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

by Nicola Claire

  The surgery. Not mine. Never to be mine, I feared.

  Chalmers had made his views quite clear on that fact, even after Drummond had embarrassed himself in court. No woman without a degree in medicine would work for the Auckland Police Force.

  I was one step closer to the Degree, a mere ocean away, in fact. But being a woman would always work against me.

  What had seemed the final step, now appeared more like any other on the long road to equality.

  I nodded my head and commented when a comment was required, but I did not truly hear a word my cousin said. Instead my mind was on the trial.

  Mrs Poynton had lost all semblance of sanity by the time she’d faced the judge. Too proud to admit guilt, every single fact had to be wrung out of her. The inspector had stood in the witness box, dressed so formally and so unfairly handsome, condemning the woman with screeds of evidence painstakingly pieced together.

  Margaret Thorley had by chance witnessed an altercation between Mrs Poynton and the orphan, and had started to ask uncomfortable questions of our Suffragette leader. Ethel chose to believe that the ghost of her father had delivered a message; an opportunity for her to continue his works. She’d lured Margaret into that alley behind the deputy mayor’s stage prior to our Suffragette march and killed her. The first of her victims on New Zealand soil.

  The orphan, for his part, had been picking pockets in the dark den. A den Ethel had established with a small bequest her father had left her in his will. She’d been using the dens as a place to test her concoctions, and the orphan’s presence had meant the possibility of the inspector - her father’s nemesis - investigating and ruining her ruse. She’d set about refurbishing the opium house to the glory we’d witnessed, in order to cull the cutpurses out. Increased security and improved clientele had meant the gangs in the dockyard couldn’t risk trespassing there.

  No pickpockets, also meant no police. Until I’d insisted we check there.

  Mary and Helen had been a continuation of her cause. Her father’s cause. Her own need to be accepted. And the Suffragettes had indeed been easy targets. The more Ethel had walked this dark path, the more she’d grown to feel comfortable in it. Losing herself to her alternate consciousness. Finding additional reasons to pick off the Suffragettes one by one.

  It did bring us notoriety, but not the way she’d intended.

  Drummond’s evidence had been far and away the most damning, though. His close association with a murderer painted him in a dark light, and he had been desperate to step out from under it. But the man was no different from the rest of us. Fooled by a mind far more complex and devious than ours. A sick mind, clouded with drugs.

  The doctor’s night time admissions whilst sharing the murderer’s bed, however, explained so much. He knew Ethel Poynton better than any one, and the inspector had ensured that he divulged it all under oath.

  Drummond was the one with the connections. Highly admired in the upper echelons of society, he was privy to much inside information otherwise not available to a woman such as Mrs Ethel Poynton. Sales of buildings - Entrican’s brokering of the Upton Family Trust’s warehouse to the council, for example - were just one avenue for her to explore. She’d had a list of suitable properties to move the dark den to that could have kept her business housed for years to come.

  Mobility meant less chance of detection. Less chance of the police finding out about her scheme.

  Until I’d insisted we check there.

  Much of Ethel’s lineage had been on display in that court room, too. Newspaper reporters with affiliations back in England had sat glued to their chairs as Sir William’s deeds were discussed and dissected. Ethel had spoken with pride; a pride that did nothing for her sentencing. But with the man suspected of being Jack the Ripper dead, little further could be achieved. Save Inspector Kelly’s role in the Whitechapel murders becoming public knowledge. He had a past not many in Auckland had been aware of. A past that was touched on during the trial, but not completely revealed.

  The inspector still had secrets.

  Let him keep them. I was done.

  From there it was a short deduction to ascertain Ethel’s access to Kelly’s barracks. The Police Force had three of the old army barracks to themselves. One was given over to Inspector Kelly. One to the chief surgeon for the storing of additional medical equipment for civil emergencies. And the last to the filing of reports and cases and whatever else the police required to store in an empty, dark place.

  One key opened each and every door.

  Ethel had used Drummond’s key.

  She was in Mt Eden Gaol now. Locked up with the men. The equality she’d sought awarded her in the end.

  I should have been pleased. No more Suffragettes would die at her hands. Instead I felt old. Broken, but not beaten. Never that.

  The carriage pulled up beside the steamship Ionic, its vast hull and chimney stack dwarfing those on the wharf beside it. The dock was bustling, men loading the vessel with passenger trunks, women and children huddled together waiting for their husbands to direct them aboard the steamer, workers of all descriptions hurrying about their tasks before the ship set sail.

  The activity soothed me somehow, making the world brighter and the prospect of what was to come so much more appealing. The voyage would take sixty days. But it would be two months closer to proving who I finally was.

  My father should have been here to see me off on this final step; he would have been so very proud. But when I climbed down from the carriage, it was not him I saw, but Kelly. Standing so still and solemn in the middle of a raging storm. People flowed around him, never jostling him, but parting like waves. He stood head and shoulders above most men, his long coat fitting his broad frame to perfection, his necktie matching the bright blue of his eyes.

  And those eyes were locked on mine.

  Wilhelmina spotted him before too much longer, but it was as if I had been drawn to him from the moment the brougham halted. I walked through the throng, leaving my cousin to deal with our luggage, as if pulled towards the man. A magnetic attraction, a visceral response. One I had no hope of denying.

  He was not mine, and yet he was mine in every single way that truly mattered.

  “Anna,” he said in his deep voice when I came to stop before him.

