Heartless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 3): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series

by Nicola Claire

  Anna

  Inspector Elliott took aim, his finger shifted from the side of the pistol to rest against the trigger, and I knew I had a second to act. Drawing my knife from its sheath inside the parasol, I lifted the blade, prayed to God above to forgive me, and slashed at his right arm.

  The pistol fired, but the bullet went wide. Elliott cried out in anguish and then spun and backhanded me. I went over backwards, the knife and parasol still clutched in my hands. My back took the brunt of the fall, and then I was sliding down the metal roof, and the edge of the building was approaching at an alarming speed, and I was screaming as Elliott was raging, his dominant arm now useless, the gun being awkwardly transferred to his left side, and again I had only a second to act before I plummeted to my death.

  I turned the knife around in my hand and thrust it deep into the metal beneath me.

  An ear-piercing screech ensued, and then my momentum slowed until I finally came to rest with my legs hanging off the side of the roof.

  “You!” he shouted, preparing his pistol to fire again.

  His uncooperative right arm hindered his movements, but for once I lamented my physician’s oath to do no harm and wished I’d chopped the damn thing off altogether.

  I peered over my shoulder to see how far the drop would be if I just let go. It was far enough to make me swallow. I turned my attention back to Elliott who had successfully reloaded his pistol at last. He lifted the weapon and sighted down the barrel.

  Broken bones or a bullet to the skull?

  I sucked in a breath, preparing to release my hold on the knife when a gunshot rang out, startling me.

  I almost let go. And then I thought, I should be letting go. But the bullet hadn’t hit me. It hadn’t even been aimed at me. I watched, wide-eyed and breathless as a small bloodless hole appeared in the centre of Inspector Elliott’s forehead. It reminded me of the puncture wounds on the side of the victims’ necks.

  But this was no fantastical creature of the night. This was a small calibre bullet to the frontal lobe of the brain creating instant death.

  Inspector William Elliott collapsed first to his knees and then fell forward. His body slid down the roof toward me, smearing a small amount of blood in his wake.

  I squeaked in surprise, then tried to hook a boot over the edge of the roof to gain purchase, hoping to pull myself out of the way. There wasn’t time. The slope of the roof was such that his body picked up momentum and if I didn’t move, I would be bowled down by a cadaver, which was better than being one, but still.

  Panic engulfed me. I watched as the inevitable approached. And then I let go of the knife at the last moment and fell.

  I had expected a hard landing, but strong arms and a firm chest broke my fall, followed by the expulsion of air as Andrew pulled me to him just in time for Elliott’s body to topple over the edge of the building, flying past us, and plummet to the stack of logs below.

  I stared at its awkward landing and then stared up at Andrew.

  “You caught me,” I said, stunned.

  “I will always catch you, Anna Cassidy,” he said, and then looked across to the building opposite the sawmill.

  He nodded his head to Sergeant Blackmore, who held a pistol in his hands.

  “Blackie,” I said.

  “All right, then, miss?” he called.

  I smiled at him, but I feared my mouth was not fully cooperating.

  “Mrs Hardwick,” I said. “Eliza May.”

  “I pulled Mrs Hardwick from the building,” Andrew advised, as he helped me down from the pile of wood we were standing on. “She is unconscious but I believe will live. I have enlisted the aid of some seamen who came to investigate the flicker of flames from down in the bay.”

  We landed on solid ground just as Blackie climbed down from the building opposite.

  “Eliza May has escaped,” Andrew told him and me at once. “But I believe I know to where she is going.”

  “Where?” I demanded.

  “Queen Street Wharf,” he said. “There is a ship due to sail. This was all planned to the last second, as is every move Eliza May makes.” He looked down at Inspector Elliott’s crumpled form and shook his head. “Although Elliott’s death would not have been a move she expected us to make.”

  “Will it throw her off her game?” Blackie asked.

  “I hope so.”

  The sound of horses’ hooves approached and through the alleyways leading up the hill to the slums emerged the constabulary.

