Meow! Murder of a Mouse (1939), by Mary Fitt

"My own theory is, it was a passing tramp."--Derry Harringdon in Murder of a Mouse (1939)

I meant to post a review of Mary Fitt's Murder of a Mouse (1939) before the new year, so I could have at least have 30 blog entries for the year (still a pretty pitiful number by my onetime proud standard), but I didn't make it.  But after my Dad's death I wasn't sure I would ever be blogging again, to be honest, so I'm doing what I can.  Some people thought that Farjeon post from me last year sounded valedictory, and it might have been.  

But here it is is, later rather than never, my review of Murder of a Mouse.  

Murder of a Mouse was the fourth Supt. Mallett mystery, published before Death Starts a Rumor (1940) and after Sky-Rocket (1938), Expected Death (1938) and Death at Dancing Stones (1939).  It's on the same level as the other two early ones I have favorably reviewed here recently, Expected Death and Rumour: a straightforward country house manners mystery with true detection and an emphasis on character.  

The title Murder of a Mouse has a double meaning.  On the one hand there's middle-aged country spinster Margaret "Mouse" Harringdon, who, yes, does indeed get murdered, but Mouse also owns a cat who brings in a dead mouse one night during the course of the tale.  So maybe this is a cat mystery? 

The cat does factor into things, but only in a minor way.  A couple of people get drugged, likewise the cat.  (This is the third time Fitt, perhaps overfond of the device, has used the drugging gambit.)  

When the cat back, the 
the mouse gets whacked.
We know who killed the mouse, 
but who killed Mouse?

Fitt's publisher, Ivor Nicholson, liked the cat motif so much, they used it in advertising and on the jacket of the next Mary Fitt novel to symbolize "cultured crime."  And, sure enough, the blurb on my copy of Mouse tells us that "Mary Fitt is a mistress of detection, but she is a novelist as well, and in Murder of a Mouse she has given a brilliant exposition of both crafts."  

I have to object a little at the idea that a detective novelist may not actually be a novelist, but I know what they mean.  In many of her later novels Mary Fitt is more interested in character studies, but in her early Malletts I think the focus unquestionably is much more strongly on detection, albeit with pretty well-developed characters and emotional entanglements.  

Hence in Mouse we have a wealthy, unloved middle-aged spinster who manages to alienate a goodly number of people in the first part of the novel and then get bumped off.  It's the classic Golden Age mystery scenario.  

Who are the suspects in her death?  Well, heading the list, there's her improvident brother, Harvey Harringdon, who actually owns the Hall next door, but does not actually have the money to keep it up and needs help for that from Mouse, which the latter is refusing to provide.  

Then there's Harvey's daughter Derry, who is supposed to be her Aunt Mouse's heir, though Mouse is planning on making a new will in favor of the handsome, young concert pianist, Francis Hewson, who has been living with (and off) her.  It seems that she plans to marry the devilishly attractive ivories tickler, despite what the neighbors will say.  

Derry herself is supposed to marry Dick Stanton-Pell, son of Major Stanton-Pell and his much younger ex-chorus girl wife, Marcia, but she's now talking about a career in medicine, like her friend, the new lady doctor, Pamela Cloud, and her papa needs help from Mouse as well to provide for that education, another costly thing at which Mouse is balking.  

Marcia Stanton-Pell, Dick's young stepmother--she's closer to his age than she is to her husband's--is a spiteful thing, a splendidly catty lady if you will, and she is suing the silly wife of the other village medico, Dr. Stokes, for slandering her about her chorus girl past.  Mouse was the only other witness to what Mrs. Stokes said about Marcia, and when Dr. Stokes calls upon her to ask her not to testify (honestly) about what his silly wife said, Mouse refuses, leaving the furious doctor threatening her that she will get what's coming to her.  

That's about the whole cast, aside from the various police figures and Mouse's maid Ruby, who does like her nip (a lot more than she likes her mistress).  Each person is distinctly characterized and there's a good little mystery plot here which takes some unexpected turns.  At least they were unexpected to me.  

Doubtlessly the depiction of the female medico, Pamela Cloud, was influenced by the author's real life doctor partner, Liliane Clopet.  Women doctors aren't too common in Golden Age mysteries, so this was one interesting aspect of what turned out to be an interesting detective story.  

Will Derry live to become a doctor too?  Like a lot of young people she wavers in what she wants to be, but it's at least significant that medicine is something she is thinking about as a career.  "Perhaps I'll start a kennels--or a school," she muses to Dr. Cloud at another point, to which the latter responds: "Kennels, every time."   

I think in the last Gladys Mitchell mystery, The Crozier Pharaohs (1984), some women own a kennels.  This used to be something ladies did to support themselves independently in old mysteries, like starting chicken farms (or was the latter more retired army men).  After all, one can't always get a legacy or a man!  Of course both Mary Fitt and Liliane Clopet were college-educated and supported themselves with professions.  

Extra points to Derry when, late in the story, she speculates that Mouse's murderer was a passing tramp.  Hooray!  I always love to see that old chestnut.  Also we learn that the Chief Constable of the county is one Col. Anderson, who resides at a country house near Chode and previously appeared in the best of the early Mallettless Fitts, in my view, The Three Hunting Horns (1937), set in France.  

Thinks Superintendent Mallett somewhat dismissively of Anderson, as they talk over the case in the Colonel's library: "He fancied himself a detective, ever since that case he had solved in France--according to himself, for of course it was impossible to check up on his story."  

It's always nice to have recurring minor characters in a series.  There's another one here who reappeared the next year in Death Starts a Rumour, but I can't say whom, because this person is a murder suspect in Mouse.

Then there's the character who complains: "We're all in leading-strings now.  All the manly virtues are dead.  The law exists to protect skunks, not to punish criminals."  A little bit of "little England" sentiment, which doubtlessly we will be hearing more of from MAGA in the US this year, but don't make the mistake of thinking the author necessarily agrees with it.  "Miss Fitt" was unorthodox in British detective fiction in some ways, despite her preference for classic country house settings.