing her of neglect or something, behaved in a very unprofessional way and created a lot of talk and trouble.

And nothing came of it?

"Nothing. There was no trace of poison or anything of that sort, and the analysis left us exactly

Reviews for Unnatural Death

[jennybeast · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Re-reading these as audio -- the narrator is exceedingly plummy, which works very well. I agree with the other reviewers -- the story's great, it's too bad that it is such a product of its times -- though I loved that despite the racism evident in the book, Cousin Hallelujah was very much the injured person and acknowledged as such by Whimsy and Parker. Wish he'd come through it with even more gain.

[chazzifrazz · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Lord Peter Wimsey and his friend, Chief Inspector Parker, are out dining when they meet a man with a tale of an elderly woman, Miss Dawson, who is suffering from cancer and who suddenly dies. It has some suspicious aspects to it but there is no notice about them, so the cause of death is the cancer.Wimsey thinks there are some possibilities of non-natural death so sends his own private investigator, Miss Katherine Climpson, to investigate.The woman is being cared for by her great-niece and a nurse. The grand-niece stands to inherit all. Some of her actions prior to her great-aunt’s death make Wimsey suspicious that the death of Miss Dawson was not due to her illness. More instances are brought to light about the possibility of Miss Dawson’s premature death. Wimsey finds a reason for the possible early death which is a new ruling on inheritance. Besides the ruling, there turns out to be other family branches that have a possible shot at inheriting.It was a bit confusing in parts, due to the different branches of the family tree and their possible claims. Luckily there was a drawn family tree for reference in the back of the book.In classic style, Sayers brings all the threads together and the real murderer to recognition.

[cecilturtle · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is my introduction to Lord Peter Wimsey, who carries his name well: whimsical, clever, almost elfish, he is a dare-devil with smarts whereas his counterpart, Detective-Inspector Parker has more braun. I enjoyed the dynamic between the two.Aspects of the book have aged poorly but it is an interesting insight into how racialised and LGBTQ communities were viewed back then (in a more progressive light than I would have overall expected).Overall a nice, fun, light read

[themulhern · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

In which Sayers makes it clear that she is so much more than a mere writer of mysteries. Wimsey still spouts his doggerel on occasion, but he is also forced to confront the fact that his meddling has resulted in the deaths of two rather harmless people. In the first book he apprehends a murderous sociopath, who did it partly for the interest. In the second book, the accused is exonerated, his sister his preserved from imminent marriage to a socialist hypocrite, and the abused wife of a minor character is freed from his brutal tyrany. Wimsey might have started to think that he could do naught but good, but here the effects of his actions are disastrous and the moral questions are troubling. The surreal encounter with the second victim is distressing, and the ending is dismal. But Wimsey will persist in solving quite a few more crimes.The plot is intricate and well-formed. The investigators are forced to admit that the murderer would never have been brought to justice if it weren't for one small mistake and some luck. The murderer's later actions are less and less well considered, and eventually lead to their apprehension.There is a good deal of humour, mostly due to the introduction of one new character, Miss Climpson.

[ashleytylerjohn · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is one of my favourites ... there's a scene, perhaps 2/3 of the way through, between our Lord Peter and the mysterious Mrs. Forrest that's particularly riveting for me--in a few short paragraphs the scene is set, and I'm there, and it's so vitally alive, just wonderful writing. The milieu is interesting (everyone's an unstated lesbian, basically--the victim, the victim's partner, the victim's partner's niece, the victim's partner's niece's partner, etc.), and unlike most cosy mysteries, this wasn't really a whodunnit--Peter lets us know right away that's he's quite sure who's dunnit, just not how, and why (or why then, at any rate).

I first read these long ago in my teens/early 20s and are delightedly returning to them. This, her third, is already at least twice as good as the first, and I think it makes a good starting point for the series. There's nothing in particular here that would spoil books 1 and 2 which you could easily return to if you liked this one, but this is of higher quality and is more likely to lure you in. Or, you could start with Strong Poison, but because it introduces Harriet Vane, and she's not in the first few books, you may miss her too much to enjoy them.

