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

by Nicola Claire

  “But to someone with a passing knowledge of science, a personal interest even, a hobby, it would be easy enough to track down.”

  “An apothecary.”

  “Perhaps,” she granted. “There’s no way to know tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “In time to prevent another murder.”

  I shook my head. “There won’t be another murder, we have the Suffragettes completely protected.”

  “No one is completely protected, Inspector. You of all people should know that.”

  Damn and blast. For such a vivacious woman, she had experienced a great deal. Lost an awful lot more. Watched it torn away and never once flinched for its taking. Her father. Her mother. Her aunt and uncle. It made Anna who she is today, and yet I had never wanted anyone to have a different history than I wanted for Anna Cassidy. She deserved better memories. She deserved to be happy.

  Not elbows deep in the vile filth of murderous criminals.

  She was a woman, and even though I knew her to be more capable than any female I had ever met, save one, I desperately wanted Anna to be just that. A woman. Not a surgeon. Not a Suffragette. Not an icon for a self-proclaimed dedication worshipper.

  Just Anna. My Anna.

  But none of my desires would ever come true. I knew this, so I nodded my head, said nothing, and laid another log on the fire. I stared into the flames as I contemplated how to direct this.

  I should have known better. Anna Cassidy would never allow herself to be handled.

  “There is the opium den in Mechanics Bay. I had not heard of it before, but there it is,” she said.

  “You hear of dens frequently?”

  “Of course. In my line of work, it pays to know where my customers come by their ailments.”

  “Through the thin end of a pipe?” I suggested.

  “Among other things.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. “The building is council owned,” she added, as a mere afterthought perhaps.

  “I beg your pardon?” She had mentioned this fact before, but I’d failed to query how she had come by it. I wasn’t missing the opportunity to now.

  “The den,” she said, lifting her hands to the crackling flames. “Near the dockyard. The one you found me outside, just prior to stumbling upon Mary Bennett.”

  “That building is not owned by the council. I checked into it.”

  “It’s not?” Her eyes came up to mine and genuine surprise registered there. “Then who does it belong to?”

  “Why did you think it belonged to the council?” I asked, not answering her question.

  “I..well… Mr Entrican. I was sure that’s what he said.”

  She stared down at her fingernails as though she’d find the answer there.

  “The den exists,” I said slowly. “But the building is not owned by the council. It’s owned by the mayor.”

  “The mayor?”

  “Yes, or rather, his family trust.”

  “Oh,” she said, warming her hands again. “And does he have a son?”

  I started to smile. My god, but she was magnificent.

  “Yes, Anna,” I said, still smiling. “He does have a son. A strapping big one.”

  “Good,” she replied simply, nodding her head.

  “And he has an alibi,” I added, watching that adorable crease emerge between her brows again.

  “Alibis can be fabricated, surely.”

  “You’re grasping at straws, Miss Cassidy.”

  “But at least the straw exists, Inspector. And the den warrants a look.”

  “You sound as though you intend to do the looking,” I remarked, dreading her answer, even as I knew what it would be.

  She turned towards me, grey eyes big and innocent staring up at my face with something other than adoration, but my heart refused to think on it more. She took a step closer, tipped her head to the side and offered her smile, the smile she knows I fall for every time.

  “I know the ins and outs of the drug,” she said softly, her hot breath close enough to feel. “You know the ins and outs of the criminal underbelly.”

  I had to work hard not to laugh.

  “I think we make a fine team.”

  Oh, dear sweet Anna. How much I wanted that to be true.

  “You’re not going to the den,” I said, just as a robust knock sounded out on the door. We both spun to look at the offending portal simultaneously, no doubt with simultaneous looks of panic on our faces.

  Good God, there was nowhere to hide her. I looked back down at Anna as the door opened under the pressure of an urgent hand, and watched as that look I’d just seen, and purposely not identified, flared behind intelligent eyes and a soft smile of welcome followed.

