Breathless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 2): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series

by Nicola Claire

  “You don't say?” he growled. “The Old Bailey, Lambeth and Whitechapel. What a coincidence, wouldn’t you agree, Doctor?”

  I said nothing; Andrew was preening. No doubt because his former assessment of my friend had turned out to be correct; he’d not once shown a liking toward Henry. Perhaps, rightly so, but I couldn't bring myself to celebrate with him.

  Henry, my dear friend, what have you done with my cousin?

  Secrets Have A Way Of Shackling You

  Inspector Kelly

  Blackie hadn't made it back to Temple Bar by the time we returned there. In fact, the boarding house was bare, save for Mrs Pugh herself, and after greeting us, she scurried back to her kitchens, mumbling something about fixing tea.

  One look at Dr Cassidy and I agreed with her alacrity. I was certain Anna hadn’t eaten a thing since this morning. She looked pale, weary, dark smudges appeared beneath both her eyes.

  I watched as she stood in front of the blazing fire in the parlour, warming her gloveless hands. Her dress today was a lovely shade of forest green shot through with ruby. Anna was not one to wear fanciful colours, but the dark tone was reminiscent of her mourning weeds. The red far too close in hue to that of blood.

  Anna had experienced far too much grief in her young life; I longed to save her from further agony.

  I took a step closer; closer to the forbidden. My eyes trailing the curve of her slender neck, devouring the soft curls at her nape begging for my fingers. The way her shoulders rose and fell with every breath. The shape of her breast lovingly embraced by her corset.

  The sound of a sharp rap against the front door of the building had me almost jumping.

  That or the fact I was becoming far too poetic all of a sudden.

  Mrs Pugh’s voice sounded out in the hallway. Anna turned, her eyes meeting mine. I could fall into Anna Cassidy’s eyes; a storm surging one minute, a cloudy day another, a mist-shrouded morning the next.

  Mrs Pugh cleared her throat behind me. I stepped aside and met the landlady’s gaze instead.

  “Inspector Kelly,” she said. “You’ve guests.”

  “Guests, Mrs Pugh?”

  The door behind the matron pushed further open, and Superintendent Arnold walked in.

  My chest constricted. My back straightened. Fear had me glancing to Anna.

  “Inspector,” Arnold greeted gruffly, and through the door at his back walked Inspector Reid.

  “H Division’s finest,” I murmured, nodding my head in greeting. What was this?

  “Doctor,” Arnold said, addressing Anna. “May I introduce my senior inspector, Edmund Reid?”

  “Mr Reid,” Anna said as the upstart offered her his hand, helping her stand from her curtsey.

  My fists clenched, but I did not interfere. Arnold missed nothing.

  “To what do we owe this…pleasure?” I enquired.

  “’Tis official, Kelly. We come seeking answers to perplexing questions. Questions which, I fear, you shall not find appealing.”

  “Do tell?” I said, shifting back further in the room to peer out the front window. A Black Maria stood upon the street for all to see. The driver looking bored not restless. He intended to stay for the duration, it would seem.

  Anna returned to the fire, not sitting. H Division spread out, Reid taking in the artwork and decor, sparse as it was in the room, Arnold presenting himself front and centre.

  “Death does stalk our streets, Inspector,” the superintendent said, his voice booming.

  “Among other things,” I added.

  He nodded his head stiffly in agreement.

  “But it is the death that brings me to your doorstep.”

  “Poisoning?” Anna enquired.

  Arnold turned partially to face her; keeping me in his periphery.

  “Why, yes, Doctor. Poison does appear to be the culprit. Are you an expert on such matters?” His eyes flicked to me, and it took everything in my body not to lash out. To fight back.

  Something was going on here, and it didn’t take a seasoned police detective to work out I, or perhaps even Anna, was a suspect. But any reference to my murderous wife and her particular skill set was not welcome.

  Arnold knew more than he’d ever let on, it seemed.

  “I have had experience diagnosing such,” Anna replied pleasantly.

