Marie Belloc Lowndes

• Born: 1868
• Birthplace: Marylebone, London, England
• Died: November 14, 1947
• Place of death: Eversly Cross, Hampshire, England

Types of Plot: Psychological; historical

Principal Series: Hercules Popeau, 1913-1940

Contribution

Marie Belloc Lowndes was one of the first novelists to base her work on historical criminal cases, at times utilizing actual courtroom testimony. This innovation, however, presented her with a dilemma: If the reader knows the outcome of the problem, where is the suspense? Lowndes’s solution was to focus attention not on the crime but on the underlying motives and, above all, on the reactions of those affected by its consequences. Most of her characters, whether murderers, accomplices, or bystanders, are ordinary people who, to their horror, become gradually enmeshed in circumstances beyond their control. Lowndes, unique in her day, was particularly adept at portraying the psychology of women who not only shielded criminals but also could be cold-blooded killers. It is to one extraordinary, even mythical, figure in criminal lore, however, that Lowndes owes her place of honor in the mystery hall of fame. In The Lodger (1913), she was the first to seize on the rich material latent in the Jack the Ripper murders. She also was the first to participate in the game of guessing the Ripper’s identity. Her assumption that the hierarchy of the Metropolitan Police knew and covered up the identity of the murderer has formed the basis of many subsequent theories concerning the notorious serial killer.

Biography

Marie Adelaide Belloc Lowndes was born in the summer of 1868 into a family renowned for its literary, social, and scientific achievements. Her parents, both nearing forty at the time of her birth, had already distinguished themselves in their respective careers, her French father, Louis Belloc, in law, and her English mother, Bessie Raynor Parkes, as a leader in the fight for women’s rights. Bessie Parkes was also the editor of one of the first women’s magazines in Great Britain. Lowndes’s French grandmother had translated Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1882), and her maternal great-great-grandfather was J. B. Priestley, the discoverer of oxygen. Her younger brother, Hilaire Belloc, was the well-known novelist and poet.

The bilingual Lowndes considered herself to be French, even though she was born and later died in England, wrote in English, and lost her French father during her early childhood. She had little formal schooling, except for two years in a convent school, but claimed to have begun writing at the age of sixteen. Her familial connections brought her in contact with the important figures of the day, and her literary career began with sketches of famous writers such as Jules Verne that were published in magazines such as The Strand. In 1896, she married the journalist and writer Frederic Sawrey Lowndes. They had two daughters and a son.

At the beginning of her literary career, Lowndes was primarily known as a writer of witty and satirical sketches of upper-and middle-class society. After the publication of her first novel of suspense, When No Man Pursueth: An Everyday Story (1910), however, her works increasingly began to focus on the psychological motivation of crime. Since 1926, numerous versions of her suspense novels have been adapted to the screen. The most famous have clearly been the various reworkings of The Lodger, starting with the Alfred Hitchcock classic The Lodger (1926) with Ivor Novello as the mysterious upstairs tenant.

During the 1930’s, Lowndes concentrated her energies on writing for the stage, adapting many of her own works. Her expertise in the manipulation of dialogue served her well in her account of another famous murder case, that of Lizzie Borden. In Lizzie Borden: A Study in Conjecture (1939), Lowndes offers her own solution to the crime. Lowndes wrote four biographical volumes: “I, Too, Have Lived in Arcadia”: A Record of Love and of Childhood (1941), Where Love and Friendship Dwelt (1943), The Merry Wives of Westminster (1946), and A Passing World (1948). Where Love and Friendship Dwelt contains fascinating glimpses into the lives of important literary and political figures of the early twentieth century. During World War II, the Lowndes family house in London was destroyed in a bombing raid, and she retired to her country house in Hampshire, where she died on November 14, 1947.

