Sense and Second-Degree Murder

Tirzah Price

• Publisher: Storytide
• Year: 2022
• eBook ISBN:
  9780062889850
• Print ISBN:
  9780062889843

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 To make matters worse, an outdated will entails his estate—including Norland & Company, the private investigation firm where her younger sister Marianne worked as her father’s partner and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 

Twenty

In Which the Dashwood Sisters Receive Some Unexpected Callers

ELINOR WOKE TO A gentle hand shaking her shoulder. Her back ached and there was a crick in her neck. Why was she sleeping sitting up? What time was it? What day?

Then she remembered: Marianne!

She sat up with a start and her mother’s voice, “Shhhh, it’s all right.”

“Marianne?” Elinor rasped.

“She’s sleeping,” Mother whispered. “See?”

Elinor blinked the sleep out of her eyes and saw that it was midmorning—the light bathed the bedroom in a pleasant yellow, an effect somewhat tempered by the metallic smell of old blood. Marianne’s head was tilted to the left, her arms laid out carefully at her sides with the coverlet tucked neatly around her. Elinor studied her sister until she saw the gentle rise and fall of her chest and turned to see Mother holding a steaming cup of tea.

Mother pressed the tea into her hands and then tilted her head to the door. “Let Margaret sit with her awhile. We need to talk.”

Margaret took Elinor’s place, dragging in her writing box. Elinor could only imagine the tales that last night’s escapades would inspire. Elinor followed Mother downstairs, where Hannah had laid the table with breakfast, and she gulped her tea so quickly that she burned the roof of her mouth. “Marianne looked well, don’t you think?” she asked her mother. “I think she might pull through. She’s very stubborn.”

“She’s not my only stubborn child,” Mrs. Dashwood said, “but yes, I think we have every reason to be hopeful.”

This reassured Elinor, but it didn’t make her feel better. “I’m so sorry, Mother.”

“For what, dear?”

“Everything!” Elinor burst out. “Everything just got so out of hand, and I never imagined that anyone would get shot. If Marianne doesn’t pull through, I’ll never forgive myself. As it is, I don’t know how I can. . . .”

“Oh, my Elinor . . .” Her mother sighed and took Elinor’s hands in her own. “You take on so much responsibility for us all.”

“Of course I do,” Elinor said, blinking back tears. Why did Mother make it sound as though that were a bad thing? “You’re my family.”

“Yes, and your love for us is one of the reasons why I love you, but my dear, your sisters have minds of their own, and their decisions are not yours. Neither are their consequences.”

“So it was Marianne’s fault that she was shot?” Elinor asked.

“Heavens, no! The blame for that lies solidly on the woman who shot at you, and I’ll let Willoughby share in it as well. All I mean is that you can only look after the ones you love within reason, and you cannot punish yourself for when bad things happen. Why, imagine if you hadn’t been with Marianne! I don’t think she would be with us right now if not for you, Elinor.”

Elinor hadn’t thought of it like that, and she remembered her indecision outside of Grey’s, as she watched Marianne march in alone. She had thought she made the wrong decision because she put Margaret in danger when she went after Marianne, but Mother was right—it could have been so much worse for Marianne if they hadn’t followed her. If it hadn’t been for Margaret remembering to grab the smoke bomb, and Elinor creating a diversion, and Margaret directing them out of the fray . . .

Dashwoods really were resourceful. And they worked better together.

“Now, I’m afraid that I must ask you to forgive me,” Mother said, her voice wavering and strained. “I have been the worst kind of mother lately.”

“What! No, Mother . . . you lost your husband.”

“And you girls lost your father. I would hate to think that you felt like you lost me as well.” Mrs. Dashwood wiped tears from her eyes, but she managed a small smile. “You’ve looked after us so well, but I shouldn’t have made you feel as though you were responsible for taking care of us all.”

Elinor opened her mouth to say . . . well, she wasn’t quite sure what, exactly. Not It’s all right or Don’t worry about it. No, because the truth was, things were not all right and Elinor was exhausted from worrying about it all. She wanted to share the burden a bit. She wasn’t quite sure what would happen to them next—she was already worried about their finances, and she wasn’t sure how they would pay for prolonged care for Marianne—but she was grateful to have Mother. Here, upright, dressed, and tidy, looking a bit more clear-eyed and like her old self. Sadder, a bit more haunted maybe. But when Elinor looked at her mother, she was reminded that although she and her sisters carried their father’s name, they got their strength from their mother, too.

“Now tell me everything that happened last night when you went after Margaret,” Mother said, setting eggs and toast in front of Elinor. “Margaret has told me her side of things, but that girl does love to embellish, and I want a sensible account of events.”

Elinor laughed a little at that and began her explanation once more, filling in the gaps from her account last night and Margaret’s dramatic telling. Of all the things that Elinor had to tell her, Mother was most amazed at the smoke bomb.

“And you made that?” she asked. “You made it, in the kitchen here?”

“Well, no,” Elinor said. “I made it in my laboratory, back . . .” She had been about to say home. “Before.”

“I knew you liked to experiment,” Mother said, “but I always thought it was perfumes and less . . . volatile substances.”

“I have been experimenting with perfume,” she said. “But Marianne says I’m miserable at it. The last concoction I gave her actually made her retch. I think she was putting me on, though.”

“But do you want to be mixing perfumes?” Mother asked. “Or do you want to be mixing substances like Miss Williams, or making explosives for Margaret?”

“I’m hardly making explosives for Margaret,” Elinor protested. “And perfumes could be a viable side business for us, actually—”

“Elinor,” Mother said sternly.

