Plucky amnesiac heroine awakens on a train in Australia, surrounded by a family of mad Australians, apparently related to her. And some corpses and a nice handsome doctor.
Anyway. Most of the Little sisters books follow the same basic plan: plucky single-girl heroine becomes embroiled in a murder and finds herself wooed by both a handsome but plainspoken and saturnine anti-hero and a slightly better-looking but glib hero who just happens to leave a mysterious trail of slime wherever he goes. Indubitably, the gentle reader will discover that the hero is in fact a garden-variety cad or bounder, and the saturnine anti-hero will have not a heart of gold but a firm hand and a quick wit, and hence is suitable to marry.
Paragons of feminist theory these stories are not, but they do happen to be fun reading. They are, as advertised, madcap and screwball, with witty, zingy dialogue and interesting characters. Sadly, this is not one of their better entries. Despite the exotic locale and the interesting premise, about halfway through, the plot falls apart completely, ending in a manner that feels rushed and slapdash. It lacks, for instance, the depth and zing of The Black Stocking, but that book after all, was set in a madhouse, and featured a headless, wandering corpse. That's a tough act to follow.
So it was a nice read, and a decent one, with some fantastic one-liners ("You Americans are born restless," said Clive. "I don't know how you stand going to bed at night and just lying there until morning."). It's well written, with a mellifluous rhythm and nice characterization. If you don't squint too closely at the plot, you'll be fine.