I'm depressed and having to stick to reading that doesn't tax too much of the brain, hence this morning's library trip where I picked up a Jodi Picoult and a Charlaine Harris. Robert Goddard's 1989 was a wonderful combination of none-too-taxing for the higher reaches of the brain and a fascinating and well-written story that kept me gripped.
William Trenchard is one of the managing partners of a mercantile firm in 1880s London. The peace of his comfortable suburban home and his happy life with his wife and daughter is completely shattered one evening when a man enters their yard, introducing himself as the former fiance of William Trenchard's beautiful wife; the fiance who had committed suicide eleven years previously. As every step along the path the family now walks leads to admissions of treachery and uncovers family secrets much better left buried, everyone's life is thrown into chaos from which there is little chance of return.
I would be even more enthusiastic about this book had it not employed a plot device I really dislike at the end of the story. Otherwise, I enjoyed it quite thoroughly, as I almost always do when the author is Robert Goddard.
(cross-posted to my journal)