The Butcher of Berner Street

Leo Stanhope, working as a very lowly journalist at the Daily Chronicle, is enticed to a scruffy penny gaff in Whitechapel by an anonymous letter tipping him off to the prospect of a murder in the club, but the strange thing is that the murder has not yet happened. The letter turns out to be nothing more than a publicity stunt on the part of the landlord, Oswald Drake, whose party trick is to startle new customers by faking his own hanging.

However, things soon take a more sinister turn when, Drake is found hanged a few days later in a grim simulation of his own trickery. Suspicion falls on the Lady Vostek, a celebrated Hungarian female wrestler who fought at the club on the night of Leo’s visit. She had the strength to subdue Drake and haul his body up and Leo is quickly convinced of her guilt. His piece in the Chronicle inflames public opinion and Lady Vostek is arrested. To Leo’s surprise, the woman turns out to be a nun called Sister Agnes and it’s not long before he realises, to his horror, that he has accused the wrong person. Determined to right the wrong he has inadvertently committed, Leo sets out to investigate Oswald Drake’s murder and find the real killer.

This is the third in Alex’s Reeve’s darkly atmospheric Victorian crime thrillers featuring Leo Stanhope, a man who has his own secrets to hide. If it came to light that Leo, who has always known he is a man, was brought up as Charlotte, the daughter of a country reverend, he would be disgraced, imprisoned and possibly even hanged. Leo’s secret is known to very few people, and those that do know, like his elderly Jewish friend Jacob, quite literally hold his life in their hands. Victorian England was not tolerant of such things.

I like Leo as a character but there are times I find him frustrating, as he lurches from one self-inflicted crisis to the next. He is quick to accuse with very little evidence and then when he sees his error of judgement, he again leaps in with both feet with a badly thought-out plan to save Sister Agnes from the gallows. He greatly underestimates the power of public opinion as his articles are sensationalised and used to whip up an outcry over Sister Agnes’ supposed crimes. The kindest thing to be said about Leo in this context is that he is naïve and eager to impress but his lack of consideration for the consequences of his accusations detracts from his standing in my eyes.

Reeve’s evocation of the grime and squalor of Victorian London is deft and always grounded in the uncomfortable reality of a time when charity was as cold and cheerless as a pauper’s grave. The plight of women and children in these dark times is vividly depicted. The story is set against the backdrop of the campaign for the rights of women, slowly gathering pace with the hoped-for introduction of the Married Women’s Property Act that will allow women to hold both their own debts and their own assets instead of both devolving to the husband on marriage.

Leo finds himself between a rock and a hard place, quite literally, when those campaigning for the rights of women take up Sister Agnes’ cause and he gets caught up in a riot outside the prison where she’s being held. Tragedy dogs Leo’s investigation and his closest friendships come under threat. Reeve weaves a strong storyline built on the twin foundations of good characterisation and impeccable research. Victorian London comes alive in his hands. It’s dark, dirty, smelly and threatening. It’s also endlessly fascinating. Whether Leo ends up achieving the stability he craves is a story for another day.