  “Inspector Kelly!” a constable called. “We came as soon as we could, sir.”

  He looked a little worse for wear, but as smoke was not issuing from the slums itself, I had hope the riot had been put down, and most everyone was safe.

  “Take charge here, McQueen,” Andrew ordered. “There is a lady requiring medical assistance with some fishermen in front of the building. Secure the scene and keep everyone away until Sergeant Blackmore or I return.”

  “Yes, sir!” the young lad shouted, saluting.

  Andrew’s lips twitched, but he refrained from smiling. Instead, he helped me up into one of the carriages the constabulary had brought with them. Blackie joined us, and then with sure hands, Andrew encouraged the horse to pull us away.

  “Where is Mina?” I asked the sergeant who was pressed to my side. I felt a little crushed between the two men; it did not help that both were large of frame and took up more space on the curricle’s seat than they should have.

  “I left her with Arabella Mackey in a safe place.”

  “And you will not tell me?”

  Blackie blushed. Then stretched his neck as if uncomfortable and grimaced.

  “My home, if you must know, miss.”

  “Your home?”

  “I’ve just moved house and not told the Force where I ‘ave moved to. There is no record of the address on any file pertaining to me.”

  “Why did you move house?” I enquired, interested enough to continue the conversation despite the speed in which we were travelling and to where and whom we sped our way.

  “Had to move out upon my transfer to Onehunga,” he advised. Andrew stiffened at my side but said nothing. “Upon returnin’ to the city, I decided I needed a change of scenery.”

  “Where did you buy?” Andrew asked.

  “Grafton Road, sir.”

  “That is a solid address,” Andrew remarked mildly.

  “You think so, sir?” Blackie enquired as if he needed his superior’s approval.

  “She will like it,” Andrew said, flicking the reins.

  Blackie blushed and turned to face the front of the vehicle.

  It took a moment and then I realised, it was not his superior he wished approval from, but his friend. Because James Blackmore had purchased in a neighbourhood that would suit a wife.

  He aimed to ask Mina for her hand.

  I smiled to myself as Albert Street approached and the way down the hill to Queen Street Wharf grew nearer. I wondered if Mina would say yes.

  The curricle came to rest on Custom House Street, in amongst the throng of those who had come to see the steamer off. People milled about. Hansom cabs blocked access. Shouts and cries of farewell filled the air as the scent of sea salt wafted towards us.

  With a blast of its horn, the steamer started to move away.

  “Damnation!” Andrew shouted. “It’s leaving already.”

  “Her timin’ is indeed precise, sir,” Blackie remarked.

  Andrew jumped down from the curricle and turned to help me.

  “Go!” I yelled. “Go!”

  He nodded his head and spun away, Blackmore in hot pursuit behind him. I lost them to the crowd, so densely packed as it was. Easing myself out of the buggy, I straightened my skirts, lamented the loss of my parasol, and forced my way into the seething mass of people.

  Elbows connected. Boots trampled. Disgruntled complaints battered me from every angle. But with brute force, of which I decided I did indeed have some, I made it to the other
side of the crowd waving goodbye to their loved ones.

  The steamer had made some distance already, too far to jump and far enough away to require a boat to chase it. But there were no boats attached to the wharf, and all I could see was a swathe of water between us and the vessel.

  Between us and Eliza May.

  I let out a ragged breath, my shoulders slumping. Had we not done everything we possibly could and still the woman was one step ahead of us all of the way?

  I turned away from the sight of the diminishing steamer and scanned the crowd for Andrew and Blackie.

  I found them. But I also found Superintendent Chalmers.

  Who had his beefy hand wrapped around the manacles of a prisoner. I walked closer. The moment almost surreal. The crowd fell away. The sounds of their tears and laughter became a buzz of noise in the background. The world narrowed to the woman on her knees before the superintendent, and to Andrew and Sergeant Blackmore as they peered down at her diminutive frame.

  Bright blue eyes came up to meet mine. A sneer spread across a once beautiful face. Her blonde hair was in disarray. Her expensive dress was smeared in soot and sawdust, completely ruined.

