Fearless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 1): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series (5 page)

“Check the flow’s direction, Doctor,” I instructed.

He grumbled incoherently as he crouched down to determine the answer.

“You know,” he said more clearly, as he lifted cloth and shone the lantern light upon it. “She is a menace, that woman.”

I forced myself not to reply. But Blackmore’s eyes bore into the side of my skull; the pressure of his disagreeable gaze almost enough to open my mouth for me.

“Well I never,” Drummond suddenly declared. “The blood does appear to have fallen towards her feet.”

We all looked at the supine woman.

“What position had she been found in?” he asked. “Sitting, propped up, perchance?”

I straightened my back, tapped my cane on the ground just once, and turned around. My answer was delivered over my shoulder; I did not bother to look back.

“On her side, Doctor. Head at the same level as her toes.”

Blackie followed me from the alley, nodding permission to the constables holding the stretcher to enter.

“That is, of course, sir,” he said, coming abreast of me. “If Miss Cassidy didn’t move the body before we arrived.”

“She wouldn’t have,’ I said with absolute conviction. “Contamination of the crime scene is her pet bugbear.”

“And yet you cuffed her for doing so earlier,” the sergeant commented under his breath.

I turned on him sharply. Making him pull himself to full height; meeting my challenge face on.

“I had her cuffed, as you put it,” I bit out between gritted teeth, “for attempting to pull the wool over my eyes.”

“Right, sir,” the insolent sod replied.

“Right,” I reiterated.

He just offered a short nod of his head. His face stoic, devoid of humour. His eyes anything but.

“We have a murderer to find,” I said quietly. The words, though, carried. Blackmore straightened and looked suitably chagrined.

“Where to, sir?”

I looked around the small square, my eyes landing on the stage.

“Did the deputy mayor make an appearance?” I asked.

Blackmore pulled his ever present notebook out and flicked through his earlier scratchings.

“He was not one of those questioned upon our arrival.”

“That’s not to say he wasn’t here and then left,” I countered.

“Indeed, sir. Do we make a visit?”

I contemplated the repercussions of such a move. I wasn’t opposed to questioning the man, but so soon after the event would send a message to the council cronies that we could do to avoid for now. Recent native unrest in Northland had left the nation on tenterhooks. The push for temperance and prohibition was only clouding the issue. And the maritime strikes of 1890 were still so very fresh in everyone’s minds. The Police Force had borne the brunt and the mayor’s office had ensured it stayed that way.

Change was not such an easy thing for a society to accept.

My eyes flicked across the square to a pile of discarded sandwich boards. Even in the dim light of the gas lamps I could discern partial phrases.

Votes for women!

Are women citizens? If not why not?

A fearless indomitable womanhood - A fearless indomitable race.

“Not yet,” I murmured, my eyes scanning the now deserted street. Too much agitation was an explosion in the making. Like a build up of coal gas in a mine, you couldn’t see it, you couldn’t touch it, but, by God, you knew it was coming.

Something was coming.

Shadows lurked in the corners as my eyes adjusted to the various levels of evening light. The sounds of the odd ship at the wharves gently floated on the breeze. Sea salt air mixed with more nefarious scents. Singing and carousing from public houses farther up Queen Street fought for purchase over the more base celebrations nearer the dockyard in Mechanics Bay.

“Quite a central area,” I commented. “The foot traffic could have encompassed any number of people, from any walk of life.”

“True, sir,” Blackie agreed. “You’ve got the bankers and commercial outlets farther up the street. There’s fishermen and tourists, shoppers and the Suffragettes.”

Yes, the Suffragettes.

“Any number of ‘em could have witnessed something and scarpered from the scene,” he concluded.

“But who would have seen in that alleyway? And not been observed by the murderer?”

Blackmore turned slowly and looked first at the entranceway to the alley, where Margaret Thorley’s body was just now being removed. And swung back around to stare at the stage. Still erected, but never used. I wondered if the deputy mayor planned to reschedule his speech. Elections were only a few short weeks away.

Hence the Suffragettes.

“There is something, sir,” Blackie said softly.

I turned to look at him; this man I trusted above all others.

“Out with it then,” I encouraged.

“Mechanics Bay,” he said with mounting frustration. “We have to scour the dockyard, sir.”

Five

How Strange

Anna

The night had been a long and arduous one. And yet sleep was not an option. I paced the surgery, the fire crackling in the hearth the only accompaniment to the click of my heels upon wood.

Wilhelmina had retired hours ago; exhausted, bereft, frightened.

I so wanted to soothe her fears, but knew I could not.

Margaret Thorley was dead, and despite my skills and the presence of so many on Queen Street at that time, she had been savagely attacked. The thought of that woman fending off such blows, terrified for her life, and not succeeding, was almost too much to bear.

I glanced across the room to my preparation table, eyeing the bottle of Laudanum. I had hoped to have avoided its necessity last night, but Mina had been inconsolable.

I slumped down in a chair I kept beside the fire; a good position to read late into the night. Journals and medical texts lay on the side table, a letter from the London School Of Medicine For Women sat next to them, a candle leaned crookedly in amongst a pile of melted wax. I didn’t light it. I couldn’t concentrate long enough to read.

How had this happened? Why had it happened at all?

The Ripper is here
.

I don’t believe in fairy tales, but equally I do not maintain that the devil exists. There are bad people and good people. There are some capable of unimaginable evil, and those who would choose to do right. I’d like to think I fit somewhere on the better half of that spectrum.

