Fearless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 1): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series (12 page)

“Every city has a heart at its centre,” he said, looking over his shoulder at a painting depicting Fraser & Tinnes. “I believe it’s essential to the growth of a city to nurture that heartbeat. To always acknowledge its importance and never fail to remember its necessity.”

“And you believe Mechanics Bay is our heartbeat?” I enquired pleasantly.

“Economic activity, Miss Cassidy. Production, fabrication, construction. That bay was little more than a beach before it was developed. And now look at it; a veritable axis for industry.”

“A worthy cause to represent, Mr Entrican,” I offered.

“Indeed,” he agreed, indicating the chairs in front of him for us to acquire.

I sat, followed swiftly by my silent companions, and then Mr Entrican slowly lowered himself into his own seat, across a large wooden desk that shone brilliantly in the waning sunlight that dappled through the windows.

“My assistant said you had news to impart regarding a council building,” he enquired affably, straightening his coat’s cuffs, and bringing my attention to the fact he wore gloves whilst working. His was not a physical role, sitting as he was behind this large imposing desk. But the gloves were not workingman’s attire. These were delicate and finely made, much like his waistcoat and questionably outrageous cravat.

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 back 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.