The Ten Teacups by Carter Dickson

THERE WILL BE TEN TEACUPS AT NUMBER 4, BERWICK TERRACE, W. 8, ON WEDNESDAY, JULY 31ST, AT 5 P.M. PRECISELY. THE PRESENCE OF THE METROPOLITAN POLICE IS RESPECTFULLY REQUESTED.

So begins the captivating 1937 locked-room mystery, The Ten Teacups by Carter Dickson, a pen name of John Dickson Carr, and the latest book in the British Library Crime Classics collection.

It would appear to be a fairly innocuous note that arrives on Chief Inspector Humphrey Masters’ desk with the first post on the stifling Wednesday in question. That is, if it was not for the fact that after receiving an almost identical note in April two years ago, a body with two bullet holes was discovered at the address provided. A murder that has yet to be solved. Cue Sir Henry Merrivale, or H.M., as he is almost exclusively referred. 

The police surround 4, Berwick Terrace. Detective Sergeant Pollard, is situated across the hall from a newly furnished room in an otherwise empty and uninhabited house. At the centre of the room is a table and resting on a rare antique peacock patterned shawl lay ten teacups evenly spaced like the face of a clock. Not a soul could get in or out without being seen. So when Vance Keating enters the house he is most certainly alone in the room when the clock strikes 5 p.m.

Four-fifteen. Four-thirty. Pollard felt his scalp crawl and his wits thicken under the pressure of heat. Still no sound issued from the room, nor was there a sign of any other visitor, while the watcher stood neck-cramped with his eyes on the door. The hand of his wrist-watch crept upwards: a quarter to five. And now good theories began to dissolve when he remembered Masters’s words: “I don’t know whether you can run a secret society without any fuss, but I’m smacking well certain you can’t run one without any members.” He was right. Vance Keating sat alone in the shrine, guarded if ever a man was guarded with police at both the back and the front. Five minutes to five. (43-44)

Like the incident two years before, there is a certain inevitability to what occurs. A man is dead and now the police, with the help of H.M.—who appears to doze off at the most unfortunate times—need to figure out how. None of the clues seem to bring them any closer to a conclusion and none appear to be linked with each other. The similarities are the ten teacups on a table, an antique with a peacock print, a newly furnished room in an otherwise empty and uninhabited house, and a person who has been killed in a way that could not possibly be self-inflicted. Oh, and that both houses were previously owned by Mr. and Mrs. Derwent. There is a sense of ceremony to both scenes, which helps spark the idea a secret society is involved in the murders.

I loved the premise of this book. The beginning had me hooked and did not want to put it down. When I was called away, I kept thinking about it, spinning scenarios in my head of where the plot might go. I fear my dog and husband did not get my full attention for a couple of days!

I never felt like I learned anything about H.M. Perhaps, the reader is not meant to. He is certainly not the focus of this book in the way that some detectives are the central character and the murder is just a way of showing off the detective’s intelligence and little quirks. But there is an absence in the place of H.M. I almost forgot he was in some scenes. It is as though he sits back and takes things in, following the trail to the truth, while not sharing any of his process with us. He often scolds Masters for blundering ahead and showing all of his cards to the suspects. Again, perhaps this absence of a figure is purposeful. After all, he is referred to as H.M. almost exclusively, not a name, just a stand-in for one. Somewhere in the first chapter or two, I had to check the back to make sure I was not getting confused between Humphrey Masters and Sir Henry Merrivale as the two share the same initials. Are they meant to be the ying and yang of each other, together creating law and order? I will be interested to read some of Carter Dickson’s other books featuring H.M. to see if I can glean anything more about him in those.

My only real quibble with this one was the ending. It felt like it dragged on for much too long. The conclusion was complicated, required a lot of explaining, and some aspects crossed over into the unbelievable. And when I say complicated I mean bordering on convoluted—there are footnotes, for goodness sake! Although, I would be lying if I didn’t admit I did sort of love the novelty of the footnotes. I do see why the author chose to spin out the ending, as many mysteries of this sort tend to, but it is not a format that I like. To me this one felt a bit too much like Poirot gathering everyone together in the library to show off how cleaver he is. The only difference is that H.M. managed to do this without a gigantic monologue. For which, I am truly grateful. 

I lied. I actually have another grievance to air. The representation of women in this novel is narrow at best, and sexist at worst. The two woman in this book, whether portrayed as either the whore or the virgin, both have a performativity to them. This is an idea I formed as I was reading the last quarter. But I would like to reread this one and take note of whether there is strong evidence of this in the text, or if it is just an impression I was left with. Off hand, I can think of two such occurrences. One is when Mrs. Derwent, feigns she has been assaulted by Masters, creating a public disturbance.

