There are tarot cards, suddenly discovered impecunious relations, a (perhaps two) missing girl, a crusty old woman, her estranged children, an Igor-like battleaxe of a housekeeper and confidante of the crusty matriarch, not-so-avuncular uncles, and I’m sure if there had been time and space enough, there would have been spiders and creaky basement stairs. Oh, wait, there are creaky basement stairs.
Young Harriet “Hal” Westaway is struggling to survive in the beachside town of Brighton. Her mother was killed by a hit-and-run driver, and there is no money, no relatives, no kind strangers to guide her through the travails of life. There is a kindly kiosk owner who pours her cups of coffee every once in a while. He is Hal’s neighbor on the Brighton pier. She has a tarot-reading hut, inherited from her mother, and purportedly from her mother's mother before that. It’s not much of a living, especially in the winter.
At one stage, Hal was so desperate she injudiciously borrowed money from the local moneylending thug. Of course, she has already paid back many times the original amount borrowed, and more has yet to be paid. This is the contrivance that explains why Hal is desperate to accept an invitation to hear the bequest of the dearly departed Hester Westaway, an ancient widow down Penzance way. (Oh, those Penzance cliffs and storms and dark-eyed strangers!) After doing some computer research, Hal realizes that Hester might have left a significant estate. Perhaps her “share” of the estate would suffice to pay off the loan shark.
The only thing standing in the way of Hal’s victory dance is that she is not related to Hester Westaway. Hester's lawyer erroneously believes that Hal is the daughter of Maud Westaway, Hester's missing daughter. Hal’s mother’s name was Maggie. After serious internal struggles, Hal decides to chance impersonating Maud’s daughter. She’ll take her paltry share of the proceedings, and Hester’s real family will never hear from her again.
That’s not how Gothic novels work, Hal.
Hal vacillates between being confidant she can “read” the other people — a skill she uses, instead of anything supernatural, in telling people’s fortunes — well enough to fool them and despising herself for conning Hester’s bereaved family, if there is one. And of course, there is one. There are three sons, two of whom have families. The remaining one is a friendly guy with brooding looks. Suddenly, Hal has uncles, an aunt, and young cousins. But they are not Hal’s to keep.
The first spanner in the works is when Hester’s surprising will is read. The gloomy, dilapidated mansion provides no safe haven for Hal after that. Her only avenue is to find out why Maud disappeared. Did she have a baby? If so, will that child come forward to claim his/her share of the fortune, pushing Hal out?
Ruth Ware takes us on a journey featuring staircases with light switches that don’t work, a weedy and uninviting lake, confusing hallways rife with ominously closed doors, and the foreboding scrabbling and cawing of magpies who may be bringing sorrow — according to the old rhyme — or worse. Then there is the impediment of the seriously inhospitable Mrs. Warren, the housekeeper — who is a lousy cook, to boot — who is not there to serve anybody. Maybe she killed Mrs. Westaway for a share of the inheritance.
Maybe.
The one element missing from this generously gloomy tale is romance. There’s an ancient romance, to be sure, but the Gothic novels I remember always had a damsel, a roué, and a sinister (but handsome) stranger. None of that nonsense here. Hal has to rescue herself if she needs it.
“Mrs. Westaway” was very entertaining. It was fun to shiver and thrill to a mystery in a dark English mansion in a snow storm. Even while you realize author Ware is checking off the elements from the bygone version of The Great Gothic Tale, you will cheer for her to succeed.
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