Author Biography

Barbara Cleverly was born in the north of England and is a graduate of Durham University. A former teacher, she has spent her working life in Cambridgeshire and Suffolk; she now lives in Cambridge. She is the author of thirteen books in the Joe Sandilands series, including The Last Kashmiri Rose, The Blood Royal, Not My Blood, A Spider in the Cup, Enter Pale Death and Diana's Altar.

Review

Praise for Fall of Angels "Charmingly old-fashioned . . . Cleverly resolves the mystery with her customary expertise and good taste. But she's human enough to take the occasional jab at men who make the rules of society, 'smothering female talent, gagging and belittling their wives and daughters.'"
--The New York Times Book Review

"The inspector's earnestness is well-tempered by a good deal of wit and charm. And Ms. Cleverly displays a sure knowledge of the personal attitudes, social conditions, science and slang of a fascinating transitional period in history."
--The Wall Street Journal

"Cleverly, known for the intricate puzzles she creates and the depth with which she draws her sleuths, has another winner in Redfyre. With dry humor to leaven a frightening story, richly imagined characters and a sure sense of place and time, she leaves the reader eager for Redfyre's next case."
--Richmond Times-Dispatch

"A novel that will equally satisfy fans of Evelyn Waugh and Dorothy L. Sayers, Fall of Angels is a delicious concoction, showcasing Barbara Cleverly's prodigious talent. John Redfyre is a detective for the ages."
--Tasha Alexander, New York Times bestselling author of Death in St. Petersburg

"I have been a fan of Barbara Cleverly's ever since her first Joe Sandilands novel, and find her new series quite exciting. I feel as if Dorothy Sayers has been brought back to life! Detective Inspector John Redfyre is Lord Peter Wimsey without the affectations. Many writers can tell us about the 1920s, but so few can transport us there, as Barbara Cleverly does."
--Rhys Bowen, New York Times bestselling author of the Royal Spyness and Molly Murphy mysteries

"I enjoyed the excellent writing, the careful placement in time and place, and strong pacing."
--Deadly Pleasures Magazine

"In this new series kickoff, Cleverly provides the requisite period detail, adds a cunning mystery, and acknowledges that the fight for equality continues to this day."
--Kirkus Reviews

"A brilliant sleuth with surprisingly liberal politics for the time, Redfyre combines the wit and willingness to defy convention of Kerry Greenwood's Phryne Fisher with the polish of Dorothy Sayers' Lord Peter Wimsey, adding a hint of G. M. Malliet's Max Tudor. The novel has the feel of a humorous cozy while exploring serious themes and boasting richly flawed characters . . . a promising new series."
--Booklist

"Aficionados of Jacqueline Winspear and Dorothy Sayers will relish this atmospheric historical mystery, with its colorful period details that brilliantly capture post-World War I Britain."
--Library Journal

"Imagine Lord Peter Wimsey attended Cambridge instead of Oxford, and needed a job of work to support himself. And there you have it, Inspector Redfyre, a toff as adept at detection as he is at wordplay. Fall of Angels is sharp, witty, and pleasingly surprising."
--James R. Benn, author of the Billy Boyle WWII mysteries

"Excellent historical detail, humorous dialogue, intriguing characters, and a whodunit that will keep readers on the end of their seat until the very end."
--New York Journal of Books

"Simply stellar . . . Reaches back to the works of P.G. Wodehouse and the great mystery writers of his time, but is written in such a way that the present-day reader can be totally engaged."
--Reviewing the Evidence

"Fall of Angels provides a wide cast of smart women."
--Kingdom Books

"Cleverly's scene setting is vivid and skillful."
--Crime Review

Praise for Barbara Cleverly

"Despite her mastery at vivid scene-setting, Cleverly never loses sight of the historical puzzle that is central to her story. Simply put, it's a stunner."
--The New York Times Book Review

"Fans of P.D. James, take note: Here's a worthy colleague."
--The Seattle Times

"Stylish and intricate . . . Cleverly has perfect pitch for period and place, whether her hero is unearthing evil in India, England or France."
--Richmond Times-Dispatch