(Note: 5 stars = amazing, wonderful, 4 = very good book, 3 = decent read, 2 = disappointing, 1 = awful, just awful. I'm fairly good at picking for myself so end up with a lot of 4s). (less)

[jbd1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This one certainly has the creepiest villain of any of the Sayers stories I've read so far! Another excellently complex mystery, that's for sure.

[eurohackie · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a nice return to form after Clouds of Witness. The whodunit actually makes sense, and none of the characters act overtly stupid.Peter and Charles Parker are having lunch one day in SoHo when they are interrupted by a country physician, who bemoans the fact that he thinks one of his patients has been murdered and was basically run out of town on a rail for it. This piques Peter's interest, as a post-mortem was completed and nothing out of the ordinary was found, returning a verdict of death by natural causes. So, he decides to investigate: who could've wanted the old woman dead, and why?As Peter & Parker search for these answers, other people start dying, and a larger picture emerges of motives, means, and opportunities. The actual method of each murder was rather ingenious.Peter brings in a new assistant investigator, the spinsterish Miss Alexandra Climpson, who proves quite valuable at being able to uncover information gossipy country ladies would only share with each other. I don't remember her from any of the short stories, but I hope she turns up again in the novels. For the most part, she was a lot of fun.The major downside to this novel was the heavy use of the n-word, both as a pejorative term and as a basic descriptor of men of (any non-white) color. This was incredibly jarring. Generally I'm not one for editing older books for modern sensibilities, but I think I have to make an exception for this particular word. Even if it has just been asterisked instead of completely spelled out, that would have been better.There was also a weird undertone of homoeroticism that I, personally, found more annoying than salacious.

[thornton37814 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Lord Peter Wimsey investigates a murder in which the method perplexes everyone. On the surface it appears, the woman died of natural causes, but a few irregularities exist. Detective Parker needs enough evidence to convict the obvious suspect, but without the "means," the case cannot be prosecuted. I loved the introduction of Miss Climpson, a sidekick who reminds me of Miss Marple, although perhaps not quite as astute. I loved the name Hallelujah Dawson given to a distant dark-skinned relative of the deceased. My favorite section of the novel dealt with changes in the law which created a little ambiguity as to the heir--a little forensic genealogy! Ian Carmichael supplied excellent narration to the novel.

[cbl_tn · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A chance conversation overheard in a restaurant puts Lord Peter Wimsey on the trail of a murderer. The motive and the identity of the murderer are clear. But how was the murder committed? The means has Wimsey baffled up to the very end. It’s such an ingenious method for murder that I’ve never forgotten it since I first read this book in my teens, although I forgot everything else about the book. I’m sure I missed the references to other crime fiction writers the first time through (such as Earl Derr Biggers). The Golden Age authors seemed to be very aware of the work of their peers, and even to build on each others’ work. In this book, Wimsey employs a middle-aged assistant, Miss Climpson, who may have inspired some aspects of Christie’s Miss Marple.

[fuzzi_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a thoroughly enjoyable book on different fronts: the characters (especially Miss Climpson), the mystery (we can guess whodunit, but the real mystery is how), and the look back at the Roaring 20s in England. A couple uses of archaic racial words can be skipped over due to context.

[kmartin802_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This third in a series begins when Lord Peter and his friend Parker are dining out and discussing the perfect crime. A man at the next table tells about a suspicious occurrence which intrigues Peter. The man is a doctor and tells of the unexpected deaths of one of his cancer patients and his suspicion that she was murdered by the great-niece who inherits all of her worldly goods.Peter first needs to convince Parker that there was actually a crime committed since the medical examiners put the death down to heart failure. Peter sends in one of his irregulars. Miss Climpson to do what she naturally does. As a spinster of limited means she is the perfect one to ask impertinent questions since that is what spinsters apparently do. Peter begins to believe that the case has something to do with the victim's lack of a will. A new law has been passed that would not allow the great-niece to inherit if the victim had just lived into the new year. But even with that clue and the fact the possible witnesses to the niece's behavior are dying, Peter still can't figure out how the crime was committed.This was an entertaining mystery with Peter's usual dithering and literary asides. I especially enjoyed Miss Climpson's reports with underlining and multiple exclamation points. I did miss Bunter and wished that he had had a larger role in the story. I did notice a lot of racial and gender in-sensitivities that would have made the book hard to publish today. Fans of historical mysteries will enjoy this one.

