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

by Nicola Claire

I crushed her to me, a keening, desperate sound escaping my lips. My heart beat erratically within the confines of my chest. Tears pricked my eyes. A red haze lowered over my vision.

  Anna.

  “Have I not taught you a thing, Inspector?” she said, her voice at once the sound of an angel speaking and that of a small, delicate child’s.

  I blinked down at her. My arms tightening. My chest expanding beyond that which my body should have allowed.

  “One should not move an injured patient,” she scolded, “until all injuries are tested soundly.”

  “Anna,” I said, relief coursing through me. “I thought…”

  “You did not think,” she remonstrated. “I could have suffered debilitating trauma.”

  “Have you? Need I tend your wound? Hold you closer? Carry you from this place to a better location? One which would afford me adequate light to inspect your injuries appropriately.”

  Her lips twitched. “I fear we have passed ‘appropriate’ some time ago, Inspector.”

  “I fear you may well be correct.” I sobered. “Where does it hurt most?”

  She lifted a gloved hand to her head, the material coming away wet with blood. She stared at it, sighed, and then tried to sit upright.

  “Do not move an inch, Doctor.”

  “Don’t coddle me,” she snapped.

  My brow arched. “Have you a headache, perchance?”

  “And it appears to be increasing.” She glanced over at Reid, whom I noticed now was tending to Sergeant Blackmore.

  Alarm coursed through me; I hadn’t even seen Blackie on the ground once I’d spotted Anna. I cleared my throat, reluctantly allowing Anna to sit upright unaided, and turned to face my sergeant.

  “Are you well, Blackmore?” I asked.

  “Fighting fit, sir. No bullet’s gonna get the better of me.”

  I looked at Anna. “Who fired the pistol?”

  Her storm-grey eyes met mine; she did not need to speak.

  “Blonde hair,” she said eventually. “That is all I can tell you. She wore a cloak. Never faced me. Whispered in a fashion which would not reveal her natural speaking voice.”

  “Blackmore?”

  “I did not see the chit,” he advised. “Just the flash of the muzzle.”

  I was certain that was enough at the moment to contend with. But Blackie’s anger at his inability to make a catalogue of evidence enough to identify the woman was evident. He stood to his feet and kicked at the brick wall, the sound of his boot hitting concrete loud in the alley.

  “Fine policemen, you lot are, eh?” Reid exclaimed, smiling broadly.

  “Why is he here?” Anna asked, making Blackie chuckle and Reid splutter and me so very proud of her. “Actually, Inspector,” she added, turning to look at me, “why are you here?”

  I smiled; I was sure it was grander than any I had shown her to date. She looked stunned. I felt ten feet tall. I took a step toward her and gripped both her hands in mine, my thumbs tracing circles over her wrists.

  “They could not hold me,” I said. “No man could. Not when I heard you were in danger.”

  “In danger?” she queried. “Or merely in Whitechapel?”

  I arched a brow at her.

  “Oh, never mind,” she said, shaking her head and then wincing.

  I glanced around the alley and took in the sights. Dim, dirty, and forgotten. It smelled of rotten food and urine. No windows looked out of the grime covered buildings. No other person lurked in the shadows.

  “She has long gone,” I advised. “And we have no indication of where she might have taken herself off to.”

  “She has wounds to lick,” Anna offered.

  “You harmed her?” Perhaps I sounded alarmed because Anna did not look impressed with my exclamation. “I mean to say, did you manage to cause injury?” An arched eyebrow was my only answer. “Anna!” I said, frustrated. “Is she incapacitated?”

  I saw the moment she realised I was not fearful for my wife’s injuries, but instead eager to know if we had an advantage.

  Anna shook her head carefully and then said, “I was unable to do damage.”

  “She had you by the throat, Doctor,” Blackie offered, not unkindly. “Not much to be accomplished in such a position.”

  “She took me unawares,” Anna agreed. “I was searching for you, Sergeant.”

  “Why?” I demanded.

  “They were fighting.”

  My eyes met Blackie’s. I knew the answer before he opened his mouth.

  “Tempest, sir. The mug was in The Blind Beggar. As was Dr Cassidy.”

