Date: 2017-04-28 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Mystery; Suspense; Historical
Description: Determined doctor? Interfering busybody? Fearless fighter? The London of Anna Cassidy’s memories is not the London she faces today. Having proved her worth as a physician, Dr Cassidy finds herself pitted against the stolid attitude of a male-dominated society. But it's not only society she has to contend with. A criminal mastermind has set themselves up in London, England; chosen the dirty streets of Whitechapel and Lambeth as their stage. Competing against a devious and cunning opponent sets Anna and her closest friends off on a dire adventure, which could culminate in a loss so great Anna ma
Rights: Copyright 2017 Nicola Claire. All rights reserved.

Breathless

The Scarlet Suffragette Book Two

Nicola Claire

Contents

About the Author

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Also by Nicola Claire

1.
Where Indeed?

2.
In Darkest London

3.
Where It All Began

4.
What The…?

5.
Don’t Get Ahead Of Yourself, Anna

6.
Oh, Bother

7.
Mince Pies?

8.
Poisonous In More Than One Way

9.
A More Incongruous Vision I Had Never Seen

10.
Why Didn't You Say So?

11.
Was This A Game?

12.
Armed And Ready

13.
Urging Me Ever Onwards To Mina

14.
I Am Home

15.
What A Pickle

16.
You Haven’t A Chance, Old Boy

17.
I’m Sure I Don’t Know

18.
But For Mina I Would Gladly Bleed

19.
Breathless For Anna

20.
And Then The Beast Within Burst Out

21.
My World Shattered Once Again

22.
The Faint Hint Of Jasmine Met The Still Air

23.
And Felt Bitter For My Efforts

24.
And The Shock On Anna’s Face

25.
So Very Protective

26.
Minutes Felt Like Days

27.
My Name Is Mary

28.
And Fears For Anna

29.
I’m Coming With You

30.
It Is Yours

31.
Damnation

32.
It Is True

33.
You Don’t Say?

34.
Secrets Have A Way Of Shackling You

35.
How On Earth Did I Combat That?

36.
And A Torrent Of Tears

37.
That Damnable Cane Tapping

38.
Checkmate

39.
Nothing But My Fear

40.
This Town Is My Kingdom

41.
Not If My Wife Lived

42.
Make Haste!

43.
Anna

44.
Right In The Thick Of It

45.
I Would Do It

46.
But At What Cost

47.
And Then Everyone Was Yelling At Once

48.
Inside I Was Screaming

49.
It All Went Downhill From There

50.
But I Was Too Far Down The Rabbit Hole Now To Climb Out

51.
Or Have You Courage Enough To Be Yourself?

52.
To Everyone But Us

Epilogue

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Copyright © 2017, Nicola Claire

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

© Cover Art by Cora Graphics

© Depositphotos.com/darkbird

© Bigstockphoto.com/Inga Ivanova/WizData

ISBN: 978-0-473-39635-0

Created with Vellum

About the Author

Nicola Claire lives in beautiful Taupo, New Zealand with her husband and two young boys.

She's tried her hand at being a paramedic, bank teller and medical sales representative, (not all necessarily in that order), but her love of writing keeps calling her back.

She has a passion for all things suspenseful, spiced up with a good dollop of romance, as long as they include strong characters - alpha males and capable females - and worlds which although make-believe are really quite believable in the end.

There's nothing better than getting caught up in a compelling, intriguing and romantic book.

When she's not writing or reading, she's out on her family boat at Lake Taupo, teaching her young boys to fish, showing them the beauty that surrounds them in nature and catching some delicious trout for dinner.

Creating rich worlds with dynamic characters and unexpected twists that shock and awe has been pure bliss for this author. And just as well, because there's a lot more story yet to tell...

