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

by Nicola Claire

  Fashion was also a worthy cause for Mr Entrican to support, it seemed.

  Mina shifted in the seat beside me. Helen resisted the urge to reach out and comfort my cousin with her hand. If I didn’t wrap this up quickly, and with success, things would devolve rather quickly.

  “I too have a worthy cause to represent, Mr Entrican,” I offered, noting the small smile that graced his lips. He was not unintelligent, this man. Quick to determine the ruse before him.

  “This meeting has nothing to do with the building in the dockyard, does it, Miss Cassidy?”

  I blushed slightly at the obvious trick I’d played to gain access. Then lifted my chin and offered a self-deprecating smile.

  “You are a difficult man to see.”

  “I am a busy man,” he countered. “Elections,” he added, with an amiable shrug of his shoulder.

  “And perhaps that is why it has all of a sudden become quite onerous for my sisters and yourself to meet.”

  “You’re a Suffragette,” he guessed, his eyes washing over me and settling on Wilhelmina and Helen. “And you, ladies? Are you too as tenacious as Miss Cassidy?”

  “Not quite,” Helen offered. “Miss Cassidy is indeed a force to be reckoned with. We follow in her awesome wake, mere shadows to her brilliance.”

  I raised an eyebrow at my cousin’s friend. Then caught the amusement on Mr Entrican’s face.

  “We had hoped to approach you at your election speech,” I offered.

  The amusement fell from his face. I immediately hurried on.

  “Circumstances have meant we must resort to grander methods.”

  “Grander than a protest rally?” he enquired.

  I found my head nodding, before I’d even opened my mouth. “Hence my deception, sir.”

  A small smile curved his lips, but it could hardly be called jovial.

  “Your idea, Miss Cassidy, I assume?”

  This wasn’t going well.

  “You assume correctly, Mr Entrican.”

  “And this is a usual occurrence for you?” What was he getting at?

  “I fear I am more forthright than some of my counterparts.”

  His eyes darted to Helen. Or maybe Wilhelmina, it was difficult to say. What was obvious was that the deputy mayor knew my companions were here as moral support only, and not as dedicated to the cause as I. Worry festered within me, wondering if this would paint me in an hysterical light. Men so often accused women of overacting. Obligating ourselves to causes with complete vigour and total focus. Throwing our minds to something that wasn’t worth our endeavours, in their regard.

  I looked back up at the depictions of Mr Entrican’s Mechanics Bay. Of his “heart” to our great city. Men and women weren’t so dissimilar. Both capable of obsessions that claimed all sanity.

  My obsession was not insane. I only wished to be accepted in my father’s environment. I’d taken the first steps to achieving that, satisfaction fuelling me with the necessary verve required.

  “I believe in the Suffrage movement, Mr Entrican,” I announced. “I believe in it with my whole heart. To me, it is the future for our great nation. Essential to growth of this city. I also believe we must nurture this heartbeat, as you have nurtured yours.” I nodded towards the paintings on his wall. “To always acknowledge its importance,” I added, repeating his words back to him, “and never fail to remember its necessity.”

  His smile broadened, becoming a truly warm thing. Slowly he lifted his hands up and began to clap; the sound echoing throughout the room and making Mina jump like a startled cat.

  “Well done, Miss Cassidy. I can picture you a whirlwind on the election trail.”

  “If only that too were a possibility,” I offered demurely.

  “My dear girl,” he said, shifting forward in his seat. “That would be a travesty.”

  Oh, no.

  “How on earth would I win favour, if I had to run against the likes of yourself?”

  Mina giggled, then surreptitiously covered her mouth with her gloved hand. Helen attempted to look serene.

  I pulled the petition from the folds of my skirt and Mr Entrican began to laugh.

  “Sir,” I started.

  “No need, I know exactly what that is. And you wish for me to represent you in local government; the first step towards entreating Parliament to take on your franchise. Correct?”