  I should not have been surprised.

  “Polly, that is to say, Mrs Pugh’s cousin owns the establishment,” Anna provided, as if that would make me less angered at her presence there.

  “And this made your attendance in such a locale without danger?” I enquired politely.

  “I am quite capable of defending myself, Inspector.”

  My eyes flicked to her head, then down to the blood that splattered the dirt, and then over to where she must have dropped her parasol. The bladed part of the device was out, the metal edge glinting in what little light there was to be had here. My hands fisted. Anna had clearly tried to fight back. And failed.

  I wanted to hold her again. To never let her go. Maybe, to shake some sense into her while I was at it.

  I cleared my throat, scratched at my jaw, then straightened my cravat.

  “Find out why he was in there, Sergeant.” Blackie nodded and turned on his heel, disappearing around the corner of the building. “Inspector,” I called to Reid. He eyed me uncharitably. “What know your division of Henry Tempest, Esquire?”

  “Landed Gentry. Nephew to the Marquess of Londonderry. Family seat in North Durham. Recently returned from travels abroad.” Succinct and well informed. My estimation of Reid rose a notch.

  “Where abroad?” I asked.

  “The Orient, mainly. So I have heard.”

  “The Dutch East Indies,” Anna murmured, her face paling. What little colour that had returned after her confrontation with my wife vanished. As did, I should think, any hope her friend’s brother was not involved in all of this.

  “I see,” I said, just as Blackie returned. “What say you, Sergeant?”

  His eyes flicked to Anna. She did not appear to be aware of her surroundings. I walked toward Blackie and lowered my voice. “Well?”

  “A brothel, sir. Half of ‘em what works in back ‘ave seen his truncheon and pearly shower.”

  “A brothel,” I repeated with a grimace.

  “Hardly an offence,” Reid offered. “He would not be the first gentleman to succumb to a pinchcock’s cunny in Whitechapel.”

  “Indeed,” I said. “And the landlord?” I looked to Blackie.

  “It is as the good doctor says,” he advised. “Mrs Pugh’s cousin; barman and cash carrier.”

  “Who oversees the girls?”

  “A woman of some experience, deferent to the landlord.”

  “Just her landlord?” I enquired.

  “What are you getting at, man?” Reid snapped.

  I looked to Anna, who watched us intently from her sad looking seat upon the ground. I had to get her out of here. I could not bear to see her brought so low any longer.

  I strode across the gap between us and lifted her into my arms. My leg threatened to crumble, but with gritted teeth and a determined attitude, I managed to keep us both upright.

  “She is connected to it all, is she not?” Anna asked softly.

  I swallowed thickly, cursing my wife and her proclivities, and Anna’s unavoidable inclusion in this foul part of my life.

  “And so is Henry,” she added, and my mental curses doubled.

  “Fingers in all pies, Doctor Cassidy,” Reid murmured as we passed, revealing the extent of his knowledge.

  I bore his appraisal with a tilted chin and straight back, my leg an aching reminder of what had transpired and what was yet to come. The woman in my arms
a mere promise of that which I would never be able to claim as mine.

  Not if Eliza May succeeded.

  Not if my wife lived.

  Make Haste!

  Anna

  The ride back to the boarding house was carried out in utter silence, yet we had so much to discuss.

  Eliza May had fired upon us. What had been until that moment an intellectual knowledge, now had a basis in reality. Andrew's wife was a murderess.

  At least, she was an attempted murderess. Oh, I knew she'd killed before, the inspector had said as much. And not forgetting her attempt to trap her husband in a burning house. Poison was her weapon of choice according to history. But she was not above using more base means to achieve her goal.

  She had fired a pistol at Sergeant Blackmore. Who sat now in stoic silence, staring out the window of the carriage contemplating life and death, no doubt. I took in his bruised knuckles, the gash below his right eye, the crooked slant to his nose which was not a new addition. His clothes, made finely to be sure, wore the evidence of dirty streets and back alleys and soot accumulated for decades upon brick walls.

  It was evident he'd rolled around in muck and filth whilst combatting Henry Tempest.

