Sense and Second-Degree Murder

Book 2: Jane Austen Murder Mysteries

by Tirzah Price

Genres: Mystery; YA Historical Fiction

Synopsis

In this second book of the Jane Austen Murder Mystery series, Tirzah Price takes readers for another fun, murderous romp through one of Austen’s beloved novels. Perfect for fans of The Lady Janies and Stalking Jack the Ripper. A Junior Library Guild pick!

When eighteen-year-old aspiring scientist Elinor Dashwood discovers her beloved father slumped over the desk of his office study, she knows his death means dire straits for the Dashwood women. To make matters worse, an outdated will entails his estate—including Norland & Company, the private investigation firm where her younger sister Marianne worked as her father’s partner and protégé—to their half-brother and his haughty wife, who waste no time in forcing the Dashwoods out of their home and into a cramped apartment on London’s Barton Street.

But before they go, the Dashwood sisters make a startling discovery: a suspicious substance in their father’s teacup—one that can only be described as poison. And poison, as Marianne’s father taught her, always points to murder.

It could be dangerous; it could ruin their reputations; and most importantly, it won’t bring back their father. But if the Dashwood sisters can combine their talents and bring their father’s murderer to justice, it may bring them all some comfort—and it might even lead to love.

“Pride and Premeditation is a romantic and entertaining page-turner, sure to delight readers of any genre.” —Kerri Maniscalco, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Stalking Jack the Ripper series 

Release date: April 5, 2022

Publisher: HarperTeen

Print pages: 416

Sample

OneI

n Which the Dashwood Sisters’ Lives Are Forever Changed

 

ON THE DAY THAT her life was to change forever, Elinor Dashwood awoke late with a wild hope fluttering in her rib cage. But, being the sensible sort, she kept it hidden as she rose, dressed, and joined her family for breakfast, stifling a yawn as she sat down at the table. It was a sunlit, cheerful morning, but her mind was still tucked between the pages of the book she’d stayed up far too late reading, so she didn’t notice her younger sister’s arched brow.

“You look as though you’ve been trampled by a horse,” Marianne announced with her usual upbeat honesty.

“Marianne!” their mother admonished as Margaret, the youngest Dashwood, giggled. “That’s hardly kind. Although, Elinor dear, you do look a little . . . peaked.”

“I feel quite well,” Elinor assured her mother and sisters, and attempted to look more alert by sitting up even straighter. “I was reading the most riveting study about oxygen. Did you know that a French chemist discovered that in order for combustion to occur, oxygen is essential?”

Mrs. Dashwood gave an uncertain smile, as she always did when Elinor began speaking of the sciences. But Margaret drew in an excited gasp. “Is combustion related to the smoke bombs you promised you’d make me?”

“In a way,” Elinor said, helping herself to a piece of toast. “For smoke bombs to work properly, something needs to be lit with fire, and fire can’t occur without oxygen, which is in the air all around us.”

Marianne looked around, as if she could spot the oxygen lurking in the corner of the room, like dust motes. Not that there would be dust motes in the Dashwoods’ breakfast room—the staff kept the place in impeccable order.

“You can’t see it, Marianne,” Elinor said with a little laugh. “It’s invisible air—gas.”

“It sounds unpleasant,” Marianne said as assuredly as if she were proclaiming a new recipe wasn’t to her taste.

“That’s quite enough talk of gas and combustion at the breakfast table, girls,” Mrs. Dashwood said. She knew from experience that when Elinor began speaking of science, and Margaret took an interest in various uses for gunpowder, Marianne was surely just a moment away from adding her thoughts about crime, and then a perfectly nice breakfast would take a darker turn. “Where’s your father? I’m of half a mind to have Stewart fetch him.”

The butler hovered by the door, ready to do Mrs. Dashwood’s bidding.

“I think Father has a new case,” Marianne informed the table. As the Dashwood sister most interested in the family business—Mr. Dashwood was the proprietor and chief investigator of Norland and Co.—she was privy to such knowledge. “He probably fell asleep at his desk again.”

Mrs. Dashwood tsked. “That man will work himself to death, and he already has a cold.”

Before Stewart could be dispensed for the task, Elinor leapt up. “I’ll fetch him. He won’t be able to say no or ask Stewart to bring in a breakfast tray if I tell him he’s missing a perfectly nice meal with his family.”

“I’ll go,” Marianne said, also standing. “You’ve hardly eaten a thing, and I was going to ask him about the case—”

“I’m already up,” Elinor said, waving a carefree hand at her younger sister. It was a gesture that she knew for a fact infuriated Marianne, and yet what was the point of being the oldest if Elinor couldn’t pull rank at times?

Besides, she knew that Father would be curious to know what she thought of Antoine Lavoisier’s scientific discoveries, and he would not be shocked to learn that Lavoisier had met his fate at the guillotine in the French Revolution—and such talk was hardly acceptable in Mother’s perspective.