  Eliza May Kelly.

  Mary Moriarty.

  Irene Adler.

  Amelia Drummond.

  “Agnes Elliott,” Superintendent Chalmers was saying. “I am placing you under arrest for murder. Conspiracy to commit murder. Extortion. Arson. And polygamy. I’ll charge you with more when it comes to me. But expect to see the hangman’s noose.” He leaned down and spat in her face. “You picked the wrong country to do your business in, madam. You picked the wrong police force.”

  He stood up again and nodded his head to Andrew and Blackie, and then constables stepped forward and helped him drag the woman away.

  It was over. The axe had not fallen. It was done, and Andrew was free.

  I stood and watched as he turned to face Sergeant Blackmore. A word or two was shared; I did not hear them; I did not think they would have wanted me to in any case. They shook hands. Slapped shoulders. I rolled my eyes.

  And then Blackie walked away, no doubt to check on Mina and Arabella Mackey. And Andrew turned, searching until his eyes landed on me.

  He smiled. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed. His face lit up, and his eyes sparkled, and weight seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders.

  He walked toward me; I could not move an inch. I awaited his arrival with barely contained patience much like I had awaited this day.

  He did not limp, and I puzzled over this for only a moment. His injuries were extensive and would be with him until the end of his days. But they no longer ruled him. No longer trapped him.

  There was more in his life to rejoice than there ever was to mourn today.

  He made my side. Peered down at me. His features soft, his eyes searching.

  And then he fell to one knee before me, his hand reaching for mine, his eyes never leaving my face.

  The wharf morphed into a swirl of brightly coloured flashes around us, Auckland City going about its day as if nothing monumental had happened or was about to happen within it. Our small pocket of the universe was buffeted from its influence as Andrew looked up at me with such love and devotion and a type of hope I had at one time thought I’d never see on his face.

  “Anna Lousia Cassidy,” he said. I sucked in a breath and held it. “I have loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I respected and admired you well before that. I had not ever hoped to find a love like this, for I feared I did not deserve it. Perhaps I still don’t.

  “Yet I cannot imagine a life without you sharing it. I cannot countenance another man in my place. If you will accept a world-weary and worn man such as myself. If will accept my past mistakes and forgive me for them. I promise I will make you a loyal and loving husband. I promise to love you until the end of my days.

  “Anna,” he rasped, as tears welled and spilt down his face. “Will you have me? I am free at last to ask. My heart is yours. My body is yours.” His voice cracked as he added, “My soul is yours should you want it.”

  He crouched before me, heedless of the location and the passersby who had stopped to watch. Not caring of his injuries or the soot that marred my gloves. He said nothing else, waiting. Waiting as I had waited for him.

  I smiled, lifted a hand to cup his face, and leaned down to offer a soft kiss before pulling away.

  “You are mine, Andrew Kelly,” I told him. “You always were. Nothing has changed. But if you mean to ask for my hand in marriage, sir, I think it best you actually say the words as they are intended.”

  “I beg your pardon?” he snapped.

  “You have not asked, Andrew,” I said.

  “I haven’t?” He looked down at himself. At how he was presented. At my hand, as he held it in both of his. Then he lifted his face to look at me and said, “You will make me work for all of it, won’t you, Anna?”

  “Does that scare you?”

  He huffed out a breath and rose to his feet, and then pulled me toward him. His lips hovered over my own as he whispered, “I cannot wait.”

  I smiled. He smiled back at me. And then I arched my brow at him.

  “Well?” I said.

  He snorted. “Marry me, Anna Cassidy. Commit to a lifetime of tormenting me in the sweetest possible ways.”

  I laughed. It was light and free and turned several heads. But the only gentleman’s attention I wanted, no I craved, was Andrew Kelly’s.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” I told him.

  “Then answer,” he demanded in his gruff way.

  I had made him suffer enough, for there was really no chance of the answer ever being anything other than yes.

  “Yes,” I said, and he swooped me up, spun me around, and kissed me.

