Fearless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 1): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series (28 page)

The women were no less well attired. Tight bodices and long skirts, leg o’mutton sleeves with lace trim, bronzes and aquamarines, aubergines and fiery reds. Their finery and colour matched the lush surroundings. In contrast, my dark weeds looked conspicuous. I forced myself not to fidget and, I admit, not to stare. There were people here I recognised.

“We are looking for someone,” Inspector Kelly advised the still bowing welcomer. He bobbed, the Chinaman. Up and down and down and up, again and again. He would not stand still, and yet I was sure he did not trial the substances himself. His was a nervous energy.

I wondered if he knew who we were. Or at least, knew who the inspector was. Sergeant Blackmore had remained outside, hidden but watching. Keeping an eye on the only exit to ensure we did not miss anyone leave.

“No. No,” the man exclaimed. “You try. You try. Got product. Sound product. See for yourself. They enjoy. Yes?”

He indicated the lounging bodies, some quite insensible, others watching us languidly, small smiles of amusement on their lips as if they knew a secret and we did not. Puffs of smoke drifted to the ceiling, bubbles sounded out to the side as opium cooked. The smell was cloying and almost sickly, and yet there was something quite liberating about those who lay here; uninhibited; unashamed; sublimed.

Their mouths parted as though in bliss. Their lids heavy, limbs relaxed. The atmosphere was at once indulgent and also quite frightening. To lose control to that extent and not even care when strangers gazed upon them? I wanted to avert my eyes from embarrassment on their behalves. But why should they feel embarrassed? The smoking of opium was a common enough indulgence, one that had taken the middle class by storm. In London alone it was considered
de rigueur
to smoke a pipe or consume a syrup if the need arose to remedy a pulmonary ailment.

“We should like to observe,” Kelly said in answer to the little man.

“No watch. Try,” came his immediate reply.

“Fifteen minutes, no more,” I advised, stepping up beside the inspector. “We’ll watch while you prepare.”

The Chinaman nodded enthusiastically, turning his attention to me; the obvious opium expert.

“Have batch ready to go,” he said, nodding and bowing his head again.

“I have no way of knowing how long that opium has been above flame. Fifteen minutes, no more,” I threw back. “We’ll sit over here and wait.”

“As you say,
nǚ shì,
” he said, bowing again and turning away.

The inspector followed behind as I approached a corner of the room where we could observe without being too obvious. A fern stood to one side, hiding us from the doorway, but allowing vision through the fronds. The chaise was in pristine condition, the colours vibrant although not loud. I sat down and at once felt embraced by fine upholstery and padding. Nothing had been spared here, the cost of a pipe would undoubtedly be high. I watched on as I waited for the inspector to join me. His eyes narrowed while he perused our fellow pipers.

With reluctance he sat beside me, making the chaise suddenly feel too small.

“We cannot consume the opium,” he said in a low voice.

“I have no intention of smoking today,” I replied steadily, following his gaze as he assessed each man in the room.

None seemed big enough to be our killer, but perhaps height was all that was required if phenylisopropylamine was also consumed. It was difficult to asses height with the positions of those lounging on pillows, but two men stood out as possible candidates.

Kelly turned to look at me finally, his jaw set, his back rigid.

“This will not do,” I announced. Leaning back and effecting a relaxed pose. Kelly’s eyes darted down to my bodice and then quickly away as his face flared pink.

“Relax, Inspector,” I whispered. “You’re about to enjoy yourself.”

His face went from pink to red in an instant. One had to wonder exactly what thoughts were careening through his head.

“There are two possible gentlemen who fit our criteria,” I advised, offering the man a distraction.

“I’ve seen them,” Kelly remarked, attempting to relax into his side of the chaise. “Of course, the chances of our man being here are not great.”

I looked around the room and realised he was right. We needed to question the guests, but to do so under the watchful eye of the Chinaman was not an easy ask.

“I do not think this establishment runs cheap,” Kelly offered quietly as he fingered the fine fringe on the chaise. “The standard of dress alone would indicate a higher level of clientele. Quite remarkable,” he commented mildly. “To establish this near the dockyard so quickly and not have the Police Force made aware.”

“It’s temporary,” I said, earning a raised brow in reply.

“What makes you think so?” he asked, but I gathered from his tone that he had already assessed the structure as such.

“The wall hangings, the floor coverings, the plants, statues, tables and chairs,” I offered. “All of it is removable. The architraves are undoubtedly detachable in some fashion as well. The fresco one quite quickly drawn. This den is mobile, Inspector. Its owner has grand plans.”

He blinked down at me and then slowly shook his head.

“It never fails to amaze me how astute your mind is.” He looked around the room again and said quietly, “The building was indeed not as it appears two days ago. It has been manufactured swiftly and secretively, but I’d hazard a guess, someone heard them doing it. This could not have been accomplished completely unobserved.”

He was right, but like me, perhaps those hearing the noises of the construction dismissed it for a boat at a wharf loading goods. That’s what I had done, when I’d heard the thumping the night we found Mary. I glanced around the space again, considering. A den transformed, but why? It had served its purpose when the cutpurse orphan led us here. But now a vagabond child would stand out. Only gentlemen and ladies lounged debauchedly. Any loose coin quickly snatched up by the Chinaman.

Who, in that instant, approached from the far side of the den.

He brought a tray with him, on which stood two most delicate looking pipes. Long stems, intricately carved saddles moulding seamlessly into delightfully decorated bowls. Mine was the white of ivory. The inspector’s almost black in the low candlelight, but closer inspection revealed it to be jade. I reconsidered my assessment of the ivory, and decided it was instead bone. These two pipes had been made here, in New Zealand. And made well.

“Such beautiful pieces,” I remarked, as he handed me mine. “Did you carve them yourself?”

