“Then who, pray tell,” she asked, “was it?”
I met her eyes, willed her to believe me, then said, “I’m sure I don't know.”
But For Mina I Would Gladly Bleed
Anna
“Poppycock,” I said into the ensuing silence. Three pairs of eyes stared at me as if I’d sprouted two heads.
Then Sergeant Blackmore started laughing. He was swift to cease such behaviour, however, at one sharp look from the inspector.
“I did not recognise her voice, and her face was in shadow,” Andrew finally said, and silence once again settled between us.
A woman, as I had thought upon hearing that tinkling laughter. And not his wife, it would seem. But who would lure him to his former home and confront him with a truth serum?
“And this person,” I asked, “in what way would they be related to my cousin?”
Sergeant Blackmore scratched at his scruffy chin. “Therein lies the rub, miss. How can we be sure the bugger ain’t after the inspector’s informant for some other nefarious reason?”
“There could be many,” Andrew offered. “But in light of my enquires this evening, I must admit to one suspicion above all others.”
“And that is?” I demanded. My worry over Wilhelmina was making me rash. Hardening my enquiries. Frustration lurking at the forefront.
That and impotence.
I softened the question with a refill of the inspector’s tea cup. He waited until I’d finished and then took the offered brew, blowing on it gently.
He was stalling. I’d never thought Andrew Kelly capable of prevarication.
“Children are going missing from Whitechapel,” he finally said. “A new gang has started up at Petticoat Lane Market. All roads seem to point to the Old Bailey.”
“The Old Bailey?” both Sergeant Blackmore and myself said at once. We glanced at each other but soon returned our attentions to the inspector.
“I am unsure of the connection, at this time,” he went on. “But the disappearing children could be an initiative out of Newgate; an attempt to clean up the streets somewhat.”
“There were children on Whitechapel Road,” I mused. “They seemed fearful. Hiding as much as possible, keeping to the shadows.”
“Fear of abduction?” Blackmore asked.
“Could be, Sergeant,” Andrew replied succinctly. “And yet, I cannot help wondering why anyone in the Bailey would waste time chasing down children when a new gang has the streets in disarray a few short miles away.”
“Does seem odd, sir,” Blackmore agreed, his gaze shadowing as he contemplated, no doubt, dark things.
“I, too, have heard word of the Old Bailey,” I offered the quiet room, making the temperature plummet dramatically.
I stared at the fire in the hearth, but it still burned merrily; the heat, though, unable to reach me.
“Oh, this should be interestin’,” Sergeant Blackmore muttered.
“And how, pray tell, did you come by this news?” Andrew demanded.
“By asking questions,” I replied, sweetly.
“Of whom?” he snapped. “And where? Good God, woman! What have you done now?”
I bristled. Naturally. “You seemed intent on concentrating your enquiries in Lambeth,” I explained, hating having to explain myself at all. “I thought it prudent to cover both sides of the Thames in search of my cousin. So, I revisited Whitechapel.”
“Damnation!” Kelly erupted, launching himself from his seat in spectacular style. His cane thumped down on the rug beneath his feet. “Whitechapel? Again? Have you no sense of self-preservation at all?”
I stood to my full height, some foot or so shorter than the inspector. Making Sergeant Blackmore stand as well. Mrs Pugh, for all I could tell, remained sitting; my eyes were too caught up in the splendour that was Inspector Andrew Kelly in full alarmist might.
“I am quite capable of taking care of myself, sir,” I replied curtly. “Indeed, I have done so for several years now.”
“I should not want you walking those streets, Anna.”
“You have no say in the matter, Inspector. My cousin is missing, and I intend to find her. Besides,” I added, feeling smug, “I had a contact. One recommended to me by a reliable source.”
“You ‘ave sources?” Blackmore enquired, receiving a hard glare from the inspector.
“Do not encourage her, Blackie,” he ground out. “Next she’ll be storming the Old Bailey and demanding they let the children out.”
