Welcome to Litsy!

Kate Shackleton and other members of her local photographic society go on a trip to Haworth to witness the handing over of Haworth Parsonage to the nation as the Brontë Museum. Seven went but only six came back because one had been murdered.

There were times when it reminded me a bit too strongly of Cold Comfort Farm, but it was still a good mystery.

#coffeeandabook

Another case for Kate Shackleton to solve, this time set in Brontë country. I don't think will carry on in this series it was but didn't really grip me and it was nearly a DNF.

Time for a cozy read to end this stormy November night. Just right to start my holiday cozy reading I think- Kate Shackleton is on the trail of dastardly evildoers- and good photographs! Set in Yorkshire in 1928- fun so far!

Set in 1920‘s Yorkshire, Kate Shackleton is an investigator in this murder mystery. She is on a photography society trip to Haworth, the home of the Bronte‘s. There, Mr Tobias Murchison, Carine‘s boorish husband dies from a stab wound to the heart.

Here begins an investigation, was it Edward? Carine‘s, back from the dead husband to be or Derek the young besotted photographer? Or one of the many suspects in this very wordy but engrossing tale.

“We walked into Haworth along the road. Harriet wore her new navy blue sailor dress that she and Mrs Sugden had made, with v neck, squared collar and white linen bow tie. She wore navy Cuban heels and a neat little navy hat trimmed with white. Derek glanced at her several times. She ignored him and chatted to Rita who was decked out in her silks and bejewelled slippers.”...it‘s quite wordy, but certainly builds an atmosphere

“There was the spot where our failed police bloodhound was buried. We had named him Constable as his consolation for being dismissed from the force. Mother had said calling him Constable was a mistake. She claimed that being a bloodhound of little brain, he would forget his connection with law and order and imagine his destiny was to paint pictures.”... such lovely descriptive writing..

“The first whisper that all might not be well in the world of photography came in the spring of 1928. It was just a few days after my niece Harriet and I had travelled to London, with a photographer friend, for a rally outside Parliament to mark the second reading of the Equal Franchise bill. “....just started this, not exactly a thrilling first paragraph though...