  Calculation. That was it. Calculation. Damn, but the woman was as ever quite adaptable.

  “Sergeant Blackmore,” she greeted enthusiastically. “Just in time,” she added, making my brows arch. “The inspector and I were discussing our trip to the dark den near the dockyard this evening. I assume you’re coming with?”

  Blackie looked first at Anna, then swept amused eyes across the very small space between us to me.

  “Right you are, sir,” he offered.

  “Right you are, indeed,” Miss Cassidy replied, most pleased with herself.

  They both looked toward me expectantly.

  “Bloody hell,” I muttered. “She is not going.”

  “And why not?” Anna asked, that determined look on her face again. “Because I’m a woman?”

  I could feel a corner approach my back.

  “Because you’re not a police officer,” I replied succinctly.

  “But I am a surgeon,” she offered. “I have experience with this narcotic. A great deal, Inspector. More so, I’d hazard a guess, than you.”

  “Anna,” I started. Pleadingly. Why would she not listen?

  “It claimed my mother,” she said, voice lowered.

  Blackmore stilled. I did too. Not that I hadn’t been aware of the cause of Mrs Cassidy’s death. But Anna never spoke of it, even to me. And now she brings it up in front of Blackie?

  “It is to blame for Margaret and Mary’s deaths,” she added. “For our darling Helen’s as well. It has caused so much grief already, Inspector. Have I not earned my uniform? Have I not proved my worth? For what did my father train me? If not to chase the piper and make him pay.”

  I stared at her, aware Blackmore was watching on with silent intrigue. How did I deny her this? Deny Thomas this? When every word she spoke was absolute truth.

  How did I protect her from this?

  When Anna Cassidy asked no man for protection she was not prepared to offer herself.

  She waited patiently for my verdict, as though she’d heed my directive once given. I doubted that, but I couldn’t be sure. Anna could play the part of a lady if she so chose. I just didn’t see her adhering to that concept today.

  She wanted to go. For Margaret Thorley and Mary Bennett. For Helen Nelson and her cousin Wilhelmina the most. But also for her mother, her father, herself.

  And how could I deny this woman that?

  I couldn’t, even though I should. I couldn’t, because I could deny Anna nothing.

  Except myself.

  “Chalmers must not hear of this,” I announced, and watched as Blackie smiled and Anna beamed and all I could see was an approaching darkness.

  God forgive me. But I could deny her nothing, it seemed.

  Except myself.

  Twenty-Four

  Not I

  Anna

  The den was not what I had expected. I’d visited opium rooms before on Grey Street, in Chinatown itself, where the buildings were rundown and the wind whistled through the gaps in the sidings. Mildew gathered in corners and smoke had darkened the ceilings to an orange-brown. Grime provided shelter from street illumination on the windows and the scattered cushions, where those who had partaken of a pipe lay reclined, were frayed and soiled.

  No one seemed to care. Least of all m
y mother. I was told it hadn’t always been that way, perhaps it had started out looking somewhat like the den we walked into now. Painted ceilings depicting clouds with angels holding harps, moulded architraves, and marble looking statues. Chaise longues and silk cushions, velvet curtains tied back with tasselled ropes. Wall hangings in subdued but intricate colours, soft music playing in the background, a leafy plant in one corner, a bird in a gilded cage in another.

  The comparison astounded, my heart breaking open along old wounds.

  “Greetings,” an obsequious Chinese man said, head bowed low, long pointing whiskers scraping his knees, his soft soled boots making no sound as he lightly stepped from foot to foot. “We have finest opium. Guarantee satisfaction. Or perhaps, the lady would like Indian hemp. We have perfect selection for you. Yes?”

  Even though the proprietor was Chinese, his customers were all European. If his countrymen or the natives favoured this recreational drug, then they consumed it elsewhere. This den had been designed with Colonialists in mind. Every gentleman wore a frock coat with well pressed trousers, a waistcoat with a high collared shirt. Their cravats, on more than one, rivalled even Mr Entrican’s in lavish style.