“The point is,” growled Masters, “that all the time the commotion was going on, either out of devilment or to give her time to think what she was going to say, that woman was lying back pretending to cry, and laughing at me through her fingers.” (117)

One of the problems here is that we never do get Mrs. Derwent’s side of the story. We are expected to take Masters’ version of events as truth without question because he is a police officer.

There also seems to be something performative about the victim’s fiancée, Frances Gale, stamping her foot like a child when she doesn’t get her way with the police. But I cannot for the life of me find the place in the text where this occurs, so I may be forcing an interpretation without textual evidence. Something to look out for on a reread, for sure.

Of course, the books republished in this collection are bound to be a product of their time. There is a disclaimer at the beginning of each of them, making it clear that the British Library are in no way endorsing any of the problematic views portrayed in these books by republishing them. 

With this series British Library Publishing aims to offer a new readership a chance to read some of the rare books of the British Library's collections in an affordable paperback format, to enjoy their merits and to look back into the world of the twentieth century as portrayed by its writers.

These books are a snapshot of a time when the publishing industry was not questioning how underrepresented groups were being stereotyped and generally cast in a negative light. One cannot be sure that the author was knowingly portraying women in this light. It seems likely that the author too would be a product of his time, as are we all, for that matter.

There are other aspects of this book, specifically the conclusion, that I would love to go into, but the majority read mysteries for the plot and I would hate to spoil the experience for anyone, and as this is a book review, not an academic essay, I will refrain. However, I might have to do a full on spoiler-y discussion of this at some future date. If you have read this one, please get in touch. I would love to chat about it, but let’s keep the comments below spoiler free. Reach out via the contact form on this site, (which you can find at the top right of this page), or email me at carosbookcase@gmail.com.

The final verdict? Despite its convoluted ending, I would reread this one, not just to analyse the text, but because I enjoyed the first three quarters of this book so much. The premise ignited my imagination in a way that I have not experienced from a book in a long time. I recommend giving this locked-room mystery a try. Enjoy figuring out how, why, and whodunnit, and revel in the novelty (or do I mean oddity?) of those footnotes.

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

Coming up next will be a review of Murder as a Fine Art by Carol Carnac a.k.a. E.C.R. Lorac, pictured below, along with a couple more titles in this collection that I was lucky enough to receive from the publisher. After enjoying her book Murder in Vienna, I am especially excited to read more of her work. If you are interested, you can find my review of that one 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!

Luckier Than Most: An Autobiography by David Tomlinson

I have to admit that when I saw Dean Street Press were republishing David Tomlinson’s autobiography, Luckier Than Most, I didn’t immediately place the actor. Once I learned David Tomlinson played the father, Mr. Banks, in the 1964 film of Mary Poppins, my interest was peaked. But when I realised he was also in The Love Bug (1969) and Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971), two of my other favourite films from when I was a little girl, I knew had to pick this one up. Am I ever happy I did! 

While I don’t think I’ve ever written a review for an autobiography, I do love them. I especially enjoy reading about the lives of my favourite writers. I’ve read more than my fair share of biographies about Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolf, but I will always want to read another one. Next in line for favourite lives to read about has to be dancers and actors. As someone who has spent more than half their life in and around the theatre, I find a certain comfort in reading about theatre people. It’s a little like meeting up with old friends. There is going to be drama—because of course there is—but there is also going to be friendships formed as everyone works towards a common goal, putting on the best show possible or getting that movie made. The thing that I find really fascinating is not all of the shop talk, but the intimate details of a person’s life. How do people who are successful in their careers balance it with their personal life, or do they?

I feel like I should explain one thing before we go on. I went back and forth on whether to refer to David Tomlinson by his first or last name in this review. Typically, I refer to writers by their last name, but because I mention other members of the Tomlinson family in this review, I thought it might be simpler to just use the writer’s first name in this case. I hope this liberty of familiarity does not offend anyone.

While David does not present himself as a person who brings the drama—off stage, that is—he did have a complex family life, especially in his formative years. The preface, written by David’s son, James Tomlinson, made me tear up. Craig Brown’s introduction made me gasp audibly, twice. The first chapter opens with the teaser, “In which I am born into a family steeped in mystery . . . “. Then it continues: 

Some years ago my brother Peter was on his way to Heathrow on an airport bus. It was, I supposed, pure chance that the traffic stopped at Chiswick. Glancing sideways Peter was astonished to see our father sitting up in a strange bed, in a strange house, drinking a cup of tea. 

David’s father lived Friday night to Monday morning in Folkestone with his family and spent the week in London where he worked as a solicitor and lived at his club, or so he said. They were not often able to contact him there, so they had their doubts, but Peter’s discovery sets David on “the trail of the truth”, as he puts it. I’m tempted to explain more, but I’d rather you read it for yourself. We quickly realise David Tomlinson lived a fascinating life, and it wasn’t always fascinating in a good way. If this was fiction, one would say it was too unbelievable. 

