Mystery Monday: Death of the Duchess!

Our book today is 1991’s Death of the Duchess by Elizabeth Eyre, which is a pseudonym for the London writing team of Jill Staynes and Magaret Storey (both of which sound more like pseudonyms than “Elizabeth Eyre,” but then, what would I know of pseudonyms?). Death of the Duchess is a murder mystery set in an Italian Renaissance city called Rocca, which is presided over by a remote and choleric Duke and which is rent by the Romeo & Juliet-style rivalry between the noble houses of de Torre and Bandini. To heal the feud, a marriage is proposed between the two families, and the novel plunges us right into the action when the bride is abducted from her father’s house.

The resulting commotion draws the Duke’s private agent, a tall, bald, powerfully-built mystery man named Sigismondo, who has a piercing gaze, a vaguely foreign accent, and a quiet way of commanding the respect of everybody he meets. In the novel’s opening pages, Sigismondo, who goes everywhere on foot and has no servants because they gossip, finds himself accompanied by a simple, good-hearted peasant named Benno, and it’s through this handy plot device that we the readers are allowed to come to know our enigmatic detective a little better. It’s also a convenient way for our authors to paint their rich portrait of Renaissance life, from the dung-heaps of the city center to the halls of the mighty:

Sigismondo commandeered a blanket from the inn where they had hired the horse and rode on up to the Palace, where he asked for a private audience of the Duke. That he was at once granted it made Benno’s jaw drop once more. He trotted after his master, turning his head constantly to admire painted columns, friezes, statues and tapestries, and coming up suddenly against Sigismondo’s back when they stopped at a door. While his master was admitted, Benno gaped at the marble door-casing and, it being suggested forcefully by the guard that he should remove his person somewhat, he stood back.

As Sigismondo digs deeper into the mystery, “Elizabeth Eyre” relishes bringing him into contact with all the different social strata of the city. Sigismondo cannot be intimidated (he stresses a couple of times that he’s only the Duke’s temporary agent); in fact, since he’s a match for any physical situation, he himself is usually the one doing the intimidating:

Poggio flung out his arms again. “I’ve told you everything. I’ve given you all the money, everything! Count it!”

Poggio’s mother enveloped him again, tearful, and howled, “Don’t take him to his death! He’s told you everything! You have the money!”

Sigismondo made a small dismissive movement with the sword and hummed a derogatory arpeggio. “If he had – but as it is –“ In that hum, at least one of his listeners heard the well-oiled levers of the rack.

It’s not every fictional sleuth who can casually hum a derogatory arpeggio, and the ones who can are worth following. If memory serves, half a dozen Sigismondo mysteries followed Death of a Duchess, and whatever the final number (before the whole series stopped and was heard from no more), they were all every bit as immensely enjoyable as this first one. Should you come across one at the Boston Public Library, you should consider yourself gently nudged to give it a try.