The Diary of Anne Rodway

by Wilkie Collins

Many of the gothic romance and horror stories, particularly those dating back to the 1900s and before, are now extremely scarce and increasingly expensive. We are republishing these classic works in affordable, high quality, modern editions, using the original text and artwork.

Genres: Classics, Mystery, Short Stories, British Literature, Fiction, Victorian, Crime

66 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1856

About the author

Wilkie Collins was an English novelist and playwright, best known for The Woman in White (1860), an early sensation novel, and The Moonstone (1868), a pioneering work of detective fiction. Born to landscape painter William Collins and Harriet Geddes, he spent part of his childhood in Italy and France, learning both languages. Initially working as a tea merchant, he later studied law, though he never practiced. His literary career began with Antonina (1850), and a meeting with Charles Dickens in 1851 proved pivotal. The two became close friends and collaborators, with Collins contributing to Dickens' journals and co-writing dramatic works.
Collins' success peaked in the 1860s with novels that combined suspense with social critique, including No Name (1862), Armadale (1864), and The Moonstone, which established key elements of the modern detective story. His personal life was unconventional—he openly opposed marriage and lived with Caroline Graves and her daughter for much of his life, while also maintaining a separate relationship with Martha Rudd, with whom he had three children.
Plagued by gout, Collins became addicted to laudanum, which affected both his health and later works. Despite declining quality in his writing, he remained a respected figure, mentoring younger authors and advocating for writers' rights. He died in 1889 and was buried in Kensal Green Cemetery. His legacy endures through his influential novels, which laid the groundwork for both sensation fiction and detective literature.

Reviews

[Laura · Rating 3 out of 5]

Wilkie Collins' "Anne Rodway", a story in diary form about a needlewoman and her fiancé investigating the murder of a friend, appears in Household Words (first chapter), as the first English story to feature a woman as the main detective character.

The story is set in mid-19th century London, depicting the harsh realities of life for the working poor.

First Chapter

Second Chapter

[Ilaria · Rating 3 out of 5]

Mi ha messo un po' tristezza anche se certo, la trama quella è. Lo stile mi è piaciuto e trovo molto interessante il fatto di avere il testo inglese a fronte (mi è stato detto a Più Libri che è perchè viene usato anche come testo all'università). Mi è piaciuto lo stile.

[Fiori di Carta · Rating 5 out of 5]

Mary Mallinson è morta. La polizia archivia il caso come morte accidentale, ma la sua più cara amica Anne Rodway sente che c'è qualcosa che non va.
Con un pezzetto di stoffa come unica prova, Anne si trasforma in una investigatrice fredda e metodica e si addentra per le strade oscure di Londra. La giovane donna annota ogni particolare nel suo diario, conversazioni, dettagli, prendendo il lettore e portandolo con sé nella risoluzione del caso.
Anne Rodway diventa la prima donna detective della narrazione poliziesca e, chiaramente, non poteva che nascere dalla penna di Wilkie Collins.

Pubblicato nel 1856 nella rivista di #CharlesDickens "Household Words", questo romanzo si distingue nel panorama della narrativa vittoriana proprio per la sua eroina anticonformista. Anne Rodway esce fuori dai canoni dell'epoca, diventando un po' il punto di partenza per i tanti personaggi femminili di Collins.

[Lizabeth Tucker · Rating 4 out of 5]

Young Mary Mallinson has had a wretched life and expects it to end just as wretchedly. Anne Rodway tries to boost her friend’s spirits without success. When Mary’s insensible body is brought back to the boarding house, Anne begins questioning the circumstances.

I have a love/hate relationship with Collins. When he’s good, he’s brilliant. But at times he lets his narrative run away from his control. Not here. We have a tender romance, a tragic death, a determined friend, all beautifully rendered. 4.5 out of 5.

[Anesa · Rating 4 out of 5]

4’5

I can’t believe I’m saying this but this is the first time I enjoy a mandatory reading for school in a while.

