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

by Nicola Claire

  The deputy mayor was in deep conversation with the ageing current mayor, Mr Upton. His support of Mr Entrican blatantly obvious. The old man clapped the younger on the shoulder, murmured words of encouragement, and smiled up at him with obvious pride. Mr Entrican had at least one vote and the closeness witnessed was a further nail in his coffin. If the mayor did indeed own the building near the dockyard which housed the dark den, then his close friendship with Entrican could explain the deputy mayor’s use of the venue as an opium house.

  I only hoped the mayor himself was innocent.

  A large crowd had gathered in front of the stage, perhaps hoping for another spectacular event to transpire and delay proceedings. The Auckland Militia Guard were in full force, as to be expected. As well as one or two uniformed police officers, their presence designed to not raise alarm bells for the murderer, whereas their complete absence may have.

  Of course there were more constables out of uniform dispersed amongst the audience. I tried to spot them, but I did not know every constable by sight. Many had come and gone in the past ten months since my father’s death. The lure to Wellington was undeniable and the troubles in the north meant more experienced officers were shipped where needed most.

  I did spot Constable Mackey, but as to Sergeant Blackmore and Inspector Kelly, I could not say. They hid themselves well.

  The turn-out seemed to please Mr Entrican, who straightened his puffed up cravat, today a blood red that brought to mind too recent imagery, and nodded his head to his mentor and senior councillor, as the mayor took the podium to introduce his protégé.

  A hush ran through the crowd, and those in the cordoned area with me even held their breaths. If Entrican truly believed this was not a big event, he’d failed to impart that knowledge to his closest supporters.

  The mayor cleared his throat and then sucked in a breath of air. When he spoke he held authority, his words clear and crisp, despite his frail frame and stooped stature. His voice carried well, years of having to project it standing him in good stead, at a guess. I found myself wondering if Entrican could pull off such a feat.

  “You all know me,” the mayor said. “Some of you may have even voted for me a time or two.” A few chuckles were heard in the crowd and some enterprising individual shouted, “Never!” The mayor ignored him. “And I’d like to think together we’ve made this city what it is today. Look around you!” he called out. “See those buildings? See how far they stretch? We did that. We did it together, as a team.”

  He smiled, a fond smile, as though Auckland city were his child and she was finally growing up and leaving him.

  “But I’m old, too old for what needs to be done next. Too old to see this through. It’s time I stepped aside and let the young blood take this beautiful city where it needs to go.” He turned to look at Entrican, standing just to the side, not quite on the stage itself. He held out a hand, waving the deputy mayor onto the platform and then returned his attention to the crowd and shouted, “And I know, with all my heart, that this young man here is the man to do it. He’s been part of my team for the past three years. A more dedicated and trustworthy public servant I have yet to see. I intend to leave this great city in good shape and good hands, and James Entrican is just the man for it.

  “I give you Auckland’s next mayor, Mr James Entrican!”

  The introduction couldn’t have been more favourable, murmurs of pleasure surrounded me, even Drummond clapped his hands most vigorously. Entrican was indeed a crowd favourite.

  The mayor shook hands with his hopeful replacement and then shambled off the stage, leaving Entrican to his moment of glory. But the moment was brief.

  As soon as the crowd quietened down from its exuberant welcome and greeting, a man in a plaid jacket and off-white shirt, his waistcoat complementary shades of russet and green, stepped up to the platform and demanded, “Mr Deputy, enough of this grandstanding, what say you of the murders?”

  The crowd stilled, a collective breath drawn in, and then the man who’d posed the question reached into his inside jacket pocket, making several men who surrounded him take swift steps back. But he did not pull a pistol out, or anything of a threatening nature at all. He produced a small notepad and pencil and proceeded to flip through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

  Entrican, for his part, stood stock still, completely caught off guard. His composure dented but not shattered, he straightened the fluff of material at his neck and cleared his throat.

  “Sir, it is neither the time nor place to address these concerns,” the deputy mayor pointed out. “But I shall be more than willing to hear what you have to say at the close of this speech.”

