I’m sorry to disturb you,’ she continued, ‘and I really don’t want to be a nuisance, but I’ve just got to say something. I was given an insight into the emotional state of a generation haunted by The Great War and already standing in the shadow of the next one.

As she buttoned the pocket securely and made sure this time that the rest of the bag was fastened, she heard a noise at the door behind her. As the train slowed its speed still further and ran into a deep cutting, the dwindling daylight vanished altogether. It sounded to be just what I enjoy most - an historical mystery, set in England with an interesting main character. I’ve thought about it a bit and come up with a number of reasons why I didn’t get on with this book (and I really did try – sat down and read one-third of it in one go to see if I hadn’t tried hard enough last time). I do have another play or two on the go, and my publisher wants a second mystery story at some point, so there’s plenty to keep me busy.Already this spring, we've had the movie Fade to Black, in which Orson Welles investigates a murder, and Justine Picardie's novel Daphne, in which Daphne du Maurier is the gumshoe. Although by now the girl had lost much of her initial shyness and was talking eagerly about the theatre, Josephine could not resent the loss of her cherished peace and quiet. As many, perhaps most mystery aficionados know, Josephine Tey was one of author Elizabeth Mackintosh’s pseudonyms. Josephine was thoughtful and sensitive, interested in everything and possessed of a puckish, sarcastic wit that was as evident in her conversation as it was in her work.

Bright, clean, square covers and spine; faintly shelf-scuffed; tightly bound; bright, crisp, clean interior.

This is something which, unless I’m mistaken, is more acceptable in England than in the US; it never bothered me before I learned it was a Bad Thing, and rarely since, but it bothered me here. If you'd like to read something by the real Josephine Tey you might like to try The Daughter of Time. She looked on, amused, as the waiter transferred his attentions from Elspeth to another table, where he spent more time than was strictly necessary polishing a crystal glass for a young woman dining alone. She's very good, for example, on the way in which society after the 1914-18 conflict was drenched in death: fingering a tobacco tin sent as a Christmas present to troops in the trenches, a character reflects on "something inexplicably precious about a small piece of English metal that had not been fashioned to kill". There were also some suspects that you didn’t think worked at the theatre and yet did but worked elsewhere too which wasn’t unbelievable I just wanted it to be a little clearer now and again.

As the train moved south, effortlessly eating into four hundred miles or so of open fields and closed communities, she noticed that spring had come early to England–as quick to grace the gentle countryside as it had been to enhance the drama of the hills against a Highland sky. She tried to breathe normally, to stay calm, but her face was pressed into her assailant’s chest and panic welled up in her as she realised that this must surely be death.

In March 1934 author and playwright Josephine Tey travelled from her home in Scotland to London for the final week of her successful play Richard of Bordeaux. Removing her gloves and taking out a handkerchief, she cleared a small port-hole in the misted window and watched as the strengthening light took some of the tiredness from the cold March day. The same detective, who happens to be a long time friend of Tey's, is the senior detective investigating both. I think my problem was that it was too dark for my crime taste, I prefer cosy crimes (it´s my escapist genre).