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

by Nicola Claire

  Guilt assuaged me, mixed in with an uncontrolled fury.

  I turned to the butler and pushed Reid out of the way, replacing his grip with my own, and attempting to throttle the man for his part in all of this.

  “You knew,” I snarled. “You had the key, man! How could you stand by when such atrocities occurred under your roof?”

  “I…I…” he stammered like the coward I was sure he was.

  I thrust him harder against the wall, aware neither Reid nor Blackie stopped me.

  “Tell me where she is,” I growled.

  The man had the audacity to look to Wilhelmina’s door.

  I spun him away so he could no longer get a line of sight to the chamber.

  “Where is Mary Moriarty?” I shouted.

  “Wh…who?” the imbecile stuttered.

  “Perhaps we should confront Miss Tempest again?” Blackie offered.

  “You’d scare the lady of the house?” Reid asked. It wasn't so much said in surprise but consideration.

  “I’d scare every damn one of ‘em for what they have let transpire ‘ere.”

  Reid nodded his head and began to walk toward the main stairway and the drawing room below. I dragged the uncooperative butler along with me, as Blackie stared daggers at the man from behind us. Stumbling down the stairs, I almost released the cove and let him fall where he may. But his neck was set for far greater things, than a break caused by tripping on well-worn treads.

  His silence unnerved me. He hadn’t sunk in on himself as so many apprehended criminals did. It was more a studied silence. A purposeful closing of his lips. He neither warned us off interrogating Miss Tempest. Nor offered an alternative for us to pursue.

  “You would be wise to assist us with our enquiries,” I said gruffly. “Your silence will be taken as complicity. There is far more to contend yourself with than the use of children for slave labour.”

  He made a sound in the back of his throat; one of distress and conversely fortitude.

  “Abduction is a felony offence,” I went on blithely. “And lest we not forget the multiple murders of women in Lambeth.”

  “Lambeth?” the man said, speaking before he could remember to stay quiet.

  “Oh, yes,” I said, as we approached the door to the drawing room. “Several deaths, one of which has a direct tie to the Tempest family. What say you to that?”

  “I have nothing to say, sir,” he snapped back.

  “Don’t forget the bribery, Inspector,” Reid offered, pushing the door to the drawing room open obligingly. “Bribing a Justice of the court has damnable ramifications.”

  I was not aware Reid had made that connection. But, then, there was much to Edmund Reid I had not realised. For a brief moment, I was relieved he had in fact accompanied us, and then we entered the drawing room and found it bare, and much more dire thoughts took precedence.

  “Where is she?” Blackie snarled.

  “Who?” the butler attempted again.

  Blackie swung toward him, his face a rictus of fury, and took two menacing steps making Samson back up until his body was pressed against mine.

  “Don’t bloody play that game with me, son,” Blackmore growled. “You think I won’t put my fist through your mug and not a wall?” He shook his hand out deliberately.

  I gripped the butler’s shoulders, held him out before me and said, “He’s all yours, Sergeant. You swing, I’ll hold him steady.”

  “Much obliged, sir,” Blackie said, flexing his fingers, practising a punch into the palm of his free hand, and grinning maniacally.

  The butler started shaking.

  “The mine,” he said breathlessly. “Miss Tempest would have gone to the mine to warn her uncle.”

  “Warn her uncle?” Reid asked. “Is she complicit in all of this, then?”

  “No,” I said, feeling confused. “It is her brother, Henry.”

  The butler shook his head, but I could not tell if it was to negate my statement or because he did not care for the situation he found himself in; his entire frame trembled alarmingly.

  “Ho!” exclaimed Blackie suddenly, peering out of a window. “A coach approaches.”

  “The marquess’s?” Reid asked.

  “Unmarked. Hired conveyance, I’d guess.”

  I grabbed the butler’s jacket collar, towed him toward the window and looked outside. Indeed, it was a coach much like our own. Releasing the curtain ties closest to me, I stripped the length of cord from its hook on the wall and proceeded to wrap Samson up like a pig for slaughter.