And then there was the matter of Elinor’s secret hope: she wanted to attend a scientific lecture, one of the ones given by the Royal Institute. Mrs. Dashwood was permissive when it came to her daughters’ unconventional interests, but it was difficult enough for their family to gain the respect of their peers in society, given that Mr. Dashwood engaged in an occupation. The fact that he was so successful at it, and had solved a good number of mysteries that were regularly reported in the papers, earned the Dashwood family a modicum of popularity, if not respect. But Elinor didn’t just want to attend a single scientific lecture—she wanted to study chemistry. Her mother would probably prefer that Elinor spend more time finding a husband than discovering a new element or compound, but Elinor was only eighteen! She wasn’t inclined in the slightest to think about marriage. And she was certain Mother could be convinced . . . if Elinor could convince Father first.

She walked down the hallway to Father’s study, which sat rather unconventionally at the front of the house. She practiced what she would say until she stopped in front of the closed doors—what might normally have been a formal parlor in any other house was where her father received clients. The only sound as she approached had been the soft echo of her footsteps on the marble floor, and now she pressed her ear to the crack between the doors, listening for sound. Nothing.

She knocked, brisk but light, and opened the door before waiting for a response.

The morning sunlight slid through the half-drawn drapes, and a slight chill clung to the room. Elinor looked to the fireplace, which was cold and empty—not surprising, as Father didn’t allow even the maids to clean his sanctum without overseeing to ensure that nothing was disturbed. They wouldn’t build a fire unless summoned.

Elinor looked next to the chaise longue in the corner, where her father sometimes slept while working a case, when he deemed it too late to ring for his valet to prepare for bed. But it too was empty, and she realized with a strange stirring in the pit of her stomach that the window behind the chaise longue wasn’t latched.

Elinor’s gaze flitted across the study as goose bumps raised on her arms and the back of her neck, her eyes skipping over stacks of books, piles of papers, and cabinets bursting full of disguises that Father relied on in his trade—clothing, fake mustaches, spectacles, and various other items that allowed him to transform into a slightly different person. Finally, her eyes settled on the great desk in the center of the room, and the chair behind it where Father sat, slumped over so that his head rested on the paper-strewn surface.

“Father?” Elinor asked, shocked by the waver in her voice.

A surge of fire rushed through her veins, and even though she knew that something was very wrong, she walked over to the unlatched window and closed it before facing Father. Even as she drew close enough to see the gray pallor to his skin and the way his eyes were almost—but not quite—closed, she knew.

She knew that her beloved father was dead.

Still, she forced her hand to reach out and touch not his face—no, she couldn’t bear that—but his arm, still covered in his jacket. It was cold, and not chilled from the open window. This was lifelessness.

Elinor wasn’t certain how long she stood there, hand resting on her father’s arm, mind churning with senseless thoughts that she couldn’t grasp. This could not be—how could this be? Finally, she knew that she had to do something, and the one thought that surfaced with any clarity was that she didn’t want her mother or sisters walking into Father’s study to this shocking sight. Somehow, thinking of them allowed her to withdraw her hand and step away.

She left the study and shut the door gently behind her but was startled by Stewart. She saw a flash of concern and wariness before he masked it with a cool professional air. “I’ve come to see if Mr. Dashwood requires anything,” he said.

“A doctor,” Elinor replied, surprised by the words that sprang from her lips. “Please ring for a doctor.”

“Miss?” Stewart asked, his professionalism slipping altogether.

Steady, Elinor told herself. She had to remain composed. So much had to be done, and she could not, would not, dissolve into tears. Not now. Not yet.

“Can you please ring for a doctor?” she asked, holding Stewart’s gaze. “Please watch for him and then show him to my father’s study immediately. I must go inform my mother and sisters.”

Elinor saw the understanding dawn on Stewart’s face, and the shock. She nearly broke apart in that moment, but she had to be strong.

“Of course, miss,” Stewart said, looking at the closed door behind her. “But . . . I mean, that is to say—miss?”

Stewart had been with the Dashwoods since before Elinor was born, and never once had she seen him so ruffled. Another small piece of her heart broke and she nodded once, sharply. “He’s gone. I must inform my mother and sisters,” she repeated, and took two faltering steps, then turned back to Stewart, who hadn’t yet moved from where he stood, immobile with shock. “Once you’ve called for the doctor, could you please send Mrs. Matthews to the breakfast room? I think . . . that is, my mother might . . . there will be arrangements to make.”

“Yes, miss,” Stewart said, emotion thick in his voice.

Elinor blinked back tears and turned to leave the butler behind. Seeing Stewart affected, when it was his job to be unaffected by anything, started to unravel something inside her. She quickly retraced her steps down the grand hall, not allowing herself to pause outside of the breakfast room, because if she did, she might not be able to force herself to go in, and if she stood out in the hall, she might fall apart.

She opened the door, then paused at the sight of her sisters and mother. Marianne was in the middle of telling their mother a tale, her arms spread wide to illustrate her point, a look of seriousness on her face as she tried to convince Mother of something. Margaret was laughing, and she had raspberry jam smeared in the corner of her mouth. Mother wore a look of patience and fondness, which lingered when she turned to Elinor and said, “Oh, there you are. You were gone so long I sent Stewart to find you. . . .”

The room grew quiet as they took in her stricken expression. Elinor blinked against the cheery brightness of the room and then steeled herself to share the terrible news that had crushed that fluttering hope inside her.