It’s always hard to pinpoint one exact inspiration for a character or book, and when I was coming up with my new cosy crime series based around amateur sleuth the Hon. Cressida Fawcett there was never one ‘eureka’ moment, but perhaps a lifetime of little nudges… little nudges like these:
A History of Art degree
One of the many things I loved about university was the opportunity it gave me to study my favourite subject; not English Literature which everyone assumes any author worth their salt studied, but History of Art. Yes, it was only four hours a week of lectures; yes it was barely examined in the first year of study and yes, it mainly required looking at a lot of pictures in rather grand galleries… but it also gave me an eye for detail and a love for English country houses, as one of the modules was studying just that – the major stately homes of Yorkshire and Derbyshire. From the influences the past generations had on our landscape, to the décor inside these palaces of the people, I fell in love with them and it’s no doubt why I spend so long idling through their passages and parlours, libraries and dining rooms, in my head as I plot my classic English country house crime capers.
Golden Age Crime
The British Library has gradually been re-releasing books from the golden age of crime fiction. These are the real McCoy, the books written in the 1930s and 40s with their idiosyncrasies and, at times, strange tangents that they go down. One of them took a full two thirds of the book for a murder to even happen, and I love that freedom of structure and the slow build up of characters that I think now can only happen in a series (with a murder coming much more quickly in each book!). Even though readers expect something a bit different from us contemporary writers, it’s wonderful to have the originals there as inspiration, and with titles such as The Seat Of The Scornful and Death In White Pyjamas, who wouldn’t be?
E M Delafield
I first stumbled across E M Delafield because someone gave me one of the Virago Modern Classics editions of her Diary Of A Provincial Lady. The cover was pretty, the foreword was by Jilly Cooper… and the book itself was a pure delight; nothing like the unapproachable style of some of the authors of that era. Delafield could be writing now, such is her satirical wit and astute observations of society. Twice I checked that I wasn’t been duped by a modern writer, but no, there she is on Wikipedia, Edmée Elizabeth Monica de la Pasture (Delafield, geddit?) born in 1890 and died in 1943. Her series of Provincial Lady books are a hoot, and I sink into each one, eavesdropping on society life in the 1930s.
Sibyl Colefax
Don’t tell me that Lady Sibyl Colefax, from legendary London design company Colefax and Fowler, didn’t know exactly what was going on in every well-decorated drawing room in the country. Due to her position in society and her usefulness to all sorts of people she was invited everywhere, and her circle of friends included artists, diplomats, actors and even royalty. I’m sure if there had been a spate of murders in the English country houses of the 1930s, Lady Sibyl would have cracked the cases. She was obviously an intelligent and resourceful woman, starting her own business and earning her own money when it was relatively surprising for a woman of her class to do either, and I think her doggedness of spirit, the fact she had so much agency, and of course her amazing eye for detail, would have meant she’d have made an excellent sleuth.
Food
My characters, whatever they’re doing and wherever they are, always seem able to stop for dinner. And breakfast. And lunch. Quite often tea too, and elevensies of course… Am I a gourmand? Possibly. But I also think food and eating together is an important part of humanising my characters. Confidences whispered over the Madeira cake, poison in the mushroom soup, a stiff brandy to ease a faint or a glance across a buffet luncheon table – these are all so important in cosy crimes and if I add a little flourish to the description of the oozing Hollandaise sauce or the crispness of the mint wafer, then I apologise… and I hope you’re not reading my books while peckish…
Fliss Chester lives in Surrey with her husband and writes historical cozy crime. When she is not killing people off in her 1940s whodunnits, she helps her husband, who is a wine merchant, run their business. Never far from a decent glass of something, Fliss also loves cooking (and writing up her favourite recipes on her blog), enjoying the beautiful Surrey and West Sussex countryside and having a good natter.
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Twitter: @SocialWhirlGirl
