The Mysterious Mr. Badman by W.F. Harvey

It’s not too late to squeeze in one last summer mystery. William Fryer Harvey’s 1934 novel, The Mysterious Mr. Badman, begins in a Yorkshire bookshop on a sultry afternoon in July.

While on holiday in Yorkshire, Athelstan Digby agrees to look after the bookshop of his hosts for the afternoon. The weather is stifling, so Mr. Digby doesn’t expect much traffic, but over the course of the afternoon a vicar, a chauffeur, and an out-of-towner ask for the same book, The Life and Death of Mr. Badman by John Bunyan.

Mr. Digby has never heard of the book, and there is no record of it in the bookshop catalogue, which is what he tells each prospective customer. When a copy happens to arrive in a bundle of secondhand books, he snaps up the lot double quick. But then the book gets pinched.

Mr. Digby and his nephew, Jim Pickering, are motivated to find out what makes this book so special. Soon they find themselves caught up in a crime more involved than a little antiquarian book theft, and much more deadly.

I was first attracted to this book because it was advertised as a “bibliomystery”. I must admit I was a bit disappointed on that front. I don’t believe I have ever read a book from this sub-genre, or at least not one that was calling itself a bibliomystery, so I may have had unfair expectations that the mystery be entirely wrapped up in books, which it is not. From Mr. Digby’s perspective, the impetus for the mystery is this book by John Bunyan that goes missing, but the book only plays a small role in the mystery as a whole. 

However, I was also very much attracted to reading a mystery set in Yorkshire, and in that regard this book came through. In fact, it is the setting more than the mystery that came out on top for me. I do love descriptions of nature, and books with a setting that is as necessary to the plot as any of the main characters.

At Kildale Mill he stopped to watch the peat-brown water swirling over the ruined weir, and then struck up on to the moor, choosing a patch that had been burned two years ago and which was now carpeted with green bilberry and bell heather. The walking was easy and he made good progress. It was extraordinarily peaceful. The only sound came from a lark, lost in the blue. There was no one in sight, no one, that is, except the young lady who stood silhouetted against the sky-line, apparently lost in admiration of the view. Then, as he looked, she turned and began to walk quickly towards him. It was Miss Conyers, a deeply agitated Miss Conyers, very different from the reserved, slightly cynical young lady he had met the preceding afternoon. (38)

For me, descriptions like this are better than a photograph or a painting, because I get to create images of the place in my mind as I read, like a film strip that alters, fills in, becomes clearer, as I go along. I’m still thinking of this setting with longing and wishing I was Mr. Digby, setting out in the morning with a map, a cocoa tin for any rare flowers I might find, which in the mean time has been filled with half a pound of raisins bought at the village shop (37). I’m not sure I would be as clearheaded as Mr. Digby about coming across a body on the moors, but I would like to think I would be as cool under pressure as he is throughout this book.

Later, when the above mentioned Miss Conyers lends a hand in the investigation, she becomes Diana, not that Mr. Digby refers to her as such, but the reader gets to be on a first name basis with her. Diana has her own peaceful moment in nature.

Jim proposed that they should all drive on to Whitby, but Diana pleaded a headache. She would find a quiet corner in the Spa gardens, she said, and they could meet her, say, at six at the South Cliff tea-rooms.

She sat for an hour, listening to the music of the band, while from the crowded beach below came the cries of happy children. The bay was dotted with boats. A steam drifter was leaving the harbour, the smoke from her funnel hanging like a black streak across the weather-beaten roofs of the old town, backed by the grand silhouette of the castle and the castle rock, weather-beaten too, but still unconquered. (95)

I thought that last sentence was particularly pleasing, so I had to share it. I think the next bit in the book is interesting in terms of plotting and pacing. It is when the sun disappears behind a cloud and the air gets chilly, that Diana makes her way into town to get make some purchases for the house. There she spots a clue to the chauffeur they have been looking for without even trying. If only all mysteries came together so easily! There are plenty of aspects of this case that Mr. Digby properly investigates, but I did find this coincidence a bit too convenient for my liking. I love the scene setting, though, and how the author gives both his character and the reader a momentary break to catch our collective breath before carrying on with the investigation.

For the most part, I felt remarkably relaxed while reading this book, so I was a bit surprised to see the back cover copy describes it as “fast-paced”. It is slim, just over 200 pages including the introduction, and it does get more tense as it closes in on the climax, but looking back on it now a couple of weeks after finishing this book—I know, very tardy in my review writing—I recall finding the beginning intriguing, the nighttime intruder at the bookshop thrilling, the finding of a body on the moors very exciting, and then my interest dropped off for a while. The tension leading up to the climax was great, and I actually felt concerned about the fate of our main characters. That is, until I reminded myself it was going to turn out all right in the end. Probably.

I know I went on about the setting, saying it was better than the mystery, and I stick by that. However, the mystery in this one was not at all bad. It just is not at the same level as the best books in the British Library Crime Classics collection, in my opinion. Harvey did do a great job of creating characters I cared about, and putting them it tight spots that made me worried, and had me nearly convinced they were not going to get the baddie.

Whether you add The Mysterious Mr. Badman to your end of summer TBR or save it for next July, this is a great one for book lovers or anyone craving a holiday in Yorkshire. I suspect many of us fit into at least one of these two categories! 

