Excerpt from Murder by Degrees by Ritu Mukerji, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

As she walked back down the hallway, the sound of Lydia's footsteps echoed through the empty rooms. She was alone, the last group of students having left a few hours before. The oil lamps were turned down and tepid gaslight from the street filtered through the mullioned windows in the hallway.

Lydia closed the chamber door behind her and paused for a moment at the mirror above the sink. She adjusted a few dark hairs back into place, tucking the mother-of-pearl pin in at a rakish angle. She stepped back in approval: the dark eyes held only a trace of tiredness. Her silk brocade dress was simple but to a studied eye, of the utmost elegance; the gold threads woven into the fabric glinted in the dim light. She touched the ivory brooch that sat over the top button. Lydia wore all black on her teaching days but allowed herself one memento, a cameo brooch with an elephant figure in the center. It was a gift from her English mother, from her own childhood in India. Lydia was never without it. Ganesh, the bestower of blessings and the remover of obstacles, watched over her always.

She turned up the lamp, casting light into the corners of the room. She pulled her Kashmiri shawl tight around her shoulders, the itchiness of the wool tickling her chin and the movement releasing the familiar smell of sandalwood. The office was sparsely furnished as it was used in rotation by all the doctors. But she carried all she needed in a capacious leather bag as she moved nimbly between her roles as professor of medicine at the Woman's Medical College and attending physician.

She sat at the desk and removed a notebook from her bag. The cover was embossed in gold type—L.N. WESTON, M.D.—and she opened it to review her schedule, taking pleasure in the busyness of the day. It was the beginning of the autumn term and she felt the excitement of a fresh start just as the students did. She had spent the morning giving lectures at the college and the afternoon here at the Spruce, supervising medical students. After the initial years of study in the lecture hall and the laboratory, they were eager to examine patients. Lydia taught them how to take a history, how to do a clinical exam, how to ask probing questions so as to hone in on a diagnosis. The Pennsylvania Medical Society was still adamant in its opposition to their work, barring women physicians from many of the city's teaching hospitals. Out of necessity, the college had created its own spaces to teach, and the clinic was one of them. She ticked off the names of the patients she had seen this afternoon. But she had circled one name, Anna Ward, and placed a question mark by it.

It was close to six o'clock. Anna had missed her appointment by several hours. It was unusual for the fastidious young woman. She was a chambermaid for a wealthy family in the city. No doubt she had been delayed in her work. But Lydia could not suppress her unease. When had she last seen Anna? It had been some time.

Excerpted from Murder by Degrees by Ritu Mukerji. Copyright © 2023 by Ritu Mukerji. Excerpted by permission of Simon & Schuster. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.