For more information:

@NicolaClaireNZ

168567699926093

www.nicolaclairebooks.com
nicolaclaire@hotmail.com

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Starter Library

* * *

Also by Nicola Claire

Kindred Series

Kindred

Blood Life Seeker

Forbidden Drink

Giver of Light

Dancing Dragon

Shadow's Light

Entwined With The Dark

Kiss Of The Dragon

Dreaming Of A Blood Red Christmas (Novella)

* * *

Mixed Blessing Mystery Series

Mixed Blessing

Dark Shadow (Coming Soon)

* * *

Sweet Seduction Series

Sweet Seduction Sacrifice

Sweet Seduction Serenade

Sweet Seduction Shadow

Sweet Seduction Surrender

Sweet Seduction Shield

Sweet Seduction Sabotage

Sweet Seduction Stripped

Sweet Seduction Secrets

Sweet Seduction Sayonara

* * *

Elemental Awakening Series

The Tempting Touch Of Fire

The Soothing Scent Of Earth

The Chilling Change Of Air

The Tantalising Taste Of Water (Coming Soon)

* * *

H.E.A.T. Series

A Flare Of Heat

A Touch Of Heat

A Twist Of Heat (Novella)

A Lick Of Heat (Coming Soon)

* * *

Citizen Saga

Elite

Cardinal

Citizen

Masked (Novella)

Wiped

* * *

Scarlet Suffragette Series

Fearless

Breathless

Heartless (Coming Soon)

* * *

Blood Enchanted Series

Blood Enchanted

Blood Entwined

Blood Enthralled (Coming Soon)

* * *

44 South Series

Southern Sunset

Southern Storm

Southern Strike (Coming Soon)

* * *

Lost Time Series

Losing Time (Coming Soon)

For:

My father.

An Englishman & a gentleman.

And my Scarlet Suffragette muse.

Rest in peace, Poppa.

Where Indeed?

Anna

London, England

April 1892

In amongst the clutter and cacophony of the auditorium, the vacant chair stood out like a spectre to me. To the majority, it lay invisible. Their eyes simply skimming over the empty seat as if it didn’t exist. As if hidden behind a veil of shadows. From my vantage point up on the stage, however, it felt like a punch to the stomach.

Wilhelmina’s absence left me reeling.

We’d been receiving evermore strange missives of late. Gifts without explanation. Two months of odd messages and pressed flowers, none of them at all familiar. Trinkets and blossoms and perfumed scents from another world entirely. I’d traced them to the Dutch East Indies, but little more knowledge had been awarded me.

I couldn’t help feeling that something, someone, was closing in on us.

And now Mina’s absence from my graduation.

Where was the chit? Absorbed in the rich history of the Tower? Gazing at the lions of Trafalgar Square? Attending a performance at the Royal Albert Hall? Or lost in the macabre at Marie Tussaud’s on Marylebone Street, more likely. Wilhelmina couldn’t seem to get enough of the lifelike wax sculptures.

But even as I told myself this was just another of Mina’s absent moments, her mind shut off to reality, fortifying itself with the surreal, I knew her missing this moment was unusual.

My heart picked up a rapid beat, a tempo better suited to a battlefield. Too much of our recent life had been a battle.

“Miss Anna Louisa Cassidy,” a voice of authority called out to the side, pulling me from my memories. Disturbing me, albeit briefly, from my fears.

I smiled at Dr Garrett Anderson and stood from my seat taking the first steps towards liberty.

There was no returning smile to greet me, however. Elizabeth Garrett Anderson did not suffer fools lightly. Having successfully navigated the entirely male dominated medical industry in England alone for the past nine years, she could not allow such a show of weakness.

Or, as the more vocal male medical practitioners of the day tended to say, a show of feminine hysterics.

Smiling, unfortunately, was one of the many feminine traits the stolid surgeons of London believed telling in that regard.

The satin of my bell-shaped skirt swayed as I stepped across the wooden platform. Thank the heavens for lack of a bustle, but the ever present corset felt too tight. The lace trim far too chafing. My leather boots squeaked in the frightfully still air of the room. A small bead of sweat trickled down between my shoulder blades; I ruthlessly ignored it.

Henry sat in the front row of the meagre audience and offered up a disarming smile. Then followed it up with an altogether inappropriate wink.

I ducked my head and averted my eyes, lest the entire room be made aware how close I was to winking back, and found myself staring at Mina’s empty seat. I swallowed past a dry throat and came to rest in front of Dr Garrett Anderson.

Grey hinted at her temples, her hair tied up in a loose but perfunctory style. The starch of her collar looked painfully stiff, as did the pleats in her dark skirt. Shiny boots peeked out from beneath a rather dull looking hem. It never ceased to amaze me the lengths women in today’s society had to go to in order to appear less threatening to men.

My hand itched to brush the length of my royal blue dress. My breasts heaved under the constraints of the matching buttons. I cleared my throat and lifted my chin to meet Dr Garret Anderson’s piercing gaze.

