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

by Nicola Claire

  “Do you have any idea how much I am worth?”

  “You did this for financial gain?” I was appalled.

  “There are two kinds of people in this world, Anna. Those who go along, content to be classified as the world sees them, letting others rule their place in society, living within the parameters set, suffering. Then there are those who do not live by anyone else’s rules, who make the world as it exists already bend to their desires, who reap the rewards their chosen life provides them. I am not a follower, dearest. I aim to rule my empire.”

  “And yet you are under arrest, Miss Tempest,” Inspector Reid announced. “About to be hauled before a judge, and we’ll make sure it is not Justice Blackborough, for your crimes. How much freedom do you feel yourself to have now?”

  “Do you seriously believe my uncle has not the sway to exonerate me?” She glanced toward Cream and smiled. “I have been subjected to the most horrific treatment at the hands of men. Manipulated to perform for their pleasure. Such a vile being. Such an evil cur. Cream will be hanged for his crimes, and I will be exculpated.”

  “And the orphans?” Andrew enquired. “How have they been treated, Miss Tempest? By your uncle? He may well be a peer of the realm, but he is just as culpable as yourself.”

  “And then there is Mina,” I said, feeling bereft all over again. “She will testify.”

  “Will she?” Emily asked, all knowing.

  She was right. Mina would not be strong enough to testify. Henry was dead. The Marquess in the wind. Emily had powerful allies.

  “She will testify,” I said, but even I could hear the lie.

  Emily laughed. It was not a laugh I had heard from her before now. It was full of conviction and self-righteousness, and entirely not friendly. Not my Emily.

  I had lost my friend. I was not certain that I hadn’t lost Mina, as well.

  What more would this woman take from me?

  “My pocket,” she said. “Inside you’ll find a missive. A rather telling one, I should think.”

  Andrew kept his pistol on Emily as Sergeant Blackmore stepped forward and removed the letter. He shook it out, all of us scenting the jasmine as it wafted on the still air, and handed it to Andrew.

  Andrew scanned its contents and then crushed the paper in his fist.

  “Easy,” Reid warned, taking the letter before it was further damaged.

  He started reading it aloud.

  “My dearest Emily,

  I am pleased to finally conclude my business here in Batavia. In time, I shall be remembered for my commitment to progress. For the enlightened way I have transformed a backwards city.

  For is it not our lot in life to improve the condition of others?

  Now, though, dearest, I must turn my attentions elsewhere. Across the seas to another backwards location.

  I hear the weather is rather temperate in the Antipodes.

  What fun I shall have in Auckland City, moving my chess pieces, placing them where they will benefit from my direction most surely. I have never so looked forward to a conquest as I do conquering that little bird’s city.

  Be well, my darling.

  Until our paths meet again.

  Yours most sincerely,

  EMA.”

  “She’s going to New Zealand,” I said, stunned.

  Emily started laughing.

  “To Auckland City,” Sergeant Blackmore muttered.

  Andrew stared down at the letter in Reid’s hand in unmitigated horror, his skin pale, his lips a tight slash across his face.

  “You see?” Emily taunted. “It is not over yet.”

  No. It was only just beginning.

  “Oh,” Inspector Reid said, coming up behind the girl and placing her hands in shackles. “For you, Miss Tempest, it most assuredly is over. If it’s the last thing I do, I will see you in Newgate Gaol.”

  He pushed her roughly toward the coach. The coach her dead brother lay within. I felt bereft of sympathy. Sergeant Blackmore grasped Dr Cream’s collar and pulled him toward the same conveyance also. In the distance, small figures began to appear out of the shadow’s cast by the mine entrance. Ragged clothes, dirt smeared, hollowed faces. A roar of delight rose from their lips when they spotted Emily Tempest, their captor and tormentor, being dragged toward the carriage.

  Freedom sounded like angels singing.

  I looked at Andrew. Somehow he’d got ahold of Eliza May’s letter. He stared down at it, his eyes hard, his face immobile, his breaths too rapid.

  “We’ll go home,” I said. “We’ll face her. And finally, this will be over.”

  He shook his head, his eyes pleading when they landed on me.

  “You’ve seen what she can do,” he murmured. “How she can manipulate the vilest of creatures. Emily Tempest believes she was in charge of London.” He shook the letter at me. “Don’t you see? She was a pawn on Eliza May’s chessboard as surely as Jack the Ripper ever had been. Miss Tempest will fall for this because that is what Eliza May wants the world to see. Emily’s crimes. Not hers. She is a scapegoat. She is the villain. And the Eliza May who waits to greet us in Auckland will be a completely different character in this tragedy.”

  “To everyone but us,” I insisted.

  “To everyone but us,” Andrew repeated, staring down at the letter again. “I will divorce her. We don't need to go back.”

  I stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm; his muscles tensing beneath his jacket’s sleeve.

  “That is not who we are, Andrew,” I said.

  He turned toward me, lifted a hand and cupped my cheek.

  “Who are we, then, Anna?”

  “We are better than her,” I said with conviction.

  He closed his eyes and leant forward, placing his forehead against mine with such familiarity.

  “Sometimes I wonder,” he whispered, “what is the truth and what is the fabrication she has created.”

  “Look to me, and you shall see your truth, Andrew Kelly.”

  “Always,” he said.

  He pulled back and looked down at me; the world around us lost to the moment. With a soft breath and a look of longing, he wrapped his arms about me.

  Pulling me close against his chest, to the only place I ever truly wanted to be, he tipped my face up for his lips to devour me; kissing me with as much care as passion burning brightly.

  Just like Andrew Kelly did everything in his life. Care and passion, loyalty and dedication. Two halves of a golden coin, more precious than any material possession could ever be.