I have my friend Gina (@babsbelovedbooks) to thank for this book. She absolutely spoiled me by sending me a few (NINE!) British Library Crime Classics. This happened a while ago, and I was so overwhelmed that I haven’t even been able to photograph them all together. If you have visited this blog before, you will know how much I love these books, and how excited I am to have a whole bunch of new ones to read. The only thing I can liken it to is having a whole cupboard full of candy just waiting to be enjoyed. Thank you, dear Gina, for the books, and more importantly, for you and your friendship! 

Gina and I live some distance apart, but we get together at least once a week virtually for our movie and crochet dates. Right now we are both making blankets using the same Flowers in the Snow pattern, but with different colours. You can see a glimpse of mine in the bottom right corner of the last two photos. When I’m not working on it I have the project sitting on my dining room table, so that I can readily admire it every time I walk by it on the way to the kitchen. The muted palate is making me so happy that I just had to share it alongside these beautiful books. I hope you don’t mind the indulgence. 

***If you got something out of this post, please consider subscribing to my blog. You can find the email sign up on the right hand side at the top of this page (on desktop version only), or click on the link here. You will receive a confirmation email in your inbox (or possibly your junk folder). Once you click to confirm your email address you will receive an email notification whenever a new blog post goes up. And, of course, you can unsubscribe at any time. Feel free to email me if you have any trouble subscribing, or if you just want to chat about books. I would love to hear from you! Whether you subscribe or not, I’m thankful you are here.***

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Fear Stalks the Village by Ethel Lina White

Ethel Lina White’s The Wheel Spins is one of my favourite British Library Crime Classics, second only to London Particular by Christianna Brand. I was very excited to get my hands on another of her books. Don’t let the autumnal colours of its cover mislead you, White’s 1932 novel, Fear Stalks the Village, is set at the beginning of summer in an idyllic English village. But like The Wheel Spins, White manages to wreak havoc amongst the peace and tranquility. This one is dripping with atmosphere and it is just so well executed. 

The village was beautiful. It was enfolded in a hollow of the Downs, and wrapped up snugly— first, in a floral shawl of gardens, and then, in a great green shawl of fields. Lilies and lavender grew in abundance. Bees clustered over sweet-scented herbs with the hum of a myriad spinning-wheels. (13)

The village sounds aesthetically pleasing, but what of its residents?

[T]here was no poverty or unemployment in the village. The ladies had not to grapple with a servant problem, which oiled the wheels of hospitality. If family feuds existed, they were not advertised, and private lives were shielded by drawn blinds. Consequently, the social tone was fragrant as rosemary, and scandal nearly as rare as a unicorn. (13)

With no railway station, and a London bus that does not stop in the village, but outside it, it is not surprising the place gets few visitors. The birthrate is stagnant and apparently no one dies there, either. No one leaves, and no one comes. It is an extremely close knit community. Which is why when the villagers get inundated with a slew of poison pen letters, it is so very unnerving. The thought that it must be one of their own sending the letters turns neighbour against neighbour. Trust is broken. No longer is the village a place of hospitality and friendliness. Because how can you feel safe inviting your neighbours into your home when you can’t be sure a traitor isn't among them?

The heart of the village is sick and everything that has made this place special is at stake. Despite the idyllic appearance of the village, everyone in it has a secret they would rather keep hidden. And when the shame of having your darkest secrets revealed becomes too much, people are bound to get desperate. With one person dead under mysterious circumstances, the body count is only going to increase as the tension is ratcheted up and up, until it reaches the breaking point.

Everyone from the “queen of the village”, Miss Decima Asprey, the to the local gentry, the Scudamores, to the Rector are sucked into the drama. When things get too unbearable to go on, the Rector gives a thundering sermon, denouncing the secret enemy, but seeing the sermon has had no effect—besides an increase in donations—he goes to visit the Squire. 

The two men consider consulting with local police, essentially Sergeant James. But as the poisoned pen writer may very well be a woman, as the Squire says, “Probably is. The place is stiff with them” and both the Rector and the Squire do not like the idea of a woman getting arrested, the Rector makes an alternative suggestion.

“I have a friend, Ignatius Brown, one of the idle rich. He rather fancies himself as Sherlock Holmes. He’s not so clever as he thinks he is, but he’s keen, and he should be more than a match for anyone here. Shall I ask him down?”

“No,” said the Squire. “We don’t want any amateurs. I’ll instruct James.” As he spoke, he caught his wife’s eye. Her lips were pursed and she first nodded violently and then shook her head vehemently.

The Squire knew, from experience, how to interpret these conflicting signals, for, suddenly he changed his mind. (127)

Even in this serious moment, we see White’s wonderful sense of humour.

When the Rector had gone, the Squire turned to his wife. Although he usually bullied her, there were times when he followed her advice; for, if the Squire had no positive virtues, he had some rather good faults. (128)

The village is full of interesting characters. There is Joan Brook, who is a companion to Lady D’Arcy, and lives about a mile outside the village with her. We meet Joan at the very start of the book as she entertains her friend, a novelist visiting from London, with a walk through the village. As they take a leisurely stroll through the village, the friend comes up with salacious stories about each of the villagers that are directly contradictory to the people that Joan knows them to be. For example, “the highly respectable married couple […] are not really married to each other, but living in sin”, the Rector throws “bottle-and-pyjama parties with some very hot ladies from town”, the doctor is poisoning his wife, and the tea-totalling local novelist, Miss Julia Corner, is a secret drinker (18, 19, 21). 