  Once securely bound, I pushed him toward a settee, uncaring that he missed his mark and landed on the floor; jarringly. Blackie strode past, offering a kick to his shins as he did so. The butler cried out just as Reid stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth to silence him.

  It all happened in less than a heartbeat.

  “That should do it nicely,” the inspector said, dusting off his hands and admiring our joint efforts.

  “Can’t tell who’s within,” Blackie offered, looking out of a window closer to the front of the building. “Dark clothin’. Top hat. I think that’s a cane.” He growled. “Gotta a bleedin’ moustache, he has.”

  I crossed to the hallway and barked at a footman to get the hell away from the entrance. My tone of voice must have been convincing because he ran.

  Or perhaps it was the thunderous look to my visage that did it.

  I was full of righteous anger.

  With Reid at my back, we opened the oversized door, coming face to face with none other than Henry Tempest as he climbed down from the carriage.

  How fitting.

  Reid pulled a pistol.

  I reached forward and relieved the cur of his cane.

  Then we both grabbed a side each of his jacket collars and hauled him inside the building.

  “I say!” he exclaimed.

  And then Blackie appeared out of nowhere…and punched him. Right in the face.

  Blood poured, a high pitched whine followed, and the sergeant spat, “That’s for Miss Cassidy,” offering an undignified knee to the chap’s groin as a follow-up.

  It all went downhill from there.

  But I Was Too Far Down The Rabbit Hole Now To Climb Out

  Anna

  I closed the door gently behind me. Wilhelmina was finally asleep, as at peace as I could make her. My breaths came out stuttered. My chest ached with each irregular expiration of air. My vision dimmed, my head spun. I placed a sweaty palm flat against the door and lowered my forehead to the cool wood.

  Nausea welled in my stomach, and I had to bite back bile, or I’d surely vomit. I almost gave in to the need to fall to my knees and weep. But I managed, somehow, to stay upright.

  Turning around I squinted into the dim recesses of the hallway, but no one was near, neither Wynyard Hall staff nor any of my travel companions.

  A loud clatter could be heard from further toward the main stairwell. So, taking one last longing look at the closed door, I straightened my dress and proceeded in that direction. What in heaven would Emily say about this?

  “I did not mean to cause you worry.” Mina’s fragile words inside my head made tears spill from my eyes. I dashed them away with a gloved hand.

  “I am no longer worried, sweeting. I have found you.” My fingers shook as I fisted them, my footsteps drowning out the frantic beat of my heart.

  “She seemed to care. I told her so much. Your mother. Oh, Anna. I am sorry.” A sound emitted from the back of my throat. I ruthlessly swallowed it.

  “You are not Mama. Think naught of it.” My palm laid flat against my stomach, trying to assuage the buzz of angry bees inside of it.

  “I fear now I may well be.” A sob escaped, my footsteps stumbled, the bannister felt solid beneath my shaking hand. I gripped it until the world righted, and then heard raised voices from inside the drawing room downstairs.

  With determination I had not known I possessed, I made short work of the stairwell, pausing only to catch my brea
th in the grand hallway. Something crashed inside the drawing room. A male’s cry of alarm and then further breaking of furniture followed.

  I rushed across the marble entranceway, my skirts swirling around my ankles, my heart beating an overwrought tattoo inside my chest. Pushing the door open, I entered mayhem. Then had to duck as a vase was thrown at my head.

  “Are you insane, man?” Inspector Reid shouted. “Calm down!”

  “I’ll calm down when you put that blasted pistol away, sir!” Henry Tempest shouted back in reply.

  “Henry?” I whispered, but somehow the whisper carried.

  “Oh, thank God,” Henry exclaimed. “Call off your watchdogs.”

  “Stop throwin’ things,” Sergeant Blackmore growled, “and we’ll think about standin’ down.”

  “What on earth?” I began.

  “Anna,” Andrew said from beside me. “It would be best if you remained in the hallway until we have this under control.”

  “You do not look as if you have a notion of how to control this, Andrew,” I replied calmly, surprised I could come across as calm at all. “Whatever ‘this’ is, in fact,” I muttered.