  Loving this man, I thought, sounded like angels singing.

  Epilogue

  Anna

  North Atlantic Ocean

  August 1892

  That is not who we are. I’d regretted the words almost immediately. But I’d stood by them. So had Andrew. On returning to London, he had not sought out a barrister.

  He was married still. And would remain so. His soul was safe from Saint Peter’s judgment, as long as he resisted temptation. I was not sure I could. Even now, standing on the deck of the RMS Oceanic, staring out across the choppy waters, Andrew stoically at my side, I was certain I would fail.

  “It would seem your Henry was as unaware of his uncle’s proclivities as he was of his sister’s,” he said, the wind whipping his words away, but not before I heard them.

  “He is not my Henry,” I said, gripping the handrail tightly.

  “You know what I mean,” Andrew said dismissively. If he could have, he would have dismissed Henry entirely. But Henry had bribed Justice Blackborough, and that evidence, presented in court by Andrew himself, had helped establish a connection between the bribery of judges at the Old Bailey and the Tempest family.

  From there more witnesses had come forward and taken the stand, condemning both Lord Londonderry and his niece. Henry’s inability to stand trial had meant he could not prove his innocence completely. But it was to be understood he had been manipulated by his family.

  I found that incredibly tel
ling. Henry had been a fop in appearance and a fop by nature. But he had also been a friend. Perhaps it was a blessing he had not lived to see his sister hanged. For it was certain now that she would be.

  Lord Londonderry, for his part, was still in the wind. His trial in absentia was short but compelling. His former miners had long ago risen against him, forcing him to find alternate measures to ensure production remained on schedule. He had a history of treating his workers most poorly, forcing them to seek employment elsewhere or starve from lack of remuneration.

  Their evidence, attached to that of the stolen children, convinced a jury of his and Emily’s guilt.

  Mina had not needed to testify. Her evidence would not have made a jot of difference. I could not help feeling, however, that she would regret it; missing the opportunity to stand up to her abductors. But she was still so frail, still so under the power of opium. Wilhelmina had moved on from laudanum. She’d bypassed absinthe. And rocketed right toward the dream stick.

  I shuddered at the memory of my mother. At what lay ahead for us both.

  “Thomas Neill Cream is said to be causing all manner of problems at Newgate,” Andrew added conversationally, pulling my thoughts away from an abyss. “His will be a much looked upon hanging.”

  “Is there a date set?” I asked, numbly.

  “These things take time, Anna. But it is a foregone conclusion. Not only is he responsible for the deaths of unfortunate women on England’s own shores, and the upset at the Metropole Hotel, but evidence has been unearthed that he carried out similar crimes in Chicago, as well. He escaped to London only to be drawn into Emily Tempest’s machinations. An undertaking that was no doubt achieved with skill. The man had every intention of hiding his base nature until he met Miss Tempest.”

  “She corrupted the already corrupted,” I mused.

  “And lead the lambs to treachery.”

  “The telegraph boys,” I said.

  “Yes, there is to be an inquest into the use of telegraphs for the delivery of important messages.”

  “And are they to read our letters then, too?”

  Andrew smiled, his eyes twinkling in the sunlight.

  “I would rather the government did not,” he said softly.

  “Are you planning to undertake a liaison through the exchange of love notes, Inspector?”

  “I had planned to undertake one privately.”

  He would break his vows for me. The realisation left me breathless. Andrew Kelly, who could not countenance a dissolution of marriage, would choose the path equally abhorrent to his nature of adultery.

  Oh, I had very little faith that Eliza May had remained true to her husband. But Andrew had remained true to her, despite her failings.

  Could I be the person who corrupted him so completely?

  Just as Emily Tempest had corrupted the men in her life?

  I shook my head. His smile dimmed.

  And then he reached forward and took both my hands in his.

  "You once told me," he whispered, "'If you believe in it, then you fight for it.' I believe in us, Anna Cassidy. I believe we are meant to be together. I cannot give you everything you want, but I can give you the better part of me."

  I had thought the better part of him was his morality. His strength of character. His resolve. Idiotically, I had also thought those things were not as important as having his love, unconditionally. I had thought wrong.

  I loved this man enough to be strong. To stand tall. To be the voice of reason when all logic fled. To steel my heart and preserve his. To save him from himself. And from me.

  I loved him more than enough for that.

  I shook my head. His thumbs stroked across the backs of my gloves one last time, and then he let me go.

  Let me go, as I was letting him go.

  It hurt.

  We had a long voyage ahead of us. A harder battle to face once we reached New Zealand's shores. I could be strong.

  And then I would need to find a reserve of strength to face Eliza May Kelly.

  Because I might be saying goodbye to an intimate relationship with Andrew Kelly, but I was not saying goodbye to the man. And Andrew Kelly, the man, meant the world to me.

  He had come into my life when it had fallen apart. Stepped up and stood back. Always present, never encroaching too far. A solid presence in a world that was sometimes unjust, and often darker than the pits of hell.

  Andrew Kelly was my light in the shadows. My beacon in the dark. I could no further face this life without him in it than I could not fight for what I believed in with every part of my soul and heart.

  And I believed in us. Just not the us we would be forced to be.

  I looked up into stoic eyes; a blue so deep it was mesmerising. Then I opened my parasol, lifted it up above my head, and blocked out the heat of his gaze, the heat of his love, the heat of our heartache.

  I could be strong, but I'd take any aid on offer. And right now, I needed the illusion of calm.

  Bobbing a curtsy, I twirled the parasol handle in my palm and walked away. Across the promenade of the RMS Oceanic, toward another battle below deck.

  Mina would be waking. She would need me.

  And I her.

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