Classics: Mistress of Mellyn

I talk a lot on this blog about the initial Gothic heyday at the turn of the nineteenth century, which sprung up after the publication of Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto and brought us such authors as Ann Radcliffe, Matthew Lewis, and William Beckford. But these days when you mention the Gothic to someone not overly familiar with the genre, they may picture a more recent heyday: the boom of Gothic romance and suspense novels in the mid-twentieth century, many of them mass-produced by a handful of genre-focused publishers. These books are perhaps best remembered today for their evocatively illustrated covers that employed common visual tropes such as a fleeing woman in a diaphanous dress or nightgown, a looming manor castle in the background, and a single illuminated window peering out like an eye. The book most often credited with kicking off this boom is Mistress of Mellyn by Victoria Holt.

Victoria Holt is actually one of the many pseudonyms of British romance author Eleanor Alice Hibbert. The highly prolific Hibbert used a different name for each of the genres she wrote under, from crime novels to family sagas and fictionalized royal histories. When Hibbert’s agent suggested she try her hand at Gothic romance, she debuted the Victoria Holt nom de plume with the publication of Mistress of Mellyn in 1960. The novel became an instant international bestseller, inspiring many imitators and admirers. Hibbert went on to write over thirty more Gothic romances of her own under the Victoria Holt pseudonym. Until now, I’d never actually read any of the multitudinous Gothic romance/suspense novels of this era, but I figured where better to start than with the book that launched a whole genre revival! And let me tell you, Mistress of Mellyn still absolutely holds up!

Like many of the gothics of this period, Mistress of Mellyn takes the premises of Jane Eyre and Rebecca as its basic template but still crafts a unique and original story. After her father’s death and an unsuccessful Season in London, Martha Leigh accepts that the only path left open to her as an impoverished gentlewoman is to become a governess. She is hired by widower Connan TreMellyn to instruct his young daughter Alvean and travels to their imposing estate on the coast of Cornwall, Mount Mellyn. Upon her arrival, she finds Alvean to be a sweet but willful girl and Connan a cold and aloof father. She also meets their closest neighbors, the flirtatious Peter Nansellock and his kindly sister Celestine of Mount Widden. Through bits and pieces of local gossip, Martha learns the tragic story of Connan’s late wife, Alice, who was apparently killed in a train accident the previous year while attempting to run off with her lover Geoffry Nansellock. Yet something about that story doesn’t quite add up, and Alice’s presence seems to linger at Mount Mellyn in a way that Martha can’t explain. As Martha begins to develop romantic feelings for her brooding employer, she becomes even more determined to solve the mystery of what exactly became of Mrs. TreMellyn. But as she gets closer to the truth she soon finds her own life under threat. 

Like their predecessors in the genre, the Gothic romantic suspense novels of the mid-twentieth century lean heavily on their settings. Mistress of Mellyn is an example of Cornish Gothic, following a tradition of Gothic literature set in Cornwall (a region of southern Britain with its own unique language and culture), which includes the works of Daphne du Maurier. In this book, the Cornish setting adds to the sense that Martha’s new home is unfamiliar and exotic in ways that are both unsettling and exciting. To dive deeper into the setting, there’s the house itself: Mount Mellyn is in many ways a typical Gothic estate. Held by the Mellyns for generations, it has a storied history with the family going back centuries. The castle-like stone house is often contrasted with the newer and less magnificent Mount Widden across the cove. Like many of the manor houses we see in Gothic novels, Mount Mellyn has a portrait gallery showcasing Connan’s ancestors, a grand ballroom for throwing lavish parties, and abandoned rooms previously inhabited by the late Mrs. TreMellyn and now left untouched. Its most distinguishing feature, however, is an architectural quirk called “peeps”—hidden little spy holes cut into the walls of certain rooms to look down into important sections of the house such as the ballroom and the old, disused chapel. And, of course, there is a secret chamber somewhere in the house, but I can’t say much more without giving the ending away!

One element that I found most interesting in this book is the way that it addresses disability. Many works of Gothic literature do a poor job of representing disability, often conflating physical and mental differences with monstrosity or moral failings. In other works, disabled characters may serve as a useful plot device without fully exploring their humanity or personhood—I’m thinking here of Ben in Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca. But Mistress of Mellyn devotes a surprising amount of care and attention to its depiction of a young disabled girl, Gillyflower. At the beginning of the novel, little Gilly is tolerated but largely dismissed by the Mount Mellyn household as dimwitted, and her disability is viewed superstitiously as a divine punishment for the sins of her parents—a housemaid and a philandering nobleman who bore her out of wedlock. Martha, however, is quick to realize that Gilly’s disability is not divine retribution but rather the result of a head injury and that the others have been underestimating Gilly’s mental capacity. Though Gilly often struggles with speech (today she might have been diagnosed with some form of aphasia), she comprehends others and can be deeply perceptive of what’s going on around her. When Martha makes an effort to connect with Gilly and starts teaching her alongside Alveon, the two form a deep bond that ends up playing a pivotal role at the end of the novel. Though the book is by no means perfect in its depiction of disability, it avoids some of the common pitfalls of the genre and emphasizes the good that advocating for, communicating with, and simply paying attention to a disabled person can do—both for that individual and for the community around them. 

If you’re interested in checking out some mid-century gothics, I highly recommend starting with Mistress of Mellyn! I don’t believe it is currently in print, but there are plenty of used copies out there and a 2008 edition from St. Martin’s Griffin is available as an ebook. There’s also a brand new audio edition that came out from Tantor Media earlier this year, which is what I read. If you’ve read Mistress of Mellyn, let me know what you think in the comments! And feel free to recommend some other mid-century gothics you think I should read next.