  “Hold your speech, Entrican,” the man rebuffed, lifting his pad up to eye level and saying, “Margaret Thorley. Mary Bennett. And one Helen Nelson so far.”

  I’d heard my fellow Suffragette’s names time and again. Said them myself in connection with these murders. But to have someone else, someone I did not know, no doubt they did not know either, banter about their names in such a public manner, had my mind spinning and my heart thumping and a dizziness to cloud my brain.

  Wilhelmina let out a small whimper of distress, the few other ladies in attendance all gasped in shock. But it was the men, the men who ruled this city, this country, our society, that started to clamour for more. More information. More answers. More details. More.

  I didn’t want to listen, but I forced myself to pay attention, even as words flew over one another, voices raised, shouts and cries for order abounded, and a clamour for information overlaid Mina’s soft sob at my side as her hand reached for mine and she began to shudder.

  “Three of our women cut down and the mayor’s office have done nothing!” the man with the notepad exclaimed. I realised, then, that he was a reporter, a journalist for the newspapers.

  The story was obviously out, no longer kept secret by the police inspector. Had he planned this? Was this Kelly cornering Entrican?

  “In fact they have done everything in their power to keep this news from us. It was by chance my newspaper discovered this story,” he announced, turning toward the crowd. Now his audience. “If I hadn’t, how many more deaths would there have been before the deputy mayor decided to tell us?”

  “Have you caught him?” someone yelled.

  “Where’s the justice!” another added.

  “Save our women,” someone pleaded.

  And then utter chaos ensued.

  Entrican had not said another word, just stood on the stage as the crowd mobbed and his speech again got derailed. No murder this time, but the talk was of nothing but death. The demands for knowledge became threats for vengeance. The deputy mayor’s safety held in the balance.

  I looked around for the mayor, but he’d been whisked away. I searched for Inspector Kelly and Sergeant Blackmore, but wherever they were, they were too far from the stage to reach Entrican.

  The crowd surged forward. People started to panic. Screams could be heard and those in the family and friends area with us began to depart, not staying to see what fate awaited Entrican, but eager to save themselves before the scene became much more chaotic.

  I stood up, as Mina started to hyperventilate, trying to search for a friendly face amongst the melee. The stage was being rocked, and rubbish and fruit were being hurled at the deputy mayor’s head. The Militia Guards were trying their best to regain order, but too much confusion reigned, and too few police officers in uniform were present to gain control.

  The mob surged again, knocking over chairs and pressing in towards us. The stage let out a screech of defiance, and then Entrican was yelling and people were shouted and objects were being hurtled through the air. Something hit my shoulder, the pain making me lose my grip on my parasol, and then Mina slumped forward in her seat as though she had fainted. I scrambled toward her, but as soon as I lifted her head from her chest, blood coated my hand. Thick and viscous, scarlet red.

  I stared at my fingers for too
long, not frightened, although that emotion was there, but more transfixed. How had this happened so quickly? Such volatility come from such order. It had transpired in a matter of seconds.

  I swallowed past a dry throat, and then made a move to assess Mina, only to be shoved out of the way as a dark shadow loomed above me and a familiar and unwanted voice growled, “Well, don’t just stand there, you stupid chit. If you’re going to play at being a doctor, you’d better start acting like one.”

  “Drummond,” I said, disbelieving that the craven drunkard had remained when others had fled.

  “Watch and you might actually learn something, woman. But I’m not holding my breath.”

  He began assessing Wilhelmina’s head, his large fingers gentle as he probed the injury site. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wrapped the material around Mina’s temples. Staunching the flow of blood. All this achieved in less than a heartbeat. There were reasons why Drummond was the chief surgeon, reasons I chose to ignore more often than not. They didn’t suit my cause.

  A lush he may well be, but the man did know medicine.

  “Come on,” he said, moving himself to one side of Mina’s body. “We’d best get her to a surgery. She’s taken a bad knock to the head.”