I think White is a great writer. She draws complex characters, creates a tightly woven plot that centres around a compelling mystery, and takes “a perfect spot” and turns it into a prison (13). All of this she manages, while writing genre fiction that is also literary. For example, one would take for granted that the title Fear Stalks the Village is figurative, instead White turns fear into a physical presence that lurks in the shadows, that enters gardens, and rooms, when least expected. I found it to be an unexpected technique, but effective. After all, fear is a visceral reaction felt in the body, why not give imbue it with life by giving the bodily presence it already has?

[P]oor Miss Corner unconsciously applied the match which blew up her party.

[…]

“Well, Decima, anything fresh about your anonymous letter?”

Miss Asprey raised her heavy ivory lids.

“No,” she replied. “It is best forgotten.”

“No idea as to who wrote it?” went on Miss Corner, unabashed.

“No.”

Miss Corner suddenly exploded into a fit of laughter. “Perhaps I could make a guess,” she said.

As though her words were a signal, the dark blotch, huddled in a corner of the garden, quivered into hideous life and mingled with the other guests.

With the entry of Fear, Miss Corner’s party was practically killed, for its spirit had soured and died. The continual hum of conversation was now broken by sudden awkward pauses. Immaculate men and elegant ladies stood in the usual little clusters, but each one gave the impression of whispering to his friend, while he tried to overhear his neighbour. For the same thought was in every mind.

‘There is someone here who has slandered a good woman. I may be the next victim.’ (79-80)

Miss Corner, the local novelist, may have “applied the match”, but Fear, “the unbidden outsider” had “slunk outside the gate, awaiting its opportunity to steal inside” (79, 71). I think this image of a “dark blotch” which “quivered into hideous life and mingled with the other guests” is so visceral. There is more than one traitor amongst these people, and the invisible one may be even more dangerous. After all, they can close their doors to their neighbours, but Fear is able to slip in unnoticed.

If you have visited this blog before, you know I love reading mysteries. But I really struggle with how much to share in my reviews. I don’t want to say too much, and I definitely do not want to spoil anything for anyone who has not yet read the book. But I also really want to dish! Especially when it’s a book I really appreciated, by an author that deserves all the praise she can get. Just know that I want to tell you everything about this book. I want to discuss it in depth. But I won’t. It wouldn’t be fair to you, the person who, I hope, is going to be inspired to go out and get your hands on a copy of this book.

After reading, and now reviewing this book, I feel I need to reassess my list of favourite British Library Crime Classics. This one may not have knocked London Particular out of first place, but I fear it will knock another title out of my top five.

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of Fear Stalks the Village for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

***If you got something out of this post, please consider subscribing to my blog. You can find the email sign up on the right hand side at the top of this page (on desktop version only), or click on the link here. You will receive a confirmation email in your inbox (or possibly your junk folder). Once you click to confirm your email address you will receive an email notification whenever a new blog post goes up. And, of course, you can unsubscribe at any time. Feel free to email me if you have any trouble subscribing, or if you just want to chat about books. I would love to hear from you! Whether you subscribe or not, I’m thankful you are here.***

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

The Woman in the Hall by G.B. Stern

It happens every year at about this time. I get on such a roll of reading books and enjoying my summer that I fall so far behind with writing reviews that I consider not doing it at all. There was a stack of books waiting to be reviewed on my desk, but it got so out of control that it was blocking the on/off switch for my desk lamp, and making me feel more than a little overwhelmed, if I’m being honest.  I have since put the stack away and started a new one, and now this one is growing out of control. “How much do I want to share these books with other people?” and “Can’t they just be mine for a little while longer?” are things I ask myself. In many cases I give in, and put the book away, telling myself I can always review it at a latter date. But some books must be shared, immediately, and Gladys Bronwyn Stern’s 1939 novel, The Woman in the Hall is one of them.

When this chunky book arrived at my door I was a little put off. The books published in the British Library Women Writers series tend to be slimmer volumes, somewhere between 200 and 250 pages. Of course there are outliers, Chatterton Square by E.H. Young is one that sits on my shelf unread, which if it were not so chunky I am certain I would have done so by now. After all, it comes highly recommended from my dear friend, Gina (@babsbelovedbooks), who as it happens gave me the lovely card that appears in some of this post’s photos. Goodness! I have yet to find a book in this series that isn’t a favourite. Rose Macaulay’s Dangerous Ages is the only one I’ve felt lukewarm about, but I’m sure I was in a mood when I was reading it and have decided to give it another go before writing a review. Which, by the way, is a classic Caro avoidance tactic in action. For the record, The Love Child by Edith Olivier is one I adored, but read while on holiday and didn’t get around to reviewing when I returned home. That one happens to be very slim, indeed, at under 140 pages. The remainder of British Library edition is taken up by supplementary material and extracts from other writing by Olivier. Coming in at 336 pages, The Woman in the Hall stands out as being more of a time investment. But I am thrilled to report that it is worth every bit of it. Not one page would I want to be denied of this compelling novel. I read this book off and on over the course of a couple of weeks—unusual behaviour for me, but I was keen not to rush through it. Despite its length it didn’t feel overly long, and I was satisfied to sit back as the story was slowly spun.

