Fearless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 1): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series (17 page)

“You are ahead of your time, Anna,” Kelly murmured, snapping the reins and making the horse pick up speed as we approached the fountain in the centre of the park.

The area was bereft of pedestrians; this late in the evening, most would not venture to the picturesque grounds. Buildings in the distance sat like dark boulders, shadows low to the earth and unmoving. I realised the horse had been heading towards one of the police occupied “barracks.” I wasn’t sure what the extra space was actually used for, but the horse was familiar with the route all the same.

The trickle of the fountain filled the silence that had sprung up between us, the smell of honeysuckle and roses floated on the air. In daylight, the park was magnificent. A small piece of God’s beauty in the middle of a bustling town. There was a part of me that wistfully fantasised that it was for the setting that Kelly had brought us here. Not because his horse was following a well trodden route without guidance.

Anger made my words sound sharper than they needed to be. “And you believe, Inspector, that I wished for an outcome ahead of its time tonight?”

“I believe, Anna,” he said steadily, “that patience is not one of those traits your father praised enthusiastically late into the night.”

I turned to him, the parasol briefly forgotten, self-righteousness acting as a weapon instead. The fountain came closer, the sound of the water drowning out the wind in the nearby trees. I opened my mouth, ready to fire my barrage at the inspector, when something on the fountain’s edge caught my eyes.

The cast iron shapes of dolphins, with their horn blowing cherubs atop, came into a shaft of moonlight. The water glistening off the dolphins’ long noses, trickling from the lip of each horn. Landing in a splash around the base, making the water lap out in concentric circles and nudge a pale hand.

I knew immediately, even though I could not discern the sex yet, that the body would be female.

The water in the fountain was tainted red.

“Oh, no,” I managed, before the inspector pulled hard on the reins, halting the curricle and making our bodies rock forward.

“Stay here,” he instructed authoritatively, climbing down from the buggy and starting to move off.

Of one thing I was certain, I had been trained by the best.

I slid off the seat and landed on my feet without making a sound, and then rounded the front of the curricle, patting the horse on its nose to keep her happy, and following in the footsteps of the inspector.

The woman wore, I noted as I neared, a beautifully crafted, bronze toned dress. The pattern of which somehow catching my eye; little embroidered flowers, sewn in fine aquamarine coloured thread. It was exquisite. And an outfit I had on many occasions coveted in the past.

The parasol fell from my limp hand, clattering to the ground, making Kelly turn around instantly. Fear and panic marring his stoic features.

No.

I took a step towards both him and the body. He took a step towards me.

No. No. No.

I started shaking my head. My heart thundering inside my aching chest. Tears marring my vision, making the inspector waver as he approached. Making his outstretched hands seem more plentiful in number than just the two of them.

No. It couldn’t be. Not her. She knew to stay home tonight.

I stumbled, my legs somehow buckling, as if all my strength was needed to just breathe and not walk. The inspector caught me; two strong arms wrapping around my frame and practically lifting me off the paving, swinging me away from the sight of my fallen friend.

“No,” I said, my voice quivering in a manner I had never heard myself use before. “No. It can’t be,” I pleaded.

“Shhh,” Inspector Kelly murmured, his hand in my hair, pressing my face to his broad chest, trying his best to halt my efforts to see the woman’s features.

“Tell me it’s not her,” I said, panting for breath. “Tell me!”

He looked down at me, sorrow and something else, something darker and much more sinister that spoke directly to me in that moment, shining from his face. I clung to him. This rock in amongst a stormy harbour. I clung to him.

But I knew what that look meant.

“It is Miss Nelson,” Kelly confirmed, his voice rough with unspent emotion.

I clung to the inspector. My hands fisted in the lapels of his jacket coat. My eyes unseeing. My ears roaring, as if they too wanted to scream.

“No,” I whispered.

Not Helen. Not Wilhelmina’s best friend.

I sucked in a deep breath and screamed all my guilt and frustration to the heavens.

“
No! No! No!
” Until I had no voice left.

Fifteen

Miss Cassidy

Anna

The shrill sound of a whistle blowing broke my frozen pose. I jumped, the inspector’s coat falling from my shoulders, the curricle bouncing under the shifted weight. A soft snort fell from the disgruntled horse’s nose, two plumes of steam rising on the chill air. I stared at them for too long, knowing there was something more important I needed to do.

Knowing I didn’t have much time to do it, but unable to make a move.

The inspector blew his whistle again. Hard and long, piercing the night. Signalling to any constable in the vicinity that aid was required.

We couldn’t leave Helen. The inspector wouldn’t leave me.

And there was no way I could leave either of them.

A shattered breath escaped my lips. My throat all but closed off to me. I wanted to swallow, but I had no available saliva to effect the move. I licked my parched lips, a salty tear reaching my tongue from the corner of them.

I swiped at my face with an already damp glove. Then stared at my trembling fingers for too long.

Move
.

I couldn’t move. All I could do was think.

The body was cold, so the inspector said. Rigor not having set in, but coolness to the limbs indicating at least an hour, maybe more, since she’d been killed. Blood coated her clothing and spilled over the edge of the fountain’s tub, tainting the water and white chip gravel surrounding it red. Or so the inspector said.

I needed to know more. I needed to stop the thoughts swirling about my head, the questions, the hypotheses, the endless search for an answer. If I knew more, I’d have that answer.

I shifted from the curricle’s seat, my muscles sore from remaining in one position for such a length of time. My bones felt ancient as I climbed down the side. My limbs heavy. My heart a lead weight inside an empty chest.

“What are you doing?” Inspector Kelly’s not unkind voice said from over my shoulder.

