Fearless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 1): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series

by Nicola Claire

  I pulled out of Inspector Kelly’s grip and dusted myself down, my eyes darting back to those blankly staring of the victim’s.

  Margaret. I forced the horrified whimper back where it belonged. Lifting my chin, I detached from the moment, and stared the inspector hard in his deep blue eyes.

  “We both know the outcome had I waited,” I declared.

  Inspector Kelly sighed. The sound of a much put upon man.

  “Anna Cassidy,” he said without enthusiasm. “What the devil am I do with you now?”

  Two

  Right You Are

  Anna

  “You can start by making me chief surgeon on this case,” I advised, knowing full well what the reaction would be.

  Inspector Kelly tapped his cane on the alleyway floor, almost absently, making the walls rebound with its echo.

  “You know I can’t do that, Anna,” he replied, and if the tone was to be believed, he was in fact saddened by that pronouncement.

  I didn’t trust the softness of the words nor the compassionate look he threw my way.

  I glanced down at the victim. At Margaret. And said, “At least fourteen stab wounds. The one in the carotid artery would have been the killing blow. Several were post-mortem. But the majority were inflicted prior to death.”

  “Go on,” he encouraged, despite his recent protestations. Kelly knew as well as I that the police surgeon would take several minutes to arrive.

  If at all.

  “Defensive wounds,” I added, walking around the body to get a better look. “She raised her arms to ward him off. She saw her attacker.”

  I crouched down, as I had before, but took note of what was stacked behind me before effecting the manoeuvre. Quarters were cramped, but there was enough space to lean in and check Margaret’s fingernails. I lifted a gloveless hand up to the light of Inspector Kelly’s lantern and grimaced. Several nails were torn, blood had seeped under the nail beds.

  “She struck back,” I whispered, then cleared my throat, lowering her hand to where it had formerly been. “Managed to mark her assailant.”

  “That could help, if the markings are visible,” Kelly remarked quietly.

  I wasn’t sure if his lowered volume was for preservation of the scene, or for me. Either way, I ignored it.

  “To determine the exact number of strikes, I’d have to unclothe her.”

  Kelly made a disgruntled sound, but when I raised arched brows at him, his face was impassive.

  “The type of blade may well be discovered at that time as well,” I added, glancing around for a flash of metal in the dim light, but not succeeding in the endeavour. “There is even some discussion as to whether the height of the murderer can be calculated.”

  “Indeed,” Kelly remarked, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with my thoughts.

  “Angles of the incisions, depths of the wounds. If he used a serrated or tapered knife, we may well be able to discern direction as well.”

  I glanced up at him and received a blank stare in return.

  “Left or right handed,” I clarified, making a slashing movement through the air with a closed fist.

  Kelly stepped forward abruptly and wrapped a gloved hand around my wrist halting my movements. My position and his height meant he loomed over me. The glow from the lantern shining up in his face and sparking with fervour in his eyes.

  “Must you be so vivid?” he whispered.

  “What good would a surgeon be, if she were not?” I countered.

  “That, Anna, is your problem.” Said without rancour or reproach. Inspector Kelly understood my plight.

  He just couldn’t do anything about it.

  Footsteps from the entrance of the alleyway had him retreating to his side of the small space that had formerly separated us. We both looked up, rather guiltily at a guess.

  Kelly’s partner-in-arms came to a slow walk, covering the last few feet between us all with a mirthful smirk.

  “Miss Cassidy,” he said with a bow of his head in acknowledgement. “What a surprise.” It was anything but, I was sure.

  “Sergeant Blackmore,” I replied in greeting.

  His smile didn’t abate until his eyes landed on his superior.

  “Sir, we’ve got a problem,” he announced, all levity having left him.

  Kelly’s eyes swept across Margaret’s body and landed on me. He straightened his back, and then offered an, “Excuse us, Miss Cassidy,” before walking a few feet away with Blackmore.

