I received this book in exchange for a fair and honest review
The School of Night by Colin Falconer
The William Shakespeare Detective Agency Book One
ISBN: 9781621252139
Paperback
Synopsis:
"My name is William Shakespeare. No, not that Shakespeare; and no jests please, I’ve heard them all. I’m the other one, the ne’er do well cousin, the loafer, known to family and friends as the dunce, the one who could not recite Cicero or Horace, who could never be as good as his clever cuz, the one who has just come to Bishopsgate from Stratford with silly dreams in his head and a longing to make something more of himself than just a glover’s handyman.”
What he finds in London is Lady Elizabeth Talbot, who is willing to pass a few shillings to this blundering brawler if he will help her find her husband. Poor William does not realize the trail will lead to the truth behind the death of Shakespeare’s great rival, Christopher Marlowe - or to a lifelong love affair with a woman far above his station.
Each book tells the story of William’s adventures as England’s first gumshoe, set against turbulent Elizabethan politics; of his romantic pursuit of the impossible Elizabeth Talbot; while charting the career of his up and coming dramatist cousin, the bard of Stratford, but just Will to his family.
Review:
I just received this book yesterday so I just got started on reading it. I have to say that the first pages of this book are great. I can see that the author did a good job in developing the characters. I can't wait to see what happens with the rest of the book. I will be posting a full review at a later date. At this time though I would recommend this book to mystery fans as it is pulling me in.
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About the Author
Born in London, Colin first trialed as a professional football player in England, and was eventually brought to Australia. He went to Sydney and worked in TV and radio and freelanced for many of Australia’s leading newspapers and magazines. He has published over twenty novels and his work has so far been translated into 23 languages.
He travels regularly to research his novels and his quest for authenticity has led him to run with the bulls in Pamplona, pursue tornadoes across Oklahoma and black witches across Mexico, go cage shark diving in South Africa and get tear gassed in a riot in La Paz.
He currently lives in Barcelona.
For more information please visit Colin Falconer’s
website. You can also find him on
Facebook or follow on
Twitter.
The School of Night Blog Tour Schedule
Monday, March 16
Interview & Giveaway at
View From the Birdhouse
Tuesday, March 17
Excerpt at
I Heart Reading
Spotlight at
Genre Queen
Wednesday, March 18
Review at
100 Pages a Day
Spotlight at
Caroline Wilson Writes
Thursday, March 19
Interview at
Becky on Books
Spotlight at
What Is That Book About
Friday, March 20
Spotlight at
To Read, or Not to Read
Monday, March 23
Review & Giveaway at
The True Book Addict
Spotlight at
Historical Fiction Connection
Tuesday, March 24
Review at
It's a Mad, Mad World
Thursday, March 26
Review at
Quirky Book Reviews
Friday, March 27
Review at
Griperang's Bookmarks
Tuesday, March 31
Review at
Svetlana's Reads and Views
Excerpt:
I could hear, I could even see a little,
but I could not move. I lay face down in the Bishopsgate alleyway - and if you
have seen a London street in those times, you will know that no one lies in one
unless they utterly insensible. The other sense I had lost was my sense of
smell, which was a mercy, as I could see the dogs chewing gristle and ordure
from a rubbish pile a few feet away.
I imagined they would start on me next.
I tried several times to get up but found
that I could not. My whole body was numb and my muscles would not obey me. It
was even a labour to breathe. I coughed and spat out something. I hoped it
wasn’t a part of me that I needed to live.
I did not know how long I had been lying
there. I heard someone trudging towards me through the mud and I supposed
someone had come to finish me off.
They knelt down and held a lantern to my
face. Even that hurt.
‘It’s the oaf, my lady.’ The oaf. They had
beaten me senseless, perhaps broken every bone in my body, and nothing hurt as
much as them calling me that.
The oaf.
Why, because I do not have ink stains on my
fingers? Because I cannot conjugate Latin? Prick me do I not squeal? Cut me do
I not bleed? I attended the grammar school, I have read Ovid, you peasant.
The
oaf.
‘Is he dead?’
‘No madam, he breathes. But I do not like
the look of him.’
‘Well he was never the prettiest man I ever
saw, I dare say it does not matter. Can you lift him?’
‘He is too heavy for me.’
I knew I was in a bad way for I could have
sworn the woman’s voice belonged to Lady Elizabeth Talbot.
‘I believe he may be dead.’
‘Well, stick a clothes pin in him or
something. See if he squeals.’
‘I do not have a clothes pin, my lady.’
‘Oh well, I’ll do it myself.’ She meant to
do it, too. I managed a groan; not much of one, but the best I could manage and
at least she put away the pin. She stared at me in the glow of the lamp and I
saw her blanche. So, it must be bad. ‘What's this,
William? Some other tart been beating you up? For such a big man you really are
hopeless in a fight, aren’t you?’