  “They attacked me!” Henry cried. It almost sounded like a whine. “In my own home. This is an outrage!”

  “No,” Blackmore snarled. “What’s an outrage is what you’ve done to Miss Cassidy.”

  Henry stilled, then glanced at me. “You’ve found Wilhelmina?” he asked.

  “Don’t you dare,” Blackmore growled low, stepping forward threateningly, “to presume such intimacy.”

  I had never seen the sergeant so enraged. I bit my lip, and took a further step into the room, ignoring Andrew’s outstretched hand as though to restrain me.

  “Why are you here, Henry?” I asked.

  “This is my home,” he repeated.

  “Not your home, Tempest,” Inspector Reid said. “But your uncle’s, the marquess’s, isn’t that so?”

  “It is the family home. We all come back to it when London gets too rowdy.”

  “And is London too rowdy right now?” Andrew enquired pleasantly. I knew that voice. That was his inspector’s voice. The one he used when he was irate but following the letter of the law.

  I studied his profile; his firm jaw, stern eyes, and fisted hands about the top of his cane. Where had he managed to get one of those? My attention was drawn back to Henry, who looked bamboozled by the goings on around him.

  “I am here on business for my uncle,” he said, sounding a little strained.

  “Business, eh?’ Blackmore sneered. “And what, pray tell, is that?”

  “None of your concern, sir.”

  “Actually,” Reid said, pulling out his H Division credentials, “it is.” He flashed the piece of paper at Henry and then pocketed it. “We’ve found the girl, Tempest. And we’re aware of the children being used as slave labour in your uncle’s mines. Not only that, sir, but we also have a witness to your carriage at the scene of a crime. Homicide, in fact. Add in Inspector Reid’s,” he nodded toward Andrew, his eyes never straying from Henry, “evidence of observing you bribing a judge at the Old Bailey, and I’d say you’re neck deep in horse dung. Time to dig yourself out of it, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Henry let out a startled breath and then slowly lowered himself onto the settee. His eyes drifted across the space to where, alarmingly, the butler lay trust up like a swine for the butcher. An inappropriate giggle tumbled to my lips. I pressed them firmly together, and then took the added precaution of covering my mouth with the tips of my fingers. As if that would keep the unwanted sound within.

  Then my mind brought up the image of Mina; pale, delirious, wasted away on that bed. In such a short amount of time, she had been abused beyond that which any person should have to suffer. How much had Mary Moriarty injected her with? It was clear to see Mina had been subjected to multiple hypodermic punctures. The empty phials left discarded on the side table had laid weight to exactly what had been administered.

  I looked to Henry again and felt the world disappear as if swept away by the force of my anger.

  I was across the room in a heartbeat, my palm connecting with his cheek, the clap of sound suddenly amplified in the stunned quiet.

  “You will speak,” I said, my voice ringing with fury. “You will tell all. How you met her. How she came to be in London from the Dutch East Indies. How she orchestrated so many crimes without being found out. How,” I said, leaning closer, my words spat in his face as if projectile weapons themselves, “you allowed her to harm Wilhelmina. In your family home. Under your uncaring nose. You will tell all, sir, or I’ll…I’ll…” I searched for a strong enough threat. My eyes landing on Sergeant Blackmore. His anger matched mine. I stood upright, pointed at his hardened façade, and said, “I’ll let the sergeant use you for practice. He’s a pugilist, you see? And it has been some time, I should think, since he last visited the ring. He should fine tune his skill before he returns to it, don’t you think?”

  “Good Lord, Kelly,” Reid said. “She is quite frightening, isn’t she?”

  “Anna,” Andrew said softly. A warning. A lifeline offered obliquely.

  “No, Andrew.” I spun to face him. “You have not seen her. Not fully. I counted twenty puncture marks on her body. Twenty. Do you realise how much substance has been injected into her small frame? Do you understand the ramifications? The long-term effect of such a large dose over so short a time? Do you?”

  “I do,” he said simply. “And they will both be brought to justice. But…”

  “There is no ‘but’. Only retribution. And I will have it.”