Margaret met someone on the opposite end tonight.

I had faith that Inspector Kelly would follow the clues; would attempt to solve this crime. Drummond was sufficient in expertise to perform an adequate post-mortem, despite his penchant for gin. And Sergeant Blackmore was a most dedicated policeman. He would not let this lie; just as his superior would not either.

But still I could not sleep.

My father, had he been alive, would have been at the police station, performing the examination of Margaret’s body. He may have insisted I remain distanced, both emotionally and physically. But I’d like to think he would have acted as the scientist he was and allowed me entrance to the surgery itself.

Be it what it would, I’d have been in his office at the station, reading articles and case studies, wiling away the hours within feet of the action.

I missed it. But more importantly, I needed it. Inaction was ever my downfall.

My skirts rustled as I abruptly stood up again, my shoes making a loud
tick-tick
sound as I crossed the room.

It was no use, I had do something. I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Dawn was mere minutes away. There was no good time for what I was contemplating doing, but daylight at least gave the illusion of safety. I pulled my coat from the hall cupboard, checked my pockets for all the necessary tools, and satisfied with my arsenal, gripped my parasol in my gloved hands, and strode out of my home.

I paused on the sidewalk, deciding whether to saddle a horse or not. The dockyard was a good distance away, but if I was lucky, a hansom cabriolet might be available on Wellesley Street. And the thought of taking a mount where I was going seemed ill advised. I wasn’t thinking of escape. My mind was on disappearing.

Luck had me securing a hired conveyance within yards of my home, although not the more modern hansom I’d been hoping for. The shabbily dressed driver was nevertheless unimpressed with my choice of destination. But within minutes, the sun cresting the horizon, dousing Rangitoto Island in rich red flames, I was alighting at the edge of Mechanics Bay.

“Are you sure, you want off here, miss?” the driver asked, his hands fisting tightly on his reins.

“Very,” I replied, pulling my coat closer and taking a step away.

“I know this area,” the driver persisted. “And it’s not fit for the likes of you.”

“I appreciate your concern, sir, but I must find a child.”

He scratched at his beard, eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Lots of orphans hang ‘round here. Seen ‘em a time or two.”

At least I was in the right place, then.

I was about to ask for directions, when the driver added, “Seen what them gangs they belong to carry, as well.”

“Carry?”

“Knives, miss.” Of course. And yet that ragamuffin had been in shock. “Best you think twice on this venture,” the driver added.

I sucked in a breath and straightened my back.

“Your warning has been heeded,” I announced. “Thank you.”

He gave a shrug of his shoulders and a grunt towards the horse, and then the hackney sped away. As if the driver wanted nothing more than to vacate the place. I glanced around, noting the closed warehouses, grime filled windows, and the scent of flour on the still damp air. A recent delivery, no doubt.

Noises could be heard farther into the dockyard area itself. Boats shifting. Wood creaking. The harsh clash of broken glass.

I jumped slightly. Then cursed myself internally. Gripping my parasol tighter, I strode off toward the thick of it.

Urine. Salt. Rotten fish. The tang of alcohol and something sweeter. Cloying, then swiftly disappearing as the burnt smell of tarred ropes met my nose. My boots splashed through murky puddles, the hem of my skirt unavoidably dragging through muck and dirt. The chill of the early morning air seeped through my cloak, making me feel too restricted in my layers of petticoats and too tight corset.

I rounded a corner, having not met a soul for several minutes, and came face to face with two young men.

“Hey, Johnny. Look at this!” the one still standing exclaimed.

Johnny, for his part, was a little under the weather.

“Gentlemen,” I said in way of greeting. Neither offered me their hat.

“Hear that, John? She likes us for gentlemen.”

I smiled pleasantly, having dealt with the likes of these men a time or two. My services are not so much in demand that I can turn down the needy. Regardless of their place on society’s map.

“I’m looking for a young lad,” I announced. “Perhaps you can help me.”

“We’re both young ‘n strapping, missus.” The one still standing slapped his chest, straightening his shoulders in a show of prowess.

The one on the ground blinked up owlishly, his pupils almost non-existent.

It wasn’t alcohol that tampered with these men, but something far more insidious.

I crouched down, bringing my body and face closer to the poor sod on the ground, and inhaled deeply. That cloying, sweet smell, mixed with smoke invaded my nostrils.

“Good night, was it?” I enquired.

“Looks like it might be gettin’ better,” the man still standing said, as he moved courageously away from his prop against the dirty brick wall he’d been leaning against, and started to herd me.

I kept my face tilted towards the man on the ground, but left his staggering friend in my periphery.

“You need to drink water,” I advised. “Lots of it. Preferably with a pinch of permanganate of potassium thrown in.”

“What?”

“Potash, gentlemen. It will help with the opium.”

“Who says we need help?” The man’s tone had changed. His movements now all but stilled. Without a wall to lean against or momentum to keep him going he began to sway.

I stood up from my crouch, dismissing the man on the ground, and rounded to face the speaker.

“No one says you need anything,” I said carefully. “But the tincture will aid in your recovery. When you’re ready,” I quickly added, as his face began to cloud and his fists clenched at his sides.

I suddenly realised the enormous potential for mishap. Not that I wasn’t capable of handling these two men in their current opiate clouded state. But the longer this altercation took, the more chance the child would have roused for his day. Losing him from Mechanics Bay was not an option. Auckland was a sprawling city, there were many places for him to hide.

And I was sure he was here. So I needed to act quickly.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a card, then held it out for the still swaying man.