Once you get beyond the first chapter, the rest of Luckier Than Most is less of a rollercoaster, and I have to say that I’m glad of that. I didn’t want to read about a bunch of unpleasant things happening to someone. That isn’t to say that this book is boring or that David does not suffer hardships throughout his life, but the ups and downs are distributed throughout the narrative. There are good things happening alongside the bad.

David served in World War II, while in Canada he had leave to visit New York. While there he fell in love with Mary Lindsay Hiddingh, and after a whirlwind romance, the couple got married. He was soon shipped back to the UK, and while he was struggling to get permission from the government for Mary to join him, she died in tragic circumstances. The couple were together mere months. I will leave it to David to tell you the details. Although, I will mention that if you read the preface and introduction first, like I did, you will find out some of this information before hand.

One of the things that really stood out to me is how much and how hard David Tomlinson worked. At times he was on a movie set at Pinewood Studios during the day and then in the evening he would be onstage in a play. After doing a double shift he would then commute to his cottage in the little village of Mursley in Buckinghamshire.

About this time I decided that what I really wanted was a country retreat . . . a little cottage away from the hurly-burly of London. I was playing every night and sometimes filming in the day but still there were Sundays when a bit of a garden and greenery would be welcome as well as a bit more space form my growing collection of period furniture and paintings. 

David stared in eight films that released in 1948! The thing that gets me is that he doesn’t tell the reader in a boastful way, like, “look at how in demand I was” or “look at how hard I worked”. He just informs us because he is imparting information about his life. Perhaps a more suitable title for this book would have been Humbler Than Most. Of course, the catch is if he had called his autobiography that, he wouldn’t have been. 

My nest-building instincts were now channelled into the cottage at Mursley. There was plenty of scope for improvement. In fact, even now, some thirty-five years later, I’m still working on it.

I was filming at Pinewood on Made in Heaven when I saw the most fetching young redhead. (Later I was to learn it wasn’t red, it was titian.) She had come down to see the director of the film on which I was working. Her name, I quickly discovered, was Audrey Freeman, and I thought she was dazzlingly pretty. 

She was at the time a principal dancer in Zip Goes a Million with four cameo roles and several dance numbers opening the first and second half of the show with spectacular effect. She had been trained as a dancer since her childhood.

 

He describes their life of him cooking for her in his one room pied-a-terre in Chelsea, while they both were busy with their respective careers.

I was lucky enough to marry Audrey on May 17th, 1953 at Ealing Register Office. It was ten days after my thirty-sixth birthday. Audrey was just twenty-one.

“I shan’t give up my career,” she told me.

“Quite right,” I agreed. “I need the money.”

As you can see, David’s wit comes through in his writing. The couple went on to have four sons. Their third son, William, or Willie as David refers to him, was diagnosed as autistic when medical professionals knew little about the neurological and developmental disorder. This passage broke my heart and I have to say made me feel angry for William and his family.

One consultant, after examining Willie, said the best thing we could do was put him away in a home and forget about him.

“He’s a write-off,” we were told perfunctorily. It is difficult to believe it now but that is what he said. We couldn’t accept that diagnosis.

Thankfully, they found Sybil Elgar, who had started a small school in her home for children with autism. Under her care, William blossomed to his potential. The information about autism in this book is predictably dated—this book was originally published in 1990, and a lot of new findings have come to light since then and research continues to be done. But, of course, this does not in any way diminish the Tomlinson family’s personal experiences. 

I’ve mainly talked about David’s private life in this review, but he shares plenty of anecdotes from his career, including working with many famous names. My personal favourite was his first impression of Laurence Olivier, and how something Oliver said to David years later when they were working together provided some context to explain what looked like very odd behaviour on the part of Olivier.

It feels a callous to critique how someone chooses to record their life, but I think it would be remise of me not to say that I found the ending of this book to be a bit abrupt. Perhaps that is why it came across as a bit trite. David basically wraps up his autobiography in a page with the reflection that despite all of the complications in his life, he has been “luckier than most”. I’m not sure if this brief summing up reflects his humility. He has given us the facts after all, and reflecting on a life that is still being lived is difficult. I expect that is especially true if the life you are attempting to turn into a narrative arc is your own. I don’t know that I could do it. Thank heavens no one is likely to ask it of me!

I would have liked this book to be longer. This edition is only 190 pages and I think another 100 pages would have allowed for more details, descriptions, scene setting, and perhaps a little more introspection. But overall, I found this to be a moving and entertaining book, much like David Tomlinson’s performances. 

This book comes out tomorrow, Monday 3 March 2025. Thank you to Dean Street Press Ltd. for kindly sending me a copy of Luckier Than Most for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

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!