  I nodded my head, unsure just how this would now proceed. The man was most difficult to interpret.

  “You have shown support for our movement in the past,” I explained, acutely aware that his situation had changed. Elections tended to do that to a man.

  “And I am inclined to do so again,” he replied, stealing all air from the room.

  “Thank you,” I finally said, my words barely above a whisper. I stood up, making the deputy mayor match my movements, and handed over the petition with great care. “May I ask what has convinced you?” I enquired, unable to get the thought out of my head that something had transpired here to change his mind. Something monumental, in the great scheme of things.

  “You, Miss Cassidy,” he said simply. His eyes flicking across the room to Wilhelmina and Helen. “And the disparity between your conviction and those of less ardour.”

  Mina and Helen rose to their feet also, misplaced looks of guilt and shame crossing their features.

  I wanted to argue their defence, but I am capable of some political machinations. Our cause was being furthered because of their lack of enthusiasm compared to mine. It was a trite reason, but it was reason enough for Mr Entrican to show his support.

  Perhaps he wished to convince those less involved than myself. Perhaps he’d faced this sort of imbalance before in his own rise to the top of local politics. I didn’t wish to rule the city. I just wished to do my part; in my father’s surgery; for the Police Force. For all those who fell who needed a voice.

  Maybe it was selfish of me. Maybe I wanted this petition to succeed for reasons that pertained only to myself.

  Whatever my transgressions, I allowed Mr Entrican his opinion without offering a counter.

  I allowed him to think less of my companions than I did myself.

  “Passion is the life blood of a nation, Miss Cassidy,” Mr Entrican advised, as he walked around his desk to show us out. “Never lose it, nor your convictions. The lesser mind is swayed by distraction. The greater is committed regardless to its course.”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of that. A strained glance was shared between my companions.

  “I abhor distractions,” he suddenly murmured, as though talking to himself. It was the nervous rustle of Mina’s skirt that brought him back to the room momentarily.

  “Quite,” I managed, and watched on dumbfounded as he picked up my gloved hand and offered the back a delicate kiss. But, I noticed, he did not issue the same courtesy to my cousin or her friend.

  It was with great haste that we exited the building some brief moments later.

  Great haste and a bizarre mixture of bemusement and pride.

  We’d done it! But at what cost?

  Eleven

  He Knows Me

  Anna

  I stared at the letter on my drawing room table. The penmanship was sloppy. The wording grammatically incorrect. The message delivered in blood-like red ink. But it wasn’t the missive that had me incapable of movement. Nor the words so taunting and vile.

  The barbarism was magnificent. The reality horrific.

  Mary’s tongue, for it could only be hers, lay in a box to its side.

  I let a slow breath of air out and then picked up the small container that had been delivered by standard mail, addressed to myself, and walked into my surgery, ringing the bell for our housekeeper once I was there. I placed the parcel down on my workbench and turned as Mrs Hardwick entered through the still open door.

  “Please send for the inspector, Mrs Hardwick,” I announced. “Tell him it is urgent.”

  “Yes, miss,” she said immediately, ducking ba
ck out to the hall.

  I stared after her for a long moment, and then crossed the small space and shut and locked the door. It would do no good for Wilhelmina to barge in here. Nor Mrs Hardwick again. I needed a moment to gather my thoughts.

  I turned around and looked across the surgery to the bench. My fingers twitched with the desire to investigate further. My stomach flipped with the vulgarity of the task. My father had insisted a good surgeon empathised with their patients. And distanced themselves from their cadavers.

  Somehow I couldn’t seem to distinguish between the two right then. Mary had been a friend. So had Margaret. Their slain bodies an injustice that caused me such grief I was stunned to have been able to function at all. But my training had risen to the fore. My assessments, at the time, had been perfunctory, necessary. A requirement needed in that moment to ascertain what had transpired. And ultimately help prevent it again.