  And I welcomed the impropriety as I had long ago welcomed this man into the deepest parts of heart.

  Epilogue

  Anna

  Auckland, New Zealand

  September 1893

  We were married at St Paul’s Church on Symonds Street. In front of a congregation of our closest friends and family. It was not the first time Andrew had said the vows. But it was the first time God had been listening. That had been six months ago now, but still, the memory of it warmed me.

  I was interrupted from my musings and the headline that I had just read on the news-sheet by a familiar female voice.

  “Dr Cassidy!” I turned to face Elizabeth Yates. “Oh, I am sorry,” she exclaimed. “For is it not Dr Kelly now?”

  She seemed genuinely pleased to see me, which was a welcomed surprise. I had attended a few suffrage meetings since my marriage and had not seen the woman present. It had made the occasions I had attended both bitter and sweet in equal measures.

  I could not see the lady forgiving me, but then Elizabeth had had harder battles to wage than her brother-in-law’s false arrest and imprisonment.

  “Isn’t it marvellous news?” she said, nodding to the paper. “We have had success.”

  I stared down at the heading I had only just managed to read and smiled.

  THE ELECTORAL BILL.

  Statement By The Premier.

  To Be Sent To The Governor Today.

  It was not an obvious headline, but it said everything that mattered.

  The friends of women franchise and suffrage movement had had its first victory. Here in the Antipodes. In my adopted home of New Zealand. We had succeeded where others worldwide had thus far failed. And I had been a part of that.

  “It is wonderful,” I whispered.

  Mrs Yates reached out and clasped my hand in hers; tears brimmed her eyes. She smiled a beautiful smile at me. One that reached her eyes and encompassed her entire being.

  “We did this, Anna. We fought, and we won. Think what will happen globally? It is our time, is it not?”

  “Yes, Elizabeth. It is our time.”

  She spoke of inconsequential things for a time, her tone one of jo
y and accomplishment, and then she bid me farewell and sped off down the street toward the station. I tucked the news-sheet under my arm and signalled for a hansom as it approached.

  I could not wait to give the news to Andrew.

  Much had transpired since Andrew’s proposal on the Queen Street Wharf. Eliza May’s arrest and subsequent trial had taken months, and although Andrew did not allow the case and its inevitable conclusion to stop him from enjoying his life, it was not until she was found guilty of all counts, as well as those heinous acts she’d performed in London and across the world, that he slept through an entire night peaceably.

  His soul may well have been free in the eyes of the law and God, but until Eliza May met the hangman’s noose did Andrew sleep easy.

  His position at the Auckland Police Force was assured, as the constabulary looked up to him with a type of respect that bordered on reverence. Chalmers’ appearance at the Queen Street Wharf with constables in tow had helped. For, in the end, he had backed his Chief Inspector, and shown his men that Andrew Kelly had his trust.

  Chalmers had explained his appearance at the wharf as simple deduction. That and the fact that Dr Drummond had confessed all. The steamer tickets he’d spied in his wife’s reticule. The date and time of departure that coincided with the breadcrumbs she’d left for us leading to Freemans Bay.

  While the bulk of the constabulary contained the rioting in the slums, Chalmers gathered up a few off-duty policemen and waited for Eliza May to appear at the wharf. She walked right into his trap, for she had not believed Drummond capable of turning on her, nor had she realised the type of man Superintendent Chalmers was.

  He still refused to address me when I went to the station, but my ban had been lifted, and I was free to visit my husband. Dr Drummond had been on probation, but from what Andrew had been willing to tell me, his road to redemption was not a smooth one.

  I did not hold out hope. Chalmers might have backed Andrew in the end, but John Drummond was his friend and not just a colleague.

  Of Inspector William Elliott there had been no doubt of guilt. Not only was he caught red-handed, with a pistol which he used to start a sawmill fire and attempt to trap and kill a chief inspector, but he had also turned the gun on me in front of the observant eyes of a senior sergeant. Blackie took great delight in condemning the man to one and all.