Product Description

Lord John Grey is a man at the centre of the political upheavals that rocked Britain in the mid-eighteenth century. The Jacobites are still a threat, and the old enemy, France, is ready and willing to exploit the situation to its own advantage. London, Edinburgh and Paris are hotbeds of espionage, intrigue and murder. Lord John, having been removed from London for some time, appears to be above the plotting and does not appear to have any allegiance to one clique or another. So when a murder takes place, and seems to be the result of French espionage, he is the one who seems best placed to be able to unravel the knots-But who is John Grey, where do his allegiances lie, and who, in the long run, will he follow and serve?

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #25367 in Books
• Published on: 2004-10-07
• Original language: English
• Binding: Paperback
• 400 pages

Synopsis
Lord John Grey is a man at the centre of the political upheavals that rocked Britain in the mid-18th Century. The Jacobites are still a threat, and the old enemy, France, is ready and willing to exploit the situation to its own advantage. London, Edinburgh and Paris are hotbeds of espionage, intrigue and murder. Lord John, having been removed from London for some time, appears to be above the plotting and does not appear to have any allegiance to one clique or another. So when murder happens, and seems to be the result of French espionage, he is the one who seems best placed to be able to unravel the knots...But who is John Grey, where do his allegiances lie, and who, in the long run, will he follow and serve?

About the Author
Diana Gabaldon is the international bestselling author of five previous historical novels - Cross Stitch, Dragonfly in Amber, Voyager, Drums of Autumn and The Fiery Cross, and one work of non-fiction, Through the Stones. She lives with her family and a lot of other assorted wildlife in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Excerpted from Lord John and the Private Matter by Diana Gabaldon. Copyright © 2003. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1

When First We Practice to Deceive

London, June 1757
The Society for the Appreciation of the English Beefsteak, a Gentlemen's Club

It was the sort of thing one hopes momentarily that one has not really seen-because life would be so much more convenient if one hadn't.

The thing was scarcely shocking in itself; Lord John Grey had seen worse, could see worse now, merely by stepping out of the Beefsteak into the street. The flower girl who'd sold him a bunch of violets on his way into the club had had a half-healed gash on the back of her hand, crusted and oozing. The doorman, a veteran of the Americas, had a livid tomahawk scar that ran from hairline to jaw, bisecting the socket of a blinded eye. By contrast, the sore on the Honorable Joseph Trevelyan's privy member was quite small. Almost discreet.

"Not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a door," Grey muttered to himself. "But it will suffice. Damn it."

He emerged from behind the Chinese screen, lifting the violets to his nose. Their sweetness was no match for the pungent scent that followed him from the piss-pots. It was early June, and the Beefsteak, like every other establishment in London, reeked of beer and asparagus-pee.

Trevelyan had left the privacy of the Chinese screen before Lord John, unaware of the latter's discovery. The Honorable Joseph stood across the dining room now, deep in conversation with Lord Hanley and Mr. Pitt, the very picture of taste and sober elegance. Shallow in the chest, Grey thought uncharitably-though the suit of puce superfine was beautifully tailored to flatter the man's slenderness. Spindle-shanked, too; Trevelyan shifted weight, and a shadow winked on his left leg, where the pad of the downy-calf he wore had shifted under a clocked silk stocking.

Lord John turned the posy critically in his hand, as though inspecting it for wilt, watching the man from beneath lowered lashes. He knew well enough how to look without appearing to do so. He wished he were not in the habit of such surreptitious inspection- if not, he wouldn't now be facing this dilemma.

The discovery that an acquaintance suffered from the French disease would normally be grounds for nothing more than distaste at worst, disinterested sympathy at best-along with a heartfelt gratitude that one was not oneself so afflicted. Unfortunately, the Honorable Joseph Trevelyan was not merely a club acquaintance; he was betrothed to Grey's cousin.

The steward murmured something at his elbow; by reflex, he handed the posy to the man and flicked a hand in dismissal.

"No, I shan't dine yet. Colonel Quarry will be joining me."

"Very good, my lord."

Trevelyan had rejoined his companions at a table across the room, his narrow face flushed with laughter at some jest by Pitt.

