Review
During the reign of George III, London had its own Mr. Blackwell, of sorts -- a man named Beau Brummell, whose eye for fashion and trendsetting in England's Regency Era is now the stuff of legend. That romance author Rosemary Stevens thought to immortalize such a person as a fictional sleuth intrigued me enough to select this title on a recent library trip.
Having enough disposable income to live comfortably without having to resort to manual labor (lucky bastard), Mr. Brummell lives his days leisurely, relishing his Dressing Hours with loyal valet Robinson and wielding his power over Society as the last word on fashion and propriety. When Brummell decides calamander wood is a must for that sedan chair, one can be sure the chairmakers will be flooded with orders. When Brummell goes out for the evening, one doesn't expect him to return home before the sun, and not until his pockets are stuffed with his winnings from various card games around town.
When the Duchess of York begs Brummell to help solve the mystery of a cantankerous lady's murder and thereby clear the name of a dear friend, the gentleman's gentleman cannot refuse, and Brummell devotes some of his leisure time quizzing house servants and social butterflies about the murder. Mind you, he doesn't devote all his time, not when there is whist to be played, reels to be danced, and perfectly starched crevats to be showcased around town.
I still haven't decided whether or Stevens was trying, through Brummell's meticulous narration, to make Death on a Silver Tray a funny book. If so, she succeeded -- it's a rare moment when I end up laughing out loud at words on a page, even rarer when the words are funny! That Brummell is more concerned for his outward appearance than his life, which is threatened often during his investigation, is a scream, as is a cute subplot concerning the gift of a Siamese cat which mirrors the good taste of his new master. It is my hope Stevens doesn't dally in producing another installment to what promises to be an enjoyable series. She just may make mystery reading fashionable.
Not that it ever was not fashionable in the first place.
Having enough disposable income to live comfortably without having to resort to manual labor (lucky bastard), Mr. Brummell lives his days leisurely, relishing his Dressing Hours with loyal valet Robinson and wielding his power over Society as the last word on fashion and propriety. When Brummell decides calamander wood is a must for that sedan chair, one can be sure the chairmakers will be flooded with orders. When Brummell goes out for the evening, one doesn't expect him to return home before the sun, and not until his pockets are stuffed with his winnings from various card games around town.
When the Duchess of York begs Brummell to help solve the mystery of a cantankerous lady's murder and thereby clear the name of a dear friend, the gentleman's gentleman cannot refuse, and Brummell devotes some of his leisure time quizzing house servants and social butterflies about the murder. Mind you, he doesn't devote all his time, not when there is whist to be played, reels to be danced, and perfectly starched crevats to be showcased around town.
I still haven't decided whether or Stevens was trying, through Brummell's meticulous narration, to make Death on a Silver Tray a funny book. If so, she succeeded -- it's a rare moment when I end up laughing out loud at words on a page, even rarer when the words are funny! That Brummell is more concerned for his outward appearance than his life, which is threatened often during his investigation, is a scream, as is a cute subplot concerning the gift of a Siamese cat which mirrors the good taste of his new master. It is my hope Stevens doesn't dally in producing another installment to what promises to be an enjoyable series. She just may make mystery reading fashionable.
Not that it ever was not fashionable in the first place.
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