  I tilted my head in an effort to overhear the conversation, but Kelly knew me too well to not have his voice lowered appropriately. My gaze returned to Margaret, questions rioting through my mind.

  She was meant to have been in front of the stage, throwing questions at Mr Entrican in order to waylay him. Despite his earlier support for our cause, recently he’d behaved like any other gentleman. We had been sure the moment he realised the Suffragettes were upon him, that he would have retreated in great haste to avoid a confrontation. But how quickly had he retreated? And had he seen Margaret?

  “Whatever were you up to, Maggie?” I whispered, just as Kelly and Blackmore approached.

  “We’ll take good care of her, Miss Cassidy,” Kelly declared; a signal for me to rise and leave.

  “The surgeon is here?” I asked absently, as I shifted to my feet, my eyes all for Margaret.

  Silence met my question. I turned to see Sergeant Blackmore studying the rough hewn ground beneath his boots and the inspector looking stoic. And determined.

  “He is corned, is he not?” I enquired, well used to the police surgeon’s usual inebriated state.

  “Anna,” Kelly chastised, then realised his mistake. “Miss Cassidy,” he corrected in an even more persistent tone. “It is not appropriate for you to tally here.”

  Of all the things he could have said, that was the most shocking. Kelly understood the strictures of today’s society. The repression of women from all walks of life. But he had also known my father. He had been aware of how my father had raised me. He’d watched on and never commented in any way.

  And when my father was killed, he’d stepped forward and offered his protection. Protection I had sorely needed, but refused to take.

  It was not his protection I wanted. Anything else, though, was lost to me.

  But never had he outrightly shown his disapproval of my upbringing.

  “I am more than capable of carrying out the post-mortem,” I offered, my shoulders rigid, my hands in fists at my side.

  Blackmore stepped away, with some mumbled comment about checking on a constable. Kelly took a tentative step toward me.

  I stood my ground.

  “Even if I wanted to, I could not,” he explained gently, as though speaking to an emotional child. “You know this, Anna. Drummond will not allow you in his surgery. And despite his… failings, he is the Chief Surgeon for the Auckland Police Force.”

  “Then bring her to mine.”

  He stared long at me, shifting shades of blue in his eyes. The glow from the nearby lantern painted shadows across his face, casting his short beard in an auburn light. Kelly had dark hair, but on occasion there were hints of gold amongst the charcoal to be found.

  “Go home, Anna,” he finally said. Softly. Carefully.

  I hated it.

  I glanced back down at Margaret, for fear the tears in my eyes would be discernible in the low lamp light. I cleared my throat.

  “Will you give me a moment with her?” I asked. “She was a close friend.”

  “I am aware, but this is a crime scene.”

  “And you think me incapable of such restraint? I was taught by the best, Inspector.”

  “That too I am aware of.”

  “Five minutes,” I countered, becoming desperate. “Two,” I offered as a final concession.

  “One,” he threw back and then shook his head in bemusement. “You could talk a beggar out of his rags, Anna Cassidy.”

  “Hardly,” I offered with a small smile. />
  He looked away. “One minute and no longer.” He began to move off, his cane coming down in loud thumps, mirroring his disquiet. “And if you tamper with a thing in this alleyway, I will have you thrown in the cells.”

  I huffed out an amused laugh. Kelly was yet to follow through with that particular threat, and I’d heard it a time or two by now.

  I didn’t wait for him to fully disappear, but crouched down again beside my fallen friend and began to investigate her positioning and overall state more clearly. Fourteen stab wounds, one of which would have ended her pain in ten seconds flat. The rest caused unmentionable agony.

  “Oh, Margaret,” I whispered, rolling her over and checking her back.

  I settled her on her side again, having found nothing of interest, and noticed for the first time that she had bruises on her neck. I reached for the lantern, kindly left me by the inspector, to illuminate the marks. They were the size of fingertips, ringing her throat, the largest pressing in above her hyoid bone. I studied the site; it could well be broken, adding strangulation to the myriad of evil committed in this forgotten alleyway.

