Fearless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 1): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series (31 page)

“
Eliza May Kelly,
” I read aloud, my eyes coming up and meeting Mina’s. “Kelly,” I repeated.

“A sister?” Wilhelmina asked.

I shook my head; I had no idea if Inspector Kelly had any siblings.
Any
relatives at all for that matter.

“This is his book, I am certain,” I said. “I saw this on his table just yesterday.”

“What does the flower mean?”

“I am unsure,” I admitted. “But our killer uses paper with this flower embossed upon it.”

“Deadly nightshade,” Wilhelmina read aloud from beside me, once she’d turned the book back to the correct page. “A rather ominous name, wouldn’t you say?’

“Appropriate for a murderer,” I agreed.

“But what does it mean?”

I really didn’t know, but there was more to be concerned with than just the thought of what message the killer hoped to convey. He’d known this book existed. He’d entered the inspector’s private quarters and pilfered it. Knowing, too, that it had been on display while I’d been there. Why else would he send it to me, if not as a gift? The killer wanted me to know what the inspector was hiding, but none of this made any sense.

Why would Inspector Kelly hide the name of the flower the Suffragette killer used in his notes?

There was more to this than what first appeared. We had a killer on the loose who was playing with us, as a cat would a mouse. And I despised games, especially when I was not privy to the rules. But the killer was one step ahead of us at every turn. Becoming bolder and more cocksure with every day that passed.

“Five days, three murders,” I said to myself.

“What was that?” Wilhelmina asked.

“So short a time and yet the murderer has become so very sure of himself. The first had to have been chance only. The victim killed in a passion of frenzy.”

“Margaret,” Mina corrected, her tone suggesting I had forgotten.

I spared her a glance, but did not comment. I never forgot their names. Wilhelmina did not understand this. It was merely a self-preservation tactic, one my father insisted from an early stage in my training that I adopt. Without it, I would feel too much.

“Margaret,” I found myself saying, despite all logical thought. “The second, Mary,” I offered, “was displayed in a fashion that bordered on reckless.”

“Reckless?”

“He knew the inspector was close by, yet he took his time and staged her perfectly.”

“For Inspector Kelly to find,” Mina finished.

“Indeed. It was a taunt, but more than that, it showed an increase in confidence for our killer. Add in the excised tongue and subsequent delivery to our home, and he has transcended
opportunity
delivering himself to
purpose
.”

“And every victim thereafter is planned.”

I stared at my cousin with mounting respect; in spite of her ailments and delicate disposition, she was determined to offer me aid. It was undoubtedly for Helen, but I couldn’t help feeling thankful for myself.

For how could I sound this out with the inspector, when the inspector was hiding something important? The flower meant something, more than its message of death. And Kelly knew what it meant.

No. I couldn’t talk to Inspector Kelly about this. But Wilhelmina was proving a rather successful - and quite unexpected - sounding board.

“Quite,” I said. “Planned. And then there was Helen,” I whispered softly.

Wilhelmina looked down at her lap where her fingers wound restlessly about each other.

“I can stop,” I offered.

“No,” she said, with a soft shake of her head. “You need this.”

“But you do not.”

She sucked in a deep breath of air and then exhaled purposefully.

“Will it help you find him? Stop him?” she asked.

I had to be honest, she deserved as much.

“It will help me to know him. To face him, when the time comes.”

“Why would you ever face him?” Mina demanded, strength returning to her frame again.

“Helen,” I said simply. Mina searched my face and then sighed deeply.

“Helen,” she said, and that was all there was to say about it. For Helen we would do anything. Face a killer.

Or face our fears.

“He respects me,” I said. “He had to have known Helen was a friend; he sees too much not to have had this knowledge. And yet he killed her.”

“What does it mean?” Wilhelmina asked carefully.

“That he’s mad.”

She stifled a sound of distress with her hand and then sat back on the settee as though wounded.

“How can you face him?” she said through quivering lips.

“How can I not, sweeting?” I replied, reaching out and holding her hand.

I didn’t need to say it, she understood. If he could kill my friend, then he could easily kill my cousin. This man had no conscience, no room left in his broken mind for mercy. I doubted, in the end, that I would be overlooked in his pursuit of perfection. For I could never accept the “higher planes” of this path he walked. He wanted that; for me to rise above my dedication and embrace murder. His letter had said as much.

But I could no further kill than I could stop breathing. Perhaps the greatest flaw in his plans. I may be dedicated to my causes, but I would denounce them all now if it kept Wilhelmina safe.

The killer had no such grace.

Mina sat frozen in her seat, gripping my hand firmly, as I stared off across the room towards the hearth and the fire that burned merrily there. The knock on the door and Mrs Hardwick’s arrival broke us both out of our dark musings.

“You have a visitor, miss,” she said with a small curtsy that almost made me smile. Since when had Hardwick ever offered such formal greeting?

Mina stood and moved off towards the fire, as I came to my own feet wondering at who it could be. It was still too early for the inspector. We weren’t scheduled to head to Queen Street until closer to the deputy mayor’s speech. The constables, in plain clothes, would already be in attendance. But our arrival had to be planned precisely, to garner the attention of the Suffragette killer.

But it wasn’t Kelly who strode in the room as though he belonged. It was none other than the deputy mayor himself.

“Mr Entrican,” I exclaimed in surprise. “How unexpected.”

“Unexpected, Miss Cassidy?” he queried, as he crossed the room, then reached down with his gloved hand and lifted mine to his lips for a kiss. “I have your permission to call, if I remember correctly.”

Oh, dear Lord. How could I forget?