I didn’t turn around.

“I need a better estimate of time of death.”

“You don’t have to do this,” he insisted, from closer this time.

I shook my head, soft tendrils of hair falling down from my clips. My hat long lost to the bowels of the curricle. I didn’t need it. I needed answers.

“She is my friend,” was all I managed to murmur.

“Precisely why you shouldn’t do this,” Kelly insisted, this time rounding in front of me, and barring my way. “Anna,” he pleaded.

My eyes rose to his and he flinched. Just a small movement, but enough to indicate I was a sight. I sucked in a deep, measured breath, and when I released it, my shoulders had moved back, my spine was once again stiff, and my chin had lifted.

“If she was killed within the past two hours, then we can rule out the Militia Guard,” I advised. “If time of death is longer, then he’s still good for a suspect.”

Kelly let out his own rush of air, not so measured.

“How will you tell more accurately?”

“Temperature of the internal organs.”

Something passed over his face, his eyes darting to the side where I knew Helen’s body still lay. Out of the fountain now, covered in a blanket from the back of the inspector’s curricle.

“Do you have a mercury thermometer or some such with you?” he pressed.

“We need only an estimate,” I countered, my voice becoming stronger the more I spoke. Or the more we argued, I was unsure. “Exact time of death can be determined in the surgery. For now, I can guess from experience.”

Kelly’s sharp eyes returned to my face and he said, voice low, “And you have experience of such a thing?”

I nodded my head. How many times had my father insisted I feel with my hands what the instruments told me? I could gauge the temperature of an organ to within degrees, by simply placing a finger to them.

“Experience with such a victim?” Kelly pushed, his words soft, belying their sharp sting.

I made to move past him, unable to utter a sound.

“Anna,” he said, reaching for me, but then lowering his hand when I paused, my eyes on his fingertips; so close, yet still so far away. “We don’t need to know the specifics yet,” he said, his hand returning to his side ineffectually. “Don’t put yourself through this.”

Footsteps sounded out; the deep thud of well soled shoes. A constable at a guess. My time was indeed running down.

“
I
need to know,” I whispered, just as a uniformed officer approached.

“Inspector Kelly?” the constable enquired. “Did you blow your Hudson, sir?”

“Yes, Constable,” Kelly said, turning to face the man. I took the opportunity to move closer to Helen. “There’s been another murder.”

The sound of the shocked gasp from the constable rang out on the air, just as my feet brought me to the side of Helen’s body. I stared down at the woollen blanket the inspector had placed over my friend. Knowing what lay beneath it. Dreading what I’d find, but unable to stop myself from looking. I crouched down as the inspector ordered the constable to “Get it together, man!” and lifted the edge of the cover, finding Helen’s arm.

I tugged my glove off with the use of my teeth and wrapped shaking fingers around her hand.

Oh, Lord. She was cold. So cold. Tears welled in my eyes. My throat ached with emotion. I rubbed my thumb across her palm, again and again and again.

With shaking hands I lifted the blanket off completely, sucking in a mortified breath at what was revealed. He hadn’t cut her face. That was perhaps the greatest shock. Helen stared back at me from empty eyes. Her features as familiar as my own. But her shining smile gone. And her quick wit doused forever.

How dare he? This man who hunts the innocent. How dare he?

I couldn’t hear what the inspector was instructing the constable, but I knew he’d be aware of what I was doing by now. He hadn’t stepped closer. He hadn’t called out, ordering me to halt in my discoveries. His soft words to the constable remained a constant backdrop to the thundering beat of my broken heart.

I’d done this. I’d brought my frail cousin and her darling friend into this world, exposing them to this rot. This was all on me. I’d done this.

I stifled a sob and blinked back perpetual tears, then catalogued the injuries I could see in the dim moonlight.

He’d slashed her throat. Left to right. That made him right handed. Not enough.

He’d cut away her corset. Precise strike of the blade, right down the middle. Like parting pages of a book. Not enough.

He’d sliced her breasts. The left superficially. The right… I swallowed back bile. He’d removed her right breast completely, and from what I could ascertain, with merely a glance, the tissue was missing. Not enough.

I moved down her body, bypassing the one area I needed to examine most. Her legs were bruised and covered in minor lacerations. All of which could have been achieved by the gravel on the ground. I looked around where I knelt, noting the scuff marks and blood splatter and the odd imprint of a boot.

“Is that one of yours?” I asked, knowing the inspector was now at my back, closer as the constable had departed.

“No, it is not,” he replied, voice level but full of unbridled emotion.

I wanted to look over my shoulder at him, to determine just what that tone meant. But the dead was calling.
Helen
was calling. I nodded my head and moved back up to her torso, uncovering her abdominal cavity, and finding it practically bare.

Enough.

My still gloved hand came up to my mouth, holding the sob in. My bare hand reached into the hollow, searching for something that had not been removed. Her heart still lay behind her ribs; he’d not bothered to crack them. There had been enough for him to play with inside the abdomen itself.

Tears coursed down my cheeks as I laid my fingers against that most fragile of organs. Its stillness a taunt to my ragged emotions. Its coolness indication of time of death. For a moment, I couldn’t pull my hand back. As though Helen’s heart clung to it as I had done the inspector’s jacket. For a moment, I thought I’d be trapped there; with my guilt and heartache and anger.

A handkerchief appeared over my shoulder, enough of an impetus to make me move. My hand came back out from under Helen’s ribs, blood coating it completely. It was hard to believe she had any left.

I cleaned my fingers as well as I could and stared at the forlorn body that had once housed a wonderful woman. My friend.