  I stood frozen for a moment, worry and panic welling inside. I was meant to keep her safe from harm. Kelly was meant to keep us both safe from Entrican. But Entrican was not here and Mina needed my help. And if Drummond was the only man gentlemanly enough to remain behind to aid us, then I’d swallow my pride and accept the hand offered.

  I jumped into action, rounding the free side of my cousin, and lifted her weight up from under her arm.

  “Bloody hell,” Drummond swore. “For a moment there I thought you were about to break down. How the blazes have you managed to hoodwink so many into believing you’re a physician?”

  “I am well trained, sir,” I announced through gritted teeth, as we took Mina’s insensate body and began to carry her away from the roaring crowd.

  “Could have fooled me,” Drummond grumbled and then swore blue murder when someone managed to land an apple to the side of his face. He stumbled slightly, but held his footing, swinging Mina around into his arms in the next instant, mumbling something like, “If you want the bloody job done properly, do it your bloody self.”

  I stumbled after them, keen to leave the noise and destruction behind, not caring in that second where we were going, just wanting Mina safe, and I will admit, wanting the same for myself. The fact that our companion and saviour was none other than my nemesis was irrelevant. At least, I told myself that, in any case.

  “God have mercy,” I whispered quietly, the prayer drowned out by a loud crack and the sound of the stage collapsing. I glanced over my shoulder, but I could not see Entrican, only an approaching dust cloud announcing the arrival of reinforcements from the police station.

  Order would be returned soon, but not before more people were injured. I saw a man go down not more than three feet away. Blood gushing from an open wound on the side of his face. Another swung a bottle towards the head of an already staggering gentleman, dressed in fine clothes and clutching a top hat. The glass shattered. The top hat rolled towards my feet. I looked down at it, and then back up at where the owner had been. But a mass of bodies had already consumed him. Alive or dead, I did not know.

  “Cassidy!” Drummond shouted. “Pull it together, woman!”

  I jumped again at Drummond’s gruff command, realising I was falling behind. But it took little effort to catch up to him. Every turn he made, he came up against a seething mob of people. Glass breaking. Cries of pain sounding out. Blood splattering starkly in the softening light. The mass of rioters moved and swayed, as though alive.

  There was no way out.

  I scanned the crowd again for Inspector Kelly. I would have gladly settled for Constable Mackey, as well. But all I could see were angry faces and hard bodies and chaos. I clung to the back of Drummond’s long coat, allowing him to offer a buffer. But even sheltered as I was behind his large frame, I was constantly rocked into and knocked aside.

  I feared for Wilhelmina; so fragile in Drummond’s hold. But salvation came in a firm and determined shout, in tones I’d long become familiar with.

  “Over here!” Mrs Poynton called, somehow her voice carrying over the melee. “I’ve found an alley!”

  Thank the heavens for the Suffragettes. Of course Ethel would be here.

  I followed behind, keeping my head down and my shoulders hunched, and my hand fisted in Drummond’s jacket. The alleyway was one that led to Fort Street, I realised, and the welcome shelter of the Imperial Hotel. It could not come soon enough, to my mind.

  Sounds disappeared as soon as we rounded the corner of the last building, as though a veil had been lowered over this part of downtown Auckland, shutting out the chaos and mayhem, bringing only the cool sanctuary of silence.

  Relief was a tangible thing.

  Drummond staggered slightly under the weight of Mina, or perhaps he’d received a knock to the knee. I didn’t offer comment. The darkness engulfed us and sounds became distorted; his harsh breath, the expiratory wheeze that accompanied it.

  I hadn’t realised he had a lung disease, but considering his penchant for alcohol and tobacco, I was not overly surprised in the least.

  Halfway up the lane he halted, sucking in air as though he might be drowning. For a brief moment, I pitied him, but then he lowered Mina to the dirt covered ground.

  “Is she too heavy?” I enquired, looking back over my shoulder to determine if we had been followed. Thankfully the mob had remained near the stage, and were even now being rounded up by the police, and, no doubt, Inspector Kelly.

  “She weighs but a trifle,” Drummond gruffly replied between laboured breathing. “A small wisp of a thing.”