The title, The Woman in the Hall, refers to Lorna Blake, a professional beggar, who solicits money from the select rich by calling on them at home and spinning a story that all but ensures she has money in hand by the time she walks out the door. Lorna’s life of crime begins innocently enough when her daughter, Jay, winds up in hospital and Lorna is unable to afford the treatment. She tells a tale with some embellishments to a receptive woman of means, and ends up with enough cash to keep them afloat, and then some. But instead of vowing never to be in the position to ask for charity from a stranger again, Lorna develops a taste for it. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that she gets a thrill out of spinning a story and relying on her wits to anticipate the next move of the person she is supplicating. The rush of swindling promises excitement that is lacking in the rest of Lorna’s life. Like a gambler who cannot kick the habit, Lorna goes out again, and again, dragging one or the other of her daughters with her. Molly soon dreads hearing that they are going out “Visiting”, but Jay develops her own fascination with the task while also seeming to abhor aspects of it. 

G.B. Stern addresses the problems that would arise for two distinctly different children who have been brought up by a mother who swindles money out of the wealthy. Going “Visiting with Mummy” is how the girls refer to these begging calls, where they would knock on a stranger’s door, handpicked by their mother, and wait while the servant announces that there is “a woman in the hall”. Apparently, begging at the door was a common enough occurrence at the time that the man or woman of the house would immediately understand this euphemistic phrase. We see Molly and Jay as young girls accompanying their mother, through to young women when their mother is still pulling the same stunts.

On a rare holiday to the seaside, we see the difference between the two girls’ attitudes after a few days in peaceful surroundings, as seen from Molly’s perspective.

“I can’t have you mooching about, Jay, it gets on my nerves.”

“I’m sorry, Mummy darling.” Jay hugged her impulsively. “It’s only that I wish something would happen.” She did not even remember to stipulate for something nice.

Dull. They could actually find it dull. But Molly worshipped dullness. If only it could be dull for ever and ever; if only nothing need happen, for ever and ever.

Lorna talked perpetually about being short of cash: “I don’t know where to turn.” And: “We simply can’t go on like this.”

They went back to London, to Huntingdon Terrace. (44)

The girls’ reactions to returning to London, and thus to Visiting, are complicated. When faced with it, Jay is “genuinely frightened”, while Molly, with the aim of protecting her sister, who she takes to be weaker than herself and less able to withstand these visits, conceals her displeasure in having to go out. What I found interesting about this dynamic is that Molly is not wrong about Jay. While Jay arrives home in a sort of feverish excitement after a first successful outing with their mother, she is also fearful of these visits. It is as though Jay is unconsciously aware that she is not strong enough to withstand her mother’s influence. This dichotomy of excitement and fear, aligns with the complex feelings she has towards her mother in adulthood. Meanwhile, Molly carves out a successful career acting on the stage. Even for someone who craves a dull, predicable, and normal life, this is perhaps not such a surprising vocation for Molly as she has been developing her acting skills throughout her childhood as a means of survival in her mother’s house. 

This next passage provides a glimpse at the inner workings of Jay’s mind as a child. It is both dear and heartbreaking, extremely self-aware, and just a piece of really well imagined writing, especially when considered after you have finished the book.

[S]he let her mind escape into an imaginary place which she called "the house of jeopardy." Jeopardy meant danger, but it was more dangerous even than danger. This reverie was not all pleasure, though she could not always stop herself from doing it:

. . . She and Mummy and Molly had to live in the house of jeopardy. It had doors and windows, and when they were open, the view was lovely, but if they were all closed, it would be prison. Sometimes while they were Visiting, Mummy made an awful mistake and they were nearly found out. But she, Jay, thought of something just in time to save them. Or, ultimate thrill, she did not succeed in saving them, and the doors and windows slowly swung and clanged, and they were shut up where there was no more light. Jay never told Molly that she enjoyed frightening herself, for she suspected, when put into words, that Molly knew about real plain fear, and played no tricks with it. (90-91)

Farther along, Jay addresses the issue of moral ambiguity, though she does not refer as such, instead she quotes her mother, “it was what you did things for, which made them right or wrong” (91). Jay recognises a connection with her mother that does not require words.

Yet now Jay knew without telling that her mother felt just as she did herself, that icy tingle of expectation waiting outside a strange front door, yet already committed by bell and knocker: What is it going to be like, this time? Can we manage it? Shall we get out safely? She believed that Mummy didn’t mind the thanking part, but that was the only difference between them. (91)

Recognising this similarity with her mother might be sweet, even heartwarming, if Jay was talking about something else, instead, it fills the reader with foreboding for the future ahead of this young girl.

Besides Jay’s take on her mother’s proclivity for it, we do not get a real sense of Lorna’s perspective on why she swindles money from people. Lorna has a woman who keeps house for her, Susan, who has been with her for years, and one assumes Lorna could leave her children with Susan if she were to go about some more honest work, which for a woman at the time would likely mean domestic service. Again and again, Lorna claims she does it “for the sake of her children”, and that there is nothing she wouldn’t do for them. But near the end, in a moment of honestly to Susan, we do get a glimpse of how getting money out of people makes Lorna feel. I do not think this falls into spoiler territory, as it seems pretty clear from the start that Lorna’s means of getting money is not all about her girls, despite her claims. However, in her defence, this book is set before the National Health Service came into being in 1948—as Simon Thomas discusses in his insightful afterward—so when Jay winds up in hospital and the bills start mounting up, it puts the family in a truly dire situation. What it does not account for is why Lorna keeps on conning people, instead of finding more traditional employment.

The back cover copy of this stunning British Library Women Writers edition hints at Lorna’s victims closing in on her, and throughout this book we watch as the net pulls tighter around Lorna. Will she ultimately slip through, or will Lorna finally find she has taken one risk too many?