  The women were no less well attired. Tight bodices and long skirts, leg o’mutton sleeves with lace trim, bronzes and aquamarines, aubergines and fiery reds. Their finery and colour matched the lush surroundings. In contrast, my dark weeds looked conspicuous. I forced myself not to fidget and, I admit, not to stare. There were people here I recognised.

  “We are looking for someone,” Inspector Kelly advised the still bowing welcomer. He bobbed, the Chinaman. Up and down and down and up, again and again. He would not stand still, and yet I was sure he did not trial the substances himself. His was a nervous energy.

  I wondered if he knew who we were. Or at least, knew who the inspector was. Sergeant Blackmore had remained outside, hidden but watching. Keeping an eye on the only exit to ensure we did not miss anyone leave.

  “No. No,” the man exclaimed. “You try. You try. Got product. Sound product. See for yourself. They enjoy. Yes?”

  He indicated the lounging bodies, some quite insensible, others watching us languidly, small smiles of amusement on their lips as if they knew a secret and we did not. Puffs of smoke drifted to the ceiling, bubbles sounded out to the side as opium cooked. The smell was cloying and almost sickly, and yet there was something quite liberating about those who lay here; uninhibited; unashamed; sublimed.

  Their mouths parted as though in bliss. Their lids heavy, limbs relaxed. The atmosphere was at once indulgent and also quite frightening. To lose control to that extent and not even care when strangers gazed upon them? I wanted to avert my eyes from embarrassment on their behalves. But why should they feel embarrassed? The smoking of opium was a common enough indulgence, one that had taken the middle class by storm. In London alone it was considered de rigueur to smoke a pipe or consume a syrup if the need arose to remedy a pulmonary ailment.

  “We should like to observe,” Kelly said in answer to the little man.

  “No watch. Try,” came his immediate reply.

  “Fifteen minutes, no more,” I advised, stepping up beside the inspector. “We’ll watch while you prepare.”

  The Chinaman nodded enthusiastically, turning his attention to me; the obvious opium expert.

  “Have batch ready to go,” he said, nodding and bowing his head again.

  “I have no way of knowing how long that opium has been above flame. Fifteen minutes, no more,” I threw back. “We’ll sit over here and wait.”

  “As you say, nǚ shì,” he said, bowing again and turning away.

  The inspector followed behind as I approached a corner of the room where we could observe without being too obvious. A fern stood to one side, hiding us from the doorway, but allowing vision through the fronds. The chaise was in pristine condition, the colours vibrant although not loud. I sat down and at once felt embraced by fine upholstery and padding. Nothing had been spared here, the cost of a pipe would undoubtedly be high. I watched on as I waited for the inspector to join me. His eyes narrowed while he perused our fellow pipers.

  With reluctance he sat beside me, making the chaise suddenly feel too small.

  “We cannot consume the opium,” he said in a low voice.

  “I have no intention of smoking today,” I replied steadily, following his gaze as he assessed each man in the room.

  None seemed big enough to be our killer, but perhaps height was all that was required if phenylisopropylamine was also consumed. It was difficult to asses height with the positions of those lounging on pillows, but two men stood out as possible candidates.

  Kelly turned to look at me finally, his jaw set, his back rigid.

  “This will not do,” I announced. Leaning back and effecting a relaxed pose. Kelly’s eyes darted down to my bodice and then quickly away as his face flared pink.

  “Relax, Inspector,” I whispered. “You’re about to enjoy yourself.”

  His face went from pink to red in an instant. One had to wonder exactly what thoughts were careening through his head.

  “There are two possible gentlemen who fit our criteria,” I advised, offering the man a distraction.

  “I’ve seen them,” Kelly remarked, attempting to relax into his side of the chaise. “Of course, the chances of our man being here are not great.”

  I looked around the room and realised he was right. We needed to question the guests, but to do so under the watchful eye of the Chinaman was not an easy ask.