  But my examination of Margaret had not prevented Mary’s demise. And now this.

  Had it been I who had dissected a part of Mary’s body, I was sure my reaction would have been different. My goal one of information, not terror. My only desire to help prevent more deaths.

  Not provoke fear and disorder.

  Who was this man to taunt so? To vilify and revile. To abuse and debase.

  I found myself beside the letter again, my hand reaching out to straighten the paper, better to reread the words.

  Dear Miss Cassidy,

  Your endeavours to rouse your sisters have brought me such entertainment.

  Your dedicated cause, your strength of character.

  ‘Tis a shame that they fall short.

  But I shall promise no such failing. For I see now just how my work shall unravel.

  I applaud you for your direction. For your example to one and all.

  A token of my appreciation lies herein. Accept my humblest thanks and count me among your finest followers.

  Yours in truth only,

  SF

  I made a small sound of distress as I sat myself down in a nearby chair. Many of the words had been misspelled, some letters had been written backwards. Punctuation marks were in the wrong places and the hand that had written this atrocious message had clearly shaken to such a degree that deciphering some words had been merely achieved with educated guesses.

  And yet I’d understood every stroke of the nib, every slash of ink on parchment. Every word.

  My hand came up and covered my mouth as I leaned forward trying not to expel my earlier breakfast. It was late-morning and I had patients scheduled for this afternoon. I needed to prepare my surgery, restock certain tinctures and medicines that were threatening to run out.

  But for the life of me I couldn’t seem to move from my perch on the edge of my seat. I couldn’t seem to stop staring at the letter, a feeling of unmitigated horror seeping into my chilled frame.

  I glanced across at the fireplace, noting that Hardwick had stoked it this morning, but it was down to embers again. I knew I should have risen and placed more wood upon the dwindling flames, but all I could see was Mary’s cut face, and the gaping black hole of her tongueless mouth.

  A shudder raced through me and then another and another, and soon I was hiccoughing with the effort not to sob out loud. I frantically reached for the letter, turning it face down with shaking hands. Then covered the small box up with a crisp, clean cloth from a folded pile to the side of my bench. Out of sight, but not out of mind.

  Willing myself to be the daughter my father had raised, I stood on trembling legs and crossed to the fireplace. Adding two or three logs and watching silently as they eventually took hold and warmth began to seep into my frame, into the darkened room. Into the shadows that lurked in the corners. That invaded this world I’d chosen to walk through.

  I am a surgeon. I was trained by the best. And very soon, the world would know it.

  My eyes alighted on another letter, a much finer letter than the one the murderer had sent. I crossed to the armchair beside the fire and sat down, picking the note up and staring at the letterhead. A small smile briefly alighted upon my lips, and then I folded the missive up and placed it beneath a book on the table.

  I couldn’t countenance such promising thoughts when there were still so much darker ones to be dealt with.

  I straightened my shoulders, took one last look at the roaring flames in the hearth, and then stood up and crossed to my workbench. Removing the makeshift cover, I opened up the box and stared at the necrotic organ within. No longer red, the tongue was now black with a bluish hue. No blood marred the pristine innards of the parcel. It lay nestled in the bottom on soft, whisper thin paper. Such fine paper that it made me wonder just where our illiterate murderer could have come by rich stationery as this. The packaging alone would have been a sign of wealth, but the paper the letter was written on indicated the same. Thick card, a delicate flower embossed in the top right hand corner. I couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but I was sure the inspector eventually would.

  I returned my attention to the tongue, noting the precise line of cut along the base of it. The knife used for this would have been sharp. Matching, at a guess, the one that had sliced Mary’s cheeks. There was also no sign of hesitation, the cut clean. Determined strikes by the time he’d reached her face. I wondered just what the slice to her thigh had looked like. Whether Drummond had ascertained yet the type of blades used. Confirmed that there had been two.

