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

by Nicola Claire

  Their plan was a ridiculous one. How could they not see it? Eliza May wanted revenge. And she would have it. She was having it. Andrew was about to be led out of the boarding house and into the rear of a Black Maria. Arrested for the murder of a telegraph boy.

  Eliza May would only see this as a success.

  “Don’t look so worried, Anna,” Andrew murmured, his head lowered, his body curved around me, his breaths a mere wash of heat across my cheek. “It is all an act. An act designed to lure the spider out of her web.”

  “How will she be lured?” I demanded, looking up into a startlingly blue gaze. “This is what she wanted. She’ll clap her hands and move on to her next diabolical scheme.”

  Andrew shook his head. “No. She has worked too hard on this to not watch it play out. She will wish to see my suffering. She’ll either approach me at Leman Street, or perhaps on the trip to Newgate.”

  “Newgate,” I said on a gasp. “Must it progress to such?”

  “We may have no choice but to play the ruse to fruition.”

  “A former Metropolitan Police Inspector inside a gaol. Can you not see the foolhardiness in this?”

  Andrew reached up and cupped my cheek. I was acutely aware of Superintendent Arnold and Inspector Reid talking quietly in the corner of the parlour. Their eyes undoubtedly on us.

  “She is too smart to be convinced of fakery. We must make it appear real.”

  “How real, Andrew? What will they do to you?”

  He grimaced, and then stood to his full height; shoulders back, spine stiff, chin lifted.

  “I have enough detractors in the Met to warrant ill-treatment.” He did not look toward Reid, but I knew he thought of him as such. “No one fancies a policeman who has forgotten what he stands for.”

  “But you have not forgotten. Nor would you ever.”

  “Darling, they must think I have.”

  “No.” My head shook so hard; my hair came loose from its clips.

  “Anna,” he pleaded. “It is all I can think of to do. Eliza May is adept at hiding herself behind others. She is complicit in Wilhelmina’s abduction.” He tapped the letter I held in my shaking hands. “She has confronted you once already. She toys with strychnine and implicates your friend. There is more going on here than her seeking revenge on me. Murder. Stolen children. Bribery. The telegraph boy is a message.” Of course it was. A message that she could interfere with Andrew’s life. “She has used them before, you see.”

  “Used who? The children?”

  “The children and the telegraph boys. It is her way. She uses people.”

  “To what end?”

  “To discover secrets.”

  “Secrets?” He was losing me. I couldn't think for the fear that ruled me.

  “There is no secret as valuable as that which arrives in haste. Telegrams are the modern day method of delivering secrets. The more she amasses, the more gold for her empire.”

  “Bribery.”

  “Yes. I witnessed a telegraph boy accused of garrotting undergo trial at the Old Bailey.”

  And now it all comes out. At last!

  “The evidence was stacked against him. He should not have received bail. But he did, and I’d hazard a guess, it was due to the judge being bribed. A judge I witnessed receiving another bribe not five minutes after the telegraph boy was released. Bribery is rife in the Bailey and Eliza May would have taken advantage of that to free one of her men.”

  “The telegraph boy in the court?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why kill the one who delivered the telegram from Superintendent Cox?”

  “Because she can. Because she believes them hers to dispose of and use at will.”

  “Just as she does the children?” My pulse skittered beneath my pale skin. “How can she? How…how…?” Words failed me.

  “How did I not see it before I married her?” Andrew asked carefully.

  I didn't know how to answer.

  “I was blind, I admit it. And she is good at hiding who she really is. She had more than just her husband convinced and much of what I know to be true now, I only discovered in the year I spent hunting her across continents.” He glanced across the room at the two policemen. “Even Arnold does not know the full of it,” he murmured.

  “Secrets,” I said quietly.

  “She knows mine,” he agreed. “But I also know a good deal of hers, too.”

  I let out a ragged breath of air. “But this sting the superintendent suggests?”

  “Trust us. Trust me. And wait here for Blackie. He will protect you. Bring him up to speed and await word from Thomas. And whatever you do, Anna Cassidy, do not visit Leman Street or Newgate Gaol.”