“Not an entirely inappropriate thought,” I offered, straightening the cuffs of my dress with fastidious attention. Not daring to look the man in the eyes.
“It is a very inappropriate thought, Doctor,” Andrew growled. “God knows what is transpiring in Newgate right now. You dancing in with your parasol twirling would only complicate matters.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, blinking rapidly. “Dancing?”
“Prancing,” he said, taking a step closer.
“If you intend to intimidate me, Inspector, do choose a more appropriate time.”
“Appropriate?” he asked, hesitating. “Intimidate?” he added, dumbfounded.
“All this growling and looming, one does wonder where you came by your manners. Not to mention the fact that you are still swaying; a sapling in a heated breeze.”
“What the damnation are you talking about?” he demanded.
“Scopolamine,” I replied with a smile. I was quite sure I flashed a row of sharp teeth.
He stilled.
“Is this the real Inspector Kelly?” I enquired mildly. “Or a figment brought on by truth serum?”
“I’d rather thought truth serum would reveal the truth,” he murmured, as if to himself.
“Au contraire, sir,” I said. “It reveals a facet of the truth. Truth itself is far more complex than a toxin can ever hope to achieve. For instance, is it not the truth that the home I rescued you from was indeed your own?”
“What’s that now?” Blackmore enquired silkily.
“You know damn well that it was,” Andrew bit out, ignoring his sergeant.
“And despite admitting you did not know your assailant tonight,” I continued, “is it not the truth, Inspector, that her luring you to your house has more to do with your history than missing children in Whitechapel?”
Andrew looked fit to explode. I almost took a step backwards, but lifted my chin, and held his penetrating stare.
“The truth, Inspector Kelly,” I said softly, “is never as clean cut as it appears.”
“Bloody hell,” Blackmore muttered. “Your house?”
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave,” I murmured.
“Sir?” Blackmore started.
“Not now,” Kelly snapped. Then tapped his cane on the floor and simply walked out of the room.
My heart sank to my toes, my breaths all but leaving me.
“He hides behind a mask, that one,” Mrs Pugh said quietly from her perch in the corner.
“His house?” Blackmore repeated.
“Oh, do keep up with the times, Sergeant,” I said tightly. My chest felt too constricted all of a sudden.
“Of course, Doctor,” Blackmore replied quickly. “I just wasn't aware of the inspector still ‘aving a house, you see?”
“No,” I murmured, looking to the partially open door through which he had departed. “I rather think he would have preferred it stay that way, don’t you?”
“Oh, trust me, miss; he’ll be a regrettin’ a lot more when I corner him on the morrow.”
“Another night,” I whispered, and looked to the darkened front window.
How long could Mina survive out there? Was she even still alive?
I swallowed back bile, pressing a hand to my stomach, panting for much-needed air.
“We’ll find her, Doctor,” Sergeant Blackmore said softly. “He might drive you barmy, but in this, you can be sure; Inspector Kelly won’t stop for nothin’ in his search for your cousin. He’ll tear Whitechapel apart. He�
�ll bang down Newgate’s door. She won't be missin’ for long, miss. Not if he has anythin’ to do about it.”
He nodded a good night to Mrs Pugh and then followed the inspector out the door. Mrs Pugh waited for several seconds, and then she too left the room, trusting I’d put out the lamps and tend to the fire when I was ready to move.
I walked on numb feet to the settee in the bay window and stared out onto a darkened street.
It took a few moments for me to register the movement for what it was and not just the wind in the trees, so caught up in the fears that gripped me.
A cloaked figure stood beneath the shadow of a crooked awning, smoke wafting up from a pipe which offered a low glow but little illumination in which to see. Their eyes unerringly on the boarding house, I was certain; their face a swathe of darkness; their features hidden from me.
When I blinked and looked again, they were gone.
The street empty. My heart in my throat. Fear curling my stomach in knots.
What had Mina walked into? What was she dragging us into along with her?
And what had this to do with Inspector Kelly?
