Come in darling, it’s perishing out there. So wonderful to see you, and in such auspicious circumstances. A new society column you say? Well, you’ve got me all to yourself until, oh I don’t know, sixish. Then I must dash as Dotty is collecting me – you remember Dotty don’t you? Only so high, glossy bobbed hair, big glasses? She’s an absolute dream of a pal and we’re off to watch one of Bunty Buntington-Howe’s shows at the West End tonight. But until then, as I said, all yours. Have a seat. Drink?
Once interviewer and the Hon Cressida are seated, with tea – though martinis were offered – we begin…
What do you do for a living?
Well, as you know, I’m lucky enough not to have to do anything, but being idle doesn’t suit me. I’m sure it’s the reason for so many of these murders I keep stumbling upon. People just sitting around reading magazines – not ones like yours, of course, darling – and coming up with dastardly plans for their poor, or in most cases, rich, relatives. So, yes, I do like to keep busy, so I help people with their décor. I know that might sound trivial, but in some cases we’re talking entire ballrooms, or wings of houses! It’s amazing how many stylish women are fearful of patterns and colours when it comes to fabrics for the home. I suppose I’m the equivalent of their modiste or the nice girl at Harvey Nichols who tells you what to wear – except I do it for sofas and curtains!
And tell me about your home?
This one? More of a pied a terre than a home really, though I love it. My sanctuary in a way. I insisted on having the telephone installed right into my bedroom so I can speak to chums while still in my pyjamas! That’s the beauty of living here in Chelsea, it’s so close to all of one’s pals and all the fun things going on. So, for your readers, this is a flat on the third floor of a Victorian building by the River Thames in Chelsea. If you put Cheyne Walk down, your readers will know it. I have a little kitchenette, though I only really use the ice box in it in case I need a cube for my nightcap. Then there’s my bedroom and a sitting room, and a bathroom… and always plenty of space for my little car on the road outside!
What would you say is your greatest source of joy?
That small ball of mushroomy-coloured pup who’s currently—tsk, down Ruby, get off there. The nice lady does not want your paws on her stockings! I am sorry. I find it hard to get cross with her, Ruby that is, my pug, as she’s my most darling little dog. And, I’ll whisper this, though do print it if you like, she’s been amazing at helping with some of the investigations we’ve got caught up in. If I’ve got an eye for a crime, thanks to my interior design nous, then she has the nose for it. Sometimes I think there’s a tiny wolf inside those frog-like eyes and stumpy little tail, just howling to get out. Anyway, I adore her.
I heard that you might have a chap on the scene – another source of joy?
Oh, stop it, you. Alfred and I are… well, we’re friends first and foremost. But he does have the most dreamy eyes and I… well, let’s keep this to a society column shall we, not a gossip one?
All right. What do you do to blow off steam? Where’s hot in London right now?
Oh darling, now we’re on firmer ground. I love Dukes in St James’s, they do the best martinis, and of course the Ritz never goes out of fashion. There’s that new place on The Strand, which is awfully hot right now, though we might not be allowed back after Chippy Rake-Norton dared me to do that thing with the walking stick, his mother’s false eye and the—well, best not print that actually.
Apart from being barred from nightclubs, what’s your most pressing problem at the moment?
Gosh, there’s a question. I suppose I would have to say that I’m constantly stymied by Scotland Yard, though that’s rather unfair really. Dear DCI Andrews – he was in the Boer War with my father, Col Lord Sholto Fawcett you know? – well he does get rather protective of me. Known me since I was a tiddler you see. But even he’s come to realise that I’m quite useful, sticking my noble old nose into his cases and more often than not, coming up with the goods! But I know he pulls his hair out, what’s left of it, bless him, as I go careering around with my own investigation. Helped by Dotty and Alfred too, of course, though they tell me off for being a bit of a hot head as well. Oh dear. At least Ruby never stops me. In fact sometimes I have to stop her. Ruby! Sorry, I should actually try and stop her, your rather smart handbag is in her sights I think…
Does anything keep you awake at night?