I thought I had a good idea of where this one was going. It turns out, I didn’t have a clue. There was no doubt in my mind when I sat down to write this review that I enjoyed this book immensely. But now I realise that I absolutely loved it. There is so much going on in this book, so much to unpick. The relationship between mothers and daughters, and between sisters, and again, with sisters and their mother is already a rich topic. When you add to it a mother who is a professional beggar, swindler, con-artist—whatever you want to call it, they are all correct—it adds another layer that is rich with complexity. I applaud both British Library Publishing and the series consultant, Simon Thomas, for bringing another important text, and a damn good read, back into print. 

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of The Woman in the Hall for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

***If you got something out of this post, please consider subscribing to my blog. You can find the email sign up on the right hand side at the top of this page (on desktop version only), or click on the link here. You will receive a confirmation email in your inbox (or possibly your junk folder). Once you click to confirm your email address you will receive an email notification whenever a new blog post goes up. And, of course, you can unsubscribe at any time. Whether you subscribe or not, I’m thankful you are here.***

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

The Gutenberg Murders by Gwen Bristow & Bruce Manning

I’ve been having a great time reading the Gwen Bristow and Bruce Manning books that Dean Street Press republished in 2021. I had planned to read them in chronological order, but decided against it when I realised that their second book, The Gutenberg Murders (1931), and their fourth book, The Mardi Gras Murders (1932) share some of the same characters. Both The Invisible Host (1930) and Two and Two Make Twenty-Two (1932) are ones that I can recommend. The Invisible Host has such an original premise and one that is remarkably similar to Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None (1939). It was great fun reading those two books back-to-back and comparing them. Although, I must admit that it is Two and Two Make Twenty-Two that has become the favourite. What can I say? I love when a book is set on a remote island and if it’s a mystery—harkening back to the opinions I shared about And Then There Were None in my review—so much the better.

Hot on the heels of finishing Two and Two Make Twenty-Two, it was with high hopes that I picked up The Gutenberg Murders. And let me tell you, this book was everything I hoped it would be, and more. This is another book from this wife and husband writing team that I think would make a great film. It is no surprise to me that Bruce Manning went on to have a career in Hollywood as a screenwriter. Like the other two books of theirs I have read, The Gutenberg Murders feels like Old Hollywood to me. What starts as a mystery surrounding the theft of a nine leaves from a Gutenberg Bible, escalates to a series of murders with the victims dying by fire, quite literally.

Nine leaves of a Gutenberg Bible have been stolen from a safe at the Sheldon Memorial Library, and all fingers point to assistant librarian, Quentin Ulman, whose “racket is wine, women and books” (1). This latest theft comes on the heels of a number of others, going back six months. 

What I love about this book is how the theft of a few scraps from a rare book juxtaposes with the bigness of the crimes. There is nothing subtle about these murders, and this contrast is not unlike the city itself, as Bristow and Manning describe it.

New Orleans is a Janus-town, and any story of New Orleans must be a tale of two cities. Wade drove along the narrow white canyon of Carondelet Street, walled on either side by the unromantic modernity of skyscrapers; he crossed Canal Street, brilliantly lit and brisk with the evening crowds; then suddenly, before he had gone a hundred yards on the other side of Canal Street he entered into the old city, built two hundred years ago, and was driving slowly through the serene decadence of the Quarter. (58) 

Where Ulman’s body is found is another place, again.

Algiers is a disgruntled suburb of New Orleans that sprawls along the west bank of the Mississippi River and is reached from the city by the Canal Street ferry. Farther up the river, opposite the ferry station at Napoleon Avenue, is Harvey, another sulky little suburb, and between Algiers and Harvey is a dirt road that winds lonesomely through the shadowy chaos of live oaks and moss and red lilies that grow in the marsh on either side.

The little road is bright with traffic at night, when the people of Algiers and Harvey finish their day’s work and go to ride, but in the daytime passing autos are few, and for this reason Dr. Prentiss and the Sheldon Library had selected a spot on this road as the site of the bindery where repairs might be made on those of his literary treasures that had been mishandled in the course of years. The bindery was a compact little building isolated among the moss-hung oaks. (6)

Of course, the prime suspect in the thefts is found murdered. Anyone who has read enough mysteries will not find this a surprise, but what did take me aback is the state in which his body is found. Ulman is diminished to a “charred and smoking skeleton that was found on a dirt road” with only a “blackened cigarette case bearing Quentin Ulman’s name” and the location, a quiet road near the library’s bindery, to identify him. I don’t know about you, but there is something about a burnt body that feels particularly horrendous. We are certainly not in cosy murder mystery country with this one! 

Someone is held at gunpoint. There is not one, but two women who have femme fatale potential. More than one person gets burnt alive. But I think the most memorable scene for me will be when an intruder in the form of a journalist hides behind the screen of a large fireplace, while listening in on an argument, and taking a surreptitious snap or two, while he’s at it. And it is all set with the backdrop of this city of two faces, and it is not always clear which face is which. This is in some ways an even more dramatic book than Two and Two Make Twenty-Two, and that one was plenty heavy on the drama. I believe I said this in that review, but I’m going to say it here too. These books feel of their time, in the best way. They scream the 1930s to me, and apparently, the thirties is the decade I read the most from. (I actually had no idea of this fact until I started making note of it recently.) 

