Skip to main content

A Cold Treachery by Charles Todd: A review

A Cold Treachery (Inspector Ian Rutledge, #7)A Cold Treachery by Charles Todd
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I shivered a lot while reading A Cold Treachery. Not because of the suspense particularly, but because of the description of the weather during which the action takes place.

Inspector Ian Rutledge had been testifying in a case in the north of England when he was contacted by Scotland Yard to get himself to the remote village of Urskdale where a horrendous crime has taken place. Five members of a family have been murdered and the sixth member of the family, an almost ten-year-old boy, has disappeared. Did he do the killing? Or was he a witness who escaped the carnage but can tell who did it? But if he escaped, did he manage to find shelter and survive the merciless storm lashing the fells?

Rutledge heads to Urskdale in the middle of a violent blizzard. Barely able to see where he is going, he comes upon an accident on the road. A carriage is overturned. The horse that had been pulling it is dead and a woman lies seriously injured amidst the wreckage.

Rutledge manages to get the woman to his car and sets out in search of the nearest farmhouse where they might get shelter in the storm. He finally manages to find help and leaves the woman with the farm family while he continues on toward the place where the savage murders have taken place.

On arriving, Rutledge finds that the Elcott family had been slaughtered around their kitchen table with no sign of there having been a struggle. It seems that the murderer must have been someone they knew and trusted. But who could have possibly wanted this apparently inoffensive family - including two babes in arms and a small girl - dead?

When it is discovered that the boy is missing, all the able-bodied men of the village head out into the storm to try to find him, but after days of searching, no trace is found.

Inspector Rutledge pursues his investigation, asking questions and looking into possible motives. Surprisingly, he finds this family had been formed when the tragedy of war had splintered the woman's first marriage. Her husband had been presumed dead, but, in fact, he was alive and a prisoner. After the war, he returned to find his wife had married another man and taken their two children north to live on a sheep farm.

Rutledge finds that there are actually several possible motives of murder, including revenge, greed, jealousy, even love, and there are more suspects than he can make heads or tails of. Will he ever be able to sort through all the clues, figure out who is lying, and solve this heinous crime? And will he be able to find the boy - or his body - and figure out what has happened to him?

I was kept guessing throughout this well-plotted mystery. I was just as confused as Inspector Rutledge concerning what had happened and why it had happened. It seemed that everyone was lying to him or trying to hide something. I wondered how he was ever going to find the perpetrator of this crime. Of course, in the end, he did unmask the culprit and give us hope that justice may prevail after all.

I think this has been my favorite entry in this series so far. Charles Todd seems to be hitting his stride as a writer.




View all my reviews

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters!  Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...