  “Yes, she doesn’t eat nearly enough,” I agreed, not wanting to draw attention to his own ailments. Avoiding eye contact, I crouched down by my cousin to check her vitals. Now out of the chaos and recovering from the shock, I felt more sure of myself, and took over her care without having to be told or growled at.

  “You did us a great service, sir,” I forced myself to say, checking Mina’s head and lifting an eyelid to gauge her pupillary reaction.

  Drummond made a sound over my shoulder, as if to answer. And then nothing but the thud of something large hitting dirt.

  I spun around, my fists clenching, already wishing I hadn’t lost my parasol.

  “Doctor?” I said on a shock of exhaled air, as I stared at him swaying on his knees before me. Blood trickled down from under his hairline, his hat askew, his lips parted, a paleness to his features that hadn’t been there only moments prior when he’d laboured for his next breath. “What on earth…?” I began, only to watch Ethel step forward, a bloody umbrella in her hand.

  “What are you doing?” I exclaimed, rather harshly, and made to move to Drummond’s side and offer aid. He’d slumped against the brick wall, by now, his breaths hitched, his sight glazed. His eyes locked, though, on Ethel Poynton.

  “Why, love? Why?” he said in a soft groan that halted everything.

  The world slowed down; the alleyway, the shadows as they moved, the sounds from the distant riot. But not my heartbeat. Not the swell of sudden horror.

  I scrambled back towards Mina as Ethel dusted off the parasol, and then leaned it casually to her side, well out of reach of the doctor.

  “You’d be a hindrance, love,” she said to Drummond, but her voice was different. Harder, if that were at all possible. Colder. A hollow representation of the upright woman I knew and had only just heard speaking. “Hush now,” she ordered, “while I get to work. Your part will come much later.”

  “Mrs Poynton?” I whispered, not daring to believe what was happening. “What are you doing?” I repeated, but this time my words lacked conviction.

  A look of chilled indifference came my way and then, without warning, her arm arced through the
air, and the back of her hand landed upon my cheek.

  I gasped out a sound more scream than moan, and fell to my knees, my shocked gaze locking with Drummond’s. He looked as lost as I was feeling.

  Ethel Poynton? It simply could not be!

  Out of the corner of my eye, blurred though it was, I saw her shadow move. But by the time I’d recovered, staggering upright, mud and muck covering my skirts and stockings, she held a knife to Wilhelmina’s throat. To my dearest cousin.

  “Stop this, Ethel,” Drummond ordered, but his words were faint and slightly slurred. I couldn’t spare him another glance. My attention all for Mrs Poynton and that knife, stark against the paleness of Mina’s skin.

  This was happening. This was real. But still my mind revolted.

  “You?” I said, disbelieving, saddened, and beyond fearful.

  “Me,” she growled back, and then fisted Mina’s hair and tilted her head up, pressing the knife in hard enough to cause bleeding.

  I watched as a crooked line of red danced down Mina’s throat, at a loss for what to do, what to say to end this. My heart fluttered ineffectually inside the cavity of my chest. Sweat beaded my brow. My mouth was so parched I couldn’t even swallow. A trembling had started in my limbs, my entire body quaking.

  Faced with Mina’s death, I was certain there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it.

  Fear like I had never known seeped into my very bones.

  “Don’t hurt her,” I heard myself saying. Such simple words. Such pathetic pleading.

  Ethel smiled. This woman I had thought I’d known. She flexed the wrist holding Mina’s hair, digging the blade in harder at my cousin’s throat, and making her sleeve fall back and reveal a ragged, still healing scratch the width of a fingernail.

  Where else had Margaret marked her?

  “You don’t get a say, doctor,” Mrs Poynton announced, and then the knife moved, and all I saw was scarlet.

  Thirty

  Out With It!

  Anna

  I threw myself towards them, a primal cry upon my lips. The alley turned into a blur of shadows and shapes and nothing else. A tunnel of sorts appeared before me, as I crossed the small space between us, my fingers set in claws, my lips in a snarl, my body a streamlined battering ram.