Without discussing any spoilers—but, oh, how I am tempted!—I really enjoyed the build to the conclusion, as the tension is slowly ratcheted up. Bristow and Manning make fantastic use of setting throughout this book, and in the build to the conclusion this is especially true. Just thinking about this book and how much I did not see that ending coming, makes me want to read it all over again. Alas, my copy must go back to the library. But this is one for the wishlist, for sure. I have already read the first few chapters of the last book penned by Bristow and Manning, The Mardi Gras Murders, and I have to say, that one is already chalking up to be a doozy. I can’t wait to get back to it.  

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This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

Murder in the Basement by Anthony Berkeley

Anthony Berkeley’s 1932 novel, Murder in the Basement, starts with every homeowner’s worst nightmare. A newlywed couple discovers a corpse buried in the basement of their new home. With little to go on, the police must identify the body of a young woman, who died from a gunshot wound, and has been underground for about six months. As each clue is investigated, they lead to one dead end after another, and it becomes increasingly apparent that this is going to be a near impossible case to solve. 

I won’t go into what clues leave the police empty-handed, because I think the early work on the investigation makes for very interesting, and exciting reading. Chief Inspector Moresby, the detective in charge of the investigation, refuses to lose heart. There is no lead too insignificant for him to investigate. But finally he gets the break he needs and through that clue he whittles the number of women who could be the victim from an unlimited number, to 641, then to 422. He has the help of local detectives across the country in following up on each woman on his list to make sure they are either still alive and well, or have died by natural causes. Still, the search takes months. The body was found in January, and it isn’t until June that Moresby has one name remaining on the list, last known whereabouts a boarding school for boys in Allingford called Roland House.

This is when he approaches, Roger Sheringham, a writer and amateur sleuth who has assisted Scotland Yard in cases in the past. Roger recently took the place of a master at Roland House who was ill. This seemed to me to be one of the least likely coincidences in the book. I have to remind myself at times that I am reading a novel, and if I’m hoping to find realistic scenarios in police work perhaps I should be reading the news instead. Roger admits the fill-in work for his friend was not entirely altruistic.

“The truth was that I’d been contemplating a novel with the setting on an English preparatory school and wanted to collect a little local colour, but that’s between ourselves.” (50)

Well, he has written a manuscript—that is, he wrote a few chapters before putting it aside when he got bored of it. Desperate for any information on the case, Moresby reads the unfinished manuscript. Murder in the Basement is divided into three parts and the manuscript takes up the whole of the second part. One quibble with this is that the chapters of the book continue through the second part where they have no business being, as this section is solely Roger’s manuscript without any sort of framing device. I found it confusing when I started the manuscript, and the chapters did not seem to fulfill any purpose, especially because the manuscript itself is also broken up into sections that I assume are meant to be the chapters that its author, Roger, has put in. Anyway, the manuscript is gripping, but it does go on for 60 pages. I suspect that readers either like the book within a book construct, or they do not. When they are done well and serve a purpose, other than providing the author with a means of impressing the reader with their ability to write like someone else, then I love them. The manuscript is essential to this book and one aspect that simplifies the manuscript for the reader is that the character names Roger used were swapped for the real names of the actual people at the school which the characters are based on. There is a funny moment when Moresby questions Roger about basing his characters on real people. 

“You mean, you used the real people there for your book?”

“Well, of course. One always does that, in spite of the law of libel and the funny little notices some people put in the front of their books to say that all the characters in this story are imaginary. Imaginary my hat! Nobody could imagine a character and make it live. No, all the characters in my manuscript are transcribed as literally and as truthfully as I could manage it from Roland House, and if I give you a key to the changed names you’ll know as much about the staff there as if you’d stayed among them for a fortnight. How’s that!”

“That seems the very thing, Mr. Sheringham. That ought to help me quite a lot.” (52)

There were a couple of things that did not work for me in this one. For one, the newlywed couple whose house the body is found in we never hear from again. The husband discovers the body in the basement, they call the police, after being interviewed, the police suggest they stay with friends or relatives. The couple are escorted by the police to that relative’s home, and we are lead to understand the police keep a man on them, just in case. Though, really we are meant to dismiss them as suspects and forget all about them, as we do, unless you are me and the part that attracted you to this book was the newlywed couple and seeing how they hold up under a murder investigation. The other thing I would have liked is the opportunity to see the conclusion play out. The book is already 250 pages, which is a fine length for a Golden Age mystery—or any mystery for that matter—but another chapter could have done it. I was more interested in Chief Inspector Moresby than in Roger Sheringham, and much to my disappointment, Moresby is left out of the final scenes. There is a quippy ending that I assume is meant to give us a chuckle, and I’m not a huge fan of that sort of thing unless it is really smart. And I’m sorry to say, I don’t believe this one was. The conclusion fell a bit flat for me. I would have liked a more certain resolution, and a more just conclusion. I did feel there was some victim blaming at the end, and as I read over 200 pages of believing this woman was worth having her murderer brought to justice, I was not about to change my mind as we got to know her better. Because every victim of violence deserves to have their attacker brought to justice, no matter how likeable they are. But then, I am probably reading too much into the ending and taking the whole thing a great deal too seriously. I tend to do that. 

So the ending was a bit of a let down for me, but I should add that the actual whodunit aspect was on point. I loved the academic setting, the book within a book structure, and I really liked Chief Inspector Moresby. I did not warm to the author, Roger Sheringham, but I’m not sure we are supposed to. Overall, it was a good read, and I liked the setting enough that I would read it again. But with something like 140 titles in the British Library Crime Classics collection and the fact that I only own about 25 of them, this one is not high on my wishlist. That said, I dream of one day completing my collection, because folks, I have a problem. 