“Anna Louisa Cassidy,” she repeated in that voice full of authority. “It is my great pleasure to award you first place in the graduating class of 1892.” She handed me a rolled up piece of paper, wax seal and ribbon adorned. The object was lighter than it should have been.

For surely, such a prized possession could not weigh mere ounces?

I gripped the document in my hand, realising I was shaking slightly. Tears welled in my eyes. My chest felt too tight; it wasn’t the corset. My gaze swept across the stage to Wilhelmina’s chair again. Perhaps her absence was fitting.

My father should have been here but wasn’t.

Dr Garrett Anderson touched my arm; a small show of solidarity. She understood. The fight. The wretched road to get here. The pieces of my soul the achievement had demanded.

The fractures it had left in my heart.

Hell is the plight of a woman meant for greater things.

I sucked in a fortifying breath of air and met Elizabeth’s gaze.

“Dr Cassidy,” she said and smiled.

“Dr Garrett Anderson,” I replied, and curtsied.

Controlled applause rang out in the auditorium. Henry’s the loudest of them all. I offered him a smile, then flicked my gaze across the stage to his sister. Emily’s beautiful grin beamed back at me. Her turn before the matron of the London School of Medicine for Women was next. Second in class.

I bobbed one last curtsey to the crowd and made my way to the seats on the far side of the stage. Reminding myself to breathe. Willing myself to stay strong. So much was absent, making what was right feel so very wrong.

I watched as Emily received her diploma, shared a cheek-kiss and squeeze of gloved fingers upon her arrival at the graduation seats, and then let my mind wander.

Six months of hard work, barely any sleep, and constant pressure to perform above and beyond that of any male contemporaries, culminating in what should have been the moment of my glory felt somewhat hollow without one’s family. My eyes scanned the crowd, lest Mina had sat elsewhere. But the faces, although in some cases familiar, did not belong to my cousin.

Worry had me nibbling my bottom lip. My fingers tightened on the scroll in my lap. Sounds became indistinct. I’m not a fanciful person. I rely more often than not on facts and the science of evidence before me.

But in this, I was uncharacteristically scared.

Mina often lost hours in the mews. Petting one horse or the other. She could spend half a day in front of the looking-glass, and not from any vanity. It may not have been the extravagance of Marble Arch, or the chaos of Paddington Station, or the gayness of the Venice in London spectacular at Olympia. It could have been something of the mundane.

I closed my eyes as Dr Garret Anderson wound up the proceedings.

I knew my cousin. I knew the many different ways she could have been waylaid.

And I knew none of them was reason enough to miss this.

My hand itched to pull from my reticule the latest missive courtesy of our secret paramour. The latest in a long line of love letters written in a fine hand, adorned with sweet smelling scents, all originating in the Dutch East Indies.

Love letters. What a strange affair. A novelty, and yet even aware as I was of their ill intent, I couldn’t help thinking one thing.

If only they had smelled of lemon and vinegar instead. Of honeysuckle and roses. Of sea salt and freshness. Of him.

But I had neither heard nor seen sight of Inspector Kelly for half a year, and the thought of returning to Auckland shortly left me feeling… lost at sea.

And now this.

“Pray tell, Dr Cassidy,” Emily murmured from beside me. “Where is your cousin?”

Where indeed?

In Darkest London

Anna

“My dear doctors,” Henry said with all the affectedness of a fop. He flourished his top hat, making a show of bowing to both Emily and myself as we exited the auditorium. “What a splendid occasion. I dare say we should celebrate.”

“Of course, brother,” Emily enthused, righting her breton atop her blonde curls in anticipation of a party. “Perhaps Dorothy’s on Mortimer?”

Henry looked at his sister aghast, his moustache quivering. “You’d have me entertain in a women’s establishment? For horror, Em! I’d be eaten alive. A bachelor for breakfast.”

“’Tis past noon,” Emily supplied. “And a Lady’s Restaurant Association venue is fitting for two young ladies who have graduated top of their class.” She offered up a delicate squeal. Most inappropriate for the setting. “Physicians. Imagine that!”

I’d imagined it daily for decades.

Henry laughed; a deep, throaty sound that had several passersby turn their heads and watch. Henry commanded attention wherever he went. It was feasible his assumptions were correct, and he would be eaten for breakfast at Dorothy’s. I cast my gaze over my friend’s brother, noting how well turned out he was today. He wore a dove-grey coat ending fashionably below his hips. The covered buttons matched his waistcoat. Dark trousers offered a steadying contrast. But his short turnover shirt collar was swamped, however, in a floppy bow tie.