I settled into the settee and awaited the dawn, my eyes on the shadows, my heart breaking, fear making it impossible to sleep.
I would have answers. I just wasn’t sure if I’d survive their honesty.
But for Mina, I would gladly bleed.
Breathless For Anna
Inspector Kelly
She slept in a shaft of bright sunlight as if God Himself parted the clouds and kissed her cheek. I stood silently in the doorway to the sitting room and watching her bosom lift with each indrawn breath, the dip of her breasts beneath her corset as the air was released.
I couldn’t move for fear of waking her.
I wouldn’t move for fear of losing even this moment of uninvited observation.
Anna always had a way of making me overstep boundaries. Of risking all by breaking my own hard fought for rules. If I were a coarser man, I’d walk across the room and touch her.
But I am not that man, nor will I ever be.
I stood vigil at her side, a room’s width between us, feeling every exhale as if she brushed my skin in tempting heat.
It was at once a test of my resolve and a dagger to my beliefs.
For Anna, I would give up everything.
At that moment, I believed it. At that moment, I saw us somewhere else. Wild and free. At that moment, nothing was impossible.
And then she sighed, a soft sound of pure delight to my ears, and shifted on the settee.
“I never took you for a watcher, sir,” Mrs Pugh said quietly from behind me.
I didn’t startle, but my heart thundered inside my chest, matching my breaths all too swiftly.
“I did not wish to wake her,” I murmured in reply.
“Dare say, she stayed like that all night, hopin’ for a glimpse of a returnin’ Miss Cassidy.”
“I dare say, you are right, Mrs Pugh.”
“Poor thing,” she said, moving on silent feet into the room and stoking the ashes in the fire. “How she keeps goin’ in the face of such horror, I don’t know. She has a backbone as strong as an ox, and an ‘eart as big as one, too.”
“She is remarkable,” I agreed, unable to look away from Anna’s sleeping form.
“Aye, and too good for the likes of you, eh?”
My eyes flicked to the landlady’s. “Of course.”
She chuckled. “Don’t agree, meself,” she muttered. “You’re a damn sight better than that toff; I’ll wager.”
“Well,” I said, straightening my cuffs, “in that we can agree.”
She stood to her full height of five foot nothing and stared me hard in the eyes.
“Tell me the truth now, Inspector,” she said, eyes hardening. “What chance Miss Wilhelmina is still in the land of the living?”
“In Whitechapel?” I enquired, strangely sure this woman could handle the answer.
“No more said,” she mumbled and checked the glowing flames in the fire.
“Needs must that I attend to a line of enquiry, Mrs Pugh,” I offered, forcing myself to break my vigil at Anna’s side.
“Oh, so you thinks to sneak out in the wee hours? Your sergeant and Dr Cassidy none the wiser?”
“Something like that,” I murmured.
“What will you have me tell them?”
“That you didn't see me?” I offered with a small smile.
“Oh, now I sees what she sees in you.”
“She sees in me?”
“Fishing for compliments ‘n all. You ain’t so diff’rent from the rest of ‘em.”
I ignored her jibe.
“Her contact,” I said, instead. “Would that, perchance, have happened to be you?”
“Not just a pretty face, eh?”
“Simply observant; you shifted with pride when the doctor mentioned her ‘reliable source’ yestereve.”
“Oh, now maybe you is a watcher, after all.”
“Indeed.” I studied her; she remained tightlipped. “Someone you know,” I guessed. She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her hip at me. “A relative?” She smiled, the look assessing. “Brother?” A twist of her lips. “No, cousin, maybe?”
“Won’t do you no good,” she said finally. “One look at you and he’ll be off runnin’. Not literally, of course. He don't run from no-one. But any chance of you gainin’ answers would as soon be in the wind as hang around waitin’ for you to finish asking ‘em, see?”
“Think of young Miss Cassidy,” I implored.
