The Green Baize Door
An atmospheric historical mystery where every character has their own agenda, and their own truth.
In the fashionable mansions on Chestnut Hill, a simple green baize door separates the masters’ world from the servants’. That door is thrown wide when an elderly housekeeper is found brutally murdered on the first day of the new century. Marie Chevalier, the housekeeper’s poor but ambitious granddaughter, and James Lett, the mansion owner’s kind but indolent son, suspect the killer is connected to one of their families—but which one?
From drawing rooms to alleyways, their separate investigations lead them through the sometimes lavish, sometimes brutal, landscape of turn-of-the-century New England. When long-buried secrets begin to unravel the fragile threads that hold both households together, Marie and James must find a way to bridge the gulf between them—if only to prove that the murderer belongs not to their own world, but to that strange and foreign land on the other side of the green baize door.
Inspired by real-life events, The Green Baize Door is a richly layered historical mystery that explores themes of class identity, family loyalty, and the sometimes blurry line between virtue and vice.
Excerpt
The Inquest
Chapter 9 — January 8, 1900 (715 Words)
The courtroom was packed. The "suspicious" death of a prominent family's housekeeper on the first day of the new century had fired the public's imagination. Headlines concerning "The Murder on Chestnut Hill" leapt off the front page of every rag in town.
"There they are!" Eliza yanked Marie to the left, and Papa's bulky frame came into view.
Papa stood encircled by at least half a dozen people and was gesturing emphatically. The moment he spotted them, he broke off and extended his arm. "There you are, my darlings! I was worried sick."
Eliza glanced at Marie, a hint of a smile bending her lips.
Papa closed the distance between them and took Marie's elbow. "Come, my angels. Rest yourselves. You must be cold and weary."
The people nearby bent curious gazes in their direction, and Marie had to resist the urge to pull her elbow free and storm from the room. The crowd parted, and Papa led them to their seats. The moment they were seated, Papa resumed his position in the heart of the semi-circle, his head high and his chest puffed out. In his chocolate striped suit and sapphire-blue silk vest, he looked like a carnival barker.
"What a terrible ordeal these little lambs have endured," Papa announced to no one in particular. "They were very close to their grandmother, and she, poor soul, dearly loved them."
Marie dropped her gaze to the floor, her face burning. How could he be so undignified?
Charlie sat a couple of chairs over. His face was pinched and worry lines creased his brow. Marie moved to the seat next to him and whispered, "Papa is making a perfect spectacle of us."
Charlie shrugged. "At least he's enjoying himself."
"I only wish his enjoyment didn't come at our expense."
"You should try to be more generous. He's had a tough time of it, what with those idiot policemen hounding him day and night."
Marie looked away, abashed. There was, she supposed, no real harm in his theatrics, but just this once, she wished he would refrain from making them conspicuous. Before she could say this, Charlie pointed to a group of men sitting a few tables over. "Do you see that fellow over there? The pale gent in the high-backed chair?"
Marie scanned the crowd until she spotted a likely candidate: an older man with the gaunt, sallow countenance of someone recently ill. "What about him?"
Charlie leaned in to whisper, "That is Mr. Lett."
"Oh." Marie straightened to get a better view. According to Mémé, Marie had met the family when she was very young, but, try as she might, she couldn't remember it. They did not seem like strangers, though. Mémé had spoken of the Letts so often, and with such regard, that Marie had developed a great admiration for them. In her imagination, they represented everything that was fine and noble in the world; that is to say, everything that her own family was not.
Several men in dark suits, all holding tall, gleaming hats, stood near Mr. Lett's chair. She wondered who they were and hoped they would disperse once the inquest began. If Mr. Lett were alone, it would be easier to work up the courage to introduce herself.
"I wonder if he brought the old girl's money?" Charlie asked, interrupting her thoughts.
Marie's head snapped toward him. "This is neither the time nor the place for that conversation, Charlie."
Charlie heaved a long-suffering sigh.
"I mean it," she hissed. "Don't you dare disgrace us."
Charlie rolled his eyes and stood. "I'm going to get some air."
Marie glanced at their father, wondering if she should enlist his aid. He remained ensconced in the crowd's center, one arm flung casually around a bald man she didn't recognize, the other cutting a wide swathe through the air as he spoke. No, she thought, Papa would be no help at all.
Her attention was drawn to the front of the room, where several men had approached a scarred oak table. One of them banged a gavel, and the crowd fell silent. Marie returned to the seat next to Eliza. Her sister sat rigid, twisting her hands on her lap. Marie grabbed one of those pale hands and squeezed it. The inquest had begun.
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Eleanor Birney
Eleanor Birney writes historical mysteries about class, moral ambiguity, and people who aren’t satisfied with life on their side of the green baize door.
She received a BA in History from UC Berkeley, and works as a legal research attorney, a day job that feeds her love of precision, research, and puzzles.
Growing up in foster care gave her a lifelong fascination with the way society steers people into assigned places—and how some of those people refuse to stay in them.
She lives in Northern California with her family. The Green Baize Door is her debut novel.
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