  He had survived both encounters, Henry and Eliza May. But would he survive the next?

  Would we? Had Mina?

  I let out a tired sigh, garnering Blackmore's attention. He met my gaze across the landau with a friendly smile, one I had been the recipient of on many occasions.

  "All right, Doctor?" he asked, making Andrew stir beside me.

  "Where did Henry go?" I asked when both of us knew the real question was how he had escaped the sergeant?

  Blackmore grimaced, which did not do his hard features any favours, and flicked his eyes to Inspector Kelly. Andrew, for his part, remained relaxed at my side, his attention riveted to the sergeant, his hands, palm flat, on his thighs.

  He'd lost his cane, I realised. Left it behind when he'd carried me into the carriage. Neither Reid nor Blackmore had retained it for him. Reid, no doubt, purposely. Blackmore due more to the morning's events and their effect upon his mind.

  "I had him dead to rights, sir. I did," the sergeant said. "He can take a fist. But cannot throw one." Poor Henry. If Blackmore looked dishevelled, I dreaded to think how my old friend had fared. "It 'twas not an even fight, if you get my meanin'. But in a moment of weakness, he divulged himself."

  "How so, Sergeant?" Andrew enquired.

  Blackmore flicked his gaze to me and then back to his superior.

  "He afeared 'imself for Dr Cassidy, sir. He passed comment as such. In that instant, I realised my mistake." The sergeant appeared contrite, then. "I had left Dr Cassidy alone in the tavern when I should not 'ave. Forgive me, sir. I lost myself in the moment. To the fight." He ducked his head, ashamed at his perceived error.

  "There is nothing to forgive," I said.

  Andrew looked at me and scowled. Then turned his anger on the sergeant.

  "You changed course," he said.

  "I did, sir. Immediately. I let the cur go and returned to the tavern. Only to find Dr Cassidy in dire straits."

  "You did as is expected, Sergeant." Blackmore relaxed. "It is not always easy to keep Dr Cassidy safe."

  I turned in my seat to look at Andrew. A small curve of his lips let me know he was teasing. Teasing! The shock of such left me speechless.

  But only for a moment.

  "That is all well and good," I said, choosing not to address Andrew's remark. "But to where would Henry have gone now?"

  "Perhaps he has absconded with..." Blackmore looked to Andrew again, uncertainty gracing his ragged features.

  "With my wife?" Andrew finished for him. "It would appear they are in cahoots."

  "How?" I asked, feeling numb. No, not numb. Feeling...violated.

  Henry had been my friend. A fast friend upon making Emily's acquaintance. I had dined at their townhouse. I had danced with him at music halls. I had allowed him to escort me on walks in Hyde Park. I had spent more time than a lady should have alone in his company. I had entertained him at Mrs Pugh's house.

  The shame of my conduct wrapped itself firmly around the horror of his involvement in so many deaths. And then tied itself up in a neat little bow with the guilt of not having seen through his foppish behaviour.

  He had fooled me. And I did not take kindly to being made a fool of.

  "The Dutch East Indies," Reid said, entering the conversation at last. His presence had almost been forgotten, silent and still as he had been in the corner of the carriage. "He spent an extraordinary amount of time there. Is that not where you suspect your wife to have been as well?"

  The question was directed at Andrew. It had not appeared anything other than a simple query. But Andrew's hands, until that moment resting peacefully against his thighs, fisted. He met Inspector Reid's eyes with a steely glint. Then nodded his head once.

  I feared he was unable to speak, such anger in his appearance.

  "It stands to reason," Reid went on, unperturbed, "that they made their acquaintance in the Orient. Established a rapport, perhaps. From there, it can be concluded, that they made plans to return to England and extract what little they could from the good people of our country. Establishing themselves in the East End. Laying claim to territory once ruled by others."

  "He is not the mastermind behind this," Andrew advised.

  "No, I dare say he is not," Reid agreed. "And as you are the foremost knowledge of our perpetratrix, mayhap you can shed light on her next move."

  Andrew's anger was a physical thing. I longed to reach out and calm him. Lay a hand upon his clenched fist. Stroke his arm. Whisper encouragement.

