There are also some great clothes scenes in the book, and clues hidden in items of apparel.

And there were many excellent spooky, creepy scenes in the waxworks. So I’m not going to say what it is, though some of the incidents following were truly weird. The story is, somewhat all over the place, but that meant I was genuinely surprised when – a long way in, more than two-thirds – the true driving force of the plot was revealed. There are all kinds of other undercurrents in the town, and Sonia, our heroine, tries to pursue a few of them, because she wants to be an ace reporter. I think we can all agree that this is a great basis for a book. Some people would like the Gallery closed. The figures might be ‘friendly’ or they might be malevolent, and you have to be careful with them. The place is very rundown, decaying, uncared for: lovers use it for meetings, townspeople try to do up the figures or give them new clothes, and there is a rumour that you can’t spend the night there or something terrible will happen to you. White does a brilliant job of describing and creating the museum, and its caretaker, the easily corruptible Mrs Ames. A young woman comes to a mid-sized English town, Riverpool, to work as a reporter, and becomes very interested in the waxworks museum there. Observations: Fear Stalks the Village was my previous foray into White country: this one has a very different setting. Only a few were in really good condition, while some were ancient, with blurred features and threadbare clothes.īut now, they were all restored to health and electric with life. When she had seen them last, a few hours ago, under the dim electric globes, they had been a collection of ordinary waxworks, representing conventional historical personages and Victorian celebrities. They stood in groups as though in conversation, or sat apart in solitary reverie. Seen in the light from the street lamp, which streamed in through the high window, their faces were those of men and women of character and intelligence. This was not the familiar place she knew so well. She entered the Gallery, and then stood on the threshold-aware of a change. She was not nervous of the darkness, while the Gallery was only the length of a short street away….Directly she turned the key in the great lock and pushed open the massive mahogany doors, she felt that she was really at home.

With her tweed coat buttoned over her nightdress, and her hat, adorned with an eye veil, perched on top of her curlers, Mrs.

Wax by Ethel Lina White