Read Murder Most Austen for Free Online

eyes to the tops of his cheeks made it an appealing one. “Who’s that with Professor Baines?” I asked Izzy as the men, still in deep conversation, took a seat at a table not far from us.
    “That’s Byron Chambers,” Izzy replied in a low voice. “He’s Richard’s assistant, the one we were telling you about before. Mama is right about him, at least. He is a really nice guy. I’ve no idea why he’s working with Richard.”
    I turned to study Byron again, wondering if he’d been named for Lord Byron. He certainly didn’t look “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” But then again, it’s generally hard to look any of those things while wearing a blue blazer and gray wool pants. Actually, if anyone resembled Lord Byron it would be Professor Baines. He had the strong profile, the shiny hair, and even the curling lip. All that was missing was an extravagant ensemble of velvet and lace.
    No sooner had Professor Baines taken his seat than he noticed Cora glaring at him from our table. A slow smile formed on his lips, and his eyes narrowed with an expression of pleased anticipation. I’d seen that look several times before on Aunt Winnie’s cat, Lady Catherine, usually right before she pounced on some unsuspecting victim. It’s also a look commonly found on that particularly nasty set of girls in junior high who enjoy ruthlessly tormenting their counterparts on the social ladder. Different species, perhaps, but the same look.
    “Why, Mrs. Beadle,” Professor Baines purred at Cora. “What a pleasant surprise. It’s always lovely to see you. Are you in town for the festival?”
    “You know that I am,” Cora snapped back. “Tell me, Baines, is it true?” she asked without preamble.
    “Is what true?” Professor Baines raised his groomed eyebrows in apparent cheerful confusion at her question. His companion, Byron, however, made no such pretensions. His shoulders hunched slightly as if he were readying himself for an attack.
    “Is it true that you are seriously proposing to spread this filthy theory about Jane Austen’s death?” Cora demanded.
    Professor Baines’s blue eyes twinkled in amusement. Whether it was from his enjoyment at Cora’s vexation or it stemmed from an egotistic appreciation at his own purported cleverness wasn’t clear. What was clear, however, was that the man was relishing every second of the confrontation. Cora by now was too furious to notice.
    “My filthy theory?” he repeated, glancing at Byron in seeming bewilderment. Byron pretended not to notice and studied the papers on the table in front of him. “Theories are either true or false. I don’t see how they can be ‘filthy,’” continued Professor Baines. Cora huffed noisily. “But perhaps,” he said with a meaningful glance at Aunt Winnie and me, “you are referring to what I told your companions on the plane last night? My discovery —which, my dear Mrs. Beadle, I must point out, is very different from a theory. ”
    Next to me, Cora clenched her fists until her knuckles showed white. Izzy rolled her eyes in annoyance, seemingly more at her mother’s reaction than from Professor Baines’s condescending behavior. “You know damn well what I’m referring to, you arrogant…,” Cora began, then stopped herself. Taking a deep breath, she attempted to calm herself before continuing. “Are you seriously claiming that Jane Austen died of…” Her voice petered out, unable to form the word.
    “Syphilis?” Professor Baines supplied politely.
    Cora closed her eyes and visibly shuddered at the sound of the word. “How can you possibly claim such an outrageous perversion?” she asked, but Professor Baines cut her off by forcefully tapping his long forefinger on the thick pile of papers that lay in front of Byron.
    “I do not ‘claim,’” he said, “I prove. I establish. I demonstrate. With my findings, I will once and for all validate my long-standing claim that Jane Austen was not a blushing virginal spinster but