Well Madame Monclere downstairs has a very loud parrot – more of a night owl! And of course there’s the occasional fracas out on the street. Though many ways it’s quieter here than at my family’s home in Mydenhurst in Sussex. That’s the family seat, if you will. And some nights there one can barely kip for the clammer of tawny owls, foxes, then the songbirds start in the early hours sometimes just as one has popped one’s silk eye mask on… oh you meant metaphorically? Or abstractly or some such? No, not really. As soon as my head hits the pillow, with aforementioned eye mask, you can put down for your readers that lovely Maurice Sauvage from Liberty chose the silk for me, well then that’s it. I’m snoring until someone calls me on the telephone and then I wonder why I ever had the blasted thing installed so close to my bed!
A knock at the door and the Hon Cressida jumps up, and with her small pug toddling along next to her answers it to her best friend, Lady Dorothy Chatterton. Amongst a cloud of perfume and heartfelt goodbyes and must-see-you-again-soons, the interviewer leaves.
A Cressida Fawcett Mystery #7
When the family gardener is murdered near a site of legendary buried treasure, dog-lover and mystery-solver Cressida Fawcett is on the case!
1926, Sussex. The Honourable Cressida Fawcett is delighted to return to her parents’ rambling mansion to introduce them to her pug Ruby’s puppies. But when the pups go running off with Cressida in hot pursuit, they lead her to a bubbling stream – Hell’s Ditch. And the body of Bob the gardener is floating there, his outstretched hand clutching a soggy cheese and pickle sandwich.
Everyone assumes Bob died of natural causes. But when Cressida finds a glittering gold coin grasped in his other fist, she realises this is part of the long-hidden Saxon hoard. Was Bob struck down by the gold’s ancient curse? As Cressida interviews the colourful members of the local historical society, she learns that Bob had been boasting of new-found wealth, much to the annoyance of his wife, and perhaps deadly jealousy of the other members…
Luckily for Cressida, eminent historian Sir James Colston, friend of the family, arrives at the mansion with tantalising information on the whereabouts of the rest of the Saxon gold. He promises to tell all, but the very next day he collapses into his morning porridge…
To Cressida’s horror, Marian – Bob’s widow and her parents’ cook – is accused of poisoning both the porridge and Bob’s sandwich and is carted off to jail. But Cressida is sure the answers are buried in the past. Just how far would a history boffin or a hard-up local go for an ancient pot of gold? And can Cressida dig up the truth before poison worms its way into her family’s kitchen again?
An absolutely addictive, warm and witty whodunnit that will keep you reading late into the night, perfect for fans of Agatha Christie, T.E. Kinsey and Verity Bright.
Mystery Woman Sleuth | Mystery Historical [Bookouture, On Sale: April 8, 2025, e-Book , / ]
Fliss Chester lives in a little village in West Sussex, and writes historical cozy crime. When she is not killing people off in her 1920s and 1940s whodunnits, she helps her husband, who is a wine merchant, run their family business. This means she's never far from a decent glass of something, which makes her very happy indeed.
Before writing her two cozy crime series, she wrote fun and flirty romances - the sort of thing that might make your mother blush. Not hers though, as it was her mother who always encouraged her to be 'anything you want, darling, as long as it's not dull'. Hopefully readers will attest to the fact that whether it's death by cyanide or a smooch in a hot tub, there's nothing dull about Fliss's books.
The current series that Fliss is working on is the Hon Cressida Fawcett Mysteries Series. Our heroine, Cressida, is a fun-loving heiress in 1920s England - though when she's not propping up the cocktail bar at The Savoy, she's helping people with their interior decorating projects. Through her love of decorating, and the fact she keeps tripping over dead bodies, she realises that her eye for design means she has an eye for a crime too. Why not pick up the series with the first book, Death Among the Diamonds, and join Cressida for a martini and a murder!
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