  But confined as we were with Blackmore and Reid, such action was unconscionable. I may have behaved in a manner much too free of late, but I was still capable of acting the lady.

  Still, my heart ached for Andrew's discomfort. Having to address such personal issues with his professional nemesis could not have been easy. But then, Andrew Kelly was not one to avoid unpleasantries for the sake of his reputation. Not when so much hung in the balance. Not when innocents were in danger.

  "I'm sure I do not know," he said succinctly.

  "Mr Tempest shall require some time to recover," Sergeant Blackmore advised. "And although Dr Cassidy did not lay a hand to Mrs Kelly..."

  "Please, do not call her that," Andrew growled.

  "One cannot deny the reality," Reid offered.

  "Her moniker of late is Mary Moriarty," I supplied.

  Blackmore threw me a grateful smile.

  "Although Dr Cassidy did not lay a hand to Miss Moriarty," he corrected, "she, too, shall require time to recover."

  "How so?" Reid demanded.

  "Is it not obvious?" I said, understanding where Sergeant Blackmore had been going with his statement. "Andrew, that is, Inspector Kelly is no longer behind bars at Newgate. Her ploy failed. She had appeared much too pleased with his discomfort when discussing the issue with myself. His appearance, besides that of an H Division inspector, would have cast a harsh blow."

  "Perhaps the only blow she has received of late," Blackmore offered.

  "No," Andrew said softly. "The first blow was my attachment to Dr Cassidy. And hers to me."

  "How did she become aware of such a thing?" I asked.

  No one supplied an answer. Of course, Henry was forefront in my mind. His acquaintance with Eliza May, made in the Dutch East Indies, would have supplied the impetus for their continued communication. The letters from the Orient did not arrive until I had been in London some time. Time enough for my friend to have informed his cohort in the Dutch East Indies.

  I did not speak freely of my feelings toward the inspector with anyone other than Mina. But Mina could forget herself on occasion, and speak of things best left unsaid. There were times when she was alone with Emily. Time enough for her to share my secrets.

  And a sister at the beck and call of her brother may feel obliged to di
vert his attention from herself when needed. It was not a far-fetched belief to conceive that Henry had come by Andrew's and my relationship by means of his subjugated sibling.

  Anger, fierce and wild, coursed through me. Ours was not an open friendship, the inspector's and mine, but it was real and should not be talked of in such a manner. It was ours, and ours alone. Complicated by my father's desires, society's rules, and the existence of Eliza May Kelly.

  And it was the motivation behind Mina's abduction.

  Eliza May was striking back. Had struck back the only way she knew how. Death and destruction were her companions. She knew no other way to act now. In her chaotic mind, stillness would only be achieved through the act of violence.

  And Andrew and I had surely disturbed her peace.

  So, she had gone after my cousin. Not me. No. I could have faced my own destruction. She knew this. Even as she knew Andrew could not. But watching me die a little every day Wilhelmina was missing was a surer punishment than a direct attack on my person would have been.

  And making Andrew witness my ever-increasing dismay was a form of torment his wife knew would cripple him eventually. Impotence was not an emotion Inspector Kelly embraced. Only a twisted mind could have come to such a conclusion. Could have arrived at such a dreadful fate. Eliza May Kelly was aberrant. Sadistic and depraved.

  Oh, what had she done to Mina? What had my delicate cousin faced?

  It was me this time who showed her anger. My fists clenching in the folds of my skirt. Reid looked down at them. Blackmore flicked his eyes to my face. Andrew reached over and pried my fingers loose, one by one. So carefully. So purposefully.

  Such bravery.

  "North Durham," I said into the stunned silence. "We must proceed there without delay."

  "Anna," Andrew started.

  "While she is occupied with Henry," I added, ignoring his forthcoming rebuke. "I will go alone if I must. But I am leaving today. Stand with me. Or stand out of my way."

  Blackmore smiled; amusement and pride shining through in equal measures. Reid snorted, tipped his hat forward, and settled in for a long journey.

  Andrew let out a weighted sigh, linked his fingers with mine, and tapped the roof of the carriage.