Nine Coaches Waiting (by Mary Stewart)

I do like the late Mary Stewart’s writing. I first discovered some of her gothic style romantic thrillers when I was a teenager. I found them somewhat frightening, but also compulsive. As an adult I acquired some titles I recalled, and some which I don’t think I had previously read. One of those is ‘Nine Coaches Waiting’, which I read, probably for the first time, in 2005. So it was more than time for a re-read.

As so often happens after a gap of more than a few years, I had entirely forgotten the plot and the characters. Linda Martin is the main protagonist, and her story is told in the first person. I quite like this style, as it ensures that the character must at least survive by the end of the book. It also enables the reader to get inside the character’s head and see things from their viewpoint.

Linda is on her way to a chateau in France when we meet her. She spent some of her childhood living in France, but was then orphaned at fourteen, and lived in an orphanage in England. She was happy enough, but she’s half-French, and is looking forward to her new job as governess to nine-year-old Philippe. She only met her future employer briefly, and did not admit that she speaks French as fluently as English, as her main role is to speak only English to her charge.

This omission grows out of proportion in the first half of the story. Linda has to speak bad schoolgirl French to attempt to make herself understood to some of the household staff, and to shop owners. Her efforts provide light-hearted episodes in what is otherwise a very tense story. Mary Stewart had a tremendous gift for creating an evocative, scary atmosphere in just a few words, and by the time I was about a third of the way in, I could hardly put the book down.

Philippe is staying with his aunt (who interviewed Linda) and uncle Leon, who runs the estate despite having been badly injured and disabled in an accident. He has an electric wheelchair and the house is adapted to his needs, although he is sometimes bitter about the things he cannot do. Linda doesn’t know if he likes her or not; sometimes they are worryingly in rapport. At other times she finds him terrifying.

Then she meets Leon’s son Raoul, who manages another family estate, and is rather devastatingly attractive…

Events happen rapidly once the scene is set, and Linda becomes more and more concerned. She doesn’t know who to trust - and, reading the book, I didn’t know either. Could she trust the stolid English housekeeper Mrs Seddon, for instance? And what about the forester friend she meets, who tries to educate her about trees? Most importantly, can Raoul be trusted? And what about Philippe’s favourite Uncle, Hippolyte, who is absent for most of the book?

I had, perhaps, some vague memories towards the end of the book as I was pretty sure I knew who were the ‘bad’ guys, but I couldn’t be certain. But I had no memory of the stressful escape and hiding that forms the lengthy climax to the book, nor of the outcome, once it’s clear who was responsible for some nasty attempts on Philippe’s life, and who was trying to help him.

I very much liked the character of Philippe, and his growing friendship with Linda is one of the nicest underlying subplots of the story. I liked Mrs Seddon, too, with her fluent but atrociously accented French (I had to say ‘oh dick alone’ aloud before I realised what her favourite scent was). And while I’m not usually a fan of such tense books, this one was so well done that I expect I’ll read it again in another ten years or so.

The book was written as contemporary fiction in the late 1950s so while it seems like historical fiction from the perspective of sixty years later, it also feels very authentic. The snippets of poetry used at the start of each chapter (and from which the book title came) went somewhat over my head, but that didn't matter at all.

Definitely recommended if you like this genre of mid-20th century fiction.

Review copyright 2019 Sue's Book Reviews