I wanted to tell her that there were two of
them and that they had come up at me from behind. I wanted to tell her that it
was not a fair fight. But even if I had possessed the power of speech I do not
think she would have believed me.
My face lay in a pile of ordure a few
inches from this gracious lady’s feet. Such lovely shoes, too. Calf leather.
Grey. Expensive. I was afforded a glimpse of her ankles. I am
not sure that you know this, but ankles were much prized in my day, more so
than breasts. Oh every woman thrust them in your face back then, like puddings,
here want to try mine?
But ankles!
A well turned ankle was a thing of joy,
only God could craft such a fine achievement. And Elizabeth Talbot had the
finest ankles I had ever seen in my life.
‘Look at you, William. What’s the point of
such a fine physique if you can’t fight?’ She said it as if it was my fault, as
if I had been negligent in my grooming. ‘Can you move him?’ she said to her man
Peter.
‘He’s too big for me.’
Peter and two others - I assumed one was
the ostler, the other must have been a hired man - tried to help, and I would
have liked to assist them but I was completely insensible. And then, to my
astonishment, the fine lady Talbot got down on her knees and helped them lift
me to my feet. The fragrance of rosewater and patchouli in that stinking lane
was utterly unexpected. I felt her hand touch my face.
‘My poor champion,’ she murmured and I
smiled in pleasure and my lip started bleeding again.
When we got back to Saint Helen’s she had
her woman put me in the bath while she supervised the process from the doorway.
The girl had giggled when she stripped off my clothes for I have unusually
large feet. Her ladyship slapped her around the head and told her if she
continued to behave lewdly she would do the job herself.
By the time they eased me back into bed I
had the filth of London washed off me and my clothes, on her command, burned in
the stove. I lay there shuddering; whatever they had hit me with, it must have
been a piling that anchored one of the Queen’s warships for I still could not
feel much of my body, though I had thankfully recovered use of my legs.
Elizabeth Talbot stood over the bed and drew the blanket up to my chin with a
sigh.
Everything hurt. Even the breeze from the
window hurt.
‘How did you know where I was?’ I said.
‘I had a man follow you.’
‘Really? What man?’
‘A fellow off the street. I paid him a few
coins to follow you about.’
‘Why?’
‘I didn’t trust you. I thought that I
followed you, you would lead me to my husband.’
‘Your husband? I thought he was your
brother.’
‘I lied.’
‘And you say that you don’t trust me?’
‘He saw you follow the lady when you left
the inn.’
‘That was no lady.’
‘Did you intend commerce with her?’
‘She was a trollop.’
‘Most men like trollops.’
‘I am not most men.’
‘So it appears. Anyway, my man followed
you. He saw you getting beaten. He saw it all, he said it was the girl’s mother
that did it, an old lady with a cane.’
I was about to protest, then I saw that
this was some kind of joke.
She poured some sweet red wine in a flask
and she held it to my lips, then wiped the residue with a linen napkin. Really
this was the life. Perhaps I should get beaten up more often.
‘Do you still think you cannot trust me?’
‘I don’t know. What were you doing back at
the tavern?’
‘I wanted to know why the tapster said he
had seen me with your husband or your brother or whatever he is. I noticed the
girl’s expression when I mentioned his name and then she snuck out. So I
decided to follow her.’
‘Did you find out who she was?’
‘I never had the chance. She turned up an
alley and then gave a sort of whistle and the next thing I knew half a dozen
ruffians set on me.’
She sat on the bed and put her hand on
mine, a rather tender gesture I found oddly comforting. ‘I’m sorry I got you in
so much trouble,’ she said.
She tucked me into the bed, like I was a
sickly child, blew out the candle and slipped into bed beside me, naked. Well
no, of course not. That was just my fevered brain.
What happened next was that I heard the
door shut gently behind her.
I closed my eyes. I wondered if cousin Will
had missed me or if he had just shrugged and forgotten about me. In the
meantime I was disposed to make the most of clean linen sheets and a wide bed.
It seemed some recompense for the bruises and trouble I had sustained on the
good lady’s behalf.
I dozed pleasantly for a while until
something woke me. It was dark, just a candle burning in the room and I
guessed, from the pleasant smells and the rustling of skirts that it was her
ladyship. I decided to keep my eyes shut and feign sleep. To my astonishment I
felt her hair tickle my face and her lips lightly brush my forehead.
Then I heard her swish from the room. After
that I did not sleep much. I felt movement beneath the sheets and with some
relief I discovered that I was recovering the use of at least some of my parts
much quicker than I had thought I would.
