"And yet, who knows of Athelstan today..."- Michael Woods (In Search of the Dark Ages).
I'll return to the trail of obscurity in
the near future, which, knowing myself, will probably be somewhere next month,
because there's still a slew of contemporary detective stories vying on the
slopes of Mt.-to-be-Read for attention – and February is hardly enough to cover
them all. So that's the program for now.
The Nightingale Gallery (1991) is the first tale from "The Sorrowing Mysteries of Brother Athelstan,"
set in the 13th century during the reign of Richard II of England, published
under the byline Paul Harding. Of course, "Paul Harding" is the now discarded
penname of historian Paul Doherty, who already garnered praise under his own
name with the Sir Hugh Corbett-series, but the Brother Athelstan stories has
the potential to become one of my favorite series of historical mysteries.
Prelude of The Nightingale Gallery
is the passing of the old king, Edward III, which leaves the throne to a mere
child, Richard II, but the question is how the passing of kings affected a
domestic tragedy at the home of an affluent gold merchant.
Sir Thomas Springall held a banquet on
the night of his death, however, the poison that killed the merchant wasn't administrated
during the feast, but in the claret of wine his servant Brampton brought him
every night. Springhall was overheard arguing with Brampton and the latter was
found swinging at the end of a rope in a garret. It's a neat and tidy case of
murder/suicide, but Sir John Cranston, Coroner of London, has his own views on
the deaths as does Brother Athelstan – a friar basically assigned to Sir John
as part of his penance for his past sins. Nevertheless, there is a valid
objection to their hypothesis of a double murder: the hallway to Springall's
bedroom is named the Nightingale Gallery for the acoustic quality of the
floorboards and they "sing" if you walk on them. It's a medieval burglar alarm,
but one you can't temper with and they didn't sing on the night of the murder –
except when Brampton brought Spingall's customary goblet of wine. Yes, it's
another one of those pesky, locked room mysteries!
I first want to say I really enjoyed the
main characters who were being introduced here and was particular interested in
Sir John, who may've been modeled on John Gaunt from John Dickson Carr's The
Bowstring Murders (1933) on the (bodily) scale of Dr. Gideon Fell.
Someone who can withstand enormous amounts of alcohol without it effecting its thinking
and there's one scene in which Sir John demonstrated he could listen attentively
to a conversation, while apparently in an alcohol-induced coma. Brother
Athelstan is an unusual character for Doherty, because, unlike Sir Hugh Corbett
or Chief Judge Amerotke, there isn't a wife with children hovering in the
background. There aren't loved ones here to treasure and protect. Just atone
for the ones he allowed himself to lose.
The plot of The Nightingale Gallery
also diverges from the later-period Doherty novels I have read in that it concentrates
on the raffles of a single plot-thread, instead of multiple ones (e.g. Ancient
Egypt-series), with clues, riddles and suspects abound! There's even a second
poisoning in a locked room with an obscure potion.
Steve, a.k.a. "Puzzle Doctor," holding regular visiting
hours at In Search of a Classic Mystery Novel, who probably introduced most of
us to Paul Doherty, reviewed this book in 2011 and called it "one of the
best mysteries that I've read for a while," adding "the impossible
murder is very well done... there's enough here to work it out, but I bet you
won't." Well, I solved the locked room angle and identity of the murderer without
much difficulty, but I would put that down on having mostly read the
later-period Doherty novels.
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