He noticed me staring at him and cocked his head, a small smirk emerging at the edges of his refined lips.

“I was thinking,” he said, brandishing his walking stick as if it was a circus baton. It had me in mind of another walking stick, one used for a specific and much-needed purpose. I looked away. “Something more along the lines of Claridge’s or the Criterion. A little more our class, wouldn’t you say?”

“Tosh!” Emily exclaimed. “Our class indeed.”

He threw his arm around Emily’s shoulder in a much too familiar fashion, and whispered in her ear loud enough for me to hear, “Fine dining, good wine, exquisite company?” A wink over his shoulder at me followed, eliciting a giggle from Emily.

“I do wonder sometimes, Dr Tempest,” I said, “how you managed to complete half a year in an operating theatre alongside me without so much as a chortle and yet five minutes past graduating you’re clucking like a chicken for all to see on Hunter Street.”

“Chicken!” Henry hooted. “I say, that is marvellous! Cluck-cluck!”

Emily offered me an abashed grin. “He is incorrigible, Dr Cassidy. I shall endeavour to rise above his jests. But I do so love having him around.”

Henry harrumphed and then started swinging his cane again, adding a nonchalant whistle. His free hand slipped into his coat pocket with an air of insouciance as he kicked his feet up with shameless glee. Emily smiled fondly at him. She had been ecstatic when Henry had returned from his wandering at Christmastime. And I believed her brother felt much the same when he settled back into London society.

Both of them were as corruptible as each other. Love did that to siblings, I thought; my mind wandering to Mina.

“Will you come and celebrate with us, Anna?” Emily asked quietly, moving away from her show-stealing brother.

I studied my parasol as if it held the secrets of the universe and then admitted defeat.

“I can’t, dear one. I must return to our lodgings and check on Mina.”

“Mina!” Henry exclaimed. “Where is the chit?”

“Hush, Henry,” Emily admonished. Then turned to me. “We’ll come with you.”

The unsaid being, should something foul have befallen Mina, I would then not have to face it alone.

But alone is where I have lived for so long now, I am not certain I could accept help if needed. Wilhelmina is my worry. Not sweet Emily’s. And as I had when I chose to leave Auckland and seek my destiny in the theatres of the London School of Medicine for Women, I would face whatever came with dignity.

“Anna?” Emily pressed.

“Enough, Em,” Henry chided softly. “Leave Dr Cassidy well alone. Can you not see, she does not wish our company?”

“If it is your lodgings…” Emily started.

“Emily Tempest!” Henry snapped. “I said enough!”

Emily dutifully bowed her head, pink flushing her cheeks. I blinked; always uncertain how to progress when faced with Henry’s authority. I answer to no one and no man. My father long dead. My age of majority long reached. But although Emily was a mere two years younger than me, she was still very much under the influence of her older brother. Henry Tempest, Esquire. Head of the family.

Somehow she still thrived, though; perhaps their relationship was one that would always elude me.

I’d never thought to be relieved I hadn’t had an older relative to step in when Papa had died. Ours had been a relationship of understanding; encouragement and unconditional love. We’d had our disagreements, of course, as any parent and child is wont to do. But I had never felt controlled by him. Guided, yes. But never controlled.

I cleared my throat. “I must be going.”

“Of course,” Henry offered with a slight bow. Gone the fop and in its place a gentleman of high standing. I reached out and grasped Emily’s fingers. “We’ll do tea,” I suggested.

“Yes,” she said, offering a small smile. “Of course.”

Of course. Of course, we’d do tea; only if I arrived home at our lodgings and found Mina staring vacantly out of the window, none the worse for wear.

One last squeeze of my friend’s fingers and I opened my parasol and strolled off down the street.

When I glanced back some few minutes later, Henry and Emily had vanished from sight, their brougham no doubt ferrying them away on swift and silent feet.

I let out a sigh, immediately regretting it. Fog hung low over the darkened buildings; wispy fingers beckoning. I pulled my shawl tighter about my shoulders, ducked my head and crossed the street. As I hailed a hansom cab, I imagined the disquieting sensation of hot breath against the nape of my neck. I turned my head, but found an empty cobbled path behind me, the only sign of another person on the street that of a newsboy on the corner calling, “Metropole Murderer! Read all about it!”