[leslie398 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

March 2020 reread via audiobook: I have a special fondness for this book due to Miss Climpson. The scene when Lord Peter invites Parker to meet her is priceless!
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Ian Carmichael is a great narrator for this book. While I remembered the basic plot, there were details I had forgotten so even knowing the solution it was a fun read (listen).

[helenliz_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This starts as an overheard conversation with the doctor's dilemma, was that unexpected death natural or was the old lady helped out of this life? Without there being any clear crime, Wimsey sets off to investigate. In doing so, he sets in motion a chain of events that cause several deaths and narrowly escapes the series being brought to a premature end. The end is a little of an anticlimax, but it's an intriguing little book.

[ctpress_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

“Greatly as I dislike that modern invention, the telephone, I think it might be advisable to ring him up.”Read this with mixed feelings. There’s quite a bit of complicated explanations of family inheritance law and family connections that went over my head - and it drags along in places - on the other hand the final third of the book proved a very suspenseful and a satisfying end. The question is the old one: Natural death or murder to obtain an inheritance?In this third novel in the Lord Peter Wimsey series the manservant Bunter doesn’t play a big role - instead it’s a new Wimsey-sidekick, the spinster Miss Climpson, who is sent to a village to befriend the suspect and investigate for Lord Peter Wimsey.

[kaethe_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I picked this one up and started reading it when nothing else appealed. Apparently nothing is as good as a Sayers novel these days. Well, you can see why: Wimsey is hilarious, and Sayers brings an interesting perspective to the genre. She recognized the racism and sexism so prevalent in her time, created characters who shared it, but permits her leads to be more enlightened. And Miss Climpson is one of the best characters ever.

Rereading it, and realizing how much of the plot had stuck in my brain was interesting. One thing that really jumped out at me this time was the variety of relationships shown. Central to the story are two women school chums who spend the rest of their long lives keeping house together and running a stud farm. I suppose the dearth of single men after the war made it easier for women to establish families with other women without censure.

Personal copy.

[johnfair_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was quite a surprise on rereading it - I have always liked Sayers' work but they are kind of dated (well, what can you expect?). However, in this story, the action revolves around a chance meeting where a doctor bemoans his fate after being dead sure that one of his patients had been murdered while everyone else was willing to think it a natural death - after all, the lady in question was in her seventies and suffering from cancer so there was no surprise over the death. Lord Peter gets one of his helpers to go to the town in question and see what was what, while his friend Inspector Parker looks on in increasing alarm as it appears that Lord Peter has lost his marbles. Needles to say, things get resolved quite neatly in the end though it does depend rather unusually on a LOST DOCUMENT!!! to break an apparently unbreakable alibi and the early parts of the story are equally unusually polemic over the role of women in post WW1 society until Sayers loses herself in the flow of the story.

[antiquary_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

probably my least favorite Wimsey. The point of inheritance law involved is interesting --worthy of Cyril Hare or Michael Gilbert, but I have seen the murder method criticized as unreliable, and the ending is depressingly grim.

[pgchuis · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

5195563Pgchuis's review Jun 29, 15 · edit4 of 5 starsRead from June 27 to 29, 2015By means of a chance encounter in a coffee shop, Sir Peter hears of the possibly suspicious death of Miss Dawson. She was dying of cancer, but in the end died far sooner than her doctor had expected. He was allowed to perform a post-mortem but could find nothing to explain her death. For the first third of the novel, Peter Parker, Lord Peter's policeman-side kick, is not entirely convinced there is a crime to solve.There is a lot going on in this story. I enjoyed the finer legal distinctions of the Law of Property Act 1925, which held the answer to the central puzzle, and I loved Miss Climpson, a sort of high church Miss Marple, whose letters were superb. On the other hand, the body count got a bit ridiculous, and I worked out who Mrs Forrest was very early on. The scene with Mr Trigg going to the dark house with the dying woman was far-fetched by any standards and the discovery of the "preparatory notes for confession" was extraordinarily convenient. On the other hand, I did love the bit where Sir Peter is suspicious of Mrs Forrest because she didn't enjoy kissing him.More Bunter needed, though.