Lessons in Crime edited by Martin Edwards

As soon as I heard about this collection of mysteries set in academia, I knew I had to get my hands on a copy. Lessons in Crime contains 15 short stories that span just shy of a century of crime writing. There are stories set in day schools, boarding schools, elite universities, and in adult education centres. Inside this book you will find stories by well-known writers of crime fiction, like Arthur Conan Doyle and Dorothy L. Sayers, and a few you might not have heard of before, like Miriam Sharman, whose story “Battle of Wits” most certainly did not aid me in falling asleep when I read it before bed. Although, I tried to savour it, I absolutely inhaled this collection. Thank goodness for rereading. 

“The Greek Play” by H.C. Bailey (1932)

Mr. Fortune and his wife have been invited by her goddaughter to a performance of Antigone being put on by her school. Commonly thought of as the girls equivalent of Eton, this elite school, populated by girls of the gentry, has recently started accepting scholarship students, much to the disgust of many of the students, not to mention the snobbish adults connected with the school. One girl in particular has been having a pretty rough time of it, which is why the goddaughter has invited “the Cherub”—as she refers to Reggie. She senses that something is brewing, though she doesn’t know what, but she wants to Reggie on the spot when the pot boils over.

“The Adventure of the Priory School” by Arthur Conan Doyle (1904)

Sherlock Holmes is called to the north of England to investigate the disappearance of the son of the Duke of Holdernesse from his school. It is very clever but there is a lot in the way of explanation from someone other than Watson. We are meant to assume Sherlock has already figured out and I just found the conclusion a bit clunky.

“The Missing Undergraduate” by Henry Wade (1933)

Detective Inspector John Poole is called down to Oxford to investigate the disappearance of an undergraduate. Having attended Oxford himself, he knows his way around and heads straight to St. Peter’s College. The investigation takes him all over Oxford and London coming to an unexpected, and eventful, climax. I loved this one!

“The Gilded Pupil” by Ethel Lina White (1936)

“The essential part of this tale is that Ann Shelley was an Oxford M.A.” (115)

Ann Shelley takes the position of governess to a millionaire’s 15-year-old daughter, Stella. Stella is unruly and unwashed, but with an above average intelligence. This one was smart and fun. Stella, Ann, and Ann’s old governess prove their wits against a gang of baddies. So good!

“Murder at Pentecost” by Dorothy L. Sayers (1933)

Montague Egg, wine salesman, insert himself into a conversation he overhears between two Oxford men. After which he asks the way to Pentecost College, where he plans to make a sale. One of the men, Radcott, informs him that the master of the college has been murdered. In this one we see some of the inner workings of the Oxford colleges. While, I am a fan of Dorothy L . Sayers’ Lord Peter Wimsey stories, Montague Egg does not feel like a caricature—as I hate to admit—Wimsey often does.

As someone who has spent a lot of time in academic libraries trying to get work done, while being driven to distraction by loud talkers, I found this part particularly funny. 

“Prove it, if you like. Take my gown, toddle across to the Bodder, march straight in past the showcases and through the little wicket marked ‘Readers Only’, into Duke Humphrey’s Library; do what you like, short of stealing the books or setting fire to the place and if anybody says anything to you, I’ll order six dozen of anything you like. That’s fair, isn't it?”

Mr. Egg accepted this offer with alacrity, and in a few moments, arrayed in a scholar’s gown, was climbing the stair that leads to England’s most famous library. With a slight tremor, he pushed open the swinging glass door and plunged into the hallowed atmosphere of mouldering leather that distinguishes such temples of learning.

Just inside, he came upon Dr. Moyle in conversation with the doorkeeper. Mr. Egg, bending nonchalantly to examine an illegible manuscript in a showcase, had little difficulty in hearing what they said, since like all official attendants upon reading-rooms, they took no trouble to lower their voices. (145)

I love that idea that a person could just swan their way into the Duke Humfrey’s Library. Too fun!

As a side note, the correct spelling of Duke Humfrey’s Library appears to be with an “f”, not a “ph” as it appears in the above quotation. However, the library is named after Humphrey of Lancaster, 1st Duke of Gloucester (1390-1447). I have no idea why the spelling is different, but I would love to find out. Perhaps, I need to devote more than five minutes researching it.

“Randolph Hall” by Michael Gilbert (2000)

This one reads like a very well executed children’s adventure story. After a suspected attempted break-in at Ranulph Hall Preparatory School for Boys, three school boys Colin, Ivo and Drew—who refer to themselves as the CID—decide to take matters into their own hands. There is a gun fight between the boys and during a second break-in. When the school calls in their lawyers, to make certain it is lawful to shoot as burglars. Soon it is discovered a famous diamond that went missing 15 years ago is thought to be hidden somewhere in the school. A hunt to find the diamond commences, so it can be returned to its rightful owner before the baddies put in another appearance. 