Review Quote

Praise for Fall of Angels "I have been a fan of Barbara Cleverly's ever since her first Joe Sandilands novel, and find her new series quite exciting. I feel as if Dorothy Sayers has been brought back to life! Detective Inspector John Redfyre is Lord Peter Wimsey without the affectations. Many writers can tell us about the 1920s, but so few can transport us there, as Barbara Cleverly does." --Rhys Bowen, New York Times bestselling author of the Royal Spyness and Molly Murphy mysteries "A novel that will equally satisfy fans of Evelyn Waugh and Dorothy L. Sayers, Fall of Angels is a delicious concoction, showcasing Barbara Cleverly's prodigious talent. John Redfyre is a detective for the ages." --Tasha Alexander, New York Times bestselling author of Death in St. Petersburg "Imagine Lord Peter Wimsey attended Cambridge instead of Oxford, and needed a job of work to support himself. And there you have it, Inspector Redfyre, a toff as adept at detection as he is at wordplay. Fall of Angels is sharp, witty, and pleasingly surprising." --James R. Benn, author of the Billy Boyle WWII mysteries "In this new series kickoff, Cleverly provides the requisite period detail, adds a cunning mystery, and acknowledges that the fight for equality continues to this day." --Kirkus Reviews "A brilliant sleuth with surprisingly liberal politics for the time, Redfyre combines the wit and willingness to defy convention of Kerry Greenwood's Phryne Fisher with the polish of Dorothy Sayers' Lord Peter Wimsey, adding a hint of G. M. Malliet's Max Tudor. The novel has the feel of a humorous cozy while exploring serious themes and boasting richly flawed characters . . . a promising new series." --Booklist "Aficionados of Jacqueline Winspear and Dorothy Sayers will relish this atmospheric historical mystery, with its colorful period details that brilliantly capture post-World War I Britain." --Library Journal Praise for Barbara Cleverly "Despite her mastery at vivid scene-setting, Cleverly never loses sight of the historical puzzle that is central to her story. Simply put, it's a stunner." --The New York Times Book Review "Fans of P.D. James, take note: Here's a worthy colleague." --The Seattle Times "Stylish and intricate . . . Cleverly has perfect pitch for period and place, whether her hero is unearthing evil in India, England or France." -- Richmond Times-Dispatch

Promotional "Headline"

Barbara Cleverly, bestselling author of the Joe Sandilands series, introduces an ingenious new sleuth who navigates 1920s Cambridge, a European intellectual capital on the cusp of dramatic change.