[astrologerjenny · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Lord Peter Wimsey can be a lot of fun. I love the way he takes lines from poetry and mangles them for his own purposes. The relationship between Wimsey and the grumbling copper Parker is always amusing. The mystery itself is entertaining, and there are a few twists. The most difficult thing in this book is the racism of all the characters, in this Britain of the 20s.

[veracite · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This is another good one, the one that introduces the delightful Miss Climpson, Wimsey's version of the Baker Street Irregulars.

[kimmr_2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I'm reading the Peter Wimsey novels in publication order (after spending many years only re-reading the ones involving Harriet Vane). This one I liked a lot, even though I worked out the central plot twist fairly early in the piece. (Generally speaking I prefer not to guess such things, but at least I didn't work out the "how" until just before Lord Peter came up with it!) As a lawyer, one of the things I really loved was the chapter discussing succession law. I also loved being introduced to Ms Climpson, the easy friendship between Peter and Charles Parker and the depiction of lesbian relationships (which I suspect is not that common for a novel written in the 1920s).

[sriemann_2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

THe combination of English upper class eccentricities, a really good twisty detective story, and a wonderful addition to the main characters of the 'spinster' known as Miss Climpton. I really liked Miss CLimpton, and I enjoyed the inflections that are italicized. I read it aloud in my head... I 'hear' this whole book in my head, and it's like a marvelous black and white movie. I would totally make this booka movie. (maybe it already has been years and years ago and I just don't know about it) I think that's why I get into reading it as big chunks, and then once I get into the twists of the mystery, I usually can't put it down once I get to around two-thirds done. (stayed up waaaaaay too late last night to finish this one. When I started reading I was around halfway done.... and didn't stop until I was finished.)

[jeremypreacher · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Entertaining, if a trifle slow and involuted to suit me. There was definitely some weird homophobic undertones, but there were also some apparently admirable happily paired women (if it's never made explicit that they were lovers, it's still definitely open that they were life partners.) I found that whole theme, which pervades the story, a bit jarring, but the actual mystery was fine and I did not see the solution coming at all.

[carltonc_5 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I enjoyed rereading this early Wimsey amateur detective story, first read 20-odd years ago. It is a straightforward story, in that you know who "did it" early on, but the joy of the book is in the period detail and character detail, although any development of Lord Peter as a character was slight in the current story.There were numerous humorous touches and for those who like biographical detail, there was discussion of Anglican "High Church" issues relating to confession (beyond me).Curiously, the story finishes with Wimsey leaving a police station in London with it being dark from a solar eclipse. The solar eclipse would have been that on 29 June 1927(?), the year in which the book was published.

[janesteen_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Where I got the book: My bookshelf. A re-read. Well I've already failed in my attempt to re-read the Wimsey books in order, because I always thought Clouds of Witness came AFTER Unnatural Death. Wimsey seems younger in the latter, somehow. The Wimsey books, in general, are superb examples of Golden Age detective fiction: intricate plots which give you all the clues on the page and yet count on misdirection to keep you guessing. The plot of Unnatural Death seems to arise from a question: do doctors ever suspect wrongdoing around their patients' deaths? Wimsey meets such a doctor by chance, and sets about investigating the slightly premature decease of an old lady who refused to make her will. There are three interesting points I'd like to note about this book. First, the initial signs of Wimsey's transformation into the godlike figure of the later books are there, notably in the hints about his vast experience of women and skill as a lover. Not to mention his ability to climb drainpipes and locate a body in a large expanse of countryside. Second, we see the hammering home of a theme Sayers weaves through the Wimsey novels: what right does Wimsey have to go around detecting given that his interfering inevitably seems to result in more deaths? I love the way Sayers makes her detective think about the internal logic of detective novels. Third, Sayers gets to tackle the topic of LESBIANS without actually being able to clarify that point to the reader, since the book was written in the 1920s and homosexuality could only be hinted at in the broadest manner. It always makes me laugh that the main "proof" of the villain's same-sex preference is that she doesn't fancy Wimsey. Nice to be so irresistible. Black marks on this book, always quoted by Sayers' critics, are her casual use of racially offensive terms; but the reader needs to remember that this kind of speech was the norm in her day, and if anything she shows greater sympathy toward non-Christians or non-whites than many writers of her time. Clouds of Witness now loaded on my Kindle. Onward!

