Fearless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 1): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series (34 page)

“You do us a great honour, sir,” I remarked, allowing him to direct me to where he wanted us to sit.

“On the contrary, Miss Cassidy. It is I who am honoured.”

He smiled down at me, such a charming and believable smile. How could this man have killed Margaret with such a passion of frenzy? How could he have cut out Mary’s tongue? And how could this magnetic man, with such an extravagant style, have hunted our Helen down, plied her with opium and then dissected her as though she was naught but meat for the slaughterhouse?

It made me feel sick, that such horrors could lurk beneath the pleasant façade of a gentleman of good standing. It made it difficult to breathe, to think, to see; my chest aching, my vision blurring, my mind reeling with the images of the slain, superimposed with the image of this man before me.

“Here you are,” he said with such warm expressions. “Welcome to my family.”

I turned to the seats set out inside the cordon, marked in their importance by the fact that they were slightly raised. Not as high as the stage, but higher than those few chairs set out before it. There were several in a row, with more than one row, filled to the brim with men and woman finely dressed and eagerly watching who Entrican had chosen to place at the front of his personal entourage.

I didn’t recognise any of them, save one.

In the seat beside mine was Drummond.

Doctor Drummond.

The Chief Surgeon for the Auckland Police Force.

And the drunkard who had stolen my father’s job right out from under me.

Twenty-Nine

And All I Saw Was Scarlet

Anna

I took my seat, smiling for the benefit of Entrican’s closest friends and avoiding eye contact with Drummond. As I settled into the hard-backed chair, I felt the doctor’s disgruntlement. He neither greeted me, nor said a single word, but his hands fisted on his thick thighs, his shoulders shifting as though tensed.

He was a big man, John Drummond. Tall and broad of back, with a drooping moustache that covered unsmiling lips. His gaze was always full of judgement and reproach. And had I hazarded a glance, I was sure those dark eyes would be condemning me even now. He smelled of camphor and ammonia. The hallmarks of death.

And I wondered if I smelled the same to Andrew. If he worked, as I was working right then, to not wrinkle his nose in my presence.

Underlying that chemical stench was a more beguiling scent; ever present gin, hemp, and tobacco. My father had smoked a pipe, and I was sure that Drummond was of the same school as he. I still craved that smell; that familiar and safe scent. But smelling it here on Dr Drummond was not at all welcome.

I shifted in my seat, placing my back towards the man slightly, and concentrated on what Mr Entrican was doing at present.

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.