  I harrumphed.

  “And stay away from the Old Bailey. If she does have fingers in that pie, then her spies will report back with alacrity.” He reached for my hands and held them in his larger ones. “Promise me; you’ll stay safe.”

  I blinked up at him. This was all wrong. I didn't want this for him. He'd suffered enough. Why must she do this? Why couldn't she let go of him? Let him let go of her!

  I wanted to curse Eliza May Kelly to hell and back, and then repeat it all over again.

  “Anna? Promise me.”

  “No Leman Street, Newgate or Old Bailey.” I nodded my head.

  He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me, pressing my cheek to his broad chest.

  I would never get used to this open showing of affection. To the Andrew Kelly I’d longed for, but never actually seen. I craved his touch. I craved his acceptance. I craved every single piece of his heart.

  Even the pieces she’d stolen and broken so completely.

  “We should be going,” Superintendent Arnold said gruffly, moving toward us from across the room.

  “Perhaps a show of resistance will garner attention out on the street,” Inspector Reid offered.

  He sounded convincing, not eager or righteous at all. I didn't believe him. He had an axe to grind, and he’d abuse the situation in no time, I was sure.

  “Be careful,” I whispered, clinging desperately to Andrew’s coat.

  “I will be fine, Anna,” he promised. A promise I wasn’t certain he should make.

  “Come now,” Arnold chastised. “We have this in hand, Dr Cassidy.”

  I pulled back from Andrew and stared the superintendent in the face.

  “I hold you accountable for his wellbeing, sir,” I said archly.

  Reid scoffed, but Arnold merely bowed his head in acknowledgement.

  “You have my word; I will take care of him.”

  I breathed easier, felt myself steady somewhat. Superintendent Arnold, I believed I could trust.

  Inspector Reid on the other hand…

  “Don’t look at me, madam,” the man in question huffed. “I am opposed to this charade.”

  Because he believed it justice?

  I met his dark gaze but said nothing. My words would have only fallen on deaf ears.

  “It is time, Andrew,” Arnold said.

  Andrew didn't move. His solid form beside me both a luxury and a curse. I wanted to melt into his heat. I wanted to tie myself to him. I wanted to fall to my knees and beg him not to risk his life for Mina’s.

  The guilt of that thought had me stepping back, placing myself out of arm’s reach.

  “Let us do this,” Andrew said, stoically.

  “How about that resistance, then?” Reid asked enthusiastically.

  Andrew nodded his head as if the request was reasonably given. I bit my lip, my entire body trembling.

  At the door to the parlour, Andrew stopped. His head tipped to the side, his back proud. He did not look at me, but whispered, “Do not watch.”

  He walked out of the room, Reid following. Superintendent Arnold stopped at the threshold and glanced in my direction. I almost wished he would not; I was close to breaking.

  “She may have your building under surveillance. If she sees you fretting, she might assign
you more value than necessary.”

  “I am already a threat to her, sir,” I pointed out.

  “Why else do you think he does this?”

  I met his gaze, but could not hold it. Andrew sold his soul for me, not Mina.

  The superintendent nodded his head, donned his hat, and walked from the room.

  I stood by the fire feeling no warmth. My back to the window. My ears straining.

  When the first sound of a scuffle reached me, my body bowed. My arms wrapping around my stomach as if to shield me.

  Shouts sounded out. Mrs Pugh came running. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

  “Oh, my!” she said from beside the window; the superintendent had not said a thing about the landlady observing the faux scene.

  “What are they doing to him?” I asked.

  “Oh, Dr Cassidy,” she said on a breath of expelled air. “It is better you do not know.”

  My heart broke into a thousand tiny pieces.

  Then I was running from the parlour and thundering up the stairs, bursting into Mina’s and my suite with an almighty crash.

  And a torrent of tears.