  “My dear God,” Henry had the audacity to mutter. “What has happened to you, Doctor?”

  “Where is she?!” I yelled in his face. “Mary Moriarty! Tell me, or so help me God…” An arm wrapped around my waist and suddenly I was drawn back several feet. I struggled. Steady breaths sounded out in my ear enraging me.

  “It’s all right,” Andrew said. “He will pay. But, darling, do not lose yourself to vengeance. Do not let them take more from you than they already have. Please.”

  I panted for breath, my mind scrambling. Mina lay in the throes of addiction upstairs. Vengeance was too soft a word for what I wanted today.

  “They will pay,” he murmured, stroking my arm, but still holding me contained. “I promise this to you. I will see them hanged in Newgate.”

  “You promise?”

  “On my life. I promise they will pay.”

  I relaxed into his arms somewhat, the burden of carrying such horrific weight eased a fraction. I glared at Henry. Who blinked back at me in shock. My eyes landed on Sergeant Blackmore. He nodded his head, putting his lot in with his superior officer.

  I looked toward Inspector Reid, who studied the scene with detachment. He pushed off from his semi-recline against the mantlepiece and said, “You heard the lady doctor, tell all, or fists will fly, and this time you shan’t escape them.”

  “I…” Henry glanced around the room, frantically searching for an out. He would not find one. No man in this room would allow it. “Samson,” he said, looking to the butler. “What the dickens is going on here?”

  The butler struggled in his binds, and then spat out a wad of cloth from his mouth.

  “Forgive me, Master Tempest, but I had no choice. I had to lie to them.”

  “Lie to them?” Henry said, just as Reid crouched down in front of the butler and studied the sharp tip of a knife that had suddenly appeared from out of nowhere in his hand.

  “Lie, you say, Mr Samson?” he murmured, his eyes on the blade and not the shaking man curled up before him. “Perhaps you’d like to remedy that?”

  Samson glanced at Henry and then straightened his spine, as much as the confines of his ties would allow it.

  “The chit was brought here in the dead of night, along with the latest batch of orphans.” Samson licked his lips nervously but ploughed on with his confession all the same. “His Lordship proceeded to
get the children settled at the mine, while…while…”

  “Out with it, man, or I’ll hang you myself,” Reid urged.

  Samson shut his eyes briefly, then resigned himself to his fate.

  “While Miss Emily took the girl up to the east wing.”

  Emily. My Emily. I felt the starch seep out of my spine and my knees buckle.

  Before I hit the floor, Andrew had caught me.

  But I was too far down the rabbit hole now to climb out.

  Or Have You Courage Enough To Be Yourself?

  Inspector Kelly

  I stared across the coach at Henry Tempest. At some point, compassion for his predicament would surface. For the time being, however, I felt only rage.

  “Where is Mary Moriarty?” I asked into the heavy silence of the carriage.

  Anna shifted in her seat, pressed as she was between Blackie and myself. Reid watched on from beside Tempest with half-closed eyelids, his legs extended before him as if he were about to fall asleep to the gentle rocking of the coach as it made its slumberous way toward the mine.

  “I am sure I do not know of whom you speak,” Tempest offered, sitting proudly upright in his seat; facing the horror of what his sister had done with his head held high.

  I might have at one stage admired the man, but events of the past few days had caused enough damage to prevent such sensitivity. My wife had had a hand in this, and I was determined to discover to what extent.

  Emily Tempest was the abductor of Wilhelmina Cassidy. This much we did know. She was also deeply entrenched in the abduction of the orphans from Whitechapel’s streets. It was not a difficulty, therefore, to place the drug-addled state of Anna’s cousin at her feet.

  But the jasmine scent. The letters with the nightingale etched upon them. There were parts to this story we were not as yet privy to.

  I glanced toward Anna, but she paid me no heed; her eyes all for Henry Tempest, her once upon a time friend and the brother of the woman who had betrayed her so completely. She’d almost collapsed in that room, upon hearing of Emily’s complicity. I wondered now how much more strength she had within her, for surely more heartache was yet to come.