Excerpt from Book

CHAPTER 1 CAMBRIDGE, DECEMBER 1923 "Hello? Detective Inspector Redfyre, Cambridge CID here." "There you are, Johnny!" John Redfyre flinched. He eased the receiver an inch from his ear to take the edge off the hunting-field halloo of his favourite old relative and looked at his wristwatch. He smiled. Halfway between tea and the first gin, he might well have expected the caller to be Aunt Henrietta. "I can''t deny it, Aunt Hetty. You find me here in my foxhole. Had I gone missing?" His voice was warm, his tone light. Redfyre''s answer to any swords and lances coming in his direction was always to raise, not a shield, but two defiant fingers and skip away fast. He''d learned to greet Fate with a flirtatious smile, Adversity with a kick in the shins and his Aunt''s summons with a hearty riposte. Family circumstances had forged his resilience, he believed. As the youngest of four boys of a family fallen on hard times--and not only the youngest, but the handsomest--he''d endured a childhood to rival any Biblical tale of family disharmony. He could have told Joseph where he''d gone wrong. He could have given a few pointers to the Prodigal Son. He accepted that he was never to lead the easy aristocratic life of his forebears owing to birth order and postwar austerity, but there was one aspect of a privileged situation he still guiltily yearned for, and Hetty''s call had triggered that yearning. On the occasions when she demanded his attention, he felt the need of a butler. Some suave old chap like his father''s Simpson. A man who would purr blandly: "I''m so sorry, Madam. I regret the master is not at home. He is on his way to a Masonic meeting, I believe," whilst his master, in slippers and dressing gown, sat grinning shamelessly at him from his armchair. Bloody telephone! Convenient for professional purposes, but he rather resented the social intrusion of the apparatus into his home. Anyone with access to one of these evil instruments could command his attention at a whim and the communication could not be avoided by crossing the road, affecting a sore throat or inventing an urgent engagement. Yes, here, indeed, was the Detective Inspector, caught in an unbuttoned state, glass of whisky in one hand, Sporting Life in the other at the end of a gruelling day--and no protective Simpson about the place to deny access. Not on a DI''s salary. Redfyre accepted the inevitable. He expressed his very real regard for his aunt and voiced his surprise that she should be troubling to speak to him by means of this inhuman device. A threepenny bus ride or a two-bob taxi fare and she could have been with him in person, pouring out her problems while he poured out a London gin and added a slug of Rose''s Lime Juice. A bit of swift work with the ice pick and he could promise a tinkle of ice shards against the Waterford glass and . . . "There''s still time," he added temptingly. "Tinkling ice, eh? So there''s one piece of modern equipment you don''t disdain? Always a lure, of course, but, on this occasion, ice won''t do the trick." "Ah! Like me, Aunt Hetty, you''ve loosened your stays and settled into your evening?" His aunt suppressed a gurgle, then gathered herself for the attack. "Now, I have to tell you that your despised telephone is bringing you a delightful offer. Let''s do diaries, darling. Ready? I''m looking at Friday evening. Are you free?" "The day-after-tomorrow-Friday? That the one? Hmm . . ." She''d caught him on the hop again. Pinned him to the page. There were several things he''d been planning in a vague way to do when his shift ended, involving a jar of ale and congenial conversation--possibly an Oscar Wilde play on the wireless--but none would survive a bald statement over the phone. He''d always found it a more fiendishly accurate revealer of the barefaced lie than the newfangled lie-detector machines he''d been experimenting with. Blood pressure pulses be damned! It was voice tremors they should be calibrating. However hard he stared, his Friday evening slot remained inconveniently blank. "I''m free, Aunt," he admitted. "Excellent! Then ink this in at once. I have tickets for a concert you will not want to miss. I find I can''t use them--your uncle''s gout again--so I''m leaving one for you at the ticket desk. Just up your street, you''ll find. It''s a Christmas concert in one of the college chapels, St. Barnabas. Welcoming in the festive season with a blast of traditional music. Mince pies and hot punch in the interval. No pink-faced choir boys--just two soloists. Organ and trumpet . . . Oh, you know, the usual gaggle of Germans--Haydn, Hummel, Bach of course and a bit of Orlando Gibbons batting for England perhaps . . . that sort of thing. Don''t worry, you will absolutely not be called on to sing along," she added hastily. "It''s an early start--six o''clock for two hours, so you''ll still have time for something of an evening and an early night." But Redfyre was suspicious by nature, especially of Aunt Hetty bearing gifts. He broke into her chatter. "Did you say you had two tickets? Are you expecting me to rustle up an organ-loving chum?" He added provokingly, "At such short notice?" "That won''t be necessary, my dear. I''ve already allocated the other one to someone who jumped at the chance. Someone you may remember from your childhood. You''ll be sitting next to Earwig." "I''m sorry, Aunt, I didn''t quite make that out. Do you know, for a moment I thought you said ''Earwig''! Ho, ho!" He shook the receiver and applied it to his other ear. "Ah! How do you spell that? E-A-D-W-I-G? Eadwig? Mmm . . . Close enough. An Anglo-Saxon acquaintance, would that be? A newly discovered Norwegian branch of the family?" "No--English. The Strettons. Don''t pretend you don''t know them. You''ve met them all. Well-to-do family. They own much of the view to the south from the top of St. Mary''s tower, which allows them to indulge their artistic compulsions. Very artycrafty, you''ll have noticed. He paints rather badly; she pots rather well. All their children were given Anglo-Saxon names: Aethelwulf, Aethelstan, Aelfhelm, Godric and Eadwig . . . Very fashionable twenty, thirty years ago. And now they''re all out in the world, of course." Redfyre groaned. "Now I''m beginning to recall the faces that go with the names. Out in the world, you say? Surprised to hear that! I''d have expected behind bars. And the place, their country seat--Melford wasn''t it? Just south of Cambridge? We used to be sent over to play with them there when we were little." "That''s right. You were quite a favourite with Clarissa, I recall. She preferred your quiet, sunny nature to the rumbustious indiscipline of her own brood. And who wouldn''t? Though perhaps it was ill-judged of Clarissa to say so to her own children. You spent many hours in her studio learning to handle clay." Uncomfortable memories, long suppressed, were beginning to surface. Once, they would have stung; now they merely irritated Redfyre. "Aunt, it was safer to be in the studio with a kindly adult than to be outside in the grounds with a pack of hooligans on the loose. For the Stretton boys, ''Go out and play'' meant ''Go out and fight.'' I hated our visits. It was a social experiment that was thankfully cut short and abandoned. Big, blond bullies! I believe I had a particular disagreement with one of them." "You broke his nose, darling. With your little fist. That was Wulfie--Aethelwulf. But don''t concern yourself--it''s been broken on several occasions since by others who shared your sentiments." Redfyre grunted. "I ask myself what''s wrong with ''Alfred'' or ''Hilda,'' if you''re such a sucker for the Saxons? Why put modern man to the trouble of wrestling with uncouth syllables?" Hetty snorted in agreement. "Know what you mean! It''s like trying to eat a piece of overdone toast. Much noise and effort expended for little gratification. Eadwig, you''ll find, is the most agreeable of the bunch, in character and pronunciation. I''m informed that ''ead'' means ''wealth'' and ''wig'' means ''war.'' Make what you will of that." Redfyre had settled into his front row seat directly below the high organ loft--ease of access for gouty gents was always a feature of his aunt''s arrangements--and scanned the program a good ten minutes before the music was due to start. He looked about him with satisfaction. The college chapel was en fete tonight. Candles had been lit in profusion, and the air was charged with the invigorating scent of green boughs: pine and holly and ivy with, somewhere in the background, an ancient blend of incense and dark wood. Chapel officials in splendid vestments were swirling about, busily doing nothing productive and avoiding catching the eye of members of the public, punctuating this seemingly choreographed performance with an occasional genuflection to the altar. One of them disappeared behind the hangings masking the door to the organ loft and climbed the staircase up to the gallery where the performance was to take place. He appeared moments later, s

Description for Sales People

First in a brand new series from critically acclaimed author Barbara Cleverly. Cleverly immerses us in pre-war Britain, where gender politics still ring true. Feminist themes run through the novel. For fans of Downton Abbey and other BBC war-time society dramas - Cleverly is a master at this setting and world. Author has garnered success and critical acclaim with her previous series. Her fan base will delight in new characters.

Description for Library

A Cambridge upper-cruster in the city's police department in the 1920s, Detective Inspector John Redfyre is on hand at the annual St. Barnabas College Christmas concert when a trumpeter falls nearly to her death. Was it really an accident? The popular Cleverly (Diana's Altar) launches a new series.

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