Death Comes to Dartmoor by Vivian Conroy

Title: Death Comes to Dartmoor

Author: Vivian Conroy

Series: Merriweather and Royston Mystery #2

rather convoluted and written blandly

I would like to thank Vivian Conroy, Crooked Lane Books, and NetGalley for allowing me to read a free ARC in exchange for an honest review.

Lord Raven Royston and Miss Merula Merriweather journey to Dartmoor in an effort to escape the scandal they’ve recently been involved in in London. Expecting to relax with some peace and quiet, they are dismayed to find their host, Oaks, raving like a madman and the villagers ready to burn the house down, regardless of who’s inside. A local girl has been found dead—murdered—and the villagers hold Oaks responsible. Though it’s none of their business, Raven and Merula find themselves investigating the mystery, because if they don’t find the true culprit, their friend will be convicted of a murder he didn’t commit and may spend the rest of his life in an asylum.

I had problems with this book. It took a while for me to care about the plot—or the characters, for that matter. I think I started this book three times before I resigned myself to hunkering down and pushing through to the end. I’m not entirely sure why the beginning didn’t grab me; the tension, intrigue, and action began just a few pages in. I’m inclined to think it was the rather bland writing style that in turn made the characters bland. By bland I mean there was a noticeable lack of adjectives and adverbs and the verbs alone weren’t colorful enough to add richness and emotion to the telling. There was also little humor. I remember thinking early on that the writing, the descriptions, were plain. Just plain. That sentiment lasted through to the end, though events and heightening tension eventually brought some energy to the story.

That plain writing style infected characterization. Lamb the irritating lady’s maid—I really didn’t like her—and Bowsprit the valet had more personality than Merula and Raven; the pair of whom also lacked chemistry. Hell, Merula had more chemistry with Bowsprit—whose name made me think of the Pokemon Mesprit every time I read it—than Royce, probably because she actually had meaningful conversations with him. Wait—I mean Raven, not Royce; there was no Royce. I keep getting his name confused and calling him Royce, probably because Raven doesn’t suit him. Not only am I used to it being a female name—thank you, X-Men—it’s too sexy and enigmatic for a man who is neither.

There was nothing special about either Merula or Royce—damn it, Raven! I was rather disgusted in the beginning when Merula stayed to cook and do house stuff while Roy—Raven went off to sleuth. That happened again and again—him leaving her behind to go investigate. To my recollection, the only thing she did to help the investigation was speak with the blacksmith when he answered their summons—not a proactive effort on her part—and act as a sounding board for Raven. Oh, and she did talk to the stable boy, but she didn’t even have to leave the grounds to do that. I only started to care about Merula when out of the blue, around 37%, she revealed that her mother had spent time in Dartmoor before she died, and, I inferred, on a subconscious level Merula was hoping to find traces of her there. Suddenly she had something to do—investigate her parentage—and it was completely irrelevant to the main plot.

I’m honestly not sure I liked Raven; I’m probably closer to dislike than like. To me he came off as disrespectful and dismissive—generally arrogant, I suppose. He kind of did what he wanted and expected everyone else to go along with it and/or accommodate him. (I was so pleased when Merula blatantly ignored his wishes and went off to do what she wanted. That show of independence and backbone is probably the only thing that made me like her.) One could argue that it wasn’t unexpected he would be like that—being a lord and all. But there was some mention of him falling pretty much into ruin in the not-so-distant past, and I would think—hope—that experience would have humbled him. And that’s the heart of the matter—I just didn’t know enough about him—his history, his influences, his motivations, his values—to care. All I knew was that he was something of a natural historian and his mother had died under mysterious circumstances when he was boy. And the latter didn’t matter to the plot, so it was hardly explored.

Which leads me to another problem—I haven’t read the first book in this series, The Butterfly Conspiracy, and I really got the feeling Conroy expected me to have done so. Which, to be fair, is her prerogative—this is a series after all, following the same characters. Naturally the events of the previous book and the consequences thereof would factor in here. But the events of book one were alluded to so frequently—and often so vaguely—that I really began to feel like I was missing major information, and that distanced me from the story. I felt rather excluded, like I was new to a group of friends and didn’t understand their inside jokes. It was unfortunate.

As for the mystery, it…kind of made sense in the end. I have enough of a vague understanding to know that most of it was superfluous; instead of clever storytelling, Conroy buried us in a sprawl of suspects with vague motivations and figured simply confusing us was the same as intriguing us. And it was largely futile; I knew who the culprit was pretty early. What I didn’t understand was why, and imagine my disappointment when the true villain—the true motivation for all the suspects, the thinnest of threads making them at all relevant to each other—was the mere concept of progress. It came down to whether they were for it or against it, and each had their reasons for wanting or not wanting it and limits as to what they would do to see it achieved—or not. The murder mystery itself was good—but adding in all that crap about the railroads and investors and land and whatever—was convoluted and took away any satisfaction to be felt in the capture of the murderer.

One of the most frustrating things was that no one ever asked for names. It became such a thing that I immediately highlighted the one time Raven actually said to the stable boy, “So, my boy…what’s your name, anyway?” It was most notable when Merula met with that man who knew her mother; they met three times, and she never once tried to get his name. Wouldn’t that be one of the first natural things to say— “Who are you?” I mean, jesus. It was ignored so deliberately that it’s obvious Conroy is trying to prolong the intrigue. I did not appreciate it. It just made Merula look stupid. It was also notable when Merula and Royce interrogated first Webber, then Fern. Both denied Merula and Royce’s accusations and tried to discredit their statements again and again—but neither Merula nor Roy—goddamn it, RAVEN—asked, “All right, if it wasn’t you, then who? Who do you believe to be the father? Who do you believe to be the killer? We’re open to suggestions.”

Last thing—Merula should have shown Raven her sketches in the end. It was a huge missed opportunity to develop their relationship—which isn’t surprising; their relationship was nowhere near top priority. From the very first page, it was clear time and time again that Raven wanted to see her sketches—wanted to see that private part of her, to feel as if he were someone special to her for having been shown them—and she was too wary of their attraction to one another, and what could develop from it, to allow him. If the development of their relationship had been more important, it would have been a wonderful demonstration of her acceptance of him, of her letting him in, if the book had ended with her showing him her sketches.

Overall, many aspects of this story were interesting and full of storytelling potential—but few if any of them were well executed. Having recently read Anna Lee Huber’s Lady Darby mystery series, as well as Deanna Raybourn’s Veronica Speedwell series, I can’t help but compare them with this book, as it could very well be pitched as the marriage of the two—which is why I wanted to read it. But I’ve found this book does not measure up to either of those series.

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