(I just wanted to note that I have linked to the UK edition of Murder in the Basement, which is published by British Library Publishing, not the American edition by Poisoned Pen Press, which is the one that I borrowed from my library and is pictured in these photos. The editions are slightly different sizes and the covers have different textures, but the contents are the same.)

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

The Chianti Flask by Marie Belloc Lowndes

I absolutely loved The Chianti Flask by Marie Belloc Lowndes. This is one I borrowed from my local library, but by the end of the second chapter I had added it to my wishlist. And believe me, I would have bought it immediately if I had not already acquired quite a few books this month. This British Library Crime Classic, which was originally published in 1934, is a book that will keep you guessing, but I found there was also a certain inevitability that made it none the less both atmospheric and compelling.

Laura Dousland is on trial for murder. Accused of poisoning her husband, Fordish. It is assumed that the poison was in the wine Fordish had with his evening meal. The poison itself was thought to be something that a friend of Fordish, Dr. Mark Scrutton, had brought over to the house to help with a rodent issue. Fordish was careful to find out that the poison would painlessly kill rodents. But he also asked Dr. Scrutton if it would be effective on humans too, and the doctor confirmed that it would. 

The damning thing for Laura, and the reason Dr. Scrutton was called to testify for the prosecution, is that this conversation took place in Laura’s hearing. The couple’s servant insists that he put a flask of Chianti on Fordish’s supper tray, but the flask went missing the night Fordish died. That is, if it was ever there at all. The flask never did turn up. Everyone wants to solve what the press are calling, the Chianti Flask Mystery, but Laura would do anything to never hear it mentioned again.

This is not a courtroom drama. Laura is acquitted in the second chapter, but she does not seem as relieved as she should to be found not guilty. Laura is the kind of woman that everyone wants to look after. Men flock to her and women seem drawn to her too. Although, some do just seem to want the inside scoop about her trial and to discuss what she thinks happened to the missing Chianti flask. It isn’t surprising that she wants to get away from everyone she knows and leave the past behind. But at the same time, she is hesitant to cut ties as dramatically as her old employers suggest, by moving to one of the colonies. 

As the book goes on we see that Laura’s relationship with her friends, the Haywards, is complicated by the fact that she was governess to their daughters before marrying theHaywards’ friend, Fordish Dousland. Fordish was taken with Laura, but Laura declined his offer of marriage numerous times before finally accepting him. It was Mrs. Hayward who urged Laura to accept Fordish, because, as she pointed out to Laura, a single woman without family or money of her own may not get many offers. Mr. Hayward was less encouraging of the match. But Mrs. Hayward got her own way, as she generally does. After Laura is acquitted, Mrs. Hayward asks Laura to stay with them at Loverslea for a bit. While Laura does not seem eager to take up the invitation, she does it anyway. She certainly doesn’t want to stay in the house she shared with her husband.

Meanwhile there suddenly rose from the terrace below the half-moon window, sounds of laughing and talking, and to one of the two now in the King's Room, those sounds appeared oh! so strange and unreal. Laura Dousland had not heard people laughing and talking in that light, care-free fashion since she had stayed at Loverslea three years ago. It made her feel even more remote from ordinary human kind than she had felt that morning in her prison cell. (77)

It soon becomes apparent that Laura is not thriving in her new life. Dr. Scrutton sees her—at Mr. Hayward’s request, I might add—and suggests keep to her room for a few days, which is a blessing, because Mrs. Hayward has been expecting that Laura is just going to buck herself up and come down to join the guests that have been invited over for dinner. Honestly, this woman doesn’t have a clue. Laura was in prison that morning and Mrs. Hayward is worried that Laura is going to ruin her dinner party. If there was anyone in this book who I would have gladly seen get bumped off, it’s the controlling Mrs. Hayward. Our author is kinder to her than I.

Alice Hayward had not known she was being hideously cruel. Indeed she was, in actual fact, a truly kind woman. But she, Laura Dousland, in that unreasonable, as those who have been flayed alive are no doubt apt to be, felt that she would give years of the life she had long valued but lightly, never to see that kind woman again. (123)

I couldn’t agree more, Laura! But we do have Mrs. Hayward to thank for something. It is, in part, the mutual dislike of this woman that brings Dr. Scrutton and Laura together.

“You must stay on in bed till I give you leave to get up; and I hope you will see as few people as possible.”

He had come close up to her by now, and all at once a quick look of secret understanding flashed between them. Each was thinking, and each knew that the other was thinking, of Alice Hayward. (80)

He even offers to tell the Haywards that Laura has been forbidden to talk for the next three days. But Laura persuades him not to do that. She claims, “Mrs. Hayward has been wonderfully good to me” and being able to talk to them is “the only way I can prove how grateful I am to them” (80). Laura does have a point. These people have taken her into their home and tried to do right by her, but I found her constant willingness to be submissive to other people’s wishes, even to the detriment of herself, did start to annoy me.

Thank goodness, Dr. Scrutton—who we will refer to as Mark from now on, as he and Laura are soon on a first name basis—offers to lend her his cottage so she can have a proper rest. Mark proves himself to be a dependable doctor and friend to Laura, and continues to show up for her. You know he is going to fall in love with her too. I don’t think that spoils any of the plot, because you can see his feelings for her from early on. We should all be so lucky as to have a person like Mark in our corner.