Elinor opened her mouth, but for some reason it was too difficult for her to simply say what was in her heart. It was impossible. Or nearly impossible. She was needed here, at home. She ought to spend her time on activities that could help her family. And yet . . .

“I think, perhaps, one day . . . if it’s possible, that is . . . I’d like to study chemistry.”

She said the words while looking down at her plate. Mother reached out and touched her chin, so Elinor had to look at her. “All right then,” Mother said. “I don’t know how, or when, but let’s see what we can do about making that happen, hm?”

Elinor didn’t think that her mother would have ever been so accepting of her unconventional dream, and happiness bloomed inside her. But it was nothing compared with the joy she felt when they heard Margaret thunder down the stairs a moment later, calling out, “Mother! Elinor! Marianne’s awake!”

They abandoned their breakfasts in an instant and ran upstairs, jostling past one another to get at Marianne’s bedside first. Marianne appeared weak and woozy, but she smiled when Elinor and Mother came into the room. “How do you feel?” Elinor and Mother asked at once.

Marianne’s face tightened in pain, but she whispered, “Alive. And feeling it.”

Elinor laughed and squeezed her sister’s hand while Mother felt her forehead. “You don’t seem feverish, which is a good sign. How’s your pain?”

“Oh . . .” Marianne sighed. “It only feels like someone stuck a hot poker in my side.”

“That’s not far off,” Elinor told her. “The bullet cut right through there.”

“Marvelous,” Marianne breathed.

“We thought you were going to die,” Margaret added.

“Not today,” Marianne said, wincing as she attempted to sit up. “I don’t think.”

“Don’t try to move,” Elinor ordered. “We’ll have to change the bandages and you should save your strength for that.”

“Take some of this,” Mother said, already uncapping the laudanum bottle.

Marianne opened her eyes, and when she saw what was in Mother’s hand, she looked horrified. “No! I won’t.”

“There’s no glory in pain,” Mother admonished, but Marianne was shaking her head.

“That concoction is what made Willoughby so . . . horrid in the end.”

“It’s medicine,” Mother insisted. “Elinor, tell her it’s safe.”

Elinor pursed her lips, because she wasn’t sure what to say. After hearing about Sir John’s son, and seeing how despondent it made Mother, she was rethinking just how innocuous laudanum was. Was Willoughby similarly dependent? Had all of the people in attendance at Grey’s last night also felt a craving for laudanum that couldn’t be denied? If it was so dangerous, why was it sold in every chemist, grocer, and tobacco shop?

If something as dangerous as the poison that had killed Father had been derived from the same substance, surely laudanum ought to be treated with care, if not distrust.

“I don’t know,” Elinor admitted. “And we can’t make her take it if she doesn’t want it, Mother. But Marianne, when we clean the wound again, it’s going to hurt a lot. You might want a little bit. Last night when Brandon dressed the wound, I thought you were in agony.”

“Brandon!” Marianne looked more alert than she had all morning. “He didn’t. But . . . was I even decent?”

Elinor laughed. “Trust you to almost die on us and worry about whether or not Brandon saw anything of you he shouldn’t.”

“Oh God,” Marianne moaned. “I can never look him in the eye ever again.”

“Good luck with that, he’ll be around today.”

Marianne’s dramatic moans turned into a small yelp of pain as her movements pulled at her wound.

“All right, that’s enough,” Mother said, clapping her hands together once. “Margaret, Elinor, let your sister rest. Marianne, I won’t make you take any laudanum . . . right now. But you’ll take a tiny bit if you’re in serious pain, do you understand me?”

Marianne grimaced, but she nodded. “I think I’ll sleep now, Mother.”

Elinor lingered, wanting to sit by her sister. But Mother shooed her out of the room. “You sat up with her all night long. Let me.”

In the hall, Margaret looked up at Elinor and said, “Would you have said that the flames last night were my height? Or closer to Marianne’s height?”

“Why?” Elinor asked.

“Well, it would be much more dramatic if I could say that they were approximately Marianne’s height, as Lady Cecelia is modeled after her.”

“Oh, is she?” Elinor asked.

“I’ll just say they were nearly as tall as Lady Cecelia,” Margaret decided. “It’s dramatic without outright lying.”

And with that, she ran downstairs.

Elinor shoo...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Dedication
• Epigraph
• Contents
• One: In Which the Dashwood Sisters’ Lives Are Forever Changed
• Two: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Receive Shocking News
• Three: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Make a Shocking Discovery
• Four: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Begin Asking Questions
• Five: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Make the Acquaintance of Mr. Brandon
• Six: In Which a Dashing Young Man Comes to the Dashwood Sisters’ Aid
• Seven: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Receive Two Gentlemen Callers
• Eight: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Receive an Unexpected Referral
• Nine: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Consult an Expert
• Ten: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Uncover More Questions
• Eleven: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Have a Horrible Fight
• Twelve: In Which One Dashwood Sister Decides to Break the Law (in Pursuit of Justice)
• Thirteen: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Receive a Warning
• Fourteen: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Come Clean—for the Most Part
• Fifteen: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Discover Father’s Secret Case
• Sixteen: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Face a New Disaster
• Seventeen: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Track Down a Rat
• Eighteen: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Rather Inadvertently Start a Brawl
• Nineteen: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Face Their Darkest Hour
• Twenty: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Receive Some Unexpected Callers
• Twenty-One: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Serve Tea
• Twenty-Two: In Which the Dashwood Sisters Find Closure—or Something Like It
• Epilogue
• Author’s Note
• Acknowledgments
• About the Author
• Books by Tirzah Price
• Back Ad
• Copyright
• About the Publisher