“The Field of Philippi” by E.W. Hornung (1905)

A group of Old Boys return to their school for the Founder’s Day festival. Among the festivities is the Old Boy’s Match, and one of the Old Boys who will be playing in the match is a professional cricket player. I know next to nothing about cricket, but you do not need to know a thing about cricket to enjoy this story. This has all the elements of a boarding school story with old resentments—which get resolved by the end—sneaking out of the dormitories, and pulling one over on the Head. I loved that this is another one from this collection that does not have a murder and to be honest the plot reminded me of something that would happen in a P.G. Wodehouse story. The mystery is light, heartwarming, and just good fun.

“Lesson in Anatomy” by Michael Innes (1946)

This one was fairly bonkers. Fun, but bonkers. At Nessfield University, Professor Finlay’s final anatomy lecture of the year is known for getting a bit wild. Known for being an excellent teacher, it is only in the final lecture that he gives into his flair for the dramatic, and the students do enjoy playing up to it! 

For the lecture was at once a festival, a rag, and a genuine display of virtuosity. It took place in this large anatomy theatre. Instead of disjointed limbs and isolated organs there was a whole new cadaver for the occasion. And upon this privileged corpse Finlay rapidly demonstrated certain historical developments of his science to an audience in part attentive and in part concerned with lowering skeletons from the rafters, releasing various improbable living creatures—lemurs and echidnas and opossums—to roam the benches, or contriving what quainter japes they could think up. On one famous occasion the corpse itself had been got at, and at the first touch of the professor’s scalpel had awakened to an inferno of noise presently accounted for by the discovery that its inside consisted chiefly of alarm clocks. Nor were these diversions and surprises all one-sided, since Finlay himself, entering into the spirit of the occasion, had more than once been known to forestall his students with some extravagance of his own. (196)

It is not just the setting of this one that is ridiculous, the motivation for the crime is… let’s just say, odd. It was a fun read, but I think I would have enjoyed it more if the conclusion had not felt so far removed from the initial premise.

“Dover Goes to School” by Joyce Porter (1978)

This one has a slightly disorienting beginning. 

Detective Chief Inspector Dover was a creature of habit. Whenever he entered a room he made a point of selecting the most comfortable-looking seat and heading straight for it. On this occasion, as he waddled across the threshold of the large old-fashioned bathroom at Skelmers Hall College, he was not embarrassed by choice.

The rim of the bath was definitely out and he didn't fancy the three-legged stool. That left only one place where 241 pounds of flab could be safely deposited, and the Chief Inspector sank gratefully onto the oval of polished mahogany. That flight of stairs up from the ground floor had taken it out of him. (221)

I think we can imagine where Dover is sitting. The question is, why are we following this man into the bathroom? And why does it appear that he is merely there to hang out? As well as providing some insight into Dover’s character, this next part explains things for us.

It was Inspector Howard’s first encounter with members of the prestigious Murder Squad and he was understandably somewhat diffident. Still, a man had to do what a man had to do. He cleared his throat. “Er—excuse me, sir.”

Dover’s mean little eyes opened slowly and balefully. “What?”

“Your—er—feet, sir.”

“What about ‘em?”

“They’re resting on the—er—body, sir.”

Dover glanced down and with ill grace shifted his boots back a couple of inches from the corpse that lay sprawled, in pyjamas and dressing gown, over the bathroom floor. “Thought you were supposed to be telling us what’s happened,” he observed nastily. (221-22)

And that about sums up Dover. He is a fairly awful individual who takes as much pleasure in being unpleasant to his suspects as he does in his food and drink. Oh, and in his cigarettes. After smoking his colleague’s on the way to the scene, he has no qualms about absolving a woman from suspicion who he is about to interview when she offers him the rest of her pack.. 

Enough about Dover. Although, his presence does dominate this story, I shall try to put him to the side. 

A man is found strangled in the bathroom of Skelmers Hall College, an Adult Education Centre. As the victim is a well-known building contractor and a County Councillor, not to mention a massive flirt, there are a number of suspects, basically everyone who was in the college overnight, in fact.

I cannot say I grew to love Dover over the course of this story, but I did enjoy how disagreeable he was to everyone around him. And he does get his collar in the end, so he’s not a complete idiot either.

“When the Deaf Can Hear” by Malcolm Gair (1959)

This one was very short, so I don’t want to say too much. Some money is missing from a locked room at a school, known as the Turf Room, which is part of the cricket pavilion. Only a small group of students who had access to the Turf Room knew of the money. A detective is called in by the headmaster, who is particularly disappointed in the events because of his fondness for cricket.

“Low Marks for Murder” by Herbert Harris (1973)

This one is very simple. George Faraday, the languages master plans to kill the headmaster of the school, Dr. Theodore Whittington. Faraday is having an affair with Whittington’s wife, Rhona. But it is not just his passion for Rhona that motivates Faraday. The man fancies being given the position of assistant head, which Whittington has put a stop to, not because he suspects Faraday is having an affair with his wife, but because he simply does not like the Faraday. And as Faraday plants to kill Whittington, I would say he shows very good judgment.

