For many readers part of the joy of a historical mystery is to be transported to another time and place-to approach an imposing country estate, to smell the salty air of the nearby sea, to feel the jostle of a carriage ride as the horses whinny when their hooves meet the gravel drive, to find an elegantly dressed body crumpled at the foot of the stairs. For a writer to accomplish this, while maintaining the integrity of the plot, the details must be right. And an integral part of researching any historical mystery is the site visit.
The setting of a historical mystery has the power to go beyond creating a backdrop for the murder, to dictate the mood, the characters, the very plot of the story. The site visit is essential in many ways. To create a believable, authentic story, visiting a setting in person helps a writer to capture the sights, the sounds, the smells of a place, to experience the local weather patterns and geography, to get a sense of the rhythm of everyday life, and understand local customs, social norms, and dialects.
When I wrote my first mystery, I was lucky. I’d decided to set it in a town I’d visited as a tourist many times. I knew how steep and curvy the streets were, what the skyline looked like, how you couldn’t see the sunrise for the mountains. I’d heard the locals speak, knew a bit of the local history, politics and weather. But when I set my next book in a different location, I realized I didn’t have that advantage. I had to visit the town, spending several days, acquainting myself with its architecture, its terrain, and all the experiential details that make it unique. I had to people watch, listening and discovering what I didn’t know. When I wrote the first of my books set in England, which I’d visited several times, I believed I had that original first-hand experience. I knew the accents, tasted the tea, wandered the quiet country churchyards. How different could one country village be from another? And yet, having set the mystery in a part of England I had never been to before (though only by less than fifty miles), which had free-ranging livestock, unique ancient laws, and a rare system of managing the land, I had to rewrite much of what I’d written before my site visit because I had gotten so many of the details wrong.
But site visits aren’t just about experiencing seasonal weather patterns or hearing when the church bells ring. There are vast resources that can only be found in a local library, museum, or archive. This includes transcribed oral histories, unpublished research theses, regional newsletters, photographs, paintings, scrapbooks, letter collections, not to mention historical artifacts. So much can be found online but even now there are hamlets and villages that can’t afford to digitize their historical treasure troves. While combing such archives I’ve discovered detailed floor plans of British estates that no longer exist, the exact name and number of constables and inspectors employed in a given year in a given county, the diaries of a man detailing his daily life in an occupation I wanted to write about during the years I was writing about. In addition to tangible resources, writers have the best access to local experts, town historians, and librarians while visiting an area. These experts share invaluable knowledge and stories, often answering questions you didn’t even know you had.
And how else will a writer be able to experience local events like a horse race, a town hall meeting or garden fete if not in person? My newest mystery, Murder at Glenloch Hill revolves around my main detecting duo visiting a Scottish country estate and attending The Open Championship at The Old Course in nearby St. Andrews. I’d never been to Scotland. I knew I would have to visit. But I also recognized that although I’d played a few rounds on golf courses here in the United States, not only had I not walked a links course in the UK where the design was invented but I had never attended a professional golf tournament anywhere. I assumed it would be vastly different from what I’d watched on TV. And I was right. When I went to Scotland to research the book, I not only visited the Old Course in St. Andrews, the “birthplace” of golf but I attended The 150th Open Championship. Hardly altered since the 19th century, I was able to experience walking the sandy paths that traverse the dunes that line the course, hear the gulls who don’t respect the players need for silence, experience the crush of the crowd and, despite how close it is, how the beaches along the North Sea aren’t easily discernable from the links. By standing there, with the wind blowing, I could stare into the depths of the bunkers, squint at the flag fluttering in the distance and get a real sense for what it would be like for my characters, and by proxy, my readers to be doing the same.
But the best part of visiting a location is the serendipitous discoveries which inspire and inform plot lines—discoveries that can only happen in person. Historical tidbits, unexpected encounters, untold stories shared over breakfast tables: these are the gems that only a site visit can deliver. They happen every time I visit a location. During an interview with a local historian in Missouri, I discovered that the historic building we were sitting in contained tunnels, and I was given a personal tour. In Hampshire, England, a plaque on the wall of a local historical society revealed a famous local character who had mysteriously died the very week my book was to be set. A conversation with a local in York, England, revealed a political slant I hadn’t known existed. I incorporated each of these discoveries into my plots.
One of my favorite examples spanned my first series. In one book, I’d created a situation where my protagonist had to leave a music hall to overhear a secret conversation. I’d decided she left because she detested John Philip Souza music, which was wildly popular in the 1890s. The reason for her aversion remained a mystery until I was doing a site visit for another book in the series, set in her supposed hometown. While wandering through a local museum, I came across the portrait of a handsome young local celebrity who had played in the Souza band—and was a peer of my fictional protagonist. Suddenly, I had the perfect backstory: the fictionalized version of this historical musician must have jilted her! This chance discovery became a recurring subplot throughout the series.
Even after almost a dozen site visits, I still find something new and unexpected. During my Scottish visit to attend the golf tournament, I had the great fortune to book a stay in the servants’ quarters of a National Trust of Scotland property, an Edwardian manor house, once owned by a family of sports enthusiasts. With its gardens, private Edwardian golf course, and proximity to St. Andrews, the estate was a tailor-made setting for my next mystery. As I was wandering the estate, snapping photographs and peeking into outbuildings, I came across a small stone structure tucked away in the woods. I’d looked at the property extensively online but nothing mentioned this building, nor could it be seen through the trees. I got chills the moment I stepped across the threshold. This hidden laundry house wasn’t just the perfect spot for murder—like so many discoveries before it, it was yet another reminder that no amount of online research could replace the magic of discovering a setting’s secrets in person.
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