  Margaret faced her attacker. She fought back against a blade and superior strength.

  Her murderer looked her in the eyes, while he held her by the throat, immobile, desperate. She’d scratched, clawed at him, I should say. I glanced down at the ground, lifting the lantern high in order to detect faint marks.

  There. A scrape. Another. Scuff marks, all centred in the one place.

  I moved to her feet, checking her shoes.

  She’d hanged by his hold on her neck, while her feet sought purchase and her nails sought release.

  And while he’d stabbed her fourteen times.

  I was reaching for her clothing when I heard Kelly return. Blood would have stained my gloves by now, but I pulled them back in time to hide them from his sight.

  “I must insist now, Anna,” he declared as he came alongside me. I didn’t look up. I knew what I’d find. Not only concern and compassion, but his hand offered to aid me to my feet.

  Ordinarily I’d refuse the assistance; I am not incapable of rising to full height on my own. But my soiled gloves were the dominant reasoning for pushing up from the crouch without his aid, and not making eye contact.

  “I wonder sometimes,” Kelly remarked, moving off from the body, as though that would be sufficient to draw me away. “If you are in fact a lady beneath that independent façade.”

  “Does dependence indicate a lady?” I asked, offering Margaret one last grief filled look.

  By the time I turned to face the inspector, my eyes were dry and my chin was lifted.

  “Or does the simple fact I retain certain anatomical differences signify my sex?”

  “Anna,” Kelly said in a pleading tone. “If you will not act a lady, then please attempt to curb your tongue.”

  I looked up at him, wondering if his words were in fact true. Was that why? He didn’t see me as a lady. He never had. I may dress like one, but to Andrew Kelly I was nothing more than a meddlesome woman demanding acceptance in a man’s world.

  Just like the banker.

  “Very well,” I said, looking down at the ground and frowning. “Thank you for the moment alone with my friend.”

  “Did it help?” he asked, as I began to walk away. The care in his tone was almost my undoing.

  “More than you’ll know, Inspector,” I said, without turning back around.

  The bright light of the wharf blinded me for a moment, as I walked out of the darkened alley, back into civilisation. But not necessarily a world untainted by evil. I’d seen too much of it in my twenty-six years. I’d worked beside my father at some of the most heinous crime scenes there were. Witnessed atrocities. Marvelled at man’s unkindness to man. And then dissected it all afterwards on the sterile environment of a doctor’s slab.

  Drummond’s surgery had not always been his.

  “All right, Miss Cassidy?” Sergeant Blackmore’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Need an escort somewhere?”

  I glanced across at the burly man; his beard a few days past needing refinement. His suit jacket stretched across broad shoulders, hard fought for in pugilist rings. His crooked nose a testament to those activities. A gentle smile curved his lips.

  “He ain’t been too hard on you, has he, miss? The inspector,” he added, as if I hadn’t known who he’d been referring to.

  “I can handle the Inspector, Sergeant,” I offered in way of reply, a smile added to soothe the sting of my words.

  “Aye, that you can, miss,” Blackmore said with enthusiasm. “But can he handle you?”

  The smile froze on my face; unsure how to take that statement. Unsure if I was meant to have heard it.

  I shook my head and glanced around the now cleared area. One thing to be said for the Auckland Central Police Force, they knew how to contain a crime scene.

  “I believe I’ll walk,” I announced, my eyes stuck fast on the makeshift stage. It appeared most impressive for one single election speech. “How long do you think it took them to make this, Blackmore?” I asked, shifting closer to the behemoth and running a hand along the edge of the ruffled fabric draping its sides.

  A noise sounded out from beneath the raised platform, the fabric curtain shifting as though in a breeze.

  “Back, Miss Cassidy,” Blackmore said with authority. “Back now, you hear.”

  I stepped back and allowed the sergeant egress. Looking around the bulk of his shoulders as he pulled his billy club free and lifted the curtain at the side. Two bright shining eyes stared out at us. A hiss followed and then, in a thrice, short legs carried the startled child away.

