As the suffragette movement sweeps England in 1912, Lady Cecilia Bates wants to march but ends up trailing a killer instead in the latest entry to the Manor Cat Mysteries. Lady Cecilia of Danby Hall feels adrift. She couldn’t be less interested in helping to plan the church's upcoming bazaar. Instead, what excites her most is the Woman’s Suffrage Union meeting she has just attended. Inspired by the famous and charismatic leader of the group, Mrs. Amelia Price, Cecilia is eager to join the Union—if she can hide it from her parents, that is. But when Mrs. Price is found dead at the foot of the stairs of her home, her Votes for Women sash torn away, Cecilia knows she must attend to a more urgent matter: finding the killer. With the help of her lady’s maid Jane and intelligent cat Jack, she hopes to play her part in earning women’s equality by stopping the Union’s dangerous foe. “Something for everyone: activists, romantics, mystery lovers, and feline fanciers.” - -Kirkus Reviews "Vividly descriptive of Yorkshire village life in 1912, this satisfying cozy charms with its smart, forward-thinking main character, who is trying to find her place in the world." - -Booklist Eliza Casey is a pseudonym for a multipublished author. Her books have been nominated for many awards, including the RITA Award, the Romantic Times Reviewers' Choice Award, the Booksellers Best, the National Readers' Choice Award, and the Holt Medallion. Chapter One Danby Hall, Yorkshire Autumn 1912 Just be still for . . . one . . . more . . . second," Lady Cecilia Bates muttered. She bit her lip as her pencil glided across the page of her sketchbook, trying to capture the intricate whorls of a lace-edged cap. Surely, the art lessons she had in London over the summer were going to pay off! "But, my lady, my nose itches something terrible!" her lady's maid, Jane Hughes, protested. Cecilia laughed and glanced up again to see that Jane did indeed have a most contorted look on her face. It wouldn't suit the sketch at all. "I am sorry, Jane. By all means, scratch your nose." Jane rubbed fiercely at the itching appendage and gave a deep sigh. "Oh, that's better." "Forgive me for keeping you in one place for so long, Jane. I just can never seem to make my pencil match the vision in my head. I fear Monsieur LeClerc's hard work on my lessons was quite in vain." "I'm sure that's not true," Jane protested. She took off her white cap and smoothed the flyaway strands of her fine, pale blond hair. Her apron and shoes were discarded beside her chair, near the open windows. In Cecilia's own chamber, tucked away in the East Wing and far from the main rooms of the house, their friendship was much easier and more casual than seen by the rest of Danby Hall. "How are your other drawings progressing, then?" Cecilia flipped through the pages of her sketchbook. Most of her friends and family, as well as the staff belowstairs, had been patient enough to sit for her. Ultimately, she would like to put them all together in a large group portrait, like Queen Victoria's family by Tuxen she had seen at Windsor. But she was a long way from that, she thought with a sigh, as she examined the off-kilter noses and out-of-proportion arms. Her beautiful mother would certainly protest against looking like a hedgehog. "Not quite where I would like them to be," Cecilia said. "But what else do I have to do except practice? And at least no one can hear me drawing, so I don't torment them like when I practice the piano." After the excitement at Danby last spring, investigating a terrible murder in her own dining room, she had felt so-adrift. Longing for something important, interesting, to do. Choosing gowns, helping with the church fete, and listening to her mother muse about possible suitors had always held limited interest. After being a detective of sorts, it made her want to scream with boredom. The Season in London had held a few distractions, such as lectures at the Royal Society, visits to museums, art lessons with the (admittedly) rather handsome monsieur, and even a visit to Girton College with her friend Maud Rainsley, who was lucky enough to be a student there. But there had also been endless visits to modistes, the endless parties where other matrons like her mother always asked (subtly) when she would marry, and endless balls where young men with damp palms-even through their gloves-stepped on her toes in waltzes and polkas, and only talked about cricket and shooting. It was nice to be home again at Danby, but now she was even more at loose ends. She only had her sketches to occupy her, and she was beginning to fear her meager talent would never progress any further. Those cricket-playing boys had so many choices; why did she have none? "Let me see, my lady," Jane said. Cecilia handed her the sketchbook and sat back in her chair with a sigh. Jack, the large marmalade cat who was a wonderful friend and great distraction to her and Jane-as long as Lady Ave