  That Damnable Cane Tapping

  Anna

  Andrew had said nothing of avoiding Whitechapel. And having ascertained Henry was not at their London residence, I’d decided approaching The Blind Beggar was my only option. I’d left a note addressed to Sergeant Blackmore with Mrs Pugh, but as he had been missing for close to a day now, I did not hold out hope of his coming to my rescue.

  My parasol sat heavily in my hand. Its reassuring presence a balm to my ragged nerves. I walked into the tavern with confidence I did not truly feel and strode toward the door at the back.

  “Oi, now!” Will Dumble called out from behind the bar. He threw his cloth down and rushed to intercept me.

  I withdrew my sword from my parasol and held it out to waylay him.

  “What’s this then?” he demanded. “You bring a weapon into my establishment?”

  “I only prove to arm myself, sir,” I replied steadily. Surprisingly my hand did not shake at all.

  Will’s eyes flicked to the door I stood before.

  “You can’t go in there,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  “And why ever not?”

  “It ain’t for the likes of you.”

  “Just who do you think I am, Mr Dumble?” I waved the parasol-sword in front of his eyes. “A lady?” I scoffed.

  “Even if you isn’t a lady, luv, you ain’t what passes for ‘em in there.”

  I looked to the nondescript door. A brothel?

  “Ah, the penny drops,” he said in exaggerated tones. “Now if you want a change of profession, I think I could fetch a fine bit of blunt for you. Virgin?” he asked, as if the question was quite appropriate. “Me thinks you might be, ’n all. Could charge more for that, of course. If you’re willin’ to offer up more than just your cunny, you and me could make a killin’.”

  The talk of murder had me girding myself against the obvious use of vulgarity. I stood taller, unaware I’d begun to sink in on myself. I righted the mistake immediately.

  “If you stand in my way, Mr Dumble, I will strike.”

  “So determined to pop ya cherry is you, luv? Hell, I’d be inclined to take a tastin’ if I wasn't so keen on makin’ more money.”

  “Does Mrs Pugh know?” I enquired sweetly.

  “What me cousin don't know won’t hurt her.”

  “Ah, but Mr Dumble, she and I have such an open relationship. Communication between us is fluid.”

  “You threatenin’ me, sweet?”

  “I thought the sword a sure signal of my intent on the matter.”

  “That piddly thing?” He pulled a knife from beneath his jacket. A rather large, long, sharp knife, with a serrated edge along both sides of the blade.

  “You’d do better with a sleeker edge,” I suggested. “A weapon such as that leaves behind clues as to its design. I’d hazard a guess,” I added, “that it is relatively unique in origin. And the fact you draw it so readily in a room full of people leads me to believe it is not the first time it has been seen in your hand. Use it, and word will reach the Met. Your fine establishment and your person will be under intense scrutiny, then, sir.”

  “What the hell are you on about?”

  “Forensic medicine, Mr Dumble. The way of the future. And I intend to lead it.”

  “You are the most perplexin’ chit I ever had the misfortune to witness.”

  I smiled. “Why thank you,” I said.

  Slowly his face softened, and his lips edged up in a grin. “I think I like you, Doc. You’ve got somethin’ special about you. Somethin’ not too many ladies ‘ave got.”

  “I thought we’d established I am not a typical lady,” I offered, lowering the sword as it seemed the immediate threat had passed somewhat.

  “Luv, you can call yourself whatever you want.” He leant froward. “But you ain’t goin’ in there.” He nodded toward the door. “Polly’d kill me,” he added in a mutter.

  “Then she does know?”

  “Know? No. And I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very kindly. But if she found out you was in there, with that debauched lot, she’d turn me guts into garters; she would.”

  “Perhaps, not utilising the telltale knife to achieve it,” I suggested, nodding towards the blade still held loosely in his hand.

  He looked down at it, and then purposefully hid it away beneath his jacket.

  Out of consideration for his compromise, I did the same to my sword. My parasol hung from my arm innocuously. Dumble’s lips twitched.

  “Who you after, anyway?” he asked, moving back to the bar top and forcing me to follow. He poured me a gin and sat it down on the surface. I didn't have the heart to decline the offer.

