Montmorency

The Raffles figure, a gentleman-villain who moves in high society by day and robs it by night, is the ambiguous hero of many stories, his moral failings usually excused by some respectable motive which transforms him into Robin Hood. Eleanor Updale’s Montmorency is an inglorious variation on this theme. He is a genuine thief of humble origins in Victorian London. Almost killed by falling through the skylight of a factory he is robbing, he is saved by an ambitious young doctor who then uses his slowly mending body as an exhibit in medical demonstrations, borrowing him from his prison cell to do so. These forced excursions into scientific circles give Montmorency the idea he needs for more successful villainy. His patched-up body is on the same programme as a demonstration of Victorian London’s new sewer system, and he realises that the sewers form ideal highways for crime and escape. On his release he lives a prosperous double life as thief and pseudo-gentleman, the latter role allowing him to dispose of stolen goods. Gradually he changes, until he is more gentleman than criminal, and discovers his redeeming propensity for both conscience and patriotic fervour. The one-time thief becomes a government spy.

This is a clever, racy, skilfully plotted story, and thankfully outgrows its early fascination with excreta. Its author is a media person, and the book comes heralded by gushing praise from other media persons. Their enthusiasm may well be the prelude to media hype. Montmorency is a lively, unusual and enjoyable read, but it is not ‘set to become an instant classic’ unless publicity rather than its merits makes it one.