  “Inspector,” I replied, barely above a whisper. But he’d heard; his eyes closing as though in pain.

  I ached along with him.

  “I had word you were leaving,” he announced, once the dark blue gaze had locked on my face again.

  “Not forever,” I found myself saying, a repeat of Hardwick’s words.

  Kelly looked toward the steamship. “London?” he asked. Then, “Is it because of me?”

  Of all the things he could have said, I had not expected that.

  “I…no…I…” I managed and then he smiled, stilling my words completely.

  “Not everything is because of me, I am aware,” he said companionably.

  I smiled too; it felt so natural, despite it being the first true smile in months to grace my face.

  “No, Inspector,” I murmured. Then reached inside my reticule and pulled the letter out. I handed it to him.

  “The London School Of Medicine For Women,” he read. “Anna!” His smile was blinding. “You’re getting your degree.”

  How could such enthusiasm cause so much agony?

  “I am,” I said simply.

  “Darling,” he said, “that’s fantastic.”

  My heart broke apart and left only slivers.

  He realised his faux pas immediately and cleared his throat, staring off down the wharf as though unable to look at me.

  I would always love him, I realised. No matter what had happened in his past, I would always love him.

  But he was not mine. She lives. She does exist.

  “They have agreed to assess my skills,” I told him, hardening my spine. “I should not have to take the course in its entirety, God willing.”

 
“Your father taught you well,” Kelly agreed.

  “There is always more to learn, Inspector.”

  “And you shall master that too, I am sure.”

  “Andrew,” I said in warning, unable to continue this conversation a moment longer. It hurt, when it shouldn’t have. He had never been mine.

  “It’s all right, Anna. I understand.” He looked sad and desperate and lost all of a sudden. He rubbed the back of his neck and then shifted the weight off his bad leg onto the good.

  “Take care, Inspector,” I said, making to turn.

  But I didn’t make it. In the next heartbeat I was wrapped up in his arms, his lips pressed to mine, our tongues dancing as I fisted his lapels and clung to him for dear life. Each of us lost to the other. His fingers cupping my nape so carefully, even as his arm around my waist pulled me hard against his frame. I felt everything.

  The wharf melted away around us, the world ceased to exist but for this one moment.

  His lips. His touch. His desire.

  “I love you,” he whispered against the side of my neck, his hot breath washing over sensitive skin. “I have no right to, but I do. So help me God, I’m so very much in love with you.”

  He pulled back and looked down at me, and I saw it there, written in the tears of his eyes.

  He loved me.

  But…

  Andrew drew in a long breath of air, lifted his head and looked towards the steamer.

  And then said, “I just wanted you to know before you left.”

  It wasn’t what I wished to hear. It wasn’t a promise or a vow. It wasn’t Andrew Kelly telling me he’d be with me, no matter what.

  I almost said it. I almost laid myself bare.

  Come with me. Forget your wife. I don’t care. Just you. That’s all I need. Just you and me and to hell with the rest of the world. Come with me, please. Be mine.

  But he wasn’t, was he? And the Andrew Kelly I loved would never give himself so freely if he had not that right.

  I smiled; it crushed me. Then I straightened my shoulders, lifted my chin, and walked toward the ship.

  I loved him. And he loved me.

  But he was not mine.

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  A Word From The Author…

  So, writing Fearless was a blast. A blast from the past, you might say.

  I've always had a thing for history; it was my favourite subject at high school, courtesy of a history teacher who absolutely rocked, (thanks, Mr Taffs!), and I also went on to study it at university, so writing a fictional story set in the past seemed like a logical step.

  It took some work to get it right, but I'm inordinately pleased with the finished product. A gripping story (hopefully) set in a gritty world (fingers crossed) with authentic characters as well (IMHO). ;)

  Fearless is part of my heritage in a way, and the fun I had researching Auckland City at the end of the 19th century made me realise how lucky I am to live in this relatively young but extremely adventurous country.

  I did write a rather lengthy and lovely little blurb here for you all, about what was correct historical fact and what had been embellished by my very imaginative mind. But I didn’t want to ruin the mystique.

  However, for those of you who are interested in facts and want to know a bit more about what forms this historical world, then sign on up to my Scarlet Suffragette Readers’ Group and take a peek. I’ve not dissected everything, just noted a few little points that I found kinda worthwhile.

  Oh, and there’s also a link to my Pinterest Page where you’ll get all the goss via pictures! You won't believe how cool Queen Street looks. And the clothes! Oh, my. Love me a bustle or two and those cravats... yum!

  The history behind Fearless - sign-up & dive on in here!

  ❤ Nicola

  About The Author

  Nicola Claire lives in beautiful Taupo, New Zealand with her husband and two young boys.

  She's tried her hand at being a paramedic, bank teller and medical sales representative, (not all necessarily in that order), but her love of writing keeps calling her back.

  She has a passion for all things suspenseful, spiced up with a good dollop of romance, as long as they include strong characters - alpha males and capable females - and worlds which although make-believe are really quite believable in the end.

  There's nothing better than getting caught up in a compelling, intriguing and romantic book.

  When she's not writing or reading, she's out on her family boat at Lake Taupo, teaching her young boys to fish, showing them the beauty that surrounds them in nature and catching some delicious trout for dinner.

  Creating rich worlds with dynamic characters and unexpected twists that shock and awe has been pure bliss for this author. And just as well, because there's a lot more story yet to tell...

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