There was a surprisingly racy part in this story, which I would not have expected to find in a British Library Crime Classic. However, it is perfectly suited to crime fiction of the seventies and section I found surprising was merely one sentence long.

“The Harrowing of Henry Pygole” by Colin Watson (1974)

Two boys in sixth form plot a practical joke to get back at one of the boys in their form, Henry Pygole.

Henry Pygole was one of those people who make cleverness offensive by wrapping it up in humility. There was always a sort of dubious smile on his face, as if he knew he was going to make a balls-up of whatever happened to be on hand at the moment. He didn’t, of course. He came tops. Time after time. In everything. But he forever had that droopy, self-deprecating air.

One remembers particularly how diffident dear Henry looked on the afternoon of the inter-house tennis finals. That was the day when Sweet and I decided that something would have to be done about him. (276)

This story did not at all go where I was expecting. It was fabulously shocking.

“Dog in the Night-time” by Edmund Crispin (1954)

This was a clever little mystery. Still grieving her father’s death, Ann Cargill asks her professor, Gervase Fen, Professor of English Language and Literature at Oxford, to accompany her in the opening of her father’s safe. Her father’s solicitor died before getting the grant of probate of the will, and Ann’s uncle, who been made her guardian, has also been made administrator of the estate in her behalf. 

“I’m probably being several sorts of a fool,” said Ann, as soon as they were settled with glasses in their hands. “But here goes, anyway... I don’t know if you know anything about my family, but my mother died years ago. I’m an only child, and my father—well, the important thing about him, for the moment, is that he had a passion for jewels.

“Jewels weren’t his business. They were his hobby. And two or three months ago he sank an enormous amount of money—about three-quarters of his capital, I should think—into buying a single diamond that he’d set his heart on, a huge thing, quite flawless.” (295)

Don’t you just love the idea of someone’s “hobby” being jewels?! And not just researching jewels, but buying them! Like I said at the outset, this one was clever.

“Battle of Wits” by Miriam Sharman (1967)

Told in just one scene, this is a thrilling story that could have come straight out of a Hitchcock film. A father calls on the headmaster of his son’s former school after his son has been expelled. I read this right before bed and I can tell you I have never felt less sleepy while reading when horizontal.

“The Boy Who Couldn’t Read” by Jacqueline Wilson (1978)

It’s the first day of term after the Christmas holiday, and Mr. Croft decides to go easy on the 2As by reading to them from Enid Blyton’s The Mountain of Adventure. But David Bates prefers spending the time surreptitiously reading a book on astronomy. When Mr. Croft catches David, the teacher is most unpleasant, telling the boy to stop pretending, everyone knows he can’t read. With 10 minutes left until the end of class, Mr. Croft asks the children to draw a picture based on the story. Everyone but David hands one in, and Mr. Croft is none too happy about it. 

If you are sensitive to stories about children being treated poorly by adults, or just generally treated unfairly, this might be a hard read. But I assure you, it all turns out right in the end. 

This is my first time reading anything by Jacqueline Wilson. I know she is popular for her children’s fiction, and this story was so gripping that I feel like her other writing must be equally well-done. If you are reading this and you have read any of her novels, please let me know if there are any you can recommend.

And that is part of what makes me love these short story collections from British Library Publishing. Both the Crime Classics and the Women Writers series have such great collections of short stories. I always come away with at least a couple authors to bookmark for further discovery.

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

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What I Got for Christmas!

My good friend, Gina, has done it again! She sent me the very best book and book-related gifts for Christmas. Gina shares her beautiful book collection at babsbelovedbooks.blogspot.com and you can also find her on Instagram. If you are not already following her, please do. She has fabulous taste in books and she also happens to be the loveliest person.

Her package arrived back in December—well before Christmas, might I add—but as no one would mistake me for being a punctual person, it has taken me until now to get my act together. I quickly realised  that I could not just share a few photos of these gifts on Instagram and leave it at that. Each gift was so perfect that I had to say a little something about each one, and in some cases more than a little something.

Let’s talk about the books first…

I have been wanting to read more of Monica Dickens’ books since inhaling Mariana a few years ago. I really love historical fiction and children’s books, so I’m doubly excited to read The Great Fire, which is about 12-year-old Peter, who was orphaned during the Great Plague only to have to face more hardship in the Great Fire of London in 1666. This is a very slim book. So I’m saving it for the perfect quiet evening.

Two Joans at the Abbey is the thirtieth—yes, you read that correctly—book in Elsie J. Oxenham’s Abbey Girls series. This series ran from 1914 to 1959 with 38 books in all. Being a fan of Antonia Forest, Elinor M. Brent-Dyer, and Margaret Biggs, I’ve been dying to branch out to other authors of girls boarding school stories. All I really know about this series is that the girls learn folk dancing, and as a former ballet dancer, that is basically all I need to know going into this series. And yes, it probably isn’t the best idea to read a title so far in as my first foray into the series. But if I like this one I will be sure to start from the beginning, or with the earliest book I can get my hands on.