[Helena Vande Ginste · Rating 3 out of 5]

I can see why Dickens liked it

[Classic reverie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wilkie Collins' "The Diary of Anne Rodway" is the last story of "The Queen of Hearts" and is a truly sad tale told by Brother Owen. I was hoping this ended differently but in its way it was true to itself. Owen keeps the diary to remember to keep faith in human nature.

Story in short-Two girlfriends at a boarding house run into hard times but a friendship endures.




➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖
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“Number Six,” he said, “is the number that chance has left to remain till the last. The manuscript to
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which it refers is not, as you may see, in my handwriting. It consists entirely of passages from the Diary of a poor hard-working girl — passages which tell an artless story of love and friendship in humble life. When that story has come to an end, I may inform you how I became possessed of it. If I did so now, I should only forestall one important part of the interest of the narrative. I have made no attempt to find a striking title for it. It is called, simply and plainly, after the name of
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the writer of the Diary — the Story of Anne Rodway.”
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BROTHER OWEN’S STORY OF ANNE RODWAY. [TAKEN FROM HER DIARY.]
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...MARCH 3d, 1840. A long letter today from Robert, which surprised and vexed me so that I have been sadly behindhand with my work ever since. He writes in worse spirits than last time, and absolutely declares that he is poorer even than when he went to America, and that he has made up his mind to come home to London.
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How happy I should be at this news, if he only returned to me a prosperous man! As it is, though I love him dearly, I cannot look forward to the meeting him again, disappointed and broken down, and poorer than ever, without a feeling almost of dread for both of us. I was twenty-six last birthday and he was thirty-three, and there seems less chance now than ever of our being married. It is all I can do to keep myself by my needle; and his prospects, since he failed in the small
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stationery business three years ago, are worse, if possible, than mine. Not that I mind so much for myself; women, in all ways of life, and especially in my dressmaking way, learn, I think, to be more patient than men. What I dread is Robert’s despondency, and the hard struggle he will have in this cruel city to get his bread, let alone making money enough to marry me. So little as poor people want to set up in housekeeping and be happy together, it seems hard that they can’t get it when they are honest and hearty,
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and willing to work. The clergyman said in his sermon last Sunday evening that all things were ordered for the best, and we are all put into the stations in life that are properest for us. I suppose he was right, being a very clever gentleman who fills the church to crowding; but I think I should have understood him better if I had not been very hungry at the time, in consequence of my own station in life being nothing but plain needlewoman. March 4th. Mary Mallinson came down to my room to take a cup of