  I didn't for a second think Anna wasn't aware of the tension emanating from the man. And Reid’s shadowy presence in the background added weight to the strain stretching the air thin in the room. I could only be relieved that Anna could not see the street from where she stood and therefore had not noticed the wagon waiting.

  I did not like to think she would be alarmed to that degree. I would do everything in my power to prevent it.

  “Have we not known each other for years, Superintendent?” I asked. “Must we dance this dance? Cut to the chase, if you please. Death should not be left wanting.”

  “Indeed,” the old man said. “A telegraph boy was found in a darkened room, his body prone upon the floorboards. Vomitus around his blue lips; scarlet in colour.”

  “The vomitus?” Anna pressed.

  “Yes, madam.” Arnold returned his attention to me. So, I was to be the chief suspect? “The body had contorted, turning a once tidy room into disarray. The victim’s pupils, according to our surgeon, were dilated. His time of death estimated at midday.”

  Midday, when Anna and I were hastening toward Lambeth.

  “This is all very unfortunate,” I remarked. “How may we be of assistance in your investigation?”

  I was sure my aid was the last thing the superintendent wanted.

  Arnold turned back to Anna, making my blood boil in my veins.

  “In your esteemed opinion, Doctor,” he said, “where would you lay the blame?”

  “By which toxin was he poisoned, Superintendent?” Anna replied steadily. “Pray tell, was there evidence of berries having been consumed?”

  Hush, Anna. Do not play the intelligent woman with him. He leads us into a trap.

  “Why, yes, come to think of it,” Arnold exclaimed jovially. “Little shiny black ones. Some, though, were green.”

  “The green are not yet ripe,” Anna offered. Of course, she did. “The black would have been sweet, but hide their insidious nature.”

  “You don't say?”

  I glared at Arnold, noting Reid glaring back at me.

  “Come now, Superintendent,” Anna said with a soft smile. “You cannot tell me your surgeon did not inform you of this.”

  “Oh, but I’d like to hear you say it, madam.”

  “Very well. Atropa belladonna.” Damnation! “Otherwise known as deadly nightshade.”

  Arnold started clapping his hands. Reid stepped closer to Anna. I tapped my cane down on the floorboards to garner all of their attention.

  “What game do you play, Thomas?” I demanded.

  “The telegraph boy,” my former superior announced, “had one thing on his person.”

  “And that was?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  “A telegram, sir. With your name on it.”

  I looked to Anna. Her storm shrouded eyes met mine. The nightshade was a message from my beloved wife. The method of delivery one which could destroy my life.

  “I received a telegram earlier today from L Division,” I said, feeling numb.

  How far would Eliza May go to seek her revenge?

  Would she threaten Anna?

  Of course she would. She’d taken, I was sure now, Wilhelmina.

  Eliza May held us all in the palm of her hand and I had never known my wife to be forgiving.

  “Yes, we are aware,” Reid said, finally speaking. “Why would L Division consult with you, Mr Kelly?”

  Not “Inspector Kelly.” Not from this man. This man who had stepped into my shoes and pushed me from my position.

  This man whom I had let do so.

  For a moment I was unsure how to proceed. They had little to tie me to the telegraph boy’s
murder. Nightshade is readily available to those who seek it. The telegram could have been the last thing he delivered, the copy one for his records. It was all circumstantial at best.

  Save for the fact that my wife was enamoured with belladonna, and looking to Superintendent Arnold now, I’d hazard a guess he knew it.

  Secrets have a way of shackling you. They do so surreptitiously. Before you know it, they are wrapped around your limbs, threatening your circulation, until you are weighted down by them.

  The weight of my wife’s secrets was stifling. Water lapped at my chin, the chains of their binding dragging me downward. If I did not kick free, would I drag Anna down with me?

  I looked to Thomas Arnold, a man I had at one time called friend.

  Could I call him that again?

  Should I?

  My eyes found Anna’s. The decision made in an instant.