“You are not too busy for a social visit?” he enquired pleasantly, looking around the room and spotting Wilhelmina.

“Of course not,” I rushed to offer. “Please,” I said, stretching out a hand to indicate Mina, “you remember my cousin, Miss Wilhelmina Cassidy?”

“Indeed I do,” Mr Entrican replied, crossing to Mina and offering her the same greeting. Neither Mina nor myself had gloves on, not expecting guests as we were. The movement was, therefore, as flamboyant as his cravat.

And as equally unwelcome.

“Would you care for some tea?” I asked, to draw his lingering attention away from Wilhelmina.

“That would be pleasant. May I?” he asked, indicating a seat to my side.

My eyes met Mina’s, an amused smile spread across her lips as I watched.

“Please do,” I replied to Entrican, taking the seat beside him as Mina suggested she’d arrange a tea tray on our behalf.

I almost called her back, but I was being childish. Just because my day held more important things in it than a social call, did not mean that Mr Entrican had taken time out of an equally pressing schedule to visit.

“You must be excited for this afternoon, sir,” I declared once we were alone.

“One becomes rather accustomed to these things, Miss Cassidy. They are no more an excitement than a trip to the opera.”

“Still,” I pressed. “The delay must have upset your campaign.”

“The delay was unavoidable,” he said curtly. “But I have never let such things get in my way.”

He turned more towards me, so his knee brushed the side of my leg.

“You’ll find, Miss Cassidy, that I am a very determined man. I set my sights on something, and I aim to achieve it. Whatever the cost.”

I found I rather did admire his fervour. This was a man who would go places, it seemed.

“And your goal is the mayoral office. The mayoral seat, in point of fact,” I supplied.

He smiled; it was charming. Mr Entrican was not an unattractive man, and dressed as he was, in the latest fashions with care to his necktie and grooming, I could picture him cutting a fine figure on the political scene in Wellington. Auckland was only the beginning for a man like Entrican, but I’d allow him to offer up that information.

He reached out and clasped my hand before I could move it, bringing it closer to his body with a sure grip.

“My goal this morning, Miss Cassidy, is to persuade you to have dinner with me.”

Dinner was the last thing I could think of right now. Too much hung over our heads to consider social activities. A killer was on the loose, and Entrican didn’t seem in the remotest phased by this knowledge. Carrying on as though life was normal. And perhaps, for a man like Entrican, it was quite normal to behave so.

“When did you arrive in New Zealand, sir?” I asked, purposely avoiding his last statement.

He smiled knowingly, seeing through my avoidance ruse with ease. But he was too gentlemanly to offer argument and instead sat back in his seat, hand still clasping mine most inappropriately, as he considered his answer.

“I have been here five years, Miss Cassidy.”

“A very impressive length of time to achieve such heights in local government,” I offered, as Wilhelmina returned with the tea tray and set it down before us. Her eyes lingered on where Mr Entrican held my hand, but she poured the tea without comment.

“I have never accepted anything less than excellence in my career,” he replied, accepting his tea cup and reluctantly releasing my hand at the same time.

I eagerly took the offered cup Mina gave me, using both hands to keep them out of temptation and reach.

“And what did you study, sir, if I may be so bold?” I enquired, enjoying the conversation more than I’d liked to admit.

“I read English at Oxford. At my father’s insistence,” he said. “But had no intention of pursuing a career in that field. I far prefer politics and the sciences.”

I perked up at that admission.

“Really?” I asked, excitement washing over me at the opportunity to discuss such topics. “And how does science aid in governing a city?”

“Not directly, I’ll admit,” he said amiably. “But the discipline found within an equation, or the complexity required to puzzle out an hypothesis surely does aid in the administration of a city. For how can we govern, if not with structure and detail? I will not have my council overlook the smallest thing, Miss Cassidy. I aim to be involved on all levels, fighting crime, aiding the poor, improving the infrastructure in our burgeoning metropolis. Auckland is growing, progress is unstoppable. Therefore it is up to those in a position of responsibility to guide those who require it.”

“The people of the city,” I offered.

“Auckland will lead this country, mark my words, Miss Cassidy. Not just those who reside within its limits, but those farther afield as well. Northland needs to be taken into hand. Such unruly lifestyles will only lead to chaos. I abhor chaos, Miss Cassidy. I am a scientist at heart.”

He seemed to think this would please me. He sat back on the settee with an air of accomplishment. His words meant to align us, no doubt, as though he believed I’d seek such dominion over so many people. I was not unaware of the unrest in Northland. Maybe more in tune with it than this man could ever know. But seeking to govern such a large and diverse area from one location, in some cases many hundreds of miles away, was impossible. Surely he could see this.

“Whangarei would appear the obvious choice for such endeavours, Mr Entrican,” I offered.

“Whangarei is not Auckland, Miss Cassidy. And lacks the dedication required to achieve such ordered goals.”

I wasn’t sure if it was his choice of words, in particular his choice of
the
word “dedication” which did it. But I suddenly wanted this man out of my house. I looked at him, truly looked at him. But all I saw was a determined politician with a penchant for extravagant fashion.

“Then I wish you all the success possible, Mr Entrican,” I said, placing my empty tea cup on the tray and rising.

It was rude perhaps, but he’d stayed long enough for a social call. He didn’t seem to mind the abrupt brush off, instead he placed his own cup down and stood, friendly smile on his face, practised bow delivered.

“I fear I have spoken too grandly of politics,” he admitted. “Perhaps next time we could discuss a scientific subject that would better please you.”

And now I felt ill mannered.