[phoebesmum · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The third Wimsey mystery, and an oddity – or rather, it would be an oddity if not for the fact that, whilst they helped define the Golden Age detective novel, all the Wimsey books are unconventional examples of the genre. Here, the very fact of the murder itself is debatable; to all outward appearances, it’s a natural death: an elderly, cancer-stricken lady dies, apparently quite peacefully. When her doctor queries the case he finds himself an outcast in the community, and eventually moves away. Then he bumps into Wimsey, voices his suspicions, and the rest is history. 'Unnatural Death' introduces us for the first time to Miss Climpson, the first recruit in Wimsey’s army of forgotten women, and it’s Miss Climpson who does the bulk of the investigative work, taking lodgings in the dead woman’s village and asking the nosy questions expected of a middle-aged spinster.The book also brings Peter’s guilty conscience to the fore. There are further deaths as a result of his investigation; if he had left well alone, would those people have been allowed to live? Are their deaths a quid pro quo for justice? These questions will continue to haunt him, and he will return to them in 'Gaudy Night'.An uncomfortable aspect of the book is its portrayal of the casual racism inherent in then-current society. It features what I believe is Sayers’s only character of colour, who is treated outrageously by the victim’s housekeeper, who refuses to cook dinner for him, and who becomes the immediate – indeed, the ‘natural’ – suspect in a related crime. The language used in relation to this character is difficult for the modern reader to countenance. It should, however, be noted that the racism is the characters’, not the author’s; the gentleman in question is a blameless, elderly West Indian missionary, who Wimsey, at least, treats decently, and who actually comes quite well out of the whole business.Also interesting is the perceived acceptance of female/female relationships. The victim herself had, for many years, lived happily in company with a childhood friend, and her niece appears set to repeat this relationship with a local girl who has a decided pash on her. Neither author nor characters show any condemnation for this, or think it odd in any way.Much of the plot revolves around the 1925 Administration of Estates Act, a piece of legislation so complex that even the lawyers can’t figure it out. Governments, alas, never change.

[deltaqueen50 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The third entry in the Lord Peter Wimsey series, Unnatural Death by Dorothy Sayers finds Wimsey and Parker on the trail of a most vicious killer. The death of an elderly lady who had cancer was considered by most to be a natural one, except by her doctor, but no evidence of foul play was found. The doctor, now disgraced and having lost his practice, tells his story to Lord Peter and Inspector Parker. Lord Peter is immediately prepared to accept the doctor’s story of murder and decides, against Parker‘s advice, to take a closer look.. Whether directly or indirectly, Lord Peter’s involvement leads to more murders and now, a case where an heir may have speeded up their inheritance, has become a multiple murder investigation.A very inventive storyline that was interesting and original, but unfortunately, once again a Sayers novel shows overt racism, that was most uncomfortable to read. I do understand that these attitudes were more or less the norm of the day, but, in 2012 these attitudes take away from the overall excellence of this vintage mystery.Unnatural Death was originally published in 1927. I plan to continue on with this series, and I am wondering if I will see any change in the author’s attitude in regard to ethnic differences. Overall, an imaginative story about the very likeable Lord Peter Wimsey who tackles crime as a hobby, but definitely has the instinct of a born detective.