  “I do not think this establishment runs cheap,” Kelly offered quietly as he fingered the fine fringe on the chaise. “The standard of dress alone would indicate a higher level of clientele. Quite remarkable,” he commented mildly. “To establish this near the dockyard so quickly and not have the Police Force made aware.”

  “It’s temporary,” I said, earning a raised brow in reply.

  “What makes you think so?” he asked, but I gathered from his tone that he had already assessed the structure as such.

  “The wall hangings, the floor coverings, the plants, statues, tables and chairs,” I offered. “All of it is removable. The architraves are undoubtedly detachable in some fashion as well. The fresco one quite quickly drawn. This den is mobile, Inspector. Its owner has grand plans.”

  He blinked down at me and then slowly shook his head.

  “It never fails to amaze me how astute your mind is.” He looked around the room again and said quietly, “The building was indeed not as it appears two days ago. It has been manufactured swiftly and secretively, but I’d hazard a guess, someone heard them doing it. This could not have been accomplished completely unobserved.”

  He was right, but like me, perhaps those hearing the noises of the construction dismissed it for a boat at a wharf loading goods. That’s what I had done, when I’d heard the thumping the night we found Mary. I glanced around the space again, considering. A den transformed, but why? It had served its purpose when the cutpurse orphan led us here. But now a vagabond child would stand out. Only gentlemen and ladies lounged debauchedly. Any loose coin quickly snatched up by the Chinaman.

  Who, in that instant, approached from the far side of the den.

  He brought a tray with him, on which stood two most delicate looking pipes. Long stems, intricately carved saddles moulding seamlessly into delightfully decorated bowls. Mine was the white of ivory. The inspector’s almost black in the low candlelight, but closer inspection revealed it to be jade. I reconsidered my assessment of the ivory, and decided it was instead bone. These two pipes had been made here, in New Zealand. And made well.

  “Such beautiful pieces,” I remarked, as he handed me mine. “Did you carve them yourself?”

  “Not I, nǚ shì. But my kin. My family made pipes for Emperors,” he said with obvious pride.

  “They are exquisite,” I offered, accepting the pipe with two hands. “Your kin are very talented.”

  “Thank you, nǚ shì.
Only the best for new client.”

  Kelly said nothing as he accepted his offering. But he’d clearly handled a pipe before, though my guess was the substance burned was tobacco not opium.

  “Good sir,” I said, before the Chinaman could turn away. “You mentioned Indian hemp. What else does your establishment provide?”

  “Opium enough for nǚ shì. You no need more.”

  “Quite right,” I said, lifting the pipe to my lips. I spoke around it, as my mother had been wont to do. Then leaned back and got comfortable, as though the practice was familiar and quite anticipated. The latter was not, but the former, from observation, unfortunately was. “My mother has progressed from the dream stick,” I said, a puff of smoke emitting from the sides of my lips. “She does not always find the euphoria that she has relied upon in the past. More often than not it is only sleep. I would like to bring her here, should you think your establishment could offer her more than others.”

  “Ours best in city. You no find better.”

  “I’m sure,” I said, letting another stream of smoke blow up toward the ceiling. Kelly was sitting rigidly again, failing to play his part. I could practically feel his alarm and concern and, if I wasn’t mistaken, rage.

  At me? At my act? Or did he think I was truly inhaling?

  “Good, yes?” the Chinaman asked. I opened my eyes languidly, and smiled.

  “For me, yes.”

  “But not mother?”

  My head shook, a tendril of hair tumbling down to my shoulder.

  “She needs more.”

  “I have more,” he advised. “Bring her. I show you.”

  “Show me now.” Kelly’s hand came out and wrapped around my fingers, he squeezed them slightly in warning. “Never mind,” I said, letting the pipe rest on my lap and my head loll to the side.

  The Chinaman smiled, but I did not see him leave, it was the inspector who caught my attention.