Last year, I read All Sorts of Lives: Katherine Mansfield and the Art of Risking Everything. In it, Claire Harman explores the life of Katherine Mansfield through the lens of ten of her short stories. In tandem, I read the stories being discussed, all of which can be found in the collection Wild Places: Selected Stories. I had not read anything by Mansfield before this, though of course I had heard of her in relation to Virginia Woolf, as Mansfield is a contemporary of Woolf and their stream of conscious style is often compared. Interestingly, I found one story of Mansfield’s, “The Garden Party”, reminded me of Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, which was published three years later. I’m sure I’m not the first person to make this connection and this is in no way intended as a slam on Woolf. I have read and appreciated all of Woolf’s novels, minus The Waves, which, being a tad intimidated by it, I have yet to read. It is just fun to spot these connections and speculate on them. I do not think it is a stretch to imagine that Woolf may have been inspired by Mansfield’s writing. Anyway, after finishing All Sorts of Lives and the corresponding short stories, I was pleased to find Mansfield’s “Carnations” included in Stories for Summer and Days By the Pool, a collection of short stories in the British Library Women Writers series that came out in June 2024. Published in 1920, Bliss and Other Stories is Katherine Mansfield’s second short story collection. I’m beyond excited to dive in. I’ve already read the first three, “Prelude”, “Je Ne Parle Pas Français”, and “Bliss”, but I will certainly be reading them again.

Rosamunde Pilcher is a favourite author of mine. The only reason I have never done an in-depth review of any of her books on the blog is because she is already so popular that I doubt my ability to say anything about her writing that has not already been said. Her heartwarming stories are usually set in Cornwall or Scotland. In Voices in Summer, the main character convalesces in Cornwall after an operation, while her husband goes on his annual fishing trip to Scotland and Wild Mountain Thyme begins with a trip to Scotland. I haven’t read either of these, so I’m very excited to add them to the growing number of Rosamunde Pilcher books I have on my shelves.

Young Mrs. Savage by D.E. Stevenson is another one set in Scotland. Widowed during the war, Dinah is raising four children on her own, while battling with memories of her troubled marriage. Despite her hardships, she is quick to dismiss offers of pity. But when her twin bother, Dan, sends her on a trip with the children to stay with their former Nannie at their old family home, she puts herself in the way of adventure. In my experience, D.E. Stevenson’s books are a delight. I do not expect this one will be any different. 

I recently purchased another edition of Elizabeth Goudge’s biography The Joy of the Snow from Girls Gone By Publishers. They republish rare and out-of-print books by authors of girls’ school stories. If you are looking for a copy of The Joy of Snow, as of this going up Girls Gone By still have copies in stock, but as they are a small independent publisher, they do small print runs which sell out fast. If you have already checked Blackwell's or your local bookstore, the publisher may still have stock and you can order directly from them. I was particularly interested in reading the additional material that edition boasted, the introduction, and letters written by Goudge that had not been published before. But I was beyond pleased when Gina sent me a vintage edition. There is something so special about reading from a book with a past. This one has a gift inscription from someone thanking their friend for "a delightful house party". How lovely!

Many of you might remember my failed attempt at reading the original 56 Nancy Drew Mystery Stories, last year. It was basically the project that inspired me to start a blog in the first place. But reading and reviewing one Nancy Drew book per week—two if I had both the original text and revised text books on my shelf—proved to be too time consuming. I should have done a test run of the first few books before I started the project, so I could fail privately first and then adjust the project before going public with it. Oh, hindsight! 

I do hope to get back to reviewing these, eventually. Although, I have to admit that many of the revised texts, were so bad that I was dreading writing the reviews and having to spend even more time with them. The original text Nancys are much more to my taste and we mostly have Mildred Augustine Wirt Benson’s writing to thank for that. She wrote 23 of the first 30 original text Nancy Drew books. Unfortunately, along with making Nancy Drew a more passive character, the revised texts also cut out much of the scene setting and description. But Wirt Benson didn’t just write Nancy Drew books. She penned 135 books in her lifetime, under various pen names, including Mildred Benson and Mildred A. Wirt. 

Kristie at College came out in 1960, having been first published a year earlier under the title Quarry Ghost. I believe Quarry Ghost is the American edition, as the copy of Kristie at College that Gina gave me is from UK publisher The Children’s Press. The book is about a skin-diving journalism student who gets herself involved in some controversy around a missing dinosaur relic. There is no mention of a ghost on the blurb of my edition, so I will be interested to see which title feels more appropriate to the story. 