[atimco-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

An elderly woman, bedridden in the later stages of terminal cancer, dies suddenly and unexpectedly at her country home, attended only by her niece and a hired nurse. Her doctor is puzzled, but his suspicions seem groundless and no inquest is held. Three years later, Lord Peter Wimsey learns of the case and decides to investigate. In this 1927 mystery by Dorothy Sayers, Lord Peter is determined to discover if Agatha Dawson's death was natural — or unnatural. The case is cold and there doesn't seem to be either a motive or opportunity for foul play. But something isn't right. What really happened? Well, this is a murder mystery, so of course we know it's murder. The method of murder itself, while theoretically brilliant, is not actually physically possible as Sayers describes it. (She took a little heat for that, actually, and it does weaken the whole set-up. I'm glad I didn't know anything about it beforehand so I could enjoy the story.) Plotwise, things are a little forced, especially once the elaborate set-up of a gang is introduced. As is typical in many mysteries of this period, there is some incidentally racist material, which is generally expressed by the characters and is not, I think, indicative of the attitude of the narrator. Indeed, Sayers seems to sneer at the way the "black gang" idea is seized upon with such unthinking acceptance and revulsion by the main newspapers and their readers. Miss Climpson is along for the adventure this time, and who couldn't love her? She is so much fun, with her prim old-maidishness that is surprisingly flexible and insightful. She is a quick thinker, very observant, and I think she and Miss Marple would get along swimmingly. I love when she pops up in the Lord Peter stories!I read this in a day and thoroughly enjoyed it. Yes, some of the plot points are a bit strained and eventually things get a little over the top, but it's a highly entertaining over-the-top, and Sayers' characters are unfailingly fascinating. My one quibble with Dorothy Sayers is this: she didn't write enough Lord Peter novels. I'm close to the end of her oeuvre, and I'll be sad to finish it off (ha ha). But then, of course, one can always reread.

[dknippling_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I think this is the first appearance of Miss Climpson. Huzzah! I like her. Nerves of steel under a pile of tea-stained lace doilies.