“Think of the older one, ’n all, Inspector.” Mrs Pugh nodded her head toward Anna. I followed her eyes and found startling grey staring back at me. “You two need to talk,” she declared. “I'm leavin’ this door open.” The old woman poked a finger at my chest. “You be anythin’ other than a gentleman, and I’ll bash yer ‘ead with me rollin’ pin. Right?”
“Right, Mrs Pugh.”
“Breakfast,” she announced, “will be in half an hour. I expect full attendance.” Then she swept out of the room; my eyes automatically following her. Somehow the diminutive woman demanded one’s complete attention.
Or perhaps it was the mention of her rolling pin which did.
“Sneaking behind my back, Inspector?” Anna asked mildly, stifling a yawn as she attended the wayward curls that had broken free of their clasp in her sleep.
“You would have me sneak with you, Doctor? Some lines of enquiry would be better suited alone, I fear.”
“You fear nothing, Andrew,” she said primly. “Save my interference in your work.”
“I enjoy working with you,” I argued. “Your insight and observations of a crime scene are exemplary, bar none.”
“And yet you are attempting to exit the building without raising alarm. Or calling attention to your misdeeds.”
“Anna,” I said moving further into the room, unable to stop myself. “Must you be so vexing? Must you argue every single point I make? ’Tis not necessary; I am in awe of your intelligence, your skills, your very tenacity.”
“Nonsense.”
“And alarmed,” I added purposefully, “at your inability to safeguard your wellbeing.”
“And we make it full circle again. How fitting.”
She stood and started pacing. I glanced at the settee with longing, but straightened my back and turned my attention to her movements instead. Her skirt was crushed from how she’d been sleeping, but she didn't seem to notice. The hem still showing signs of ash picked up at Lime Street.
I let out a long breath of air and fisted my cane. Anna in my former home. Bearing witness to my shame.
The enormity of what had transpired hit me.
“You will have surmised,” I said carefully, “that my life in Lime Street was not as one would have it.”
She stopped her pacing and stood stock still, her face tilted to one side, her gaze unnerving in its intensity. I didn't look her in the eyes but kept my focus on the
settee she’d recently vacated. Urging my cowardice to vanish.
“I came to London to face a ghost,” I said. She remained silent. “You once pointed out to me, that my journey to Auckland took more than a year to complete. You were right. I hunted the ghost and failed to find it. I will not fail in the endeavour twice.”
I did look at her then, willing her to understand what I was about to reveal.
“It was not the Ripper who trapped me in a burning building.”
Her breaths stilled. Her chest immobile. Her eyes wide and so very deep; I felt myself fall into them. Willingly.
My leg chose that moment to twitch; one of the many involuntary movements it made throughout the course of a day. For the first time since receiving the injury, I was glad of it. Of the reminder. Of the focus it gave, that broke the taut line between us. The connection I attempted at every turn to deny.
Anna took a step closer. I held up my hand to stall her. If she touched me, I’d be lost.
And I was already in danger of losing everything.
“Who hurt you, Andrew?” she asked, and if the look on her face was anything to go by, I knew my Anna would have cut them down with her parasol if given half the chance.
I back peddled. I always did. For the thought of Anna being harmed cut me deeply.
And then my hand reached for my heart, the pain calling the appendage there to soothe it. The letter, that damnable thing, scorched my fingers, and I pulled them back with a hiss of alarm.
Ipsa scientia protestas est, Sir Francis Bacon wrote. Knowledge itself is power.
I lifted my eyes to Anna’s and felt a wealth of understanding flood back.
She knew. I didn't have to say it. But hiding this truth was no longer a luxury I had.
No longer a luxury Anna had, either.
“My wife,” I said, and felt the room move, the floor seeming to get closer, and then Anna was there, grasping my hand in a gloveless one of her own, helping me to that tempting settee by the window.
Dear God, what had I done? Dragging Anna into my sordid affairs.
“Head down,” she ordered, her doctor’s voice making everything seem not so bad. “It will pass,” she murmured.
Breathless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 2): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series Page 9