  “Be gone with you!” Blackmore shouted, taking a few cursory steps in the direction of the ragamuffin, but not offering pursuit. “Damned orphans,” he spat and then doffed his hat in apology. “Forgiveness, miss. Them street urchins been causing all kinds of havoc lately.”

  I watched the child dodge pedestrians as though he’d done this sort of thing a time or two. He scampered over the canal and headed towards the Mechanics Bay dockyard. An area I was certain a child should not roam.

  “Shall I walk with you, Miss Cassidy?” Blackmore offered, no further thought of the orphan in his mind.

  Kelly chose that moment to stride out of the alleyway, his limp barely present today. He spotted Blackmore and myself immediately; the sergeant’s arm out in offering of an escort. A frown marred the inspector’s face, his eyes homing in on Blackmore.

  “I fear your time is better spent here, Sergeant,” I offered, lifting my skirt and starting to walk away.

  “Never think so, miss,” Blackmore offered, only to be spoken over by Inspector Kelly.

  “Miss Cassidy,” he called, forcing me to halt in my escape. I turned slowly to look up at him, but his eyes weren’t on my face.

  My hand fisted tighter on my skirt.

  His eyes narrowed.

  “What part of tampering with the scene,” the inspector announced in a dark voice, “did you not understand?”

  I glanced down at my gloved hand, noting the brightness of the blood against the whiteness of the linen in the sunshine.

  Kelly’s own gloved hand reached out and released my grip from my skirt hem.

  “You leave me little choice, Anna,” he said, voice low and angry. It was not anger at me, as such, I was sure.

  It was anger at having to finally follow through with his threats.

  “At least I’ll be close to the surgery,” I managed to quip.

  “Like hell,” Kelly snapped back. Turning on his heel and dragging me towards his curricle.

  Blackmore stepped forward, mouth open, some form of reprimand for his superior on his tongue. I wished he wouldn’t.

  “Not a word,” Kelly snarled and received a curt nod of the sergeant’s head in reply. Thankfully.

  I let a small breath of air out as Kelly assisted me up the steps of his buggy. Only to suck it back in again, when he pressed ag
ainst my side as he sat on the bench, taking up too much space in the vehicle for my liking.

  “Secure the scene, Sergeant,” Kelly ordered. Hands on the reins, eyes forward already. He looked fit to kill.

  “Right you are, sir,” Blackmore replied, offering me a small, sad shake of his head.

  “Right you are,” Kelly repeated, snapping the reins and making the curricle lurch forward.

  I gripped the edge of my seat, my heart in my throat, the breeze rushing past and blurring my eyes.

  At least, I told myself it was the force of the wind that made me cry.

  And not the man sitting next to me, who I trusted above all others.

  And who, more than once now, had let me down.

  Three

  I Have Grave News To Impart

  Anna

  Not a word was spoken as Kelly navigated the busy traffic on Queen Street. A dog ran across our path, another barked in warning. A phaeton had lost a wheel outside the Imperial Hotel, teetering precariously on its three remaining feet. Ladies promenaded past the Auckland Art Gallery, gentlemen doffed their hats in greeting.

  My memories of London are those of a child’s, but in my mind’s eye, Auckland was the fairer city.

  I held my gloved hands still in my lap as we approached the police station; nerves having got the better of me, making my fingers entwine and my thumb rub repetitive circles above the stains that had given me away. Kelly’s eyes did not venture downward, but I was sure he was aware of the evidence. Not much got past the inspector.

  His grip was tight upon the reins, his jaw set; making a hard platform for his features. I stole a glance from the corner of my eye; his lips pressed into a thin line. Anger had been Inspector Kelly’s companion for only a few short years. But it had made itself at home within him.

  It wasn’t until the curricle had moved beyond the Cook Street Station that Kelly actually spoke, jarring me from my musings. Severing me from memories we both attempted to forget.

  “You wear it well,” he said, not making eye contact. His attention, for all intents and purposes, appearing solely on the horses and our now undetermined route.