Not so. Rutherford writes like he phoned this book in. Nowhere else are his characters so flat, and his narrative such an info-dump, as here. Sure, he's got 350 years of history to condense into roughly 800 pages, but in Sarum he managed to convey 10,000 years of history in 1000 pages, and 2000 years in about 900 pages in London, and those books were page-turners, so he really has no excuse here.
Rutherford also misses many opportunities to get inside the characters and make me feel for them, and his oft-used plot device, an object which is handed down through the centuries, falls flat here; it comes across more as an afterthought than an object with actual meaning.
Twists and turns are not really surprising. He could have done so much more to bring out the pathos of events like the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire and doesn't.