By Janet Laurence
London 1903: American Ursula Grandison is once more invovled with homicide, this time in London. As she struggles to make a dwelling in a society the place ladies have few rights and little freedom, she groups up with previous pal and personal investigator Thomas Jackman, who quickly unearths himself once more drawing on Ursula's investigative talents as they conflict to avoid wasting an blameless lady from the noose. Set opposed to a heritage of Edwardian constraints and the struggle for women's suffrage, Ursula and Jackman steadily have an understanding of they're up opposed to a refined and hazardous killer who moves back earlier than they could shut the case.
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Additional info for A Fatal Freedom (Ursula Grandison, Book 1)
The farmhouse walls were thick but Hazel could hear her sister moving round, getting ready for bed. There was something else too, something other than the movement. Crying, Sarah was crying. Softly, like she was trying to hold it in, like she was scared someone might hear. Hazel sat up. Should she go in? Despite the ten-year age gap and the fact that they had different birth dads, 28 she and Sarah were close. They even looked quite similar, both of them taking after Mum: shortish, not fat but not exactly super-slim either, with wide mouths and slightly squashed noses, which made them look ‘interesting’ rather than pretty.
Or maybe she could just phone Sarah. She got her phone out, put it away again. As she got it out for the second time, she happened to glance across the road, where a small figure was darting behind a tree, trying to hide. Hazel hurried forward, caught up with the others and tapped Dee’s arm. ‘Er, I think your brother’s escaped again,’ she said. ‘Oh shit,’ said Dee, immediately darting across the road towards Scott. Hazel hesitated for a moment, then followed. ’ Dee was asking. ’ ‘Why? What’s happened this time?
How did he cope then? Dad? ’ Kieran asked. Dee looked at him, wondering what he was up to. It wasn’t like Kieran to talk about feelings, personal stuff. ‘Well, I was only little,’ Kieran added, defensively. ‘Don’t really remember, do I? I mean did he get . . was he like . . ’ ‘No,’ she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. ‘I don’t think so. I mean, he changed, I guess. We all did, I suppose. But he got through it. Dad’s not a weak person, Kieran,’ she added. ’ ‘No, but I reckon that’s what you think, sometimes,’ she said, feeling her shoulders tighten in irrational anger.