The Devil's Due

The Devil’s Due stands, to my mind, as the strongest of Bonnie MacBird’s Holmes novels so far — a brooding, atmospheric, and satisfyingly Gothic wander through London’s darker corners. The pacing is tight, the mood thick with fog and menace, and the central mystery has enough sinew to keep one turning pages with genuine interest. When MacBird commits to the gaslit streets and the shadowed tension, she captures something close to the spirit of the canon. Yet the familiar irritations persist. There is still that misplaced French odour drifting through the narrative — a tonal intrusion that feels entirely foreign to the world of Sherlock Holmes. It jars against the Victorian cadence Conan Doyle established and never quite settles into the texture of the story. Instead, it hovers, distracting and unnecessary. The characterisation remains the most persistent stumbling block. As in the first two books, Holmes and Watson are bent into shapes that do not quite belong to them. Mycroft Holmes, in particular, is once again misinterpreted — stripped of the layered restraint, intellectual weight, and quiet authority that define him. Watson, too, is rendered with a modern looseness that undermines the integrity of the original partnership. The issues are less severe than before, but they are far from resolved. The recklessness with which MacBird bends the characters is not gone; it is simply muted. She still seems unable to recognise and cherish the depth of character — especially in Holmes — that gives the canon its enduring power. And yet, despite these flaws, The Devil’s Due succeeds where its predecessors faltered. It is atmospheric, well‑paced, and genuinely engaging — a dark London tale with enough Gothic tension to satisfy. With more faithful character work, it could have been exceptional. As it stands, it remains a compelling and enjoyable entry in the series.