Elizabeth Redfern’s “The Music of the Spheres” (Putnam, 420 pages, $24.95) abandons the fast-paced action of modern spy or detective novels, and instead takes its time weaving an enthralling story of espionage and murder, madness and obsession in the crooked, evil alleys of London circa 1795.
Redfern introduces us to six complex characters, any one of whom could be a ruthless killer responsible for a series of strangulation deaths of redheaded London prostitutes. As the story unfolds, the reader learns that the French gold coins left at the murder scenes are linked to spies living in London. The story gets even more complex when the trail of possible culprits leads to expatriate French astronomers searching for a planet they believe lies between Mars and Jupiter.
The author has a gift for creating vivid images of 18th Century London, as in this passage about a barmaid at an alehouse:
“Priss led the way quickly from the smoky taproom of the Blue Bell, out to where the courtyards and twisting tenements pressed down on them in shadows of dark sepia, blocking out the sky. A faint, foul miasma rose through the warm night air from the direction of the river. Rubbish, piled in damp corners, sent out sweetly rotting vapors; rats scuttled in the darkness. There were figures moving in the shadows: prostitutes, pickpockets, waiting for the unwary. A carriage rattled along nearby Bedford Street, its iron wheels jarring on the cobbles; from somewhere close by came a sharp, muffled laugh.”
Redfern’s story is as spooky as a Jack the Ripper tale, but with its multiple layers of plots, more intellectually engaging.