A man once asked me … how I managed in my books to write such natural conversation between men when they were by themselves. Was I, by any chance, a member of a large, mixed family with a lot of male friends? I replied that, on the contrary, I was an only child and had practically never seen or spoken to any men of my own age till I was about twenty-five. “Well,” said the man, “I shouldn’t have expected a woman (meaning me) to have been able to make it so convincing.” I replied that I had coped with this difficult problem by making my men talk, as far as possible, like ordinary human beings. This aspect of the matter seemed to surprise the other speaker; he said no more, but took it away to chew it over. One of these days it may quite likely occur to him that women, as well as men, when left to themselves, talk very much like human beings also.
— Dorothy Sayers, Are Women Human? Astute and Witty Essays on the Role of Women in Society
“Oh, damn!” said Lord Peter Wimsey at Piccadilly Circus. “Hi, driver!”
The taxi man, irritated at receiving this appeal while negotiating the intricacies of turning into Lower Regent Street across the route of a 19 ‘bus, a 38-B and a bicycle, bent an unwilling ear.
“I’ve left the catalogue behind,” said Lord Peter deprecatingly, “uncommonly careless of me. D'you mind puttin’ back to where we came from?”
“To the Savile Club, sir?”
“No–110 Piccadilly–just beyond–thank you.”
“Thought you was in a hurry,” said the man, overcome with a sense of injury.
“I’m afraid it’s an awkward place to turn in,” said Lord Peter, answering the thought rather than the words. His long, amiable face looked as if it had generated spontaneously from his top hat, as white maggots breed from Gorgonzola.
–Dorothy L. Sayers, Whose Body? (1923), Chapter 1.
Two items of interest from “General Information”:
“Note.–It is not possible to insert in this Guide all short workings of routes which traffic requirements necessitate. The omnibuses when working on these short routes, bear the same number as the main route upon which they work with the addition of a letter.”
“Country services shown in red.”
Images: Cover and details from “Map of the General Omnibus routes. No. 4, 1928” issued by London General Omnibus Co., Ltd.
“[Bunter] was anxious about the arrangements—or the lack of them—at Talboys. He hoped everything would be found in good order when they arrived—otherwise, his lady and gentleman might get nothing to eat till goodness knew when. True, he had brought ample supplies from Fortnum’s, but suppose there were no knives or forks or plates available. He wished he could have gone ahead, as originally instructed, to see to things.”
Sayers, Dorothy L., Busman’s Honeymoon (1937), Chapter I. New-Wedded Lord.
Fortnum & Mason, colloquially Fortnum’s, is a British department store founded in 1707 and known for its provisions. Bunter would not have had to go far to stock up, as its main location at 181 Piccadilly would have been blocks from Lord Peter’s flat at 110A.
Image 1: Fortnum & Mason Piccadilly shop, decked out for the Jubilee of King George V in 1935. (x)
Images 2-3: Fortnum & Mason Potted Game jar, pre-1917. (x)
During World War ll the London Zoological Society allowed people to “adopt” animals from Regent Park Zoo. Dorothy L. Sayers chose two porcupines and named them Stickly and Prickly.
‘Now, take it from me, old man, that kind of thing won’t do at all.’
Lord Peter delicately raised his eyebrows.
‘Of course,’ pursued Mr Weldon, ‘I see your game all right. You’re nuts on this kind of thing and it’s all a darn good advertisement, and it gives you a jolly good excuse for barging round with the girl. That’s quite all right. But it’s not quite the game to go playing my mother up, if you see what I mean. So I thought I’d just give you a hint. You won’t take offence?’
‘I am quite ready,’ said Lord Peter, ‘to take anything I am offered.’
Mr Weldon looked puzzled for a moment and then burst into a hearty laugh. ‘That’s good,’ he said, ‘dashed good. What was yours? Martell Three-Star? Here, Johnnie, same again for this gentleman.’
‘Thank you, no,’ said Wimsey. You misunderstood me.’
‘Oh, come—another little spot won’t do you any harm. No? Oh, well, if you won’t, you won’t. Mine’s a Scotch-and-soda. Well, now, we understand one another, eh?’
‘Oh, yes. I think I understand you perfectly.’
–Dorothy L. Sayers, Have His Carcase (1932). Chapter XII. The Evidence of the Bride’s Son.
Bottle of Martell Three-Star cognac, c. 1930s. (x)
“But one has to make some sort of choice,” said Harriet. “And between one desire and another, how is one to know which things are really of overmastering importance?”
“We can only know that,” said Miss de Vine, “when they have overmastered us.”
Busman’s Honeymoon:
“Bunter isn’t the only person with standards. You must do what you think right. Promise me that. What I think doesn’t matter. I swear it shall never make a difference.”
He took her hand and kissed it gravely.
“Thank you, Harriet. That is love with honor.”
They stood so for a moment, both conscious that something had been achieved that was of enormous—of overmastering importance. Then Harriet said, practically:
“In any case, you were right, and I was wrong. The thing has got to be done. By any means, so long as we get to the bottom of it. That’s your job, and it’s worth doing.”