Analysis

Marie Belloc Lowndes subtitled her first attempt at suspense fiction, When No Man Pursueth, “An Everyday Story.” Its setting is not the gothic castle, the lonely moor, or the Chinese opium den, so beloved of her generation, but a tiny, common English village filled with pleasant, ordinary English people living pleasant, ordinary lives—except for the fact that one man is slowly murdering his wife in quite a vile manner. The protagonist is a country doctor who, to his own amazement, begins to realize the truth. He has no direct proof, and another doctor does not agree with his suspicions, but slowly and reluctantly he is drawn into action. The focus of the novel is on neither the victim nor the murderer but on the workings of the young doctor’s mind. This careful delineation of the psychology of an ordinary person confronted by extraordinary circumstances was to become the linchpin of all Lowndes’s later work. What interested Lowndes was not the “who” but the “why.” In fact, her trademark was the revelation of the criminal’s identity at the beginning of the novel rather than at the end. Bereft of the value of the dramatic denouement, Lowndes experimented with different narrators and narrative techniques. In The Chink in the Armour (1912), which somewhat resembles the much later Before the Fact (1932) by Francis Iles, the story is told from the point of view of the intended victim.

The Story of Ivy and Letty Lynton

Victims were not, however, psychologically interesting to Lowndes. Her emphasis on motivation enabled her to break away from many of the stereotypes of her time. Although her writing does have its share of pathetic heroines, more common are the strong, amoral women whose straying from the path of accepted behavior is painstakingly depicted. Lowndes was particularly intrigued by the psychology of the female poisoner. Two of her most popular works, The Story of Ivy (1927) and Letty Lynton (1931), analyze two such women who ruthlessly try to rid themselves of all obstacles that block their path to monetary gain or sexual satisfaction. Interest in these novels is maintained in the revelation of the protagonist’s true identity as layer after layer of psychological camouflage is painfully stripped away. Both works contain courtroom scenes, and Lowndes’s skill at dialogue is evident in her adroit maneuvering of the verbal give-and-take of a trial. In 1939, Lowndes united this expertise to her concentration on psychological motivation in her acclaimed tour de force, Lizzie Borden.

Lizzie Borden

Lowndes had long used actual criminal cases as background for her suspense novels, and she is principally remembered for these fictional reconstructions. The Borden case fascinated her—the case was one of the most controversial in United States criminal history, and the notorious Borden seemed to be the real-life counterpart of Lowndes’s own fictional murderesses. In 1893, the New York jury, although apparently presented with incontrovertible evidence of guilt, voted to acquit Borden. In Lowndes’s reconstruction of the case, Borden’s guilt or innocence is never an issue. She wholeheartedly accepts Edmund Pearson’s 1924 analysis of the trial that ridiculed the acquittal. For Lowndes, the interesting question is the motive underlying the guilt, which she defines as destructive love. Controlled by a tyrannical father and dominated by passions that she could not control, the quiet, repressed Borden visualized murder as a logical step in her quest for sexual liberation. Although no shred of evidence has ever arisen to substantiate Lowndes’s claim, her psychological insights and masterful setting of the scene lend a credibility that is further reinforced by its insertion between the factual prologue and epilogue. Unfortunately, the technical skill of the novel has at times been obscured by the prevailing theories about the Borden case. In 1971, both Pearson’s and Lowndes’s work were caustically attacked by the journalist Edmund Radin, who, decrying the bias of Pearson’s assertions, named the Borden servant, Bridget, as the culprit. Since the publication of Radin’s own book, Lizzie Borden: The Untold Story (1971), opinion generally has been divided between the Lowndes-Pearson and Radin camps. Another theory, rapidly gaining a following, deals with reputed epilepsy and concomitant temporary insanity in the Borden family.

The Lodger

The Lowndes work that is considered a classic of its kind concerns another famous criminal, Jack the Ripper. The Lodger is a complex weaving of Lowndes’s preoccupation with criminal history, feminine psychology, and obsessive motivation. It also represents a milestone as the first fictional treatment of a subject that has continued to fascinate connoisseurs of crime; many consider it to be not only the first but also the best fictional reworking of the Jack the Ripper story.