  He was growing bolder, the murderer. Margaret’s demise one of uncontrolled fervour. Mary’s still harried, but time taken after death to present his message. And just what was his message?

  I looked back at the letter and let out a frustrated breath of air. First he emulates Jack The Ripper. Now he uses my cause as reason enough to silence his victims. But here is where confusion reigned. Because although he purported to applaud my direction and example to one and all. He killed two of my fellow Suffragettes. Who also believed in the same direction and example as myself.

  It didn’t make any sense. Why silence a Suffragette with one breath and then congratulate another with the next?

  A knock sounded out on the door to the surgery, making me jump slightly in my seat and spin around to face the noise. My heart raced unexpectedly; from fear; from anticipation.

  I was involved in this now. There was no way the inspector could cut me out summarily.

  Straightening my skirts, I crossed to the door of the surgery and turned the lock. The door swung open on well oiled hinges and I stared up into the stark face of Inspector Kelly.

  “Miss Cassidy,” he greeted in his customary level tone. No hint of his pleasure or displeasure at being called here. No indication that he was indeed pleased to see me again.

  I shouldn’t have looked for it. I’d stopped looking for it a long time ago now. But my emotions were raw from the macabre delivery. From the inexplicable pull I felt as I was drawn further and further into these killings.

  And not in a fashion I could support.

  “Inspector Kelly,” I replied, standing aside to let him step in. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  “Your messenger said it was urgent,” he announced, walking into the surgery, his cane striking the wooden floor in firm taps, his eyes taking in every space, clear or cluttered.

  He crossed to the fire and turned his back to the heat, his cane resting at an angle, his weight all on his good leg. His deep blue eyes alighted on me as I shut the door behind us and turned the key. A dark eyebrow slowly rose up his brow.

  “What, pray tell, is so urgent and, it appears, also so secretive?” he enquired pleasantly. The tone of voice one I had heard him use when he was interrogating an unknown suspect on the street.

  As I was known to the man, I could only assume the avenue of conversation was what had the inspector so on guard.

  I stared at him a moment, then forced myself to move from my frozen position toward the bench. It was not the time to decipher Kelly’s reticence to be alone in my company
. I had enough emotions swilling about my body to keep me distracted for now. I needed not add any more.

  “I received a delivery,” I declared, nodding towards the parcel and letter. “A rather disturbing one.”

  I stood to the side as he approached the small box. He didn’t reach out to touch a thing, merely leaned forward and peered at the letter briefly, then directed his eyes to the tongue lying in fine paper as if a precious jewel being presented to a queen.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered, clearly unsuspecting of such a thing. “This came to your house?” His eyes searched my face, hovering over my lips as I bit them and nodded.

  “Just on an hour ago,” I admitted.

  “Can you confirm that is a human tongue?” he asked, lifting a pencil off the bench and using it to move the tongue aside inside its box. Nothing of note lay beneath it; I’d already checked.

  “It is indeed human, and I’d hazard a guess the cut matches Mary’s.”

  He let a slow breath of air out and finally reached for the letter, placing the pencil down on the table beside it. He read in silence. His chest puffing out more and more as agitation suffused his entire frame. His eyes glinting like dark shards of the deepest sapphire.

  “He knows you,” he eventually said, the letter almost crumpled in his tight fisted grip.

  “He knows of me,” I corrected. “I am hardly unknown in these parts.”

  Kelly turned his head and looked hard at me, then tapped his cane down firmly on the floor.

  “He does not know of you as a doctor,” he said, beginning to pace. I watched on, fascinated that his limp was invisible when he was riled to such a degree. Almost as though he blocked out all erroneous sensations; such as the pain from his injury. “But as a Suffragette,” he concluded.

  “I agree,” I murmured, moving toward the fireplace in the hopes that he would follow. The less he paced now, the better for his pain tolerance later in the day.

  “Two Suffragettes murdered and a third targeted in a parody of Jack The Ripper,” he said curtly.