The Chianti Flask starts in early summer, and ends in the early autumn. While it isn’t a particularly seasonal book, I did enjoy reading it this time of year when we are enjoying some warmer weather. As far as I am concerned, this one of the standouts in the British Library Crime Classics collection. I loved how this book was constructed with Laura’s acquittal at the beginning. It feels like it starts at the end, but it is really just the beginning for Laura. From the start, this book reminded me a lot of Frances Iles’ Before the Fact, not in content or premise, but in feeling. (You can read my review of Before the Fact here.) The Chianti Flask kept me wondering what the truth really was and if I was missing some vital clue that was yet to be revealed. The author creates this amazing tension with such a subtle and deft hand. I would love to read more by Marie Belloc Lowndes. I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed that the British Library republish a few more of her books before too long. 

(I just wanted to note that I have linked to the UK edition of The Chianti Flask, which is published by British Library Publishing, not the American edition by Poisoned Pen Press, which is the one that I borrowed from my library and is pictured in these photos. The editions are slightly different sizes and the covers have different textures, but the contents are the same.) 

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

Two and Two Make Twenty-Two by Gwen Bristow & Bruce Manning

I have been bingeing the Gwen Bristow and Bruce Manning books that Dean Street Press republished in 2021. Once I finished The Invisible Host, which I reviewed in my last post, I picked up their 1932 book, Two and Two Make Twenty-Two. This one captured my imagination from the start.

The wind whipped and snarled around Paradise Island, bending the palm trees like plumes and driving the whitecaps hissing across the beach. Off the west promontory the sun paused angrily above the tumbling sea, flooding the island with an ominous red light before which the shadows were black and sharp. (1)

On an island owned by a mysterious millionaire with a menacing storm kicking up is the best way to start a mystery, as far as I am concerned. The island is suspected to be connected with drug trafficking through the port of New Orleans. As part of the commission set up by federal authorities to stop the trafficking, Major Jack Raymond and Andrew Dillingham are sent to investigate. Andrew’s job is to trap a young woman into admitting she is connected to the trafficking. The problem is that Andrew does not believe Eva Shale has anything to do with the business. Although, his being in love with her might be clouding his judgement a bit. But things look bad for Eva when Linton Barclay, another member of the commission, is found murdered in his cabin and Eva is the only person found on the scene. Enter Daisy Dillingham, whose plane dramatically lands in the middle of the island’s golf course just before the storm closes them off from the mainland. 

“She must be a very popular young woman,” Mr. Foster suggested politely.

Imogen cocked up her green eyes and forgot the phraseology she had taken such pains to acquire since she stepped out of the chorus to wed an aging millionaire. “Listen,” she said. “Daisy Dillingham is two years older than Adam. She’s Andrew Dillingham’s grandmother. She’s the Who’s Who and What’s What of New Orleans and points South. And if she doesn’t like this swell island Mr. Allison had better sink it, because nobody who’s anybody will come here any more. That’s who she is.” (3)

I envisioned Daisy Dillingham alternately as May Whitty, Judi Dench, with a little Maggie Smith as Dowager Countess of Grantham thrown in, but with a Transatlantic accent, of course. Daisy is powerful, used to getting her own way, but also likeable with the ability to observe people and get a sense of whether they are telling the truth. She has the confidence one would expect of a person with her amount of privilege. At one point she says something like, ‘It will take a woman to solve this mystery’. And she isn’t wrong. The title comes from something Daisy says in connection to this. (Full disclosure: I am paraphrasing because I had to take this book back to the library before I finished writing this review.) She says that men are logical, with them two and two makes four, but sometimes two and two makes twenty-two. According to Daisy, it takes a woman to see this. I think this being just a tad unfair to all the men who are perfectly capable of creative thinking. In Daisy’s defence, none of these choice specimens are to be found among the male population of the island.

Daisy takes to Eva Shale from the start. Actually, I would have liked to see Daisy take a little more time in making up her mind about Eva, but I guess we are just supposed to believe that she is just that good at seeing through to the truth of people. When Eva is under suspicion for murder, Daisy is right there with her grandson, Andrew, ready, to not only defend Eva, but to prove the woman’s innocence.

I noted the reference to palm trees at the beginning of this one and thought it was supposed to be set on a distant tropical island, like Corfu or Cyprus. Then was startled when I realised it is set in America. Both authors are American, so I don’t know why I was caught off guard. Of course, when I realised my mistake I started seeing all of the details that should have tipped me off in the first place, and felt very silly indeed.

Like The Invisible Host, this book is a little over the top. It reminded me of an Old Hollywood film with a lot of big characters, dramatic scenes with the sets and costuming to match, and a conclusion that no one could have seen coming. I’ve read three of Bristow and Manning’s books now, and guns make an appearance in all of them. In general, I think these books would be best described as hardboiled crime meets manor house mystery. They are too over the top to be taken too seriously, but too gritty to be cosy. 

As much as I enjoyed reading The Invisible Host and comparing it to Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None, I had more fun with Two and Two Make Twenty-Two. I suspect the setting played a big part in this. Like The Invisible Host, this one is a closed-circle mystery and I particularly like the use of an island that is closed off from the mainland as a means of creating the isolation necessary for this construct. Not to keep harping And Then There Were None, which is of course set on an island that becomes cut off from the mainland, but it is a favourite of mine for a reason. Two and Two Make Twenty-Two is a book that I can see becoming a favourite reread for those times when I want to immerse myself in a romp of a mystery.

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!