  For Anna I would strip myself bare, flay my very skin. For Anna I would suffer any punishment.

  If it meant she did not drown along with me.

  How On Earth Did I Combat That?

  Anna

  I did not care for Inspector Reid. The man held himself above all others, including, I was certain, Superintendent Arnold. Reid had a hungry glint to his eyes. The dark gaze that surveyed the room now took in everything in exacting detail; discarded the useless and preyed upon the relevant.

  Relevant according to Inspector Edmund Reid.

  “Well?” he pressed now. “Have you nothing to say for yourself, man?”

  “It would seem, you have made up your mind already,” Andrew replied levelly.

  His knuckles fisted the top of his cane as if he wished to brandish the weapon at Reid. The two stood on opposite sides of the parlour, staring off at each other; an equal amount of hostility in their gazes.

  “I follow the facts and the facts lead to you,” Reid shot back with alarming accuracy.

  The facts did indeed lead back to Andrew.

  “Nightshade, Inspector?” I enquired mildly. “Not exactly a unique poison.”

  “And you, madam, have experience of poison?”

  “As I have already stated, Inspector, I have had experience diagnosing such.”

  “Seen much death, then, Doctor?”

  “More so, I dare say, than you.”

  He laughed; a raucous, ill tempered guffaw. Looking down his hooked nose at me, he said, “And from one so young. Who would have thought it, Superintendent?”

  “Indeed,” Arnold offered, but he did not enter the fray further.

  “And how have you gained such a knowledgable base at such a tender age, then?” Reid enquired, directing that flinty glare back at me.

  At least Andrew was using the time to regroup somewhat; his knuckles were no longer white.

  “My father was chief surgeon for the Auckland Police Force,” I advised, endeavouring to keep the shark’s eyes on me and no one else. “I have witnessed death in all its gruesome guises, Inspector, since I was old enough to walk unaided into his surgery.”

  “And you believe this formative experience in a small Antipodean town affords you superior knowledge?” He did not appear convinced.

  “I do.” Father always said confidence in one’s ability went a long way in persuading non-believers.

  “More so than a police detective working the streets of Whitechapel for ten years?”

  “Are you a doctor, sir?”

  He studied me as if I were an insect barely worthy of his assessment.

  Then whisper soft, he said, “‘But I do not allow a woman to teach or exercise authority over a man, but to remain quiet.’ Timothy 2:9-15.”

  “‘Strength and dignity are her clothing,” Andrew murmured, his gaze cutting. “And she laughs at the time to come.’ Proverbs 31:25.”

  Reid glared at him, his lips pressed into a thin line, his face blotching with his increased ire.

  “Aye,” he snarled. “And you would know all about hiding behind the skirts of a woman.”

  “Enough!” the superintendent growled. “This is not a schoolyard, and we are not children.” He turned to face Andrew. “Fifteen years,” he said, voice softening. The length of time they'd known each other? “It would have been longer, I am sure.”

  Andrew inclined his head in agreement.

  “I would have your back, Inspector. Know this. But I cannot defend one who does not tell all.”

  “Is it to be my secrets you’re after, then?” Andrew enquired.

  “Just the one.”

  They stared at each other, while Reid glowered in the corner, a dark spectre observing a darker scene. I almost pitied the man. His role as a senior inspector at Leman Street Station was overshadowed by that of Andrew’s history. And the friendship his nemesis shared with Thomas Arnold.

  “Where is she?” the superintendent said. “Is she in London? Is this her work?”

  Andrew looked toward Reid, who smirked upon meeting his gaze. They didn’t suspect Andrew, I realised.

  They suspected his wife and they thought he knew where to find her.

  My eyes turned inexorably to Andrew, then. I watched as he reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the letter. My heart gave a wretched thump within the confines of my chest.

  Handing the note to Superintendent Arnold, Andrew said, “She is here. And I aim to find her.”

  Arnold stared hard into Andrew’s eyes and then ducked his head to read the missive. Heavy silence engulfed the room, crushing all else. Reid thrummed with the need to see what had been written. Somehow, though, the inspector found the wherewithal to hold his ground. Discipline, at last, strengthening his frame before our very eyes.