  Sipping the libation, I tried to decide if I should confide in him. As it was clear he intended to keep me out of his den of ill repute; then I was left with few options.

  I could force my way inside and offend my landlady’s cousin.

  Or I could wait for Henry out here. His stablehand had indicated the Tempest carriage had travelled toward Whitechapel, and for a few shillings had added it did so every Tuesday and Friday. Today was Friday. Henry was here.

  I didn't want to think too closely on what my friend sought in such an establishment, but considering the alternative, thinking he was responsible for murder, I decided this was indeed the lesser of two evils.

  “I can wait,” I said, placing the barely touched gin back on the bar’s top.

  “Only if I let you,” Dumble replied.

  “Will,” I said. “May I call you Will?” He nodded. “Will, I seek a friend. The same friend I sought on Tuesday, who I witnessed enter this tavern, and could only have disappeared through there.” I nodded toward the door.

  “This friend want you following ‘im? Oi, you blackmailin’ the blighter?”

  “If I were, would you like to be in on the action?”

  “Sweet Jesus, you are perfect.” He grimaced. “But I got a reputation to uphold, see? And word could get around that I stiffed one of me customers. Not good for business that sort of thing.”

  “I should think not. Well, I’m not here to blackmail him, so you can rest easy.”

  “What is you here for then, luv? A little somethin’ dirty?”

  Information. The truth. A way to trap the spider.

  Could I trust Henry? Was it all an act? One designed by a master criminal? Or was Henry complicit in some way? Part of the poisonings in Lambeth. Part of the abductions in Whitechapel.

  Behind Mina’s disappearance.

  It didn't matter. Either way, he was my only means to solve this mystery and get Andrew out of Newgate.

  The thought of him beaten and taken advantage of spurred me into action. I pulled a one pound note from my reticule and laid it on the bar’s surface.

  “For your hospitality,” I said softly.

  “For the turnin’ of a blind eye,”
he replied, slipping the large note off the wooden bar top. “Go sit in the corner.” He nodded toward an empty table, out of direct line of sight of the doors should someone walk in, but allowing me a full view of the taproom. “I’ll bring you somethin’ from the kitchen. Keep an eye on you until your ‘friend’ gets done with his business.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured, turning to find my seat.

  “Oh, don't thank me, luv. He ain’t gonna like bein’ found out. Most of them in there come to places like this ‘cause it’s off the beaten track like. Not their usual haunts, so to speak.” He leant forward, resting his elbows on the bar top. “But no man, toff or not, likes to have his secrets revealed. And by a lady,” he added in a scoff. “You sure you want to do this?”

  “I have to.”

  He studied me for a moment, and then nodded his head, turning to enter the kitchen and place my order for a meal.

  I didn't ask what he was organising; I wasn’t in the slightest capable of eating. But the pretence of a meal would provide some camouflage, and I couldn’t help thinking I needed a disguise to hide behind to face Henry.

  My friend had lost an awful lot of his lustre these past few days, and today he’d lost all semblance of respectability. Guilty or not of being involved in Mina’s absence, of being complicit in murder and bribery, Henry Tempest visited a brothel in Whitechapel. Twice a week.

  Did Emily know? I shook my head and settled into my seat.

  My meal was cold when the door to the bordello finally opened.

  But the man appearing in its frame was not who I expected to see.

  Sergeant Blackmore’s eyes found mine almost instantly. So much for my hiding spot in the corner of the taproom. And then he crossed the room, pulled out a chair, and sat down heavily.

  “If Inspector Kelly knew you were here, miss, he’d spank you ten ways to Sund’y.”

  My cheeks flushed, my lips parted. Sergeant Blackmore chuckled.

  “Don’t worry; I ain’t gonna tell ‘im.”

  “Th…thank you,” I murmured.

  “How did ya lose ‘im, if I may ask?” he enquired, staring at my uneaten plate of food as if beyond starving. I pushed it toward him. He nodded his head, muttered, “Much obliged,” and dug in.