My eyes scanned the headlines of his broadsheets. MANIA AT THE METROPOLE one read. MANAGER’S LETTER WARNS OF MURDEROUS INTENT. MUSSELS MUSTN’T BE EATEN. I shook my head as I climbed aboard the conveyance, settling into the seat once I’d given the driver our address. The sky darkened, unnaturally so. The smell of burning coal hung low in the air. Murky water splashed up as the wheels rolled over potholes. Someone yelled having received a dumping as we passed.

I glanced out the window; Tottenham Court Road stared back. Then the cab was swinging a left via much maligned Seven Dials. The sound of the horse’s hooves echoed off the leaning walls. Toffs promenaded their ladies, then a corner and whores sold their wares, then a twist in the road and we were in Drury Lane. Grimy windows lit up from gas lamps within looked like the square eyes of a discerning governess. Soot coated walls, clogged drains. Food and offal rotted in corners down dank alleyways. Dirty urchins ran barefoot through the filth. Cutpurses worked in gangs. The sweet scent of hashish wafted through the miasma pooling around the carriage.

And then as though the clouds opened up, we emerged onto the Strand. Temple Bar Gate stood prominently before us. Two uniformed bobbies, their coats long, their hats tall, stood to one side of the ornate arch as if daring the riffraff of Seven Dials to enter this sanctuary.

The hansom pulled to a stop before a plain looking building. One solitary gas lamp illuminating the broad steps up to the double sided door.

I paid the fare and alighted, avoiding a dirty puddle. For a moment, I just stared up at our window, willing Mina’s face to be there.

No light shone from within, and at this hour, with the fog so dense and the sun long gone from the sky, a candle at the very least should have welcomed me home.

But this wasn’t truly our home, and I feared Mina spent more time away from it than was wise. I glanced over to where the bobbies had been standing, but they had seen fit to move on. Temple Bar Gate stood solid and reassuring at the end of the street. Beyond it, only thickening fog. I rubbed my shoulders, then repositioned my parasol in a firmer grip.

I had the sense that someone was watching.

But the weather had turned, and the streets had closed in, and every sane person had taken cover.

One last look up at the vacant and dark window of our rooms, and I pushed the door open to our boarding house.

My heart was in my throat, beating a wild refrain, already aware of what I would discover.

Dreading it as much as I accepted it. This was Mina. And she was off wandering.

In darkest London.

Where It All Began

Anna

Warmth engulfed me as I crossed the threshold. The enticing smell of pork pie wafted on the air from the rear of the building. Candlelight flickered in the sitting room off to the side. I could hear the low voices of several boarders and the tinkling girlish laughter of young Miss Pankhurst behind the partially closed door. I stomped my feet on the mat in the hallway, willing warmth into my frozen limbs, and hung my shawl up on a hook in a closet to the side.

“Hallo then, Miss Cassidy!” Mrs Pugh called out from the door beside the kitchen. “Is that what I think it is in your ‘and?”

I managed a smile and held up the degree. “’Tis indeed.”

“Oh, how wonderful. We ‘ave a doctor in our midst.”

She clapped her hands and then realising they were dusted in flour, wiped them on her apron skirt.

“‘Ave you ‘eard the news?” she asked, moving into the hallway proper. “Murder at the Metropole. A right scare, it is. A nasty cur poisoning the patrons. What a way to go!”

“You’re speaking of the warning letter from the hotel manager?” I enquired, well used to Mrs Pugh’s confused references to the brazen and bizarre often found within the scandal sheets.

“Aye, a right meater, he is,” she said, slipping into her former Whitechapel dialect. “Hiding behind a potion. Mad scientist, they call ‘im. Psychotic physician, no doubt. It’s hard to trust a one of ‘em.”

She realised her egregious mistake immediately and blushed a bright pink, her fingers twisting her apron in agitation.

“Of course, present company exceptin’,” she murmured, eyes averted.

I nodded my head, smiling politely. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems, Mrs Pugh. No one was murdered in the Metropole Hotel, I believe. Merely sent running from a phantom. Besides, the police will have the matter in hand. And,” I added for good measure, “there is no evidence this person is a physician.”

“Don’t sell me a dog, Miss Cassidy. The Met don’t know a ‘alf of what goes on in this city. And who else dabbles in such dark brews but a doctor?”

I pursed