Humans are by nature social beings. Even introverts need at least some social interaction. Spouses can serve that purpose, but not everyone’s married or with a partner. And that’s where companions and roommates come in. And that makes sense. Companions can share (or do) the housework, be aware if someone is in medical need, and so on. And roommates can share expenses as well as look out for one’s well-being. It’s no wonder, then, that we see so many of these characters in crime fiction. By the way, you’ll notice that in this post, the examples I’ll give are all of female characters. If you find that interesting, so do I. It’s not that no male character has a male roommate or what we would call companion, but it’s not nearly as common. Perhaps companionship among men has been depicted differently in fiction. Or perhaps for a long time, it was considered just fine if a man had his own place and traveled alone, but not so much for a woman. In any case, roommates and companions play a very important role in crime fiction. They can be helpful sources of information. They can also be suspects…

Charles Dickens’ Bleak House is often considered a ‘proto-detective story,’ as there is a murder and a detective in it. Wealthy philanthropist John Jarndyce has been involved for years in a long legal contest over a family will (that’s one of the main plot points in the novel). He meets and takes an interest in Esther Summerson, an orphan who was raised by a woman she refers to has her ‘godmother.’ Jarndyce wants to provide a good life for Esther, so he takes her in. The idea is that she will serve as companion to his ward, Ada Clare. Esther agrees and soon begins a life of much more comfort and support than she had known before. The two young women become good friends, and as the novel goes on, we follow their lives, and we learn how they are impacted by the Jarndyce will, as well as by an unexpected death and a murder.

Agatha Christie’s After the Funeral introduces readers to the Abernethie clan. When patriarch Richard Abernethie dies, his family gathers for the funeral and the reading of the will. At that get-together, Abernethie’s sister, Cora Lansquenet, blurts out that he was murdered. Everyone disagrees, but privately, everyone wonders if she was right. And, when Cora herself is found murdered the next day, it seems certain that she was telling the truth. Family solicitor Mr. Entwhistle asks Hercule Poirot to investigate, and he agrees. It could be that Cora was murdered for her share of the Abernethie fortune. Or it could be a random murder. Or it could be a personal reason that no-one knows. In order to get to know Cora’s history, both Mr. Entwhistle and Poirot interview Cora’s companion, Miss Gilchrest. She’d been with Cora for quite some time and has interesting insights into her past. It’s interesting to see how she and her knowledge inform Poirot.

In Barbara Metz’/Elizabeth Peters’ Crocodile on the Sandbank, we are introduced to Miss Amelia Peabody. The story takes place in 1884, a time when it would not have been seemly for a woman to travel alone. So, although Miss Peabody is independent and has plenty of means, she has arranged for a companion to join her on a trip to Egypt. When that companion falls ill and must return home, Miss Peabody is left with few options. She is determined to continue her trip, but to do that she’ll have to find a new companion. Fortunately, she happens to meet Evelyn Barton-Forbes, who has her own sad history. For Evelyn, the opportunity to travel with Miss Peabody is more or less a rescue from an untenable situation, so she agrees to join her as companion. Together, the two begin their journey. They soon find themselves drawn into a web of intrigue, theft, and local myths.

Many people think that the concept of the companion is quite dated – more often seen in Golden Age and classic novels  than in contemporary novels. But there are some examples in more recent stories. For instance, Marco Vichi’s Death in August, which takes place in 1963 Florence, introduces Signora Rebecca Pedretti. She is found dead one morning, and of course, the police are notified. Inspector Bordelli begins the investigation, and he soon learns that Signora Pedretti was poisoned. Now, his task is to find out who had a motive. He discovers that the victim’s brother, her nephews, and their wivesall had very good financial motives for murder. Bordelli also considers Signora Pedretti’s companion, Maria. She, too, could have a motive, either personal or financial, particularly since she spent a lot of time with the victim. So, Bordelli looks into the history of everyone’s relationship with the victim, and that includes Maria. This isn’t an easy case, since all of the suspects have confirmed alibis for the time of death. So Bordelli has to determine how the poisoning happened.

In today’s world, even though people don’t really have ‘official’ companions, they still often have roommates who get to know them well and, in a way, meet that need for companionship. In Paul Pilkington’s Long Gone, for example, Natalie Long has just gotten the chance of a lifetime. She’s been invited to join a group of contestants who will be vying for a plum position at a well-regarded company called Brand New. She’s expected to stay the weekend and go through several assessments to determine who the lucky new employee will be. Her roommate and friend, Amy Cullen, is excited for her, since this is what Natalie has wanted. But, when Natalie doesn’t return after the weekend, Amy begins to get concerned. She worries even more when Natalie sends her an odd text. Amy knows her friend very well and now believes that something is wrong. So, she asks her father, Paul, who works for the British Transport Police, to investigate. It’s not his particular jurisdiction, really, but for his daughter’s sake, he agrees to see what he can do. He soon learns that nothing about this company or those contestants is really what it seems.

Companions can make for very interesting characters in their own right. They can also serve as useful sources of information, not to mention convenient suspects. So it’s no wonder we see them in the genre.

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Lionel Bart’s Consider Yourself.