[mmyoung_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

NOTE: "**********" marks the beginning of a quote "##########" marks the return to the reviewWarning: for those who have not yet read all the Wimsey books the text of the “Biographical Note” (purportedly written at Sayers request by Wimsey's uncle) contains spoilers for books published later than this one._Unnatural Death_ begins with a scene that situates Wimsey clearly within a particular social milieu. Wimsey is sharing a meal with Charles Parker (Scotland Yard detective and friend) in an upscale restaurant. The difference in class between the two men is established when conversation makes it clear that Parker is neither used to eating snails nor comfortable with the idea. The reader is given further cues to the appropriate social and cultural outlook by the descriptions of the other people in the room:**********"The fat man on their right was unctuously entertaining two ladies of the chorus; beyond him, two elderly habitués were showing their acquaintance with the fare at the “Au Bon Bourgeois” by consuming a Tripes à la Mode de Caen (which they do very excellently there) and a bottle of Chablis Moutonne 1916; on the other side of the room a provincial and his wife were stupidly clamouring for a cut off the joint with lemonade for the lady and whisky and soda for the gentleman".(14)[1]##########The first two descriptions still “work” for the modern reader but the third bears further examination. How does the observer know that the couple is “provincial?” Is it their clothes? Can the listener detect a regional accent in their speech? Surely that is not enough to warrant their dining request to be characterized as “stupid.” Clearly they are unaware of the type of food (or food combinations) that one ordered in an expensive restaurant in Soho. If they had been richly dressed foreigners their confusion might have been considered charming but as “provincials” (read—moderately well-off non-gentry) any lack of prior knowledge of minutia of local food etiquette will be characterized as stupidity. For the modern reader this is a sudden insight in the pernicious nature of the British class/social system of the time. There was even a set way to be a noncomformist and absent aristocratic relatives anyone who didn't adhere to a narrow set of behaviours, tastes and interests was judged “not quite the thing” and excluded from much of social life.Although this story is set almost a decade after the Great War passing comments make it clear how close “the old days” actually were in terms of gender expectations:********** " A dear old friend of mine used to say that I should have made a very good lawyer,” said Miss Climpson, complacently, “but of course, when I was young, girls didn’t have the education or the opportunities they get nowadays, Mr. Parker. I should have liked a good education, but my dear father didn’t believe in it for women. Very old-fashioned, you young people would think him.”(35)[1]##########The reader will also notice casual verbal racism as in this description of the quality of the ham in a sandwich:********** "Observe the hard texture, the deep brownish tint of the lean; rich fat, yellow as a Chinaman’s cheek;" (64)[1]##########At one point in the book a rather remarkable letter is penned by the very proper Miss Climpson to Lord Peter (for whom she was sleuthing) about the judgmental and self-consciously proper behaviour of the former housekeeper of the woman Wimsey thinks may have been murdered when a dark-skinned man paid a call on the lady of the house:********** " In fact, it appears she refused to cook the lunch for the poor black man—(after all, even blacks are God’s creatures and we might all be black OURSELVES if He had not in His infinite kindness seen fit to favour us with white skins!!)—and walked straight out of the house!!! So that unfortunately she cannot tell us anything further about this remarkable incident! She is certain, however, that the ‘nigger’ had a visiting-card, with the name ‘Rev. H. Dawson’ upon it, and an address in foreign parts. It does seem strange, does it not, but I believe many of these native preachers are called to do splendid work among their own people, and no doubt a MINISTER is entitled to have a visiting-card, even when black!!! "(112-113)[1]##########The casual and open racism of everyone is pervasive:*************** "Perhaps the long-toed gentleman was black,” suggested Parker. “Or possibly a Hindu or Parsee of sorts.” “God bless my soul,” said Sir Charles, horrified, “an English girl in the hands of a black man. How abominable!” “Well, we’ll hope it isn’t so. Shall we follow the road out or wait for the doctor to arrive?”(199)[1]**************** The idea of two English girls—the one brutally killed, the other carried off for some end unthinkably sinister, by a black man—aroused all the passion of horror and indignation of which the English temperament is capable.(203)[1]##########Two other things stand out to this reader: first, the casual (if somewhat critical) attitude that people had towards a homosocial relationship between two women and second the meager amount of actual detection that Wimsey carries out over the course of the book.Not everyone approved of the two woman/woman relationsips but this disapproval did not carry the taint of sin:**************** There was a many gentlemen as would have been glad to hitch up with her, but she was never broke to harness. Like dirt, she treated ’em. Wouldn’t look at ’em, except it might be the grooms and stable-hands in a matter of ’osses. And in the way of business, of course. Well, there is some creatures like that. I ’ad a terrier bitch that way. Great ratter she was. But a business woman—nothin’ else. I tried ’er with all the dogs I could lay ’and to, but it weren’t no good. Bloodshed there was an’ sich a row—you never ’eard. The Lord makes a few on ’em that way to suit ’Is own purposes, I suppose. There ain’t no arguin’ with females.”(122)[1]##########It is clear that some characters (including Miss Climpson) see “weaker” member (generally the one who fulfills a domestic role) of these relationships as sometimes lacking in strength of character and prone to school girlish crushes and swoons but even from a woman who takes her religion really seriously there is nary at trace of moral condemnationThe reader who is taken aback at the overt racism and covert acceptance of female homosocial relationships may miss the fact that class is the ultimate weapon of power in this book. The book opens with a scene in which Wimsey demonstrates his class through his culinary choices and, in fact, the story could not have proceeded had not the doctor who shared his story with Wimsey and Parker not recognized Wimsey as “the right sort” and therefore felt comfortable returning to his flat.For the rest of the story Wimsey does not detect so much as he delegates the grim, boring and tedious aspects of detection to others. Wimsey is interested in the doctor's story and so he is able to hire people to look up the records, go to the scene of the possible crime, spend hours over tea tables in boarding houses, go door-to-door to canvas neighbourhoods and go through official records. Wimsey is able to go places (if he wishes) with ease because of his wealth and his status. Wimsey boasts at one point that he has a nose for detection. That he is one of those people who has a sense of when a crime was committed. Unfortunately what Sayers seems to have demonstrated in this book is that something more than flair, intelligence, and curiosity is required to solve crimes “the Wimsey way”--status, money and connections.[1] Sayers, D. (1964). Unnatural death. New York: Avon.