In 1913, Lowndes was still wary of using actual names. Her murderer is called “The Avenger,” and all of her references to historical names and details are veiled. So well did she execute this deliberate vagueness that on publication of the work, many critics did not even mention its similarity to the Ripper case. Instead, labeling it a psychological study, they congratulated her for her clinical impartiality.

Rather than focusing on the murderer himself, Lowndes centers her attention on an impoverished former servant named Ellen Bunting. The tale is set in a shabby street near Marylebone Road, London, in an old house whose tenants, to survive, have had to rent their upstairs rooms to lodgers. (Lowndes herself was born in a lodging house in Marylebone, although in a far better section.) The beginning of the novel is a microcosm of Lowndes’s art in suspense writing. The reader is presented with detailed descriptions of an ordinary, middle-aged couple and their house and its furnishings, typical of their class and period. Everything is in order and nothing attracts attention. The thick damask curtains are drawn against the dampness and intrusions from the street. Suddenly, however, the outside world enters with the echoing shout of newsboys crying the late edition of the day’s paper. Only one word stands out—murder.

Reading about the series of brutal murders committed during the past fortnight has been Mr. Bunting’s only diversion from his financial woes. Slipping out into the street, he guiltily buys the paper and reads it under the street lamp, afraid to return home with his purchase. Remorsefully, he realizes not only that it was wasteful to have spent the sorely needed money, but also that his wife, Ellen, is angered by any reference to immorality or physical violence. Decent people, in her opinion, should be above such morbid curiosity. It is cold and foggy outside, however, and Bunting slowly enters the house with his paper and sits down to read about the most recent murder. Absorbed in the paper, he does not respond to the sudden knock, and so it is his wife who slowly opens the front door:

On the top of the three steps which led up to the door, there stood the long, lanky figure of a man, clad in an Inverness cape and an old-fashioned top hat. He waited for a few seconds blinking at her, perhaps dazzled by the light of the gas in the passage. . . .

“Is it not a fact that you let lodgings?” he asked, and there was something shrill, unbalanced, hesitating, in his voice. . . .

And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting noticed that he held a narrow bag in his left hand. It was quite a new bag, made of strong brown leather.

“I am looking for some quiet rooms,” he said.

Ellen Bunting, knowing instinctively that this man is a gentleman, smilingly invites Mr. Sleuth into her home. The Buntings are overjoyed. Financial disaster has been temporarily postponed with the arrival of this most-generous stranger. His oddities do not concern them, for after a lifetime spent in servitude, the Buntings are tolerant of, and even amused by, the eccentricities of the upper classes.

A decrease in suspense and surprise generally accompanies any familiarity with the subject, but, paradoxically, it is the modern reader’s detailed knowledge of the Whitechapel murders that increase the drama in The Lodger. In 1913, unaware of many of the facts or theories surrounding the case, few readers recognized Lowndes’s skill in weaving historical detail or surmise into her fictional pattern. By 1944, the year of the remake of the film The Lodger, starring Laird Cregar, the audience was immersed in Ripper lore and thrilled at the first close-up of the small leather bag surrounded by swirling fog. Consequently, the modern reader is well ahead of Ellen Bunting in her discovery of the truth. Such prescience, however, in no way diminishes the novel’s impact. The true center of interest has always been Ellen, and it is soon made clear that what the reader knows Ellen would give anything to hide.

Their lodger quite literally represents hope for the Buntings. Without the rent money, they would starve. Moreover, Mr. Sleuth is Ellen’s lodger; he trusts her. In a famous passage, Lowndes analyzes the psychological motivation underlying this protective instinct:

In the long history of crime it has very, very seldom happened that a woman has betrayed one who has taken refuge with her. The timorous and cautious woman has not infrequently hunted a human being fleeing from his pursuer from her door, but she has not revealed the fact that he was ever there. In fact, it may almost be said that such betrayal has never taken place unless the betrayer has been actuated by love of gain, or by a longing for revenge. So far, perhaps because she is subject rather than citizen, her duty as a component part of civilised society weights but lightly on woman’s shoulders.