“Always provided I can do it. I don’t feel very brilliant at the moment.”
“You’ll get there in the end. It’s all right, Peter.”
‘But the episode had troubled and unsettled her. Passing through the empty Hall, later in the day, she stopped to stare at the portrait of that Mary, Countess of Shrewsbury, in whose honor the college had been founded. The painting was a well-executed modern copy of the one in St. John’s College, Cambridge, and the queer, strong-featured face, with its ill-tempered mouth and sidelong, secretive glance, had always exercised a curious fascination over her—even in her student days, a period when the portraits of dead and gone celebrities exposed in public places incur more sarcastic comment than reverential consideration. She did not know, and indeed had never troubled to inquire, how Shrewsbury College had come to adopt so ominous a patroness. Bess of Hardwick’s daughter had been a great intellectual, indeed, but something of a holy terror; uncontrollable by her menfolk, undaunted by the Tower, contemptuously silent before the Privy Council, an obstinate recusant, a staunch friend and implacable enemy and a lady with a turn for invective remarkable even in an age when few mouths suffered from mealiness. She seemed, in fact, to be the epitome of every alarming quality which a learned woman is popularly credited with developing. Her husband, the “great and glorious Earl of Shrewsbury,” had purchased domestic peace at a price; for, said Bacon, there was “a greater than he, which is my Lady of Shrewsbury.” And that, of course, was a dreadful thing to have said about one.’
Dorothy L. Sayers, Gaudy Night (1935), Chapter III.
Image: Portrait of Mary, Countess of Shrewsbury, held by St. John’s College, Cambridge. (x)
Silence for a few moments. Harriet felt that Wimsey ought to be saying, ‘How well you dance.’ Since he did not say it, she became convinced that she was dancing like a wax doll with sawdust legs. Wimsey had never danced with her, never held her in his arms before. It should have been an epoch-making moment for him. But his mind appeared to be concentrated upon the dull personality of an East Anglian farmer. She fell a victim to an inferiority complex, and tripped over her partner’s feet.
‘Sorry,’ said Wimsey, accepting responsibility like a gentleman.
‘It’s my fault,’ said Harriet. ‘I’m a rotten dancer. Don’t bother about me. Let’s stop. You haven’t got to be polite to me, you know.’
Worse and worse. She was being peevish and egotistical. Wimsey glanced down at her in surprise and then suddenly smiled.
‘Darling, if you danced like an elderly elephant with arthritis, I would dance the sun and moon into the sea with you. I have waited a thousand years to see you dance in that frock.’
‘Idiot,’ said Harriet.
–Dorothy L. Sayers, Have His Carcase (1932), Chapter XII. “The Evidence of the Bride’s Son”
WIMSEY—VANE. On the 8th October, at St. Cross Church, Oxford, Peter Death Bredon Wimsey, second son of the late Gerald Mortimer Bredon Wimsey, 15th Duke of Denver, to Harriet Deborah Vane, only daughter of the late Henry Vane, M.D., of Great Pagford, Herts.
–Dorothy L. Sayers, Busman’s Honeymoon
Happy Anniversary to our favorite pair of sleuths!
In which Charis and Sharon attempt to begin discussing HAVE HIS CARCASE, the seventh Lord Peter Wimsey mystery. Spoiler alert: they don’t get very far. They cover their mutual love of the book’s opening paragraph, the practice of the British walking tour, and Harriet Vane’s discovery of a corpse. They then go on a very long tangent about the depiction of policing in detective fiction. Also: Harriet’s relationship with the press, how various characters in the novel attempt to construct narratives for themselves, and Sayers’ increasing attentiveness to place in the latter half of the Wimsey series.
This episode covers the first three chapters of HAVE HIS CARCASE and does not give away the whodunnit.
In which Charis and Sharon discuss the second half of THE FIVE RED HERRINGS. We’re joined once again by our friend Angela Hines, who represents the pro-timetables point of view.
We reveal the Thing That Was Missing, briefly round up all the suspects, and re-visit our discussion of the Farren marriage as part of Sayers’ continuing theme of equality and inequality in relationships. We also discuss why Peter seems to get along well with artists, what Charis and Sharon find lacking (fraught emotions!), and what Angela finds in abundance (complex puzzle solving!) before revealing the whodunnit and outlining the final confrontation of the book.
This episode covers the second half of the novel and gives away both the vital clue and the whodunnit.
We apologize again for how far behind we are on providing episode transcripts–we’re going to be working to catch up soon!
In which Charis and Sharon return from their short hiatus to talk about traaaaaiiiiinnnnssss. That’s right, this is the first of two episodes on THE FIVE RED HERRINGS! Our friend Angela Hines joined us to represent the pro-timetables point of view.
We discuss Sayers’ correspondence about the novel with her publisher, as well as how the book differs from the previous Lord Peter mysteries. We also cover the scene of the murder, discuss a depiction of marriage in THE FIVE RED HERRINGS, and get ourselves tangled up trying to distinguish which Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood version of “The Lady of Shalott” we’re respectively referring to.
This episode covers roughly the first half the novel and does not give away the whodunnit.