“Not I,
nǚ shì
. But my kin. My family made pipes for Emperors,” he said with obvious pride.

“They are exquisite,” I offered, accepting the pipe with two hands. “Your kin are very talented.”

“Thank you,
nǚ shì
. Only the best for new client.”

Kelly said nothing as he accepted his offering. But he’d clearly handled a pipe before, though my guess was the substance burned was tobacco not opium.

“Good sir,” I said, before the Chinaman could turn away. “You mentioned Indian hemp. What else does your establishment provide?”

“Opium enough for
nǚ shì
.
You no need more.”

“Quite right,” I said, lifting the pipe to my lips. I spoke around it, as my mother had been wont to do. Then leaned back and got comfortable, as though the practice was familiar and quite anticipated. The latter was not, but the former, from observation, unfortunately was. “My mother has progressed from the dream stick,” I said, a puff of smoke emitting from the sides of my lips. “She does not always find the euphoria that she has relied upon in the past. More often than not it is only sleep. I would like to bring her here, should you think your establishment could offer her more than others.”

“Ours best in city. You no find better.”

“I’m sure,” I said, letting another stream of smoke blow up toward the ceiling. Kelly was sitting rigidly again, failing to play his part. I could practically feel his alarm and concern and, if I wasn’t mistaken, rage.

At me? At my act? Or did he think I was truly inhaling?

“Good, yes?” the Chinaman asked. I opened my eyes languidly, and smiled.

“For me, yes.”

“But not mother?”

My head shook, a tendril of hair tumbling down to my shoulder.

“She needs more.”

“I have more,” he advised. “Bring her. I show you.”

“Show me now.” Kelly’s hand came out and wrapped around my fingers, he squeezed them slightly in warning. “Never mind,” I said, letting the pipe rest on my lap and my head loll to the side.

The Chinaman smiled, but I did not see him leave, it was the inspector who caught my attention.

“What the devil are you playing at?” he whispered urgently. “We’re here to observe, not scare the proprietor off.”

“There is little to observe and less still to lead us to our killer,” I whispered back. “But the Chinaman has access to more than just opium and cannabis.”

“Damnation, woman! How am I to protect you, if you constantly throw yourself in front of danger?”

“Smoke the pipe,” I whispered back just as angrily. “We are being watched.”

“Enough of this!” he said, moving to rise. “I’m delivering you home where you’ll be safe.”

My hand reached out and gripped him by the wrist; I had no hope of holding him if he hadn’t let me. He stilled as my thumb swept across bare flesh beneath his glove. His body shuddering and then sinking to the chaise again, dark eyes on my face, lips wet where he’d just licked them.

“A moment longer, Inspector,” I murmured. “Our Chinaman is intrigued.”

He made a strangled sound, as if he wanted to agree with the sentiment but couldn’t quite manage the words to do so. He lifted the pipe to his lips with one hand and reached up to cup my head with the other. A puff of smoke lazily curled towards the ceiling, haloing his head in blue-green wisps that unfurled like pirouetting dancers. His fingers stroked through my hair as he effected a relaxed pose, lounging back on the chaise and practically lying on top of my semi-reclined body.

“Is he watching still?” Kelly asked, voice low and more than husky. It was no doubt the smoke that had caused it, but my body said otherwise.

I opened my mouth, closed it again, and then felt his fingers run down the side of my neck to rest in the hollow below my throat.

“Anna?” he whispered, but didn’t say more.

“He’s no longer watching,” I managed, my eyelids fluttering, unable to decide if I should let them close or keep them open. His palm flattened on my upper chest, just above my bodice. A fire began to burn.

And then it was gone. His heat receding. My body more confused than my mind.

I sucked in a deep breath, in the process inhaling the ambient smoke in the room, and then stifled a cough, my eyes watering.

“He will not appear,” Kelly announced, his pipe up to his lips but no smoke unfurling. “It is too dangerous, even for the likes of him.”

“There are no Suffragettes here,” I agreed. “And I fear he has his own supply of narcotics.”

Kelly nodded in agreement, eyes continually assessing the people as they lounged.

“What of the mayor’s son? Is he about?” I asked.

“No. His involvement will be behind the scenes. If at all. The Chinaman will be their front.”

“An establishment like this,” I offered, “would surely not be invited by the local authorities. Once you tell Chalmers, it won’t be long for this building.”

“If it is mobile, it will appear somewhere else in time.”

“Which leads one to suspect that there is a consortium of buildings available for such an enterprise.”

The inspector turned his attention to me. I hadn’t moved far from my recline, not for want nor desire, but unable to forget his nearness, the feeling of him pressed, even slightly, against me. I was savouring it and my cheeks heated with that thought. Kelly let his gaze trail over my corset, and up over my flushed skin until it rested on my eyes. I watched as he swallowed visibly, his Adam’s apple rising and falling as though it might hurt.

“So clever,” he murmured, his hand lifting from where he had it rested on his thigh and moving toward me. It hung in the air between us for a suspended moment, and then returned to his thigh.

I sat up. Desperate for his touch. Bereft having been denied it.

“I had not thought there would be others,” he murmured.

“Others?” I asked, losing track of our conversation. Losing the ability to think at all, I feared.

“Whether this has anything to do with our murderer, I cannot say,” he went on. “But I’ve seen enough to know it warrants further investigation.”

“Dens are not illegal,” I declared, finally managing to catch up with the topic of discussion.

“No, but since 1871 a vendor of opium must be registered and this Chinaman is not. Nor is the family trust the building is owned by.”

He looked about the place, once again assessing the customers and then disregarding them. I agreed. Our murderer was not here. He was more intelligent than that. Drugs consumed or not. Our killer had a level of knowledge, as far as narcotic and stimulant substances went, that was beyond what could be found amongst those present.