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tea with me. I read her bits of Robert’s letter, to show her that, if she has her troubles, I have mine too; but I could not succeed in cheering her. She says she is born to misfortune, and that, as long back as she can remember, she has never had the least morsel of luck to be thankful for. I told her to go and look in my glass, and to say if she had nothing to be thankful for then; for Mary is a very pretty girl, and would look still prettier if she could be more cheerful and dress neater. However, my compliment did no
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good. She rattled her spoon impatiently in her tea-cup, and said, “If I was only as good a hand at needle-work as you are, Anne, I would change faces with the ugliest girl in London.” “Not you!” says I, laughing. She looked at me for a moment, and shook her head, and was out of the room before I could get up and stop her. She always runs off in that way when she is going to cry, having a kind of pride about letting other people see her in tears. March 5th. A fright about Mary. I had not seen her all day, as she does
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not work at the same place where I do; and in the evening she never came down to have tea with me, or sent me word to go to her; so, just before I went to bed, I ran upstairs to say good-night. She did not answer when I knocked; and when I stepped softly in the room I saw her in bed, asleep, with her work not half done, lying about the room in the untidiest way. There was nothing remarkable in that, and I was just going away on tiptoe, when a tiny bottle and wine-glass on the chair by her bedside
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caught my eye. I thought she was ill and had been taking physic, and looked at the bottle. It was marked in large letters, “Laudanum — Poison.” My heart gave a jump as if it was going to fly out of me. I laid hold of her with both hands, and shook her with all my might. She was sleeping heavily, and woke slowly, as it seemed to me — but still she did wake. I tried to pull her out of bed, having heard that people ought to be always walked up and down when they have taken laudanum
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but she resisted, and pushed me away violently. “Anne!” says she, in a fright. “For gracious sake, what’s come to you! Are you out of your senses?” “Oh, Mary! Mary!” says I, holding up the bottle before her, “if I hadn’t come in when I did—” And I laid hold of her to shake her again. She looked puzzled at me for a moment — then smiled (the first time I had seen her do so for many a long day) — then put her arms round my neck.
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“Don’t be frightened about me, Anne,” she says; “I am not worth it, and there is no need.” “No need!” says I, out of breath— “no need, when the bottle has got Poison marked on it!” “Poison, dear, if you take it all,” says Mary, looking at me very tenderly, “and a night’s rest if you only take a little.” I watched her for a moment, doubtful whether I ought to believe what she said or to alarm the house. But there was no sleepiness now in her eyes, and nothing drowsy in her
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voice; and she sat up in bed quite easily, without anything to support her. “You have given me a dreadful fright, Mary,” says I, sitting down by her in the chair, and beginning by this time to feel rather faint after being startled so. She jumped out of bed to get me a drop of water, and kissed me, and said how sorry she was, and how undeserving of so much interest being taken in her. At the same time, she tried to possess herself of the laudanum bottle which I still
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kept cuddled up tight in my own hands. “No,” says I. “You have got into a low-spirited, despairing way. I won’t trust you with it.” “I am afraid I can’t do without it,” says Mary, in her usual quiet, hopeless voice. “What with work that I can’t get through as I ought, and troubles that I can’t help thinking of, sleep won’t come to me unless I take a few drops out of that bottle. Don’t keep it away from me, Anne; it’s the only thing in the world that makes me forget myself.”
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“Your father and mother were honest people,” says Mary, obstinately. “My mother ran away from home, and died in a hospital. My father was always drunk, and always beating me. My step-mother is as good as dead, for all she cares about me. My only brother is thousands of miles away in foreign
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parts, and never writes to me, and never helps me with a farthing. My sweetheart—” She stopped, and the red flew into her face. I knew, if she went on that way, she would only get to the saddest part of her sad story, and give both herself and me unnecessary pain. “My sweetheart is too poor to marry me, Mary,” I said, “so I’m not so much to be envied even there. But let’s give over disputing which is worst off. Lie down in bed, and let me tuck you up. I’ll put a stitch or
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two into that work of yours while you go to sleep.”

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Anne lives in a boarding house and has made friends two years ago with Mary, who is no now 18, Anne is 26. They both are very poor and must do needle work to earn their living. Anne has a boyfriend who is in America trying to make his fortune so they can marry someday but he has not succeeded and looks to be coming back home. Anne notices a bottle of laudanum at Mary's bedside and thinks she is going to kill herself. Mary is depressed but tells Anne not to worry. Mary has a brother who works abroad and has not heard from him in a long time. Her father was killed by a terrible man. Her step mother is mean and has been receiving letters from Mary's brother that included money but did not forward them. Mary left her home and never wrote to her step mother. She has a debt to the landlord because of her rent. Anne is worried when Mary doesn't return home but the police brought her half dead having been hit in the head and lying in the street. The doctor is called but it is hopeless and she dies without telling how it happened. Anne found a torn cravet in Mary's hand a gives this to the police but it is useless and the inquest tells of accidental death but Anne doesn't believe this. Anne doesn't want her friend to die without a decent burial and has used her money and has a collection drawn up. The landlord threatens Anne about the need to pay for Mary's past rent, seeing she paid for the burial, he wants his money and will make her give it no matter what. Anne has no friends except the doctor and the pastor, since the doctor is on calls, she sees the pastor who tells the landlord off. While Anne is shopping for a candle she sees a shirt that is a rag at the store, she knows it is the same material from the cravet and has it wrapped with her candles. She finds out that it is from a lady whose husband is a mean ingratiate, a cab driver, Anne soon finds the man who reluctantly tells of the story of Mary being pushed and hit by a man, that happened to be the man who ruined her father and she grabs the cab drivers shirt collar which is torn and held by Mary. Anne's fiance comes back to London and she tells him the story which interest him completely and he looks to get the information needed for the police which end up arresting the murderer. I am ashamed to think the fiance had something to do with the murder but I am glad I was wrong. Mary's brother had read about the trial and come to see Anne. He had been sending money to his sister at the step mother's address and when he returned to London, he found out that Mary had not received the money and could not find his sister. He had been looking for two years. He wanted to repay Anne but she accepts because she is poor but tells him how much she loved his sister. He found out about Anne's fiance and the delay in marriage because of lack of money. A year later he found a job for her fiance and they soon married.