Penny Parker was Wirt Benson’s favourite series to write. She said that Penny Parker was a better Nancy Drew than Nancy Drew. I was hesitantly optimistic when I picked up Tale of the Witch Doll, the first book in the Penny Parker series. If I didn’t already have a number of books on my shelves and even more on my wishlist I would have read every book in the series immediately after finishing that first one. How lucky am I that I get to read the second book, The Vanishing Houseboat, in this gorgeous first edition?! If you are interested in reading this series, Wildside Press has republished all of the titles in very affordable paperbacks that you can find on the Wildside Press website, your local bookstore, and other online booksellers.

In addition to writing under his own name, John Dickson Carr had a number of pen names, including Carter Dickson. I haven’t read any of his novels yet, but I have read and enjoyed a number of his short stories thanks to their inclusion in British Library Crime Classics' short story collections. If you have been on my blog for more thirty seconds you will know that I love their books. It was one of my greatest joys of last year that British Library Publishing sent me my first physical copy of a book for review. I love reading their titles, getting to review them is always something I look forward to, and when I’m not reading or reviewing them, they look very smart on my shelves. Gina has heard me talk about these books a lot, and so being the intuitive person that she is she sent me two titles by John Dickson Carr, The Black Spectacles and He Who Whispers. 

Even more so than the Mildred A. Wirt Benson titles—though I will certainly cherish them—The Skeleton in the Clock has to be the most precious book that Gina sent. There is no denying it’s a gorgeous edition, but it’s so much more than that. This copy is from Gina’s grandmother’s collection. I cannot express what an honour it is that I get to be the caretaker of such a special book. 

As I have the pleasure of adding more vintage books to my shelves, I feel like the guardian of these volumes. I do not feel I own them so much as I am giving them a place to live until they pass on to their next caretaker. 

And now for the other beautiful bits…

The little charm is actually one of an assorted set of The Wind in the Willows inspired stitch markers (for knitting or crocheting) from Beneath the Leaf. Gina had these custom made for me with my love of Mole in mind. And if you’re wondering… yes, I did cry when I found that out. There are ten in all and no two are the same. I wasn’t able to capture all of them together to my liking, but there are a number of similarly beautiful stitch markers, as well as, charm bracelets, necklaces, and earrings in her shop.

Let's take a moment to admire the Nancy Drew and Anne of Green Gables tea towels. How pretty do they look next to my favourite editions from my Nancy Drew and L.M. Montgomery collection?! I have admired the work of watercolour artist Elizabeth Wade for a while now, and these are exactly what I would have picked out for myself from her designs. And somehow Gina just knew! They look so nice pictured with my most prized books from these series that I’m thinking of hanging them on the wall of my study next to the shelves that house my children’s books. Elizabeth Wade also has prints of her stunning illustrations on her website.

I almost forgot to talk about the Dean Street Press postcards! Each postcard is of a different cover from one of the books they have published. The ones that Gina sent me are Bewildering Cares by Winifred Peck, The Ginger Cat Mystery by Robin Forsythe, and Miss Read’s Fresh From the Country. You can see a glimpse of them in the above photo, as well as a The Wind in the Willows inspired calendar. It comes from a shop called Farmhouse Greetings and features the beautiful illustrations of Linda Cook DeVona’s. As someone who is easily distracted every time I check something on my phone—don’t get me started on how much time I waste every time I go to the search page on Instagram—analogue anything is most welcome! I have posted it on the wall next to the desk in my study and I refer to it daily. 

Gina also sent some delicious seasonal gummy candies, which disappeared before I could photograph them. You might say I have a bit of a sweet tooth. 

Oh, and let’s not forget Clark, because Gina certainly didn’t! She picked out the cutest little teddy, who looks like Clark’s teddy twin. They are so cute together! Clark is a lover, not a fighter, so while this little teddy is meant for chewing, Clark prefers to rest his head in his new friend’s lap while they snooze together. 

Gina really is an incredible gift giver. Every time I open something from her I ask, “How did you know?!” She has impeccable taste, and one just has to scroll through her Instagram or visit her blog to see it in action. She is also kind, dependable, caring, and thoughtful. Basically, she is all the good things one wishes people would be, and many of us works in progress aspire to be.

I feel it would be remiss of me if I failed to mention that the little mice and the Emma Bridgewater mug featured in these photos come from a favourite shop of mine, Our House. The mice came with the names Madame Maude and Woolens Wallace, but they are just plain Maudie and Wally around our house. The adorable Year in the Country Nativity mug is an early Valentine’s Day present from my husband. The cutest part is the mouse(?) dressed as a sheep. It’s impossible not to smile while I sip my morning coffee from it. 

Next post, we will be back to the regular scheduled program with a book review of another fabulous short story collection from British Library Crime Classics.

Let's conclude this long and wordy post with one final photo of Clark with his teddy, because I simply cannot resist. 

Happy reading, friends!

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