Grey couldn't stand there glowering at the man; he hesitated, unsure whether to go across to the smoking room to wait for Quarry, or perhaps down the hall to the library. In the event, though, he was prevented by the sudden entry of Malcolm Stubbs, lieutenant of his own regiment, who hailed him with pleased surprise.

"Major Grey! What brings you here, eh? Thought you was quite the fixture at White's. Got tired of the politicals, have you?"

Stubbs was aptly named, no taller than Grey himself, but roughly twice as wide, with a broad cherubic face, wide blue eyes, and a breezy manner that endeared him to his troops, if not always to his senior officers.

"Hallo, Stubbs." Grey smiled, despite his inner disquiet. Stubbs was a casual friend, though their paths seldom crossed outside of regimental business. "No, you confuse me with my brother Hal. I leave the whiggery-pokery up to him."

Stubbs went pink in the face, and made small snorting noises.

"Whiggery-pokery! Oh, that's ripe, Grey, very ripe. Must remember to tell it to the Old One." The Old One was Stubbs's father, a minor baronet with distinct whiggish leanings, and likely a familiar of both White's Club and Lord John's brother.

"So, you a member here, Grey? Or a guest, like me?" Stubbs, recovering from his attack of mirth, waved a hand round the spacious confines of the white-naped dining room, casting an admiring glance at the impressive array of decanters being arranged by the steward at a sideboard.

"Member."

Trevelyan was nodding cordially to the Duke of Gloucester, who returned the salutation. Christ, Trevelyan really did know everyone. With a small effort, Grey returned his attention to Stubbs.

"My godfather enrolled me for the Beefsteak at my birth. Starting at the age of seven, which is when he assumed reason began, he brought me here every Wednesday for luncheon. Got out of the habit while abroad, of course, but I find myself coming back, whenever I'm in Town."

The wine steward was leaning down to offer Trevelyan a decanter of port; Grey recognized the embossed gold tag at its neck- San Isidro, a hundred guineas the cask. Rich, well-connected . . . and infected. Damn, what was he going to do about this?

"Your host not here yet?" He touched Stubbs's elbow, turning him toward the door. "Come, then-let's have a quick one in the library."

They strolled down the pleasantly shabby carpet that lined the hall, chatting inconsequently.

"Why the fancy-dress?" Grey asked casually, flicking at the braid on Stubbs's shoulder. The Beefsteak wasn't a soldier's haunt; though a few officers of the regiment were members, they seldom wore full dress uniform here, save when on their way to some offi- cial business. Grey himself was only uniformed because he was meeting Quarry, who never wore anything else in public.

"Got to do a widow's walk later," Stubbs replied, looking resigned. "No time to go back for a change."

Customer Reviews

Gabaldon refreshed
Like some of the other reviewers here I think Gabaldon has written herself into an impasse with the Jamie and Clair series, and have found the last couple of books turgid, repetitive and increasingly dull. However with the Lord John series, of which this is the first, Gabaldon's imagination seems to have been revved up and released again.

Taking Lord John out of the J&C series, this finds him in London after he's left Jamie a `prisoner' in Scotland. A major in the British army, Lord John is drawn into the murder of a fellow soldier, complicated by the sub-plot of his cousin's marriage to a man Lord John knows has syphilis, and his own secret homoeroticism.

The mystery element romps along a tad slowly but Gabaldon's strengths are in the evocation of her characters. Lord John is intelligent and quietly charismatic, with depths that enticingly remain half-hidden. Later books (LJ and the hand of devils; LJ and the brotherhood of the blade) both fill out his back-story as well as take him forward. Well worth a read.

A good read
I had put off reading this one after liking the Cross Stitch series so much because I couldn't imagine life without Jamie & Claire. However, I eventually succumbed and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Set against a fascinating backdrop of seedy 18th century London, Lord John's character is expanded up well. And the opening page is a gem!

Gabaldon's best book
Although the plot of this short mystery could be better, I find it far more entertaining than Gabaldon's Outlander books, where all the focus seems to be on the unchanging, implausably firm (yet tempestuous) relationship of Jamie and Claire. Lord John is such a refreshment when he appears in the series and he certainly deserves more space. I have rarely encountered a character so interesting, intelligent and well-written.
Besides that, despite the somewhat disappointing ending, this novel is a page-turner and Gabaldon's reconstruction of the 18th century London, especially its more obscure parts, is quite amazing.