[Vintagebooklvr · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is very much a Victorian story. There's a tragic death, a long-lost family member and a reward after a hardship and suffering. Collins does have a more sympathetic portrayal of women than most writers of this period: Anne who is the main character of the story is a real person, not a saint or sinner just because she is poor. She may be a little too good but she doesn't seem to be an "angel". It's not much of a real mystery where you have a chance to figure out who is responsible from a cast of characters you are introduced to but it is satisfying in being true to its nature.

[Arianna - Onlybookslover · Rating 4 out of 5]

Un bellissimo racconto che si apre con qualche pagina di informazione sull’autore e sulla storia, un’anteprima che spalanca le porte al lettore per far si che comprenda al meglio il testo in questione.

Il piccolo libricino è composto a destra dalla versione italiana e a sinistra dalla versione inglese, un ottimo modo per favorire la comprensione di chi volesse leggerlo in lingua originale.

La narrazione è in prima persona dalla nostra Anne Rodway, una giovane orfana la cui migliore amica diciottenne morirà improvvisamente lasciando Anne nell’angoscia e disperazione.
Dopo che viene dichiarata come morte accidentale, Anne inizia a investigare da sola partendo da un pezzetto di fazzoletto strappato che aveva in mano Mary.
Tutto ciò la trasformerà in una vera e propria detective ed entreremo nella sua mente tra sofferenza e determinazione per rendere giustizia alla sua amica.

Una lettura piacevole che va ad alimentare la curiosità proprio per il fatto che Anne è la prima detective donna in un’epoca in cui la donna non era ancora ben considerata.
Un’altra cosa che ho apprezzato particolarmente è stato il fatto che questa storia ci mostra anche il lato buio di uomini che non riescono a trovare lavoro seppur avendo un’istruzione eccellente.
In poche parole, è l’altra faccia della Londra vittoriana, la faccia povera e non nobile.

Consigliato!

[Tom · Rating 5 out of 5]

A Short story originally published in Household Words July 19-26, 1856. It features possibly the first fictional female detective and an early example of Collins using the storytelling perspective of episodic diary narrative. As in much of his work, there is a physically deformed character included in this story.

Set in 1840, Anne Rodway is a poor plain uneducated, working-class needlewoman whose friend and fellow lodger, Mary Mallinson, is brought home mortally wounded by a blow to the head. Anne follows the clue of a torn cravat clutched in her dying friend's hand and through her ingenuity and perseverance, Anne cracks the case single-handedly discovering the murderer. She is assisted by her fiancée, Robert, who has just returned from America, and they bring to justice Noah Truscott, the perpetrator of the crime.

Victorian Female Detectives in Books: Step Aside, Sherlock!

[Lucas Lorente · Rating 1 out of 5]

like a story you overhear on public transport — not out of interest but out of boredom because your phone's dead and you forgot to bring a book

[Unalettriceatokyo · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5/5 ⭐️

[Pavi · Rating 4 out of 5]

I do like the way it was told , is a very personal experience. Really like it.

[Fishpunk · Rating 5 out of 5]

The first true female detective and Anne Rodway is a determined little mite. I adore her, heart and soul. Were I a 19th Century seamstress, I'd hope to be exactly as the legendary Wilkie Collins wrote Anne.

[Seb · Rating 5 out of 5]

Collins will always let me enjoy his books. This short story is a crucial example of the Detective novel. I love the language he used to portray such a story.

[Elena · Rating 3 out of 5]

A delightful and moving read, as usual with Wilkie Collins. A short story that has everything in t: drama, love, sadness, social commentary, suspense.