Back in his day, Sir Walter Scott was Sheriff of some of the Border Counties of Scotland, in addition to being a writer and folklorist. Elizabeth Ann Scarborough, probably best known for her collaborations with Anne McCaffrey, has rearranged history a little bit to make him the Sheriff of Edinburgh. She has also given him a couple of murders to solve.

The early 1800s was an interesting time, politically as well as socially, in Europe. Specifically, in Scotland, the conflict between the traditional ways (kilts, ghosts, and fairies) and the ways of the English (suits, the Church of England, and lack of supernatural beliefs) was heating up again. Sir Walter Scott was in the middle of this; being Scottish but well-bred, he was expected to act like an Englishman, but he had a passionate love for his country and a passionate love of folklore. The opening scene of this book piques the fictional Scott’s interest in the supernatural: a murder victim is raised from the dead, briefly, in order to point out her murderer. Scott is barely eighteen in this scene, and is very interested in the law as well.

Ten years later, Scott is the Sheriff of Edinburgh, and he is presented with a set of bones, a few years old, found in the lake. As well as that, there has been a rash of young gypsy women going missing; he knows this because he used to collect ballads from them, and they still trust him somewhat. Scott uses both his skills at finding evidence in a scientific manner and his knowledge of the supernatural (plus some lucky coincidences) in order to solve the crime.

A good deal of the dialogue in the book is written in fake Scottish brogue. I know this drives a lot of people crazy and, frankly, I dislike having to sound things out in order to figure out what they might possibly mean in English. While Scarborough’s brogue is generally consistent (the same combination of letters usually means the same thing), it did take me a while to get into the rhythm of it. Unfortunately, the book is just over two hundred pages long, so once I was into it, it was nearly time to stop.

Scarborough also used a fairly formulaic plot, and she gave away the murderer’s identity long before Scott himself finds out. While it saved the book from being incredibly grisly and also incredibly suspenseful, it isn’t my favorite method of plotting. One who has read a good deal of murder mysteries or horror novels will find nothing interesting about this book whatsoever.

Scarborough’s characters are also a touch flat. While I understand that she could not deviate from reality much, Sir Walter Scott seems to be a sponge rather than a character. He absorbs his surroundings with minimal commentary (other than that which is needed to provide over-elaborate background information); things happen to him. Some of the minor characters are interesting, but they are generally not multi-dimensional. The other watchmen/police figures in town are all country men; the gypsy lasses are all full of life (except when they’re abused wives); the murderer is delusional and evil.

In some ways, this book felt like the opening to a mystery series, in which Sir Walter Scott solves crimes in Edinburgh while writing Ivanhoe, or something. Perusing the author’s website (apparently she does a lot of beading), I don’t find any evidence that she thought of it as such. Perhaps I don’t like mystery novels enough to appreciate the formulaic nature, but I found this a decent way to waste a couple of hours and nothing more. I’ll rate it 3/5 stars.