Satan's Lullaby

I’ll admit: I approached *Satan’s Lullaby* skeptical of yet another ‘nun solves crimes’ premise. But within 20 minutes, McCaddon’s narration had me hooked—not just on the mystery, but on the *people*. Her Eleanor is a revelation: a leader whose intelligence is quiet, whose authority is hard-won, and whose frustration with the petty tyrannies of men (especially clerical men) feels painfully modern. When she snaps, *“We are not a brothel, Brother,”* McCaddon delivers it with such icy precision I actually laughed out loud. The plot unfolds like a slow-unspooling tapestry, with Royal’s research worn lightly but deployed ruthlessly. A drowned novice, a missing relic, and a ledger that doesn’t add up—standard fare, until Royal ties it to the priory’s precarious survival under a king who taxes churches into ruin. The middle act sags *just* slightly under the weight of financial subplots (yes, we *get* it, wool sales matter), but the payoff—a confrontation in a storm-lashed church—is worth it. McCaddon’s performance elevates even the denser passages; her ability to distinguish between a dozen nuns by vocal tics alone is a minor miracle. My only real critique? The production’s occasional uneven volume levels, where whispers (of which there are many, this *is* a priory) get lost if you’re listening in a noisy space. Still, this is historical mystery at its most immersive: cerebral but never cold, pious but never preachy. If you’ve ever rolled your eyes at a ‘feisty’ medieval heroine, Eleanor’s restrained fury will feel like a glass of wine after a long Lent.