Ellen Bunting feels no obligation to the forces of law and order. As a respectable, nineteenth century woman of her class, she would consider it a mark of shame to be associated with the police. The fact that the beau of her stepdaughter Daisy is a police officer makes no difference. One can have a police officer as an acquaintance or even as a member of the family, but one must not be soiled by his sordid occupation. It is indeed fortunate that this particular police officer, besotted by Daisy, shows no curiosity in the lodger or his odd comings and goings. Ellen is also typical of the psychology of her class and time in her feelings toward the victims. One reason that she can shield the real murderer is that she is not sympathetic toward the dead women. Contemptuous of their class and morality, she believes that they deserve what they get.

It is clear why Lowndes’s portrait of Ellen Bunting surprised many critics. The taciturn, prejudiced, unlovely landlady is a far cry from the usual lady in distress. Lowndes has justly been praised by writers such as Ernest Hemingway for psychological insights into the mind of this woman, who slowly becomes a prisoner of her own fear. It is not physical fear; Ellen is afraid not of her lodger but of social ostracism. Lying in bed at night listening for the sounds of Mr. Sleuth’s footsteps, Ellen has visions of being identified as the woman who harbored the criminal, which would mean that she and her husband would never get another lodger. Although differing from most of Lowndes’s female protagonists in age and class, Ellen, who considers herself to be an extremely decent, religious woman, is nevertheless like the others in her amoral approach to her problem. Ellen sees no inherent ethical dilemma in sheltering a homicidal maniac. On the contrary, self-interest demands that she keep him safe.

There are times, however, when her resolution wanes. For example, spurred by a need to know if the police are any closer to the truth, she attends the inquest on one of the Avenger’s victims. For the first time, a victim becomes human to her, and the enormity of the crimes hits home. Hearing the gruesome details, Ellen becomes physically ill but still cannot bring herself to betray Mr. Sleuth. In fact, she never does. It is not her fault that in a final ironic twist of fate, her loyalty becomes meaningless. At the end, Mr. Sleuth believes that she has betrayed him.

In the best of Lowndes’s fiction, suspense lies in the unraveling of an ordinary mind and spirit confronted by unusual circumstances. Lowndes resented being called a crime writer and would have been amazed to discover her name indelibly linked with that of an extraordinary criminal.

Principal Series Character:

• Hercules Popeau , an elderly French detective, follows the pattern of traditional detective fiction. Perhaps because of the author’s French heritage, Popeau is never given to the histrionics and idiosyncrasies so typical of his many French and Belgian detective contemporaries.

Bibliography

Kestner, Joseph A. The Edwardian Detective, 1901-1915. Brookfield, Vt.: Ashgate, 2000. Reads Lowndes as emerging from and continuing the Edwardian tradition in detective fiction.

Klein, Kathleen Gregory, ed. Great Women Mystery Writers: Classic to Contemporary. Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1994. Contains an essay describing Lowndes’s life and works.

Lowndes, Marie Belloc. Diaries and Letters of Marie Belloc Lowndes, 1911-1947. Edited by Susan Lowndes. London: Chatto & Windus, 1971. These collected correspondence and diaries of the author provide insight into her writing process and personal experiences.

Murch, Alma E. The Development of the Detective Novel. New York: Philosophical Library, 1958. Broad overview of the detective novel and of Lowndes’s place in its history.

Odell, Robin. Jack the Ripper in Fact and Fiction. London: Harrap, 1965. Reads Lowndes’s The Lodger as an early contribution to what became the large body of fiction devoted to Jack the Ripper and “Ripperology.”

Strauss, Marc Raymond. “The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog.” In Alfred Hitchcock’s Silent Films. Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 2004. Examination of the famous film adaptation of Lowndes’s equally famous novel; compares the narrative strategies employed in each version of the story.