  Or it could have been the monumental weight of what Superintendent Arnold was reading.

  “I see,” the superintendent said; his eyes sweeping across the room to me.

  He remained silent for a suspended moment and then folded the letter and returned it to Andrew. Reid almost jumped from his corner to intercepted the damn thing.

  “The Cassidy chit,” Arnold suddenly said. “The one asking questions of late.”

  “We believe my…wife may have arranged her abduction.”

  “Hmm,” the older man said, scratching at his long, grey beard. “And what of Lambeth?”

  Andrew looked to the floor, as if seeking an answer there. “The poisonings,” he supplied.

  “Not nightshade.”

  “No, but also not out of the realm of her abilities.”

  “What else?”

  “Must there be more?” Andrew hedged.

  “There was always more, Inspector. More than any of us were aware. Save, perhaps, you in the end.” His eyes met Andrew’s. “If not for the fire…”

  “She would have found another way,” Andrew interrupted him.

  “Perhaps. We shall never know.”

  Andrew looked to Reid. “And now? You have ascertained my connection to the telegraph boy. Is it enough to cuff me?”

  “A night in the cells would do you some good,” Reid muttered.

  Arnold looked toward his inspector, scowling, but he didn’t correct him.

  “Perhaps it is not an altogether unwise suggestion,” the superintendent said instead.

  “On what charge?” I exclaimed, just as Mrs Pugh entered the room, a silver tray in her hand, an envelope upon it.

  My stomach sank. My breath sped up. Bile coated my tongue.

  “No charge,” the superintendent was saying. “Not an official one, in any case.”

  “You wish to use me as bait?” Andrew replied steadily. I was not so steady as I approached the landlady.

  She bobbed a curtsey, her soft brown eyes full of worry. Then turned her back and left the room once the missive had been delivered. I stared down at the envelope, at the familiar handwriting. My nostrils flaring at the scent of jasmine. My hands shook.

  “It could work,” Arnold said.

  “She is too clever to fall for such a thing,” Andrew was saying.

 
“Has your investigation progressed sufficiently to discard a possible solution?”

  “This is no solution,” Andrew growled. I sensed his eyes on me. I kept my back to the room and read the letter.

  My chest constricted. My lips trembled. Tears filled my eyes. My fingers hovered over the gift pressed between the paper.

  “You need to step back,” the superintendent was saying.

  “Step back from what she is doing? Impossible!”

  “No, Andrew,” Thomas Arnold said. “Step back from your new lady.”

  I turned to face the room, well aware that all eyes were now trained upon me. I lifted my chin and met their gazes. My heart a rampant, desperate beast beneath my breast.

  “Too late, Superintendent,” I announced, stepping forward.

  All roads led to Eliza May. I was no longer, nor had I ever been, safe.

  I handed the superintendent the letter, along with the lock of Mina’s hair tied up in one of her exquisite ribbons.

  “Damnation!” Andrew said with feeling, his gaze taking in the “gift” and letter.

  Superintendent Arnold raised shrewd eyes to me.

  “Your cousin?”

  I nodded.

  “She played a dangerous game.”

  “She had no idea,” I murmured. Sweet, sweet Mina.

  Arnold met Andrew’s hard gaze. “What choice do you have, Inspector? Lay a trap or be trapped.”

  “Sir,” Andrew said gruffly, “I have yet to escape my wife’s original trap, think you not I shall avoid all others?”

  Arnold looked to me. “Think you not it worth the risk again?”

  Andrew met my gaze, his face stoic, his fingers fisted about his cane.

  “There is no comparison,” he rasped. “I would do anything to keep Anna safe.”

  Which seemed to include throwing himself under a carriage.

  I arched my brow; let him see my disapproval.

  He returned my gaze with one of utter devotion.

  How on earth did I combat that?

  And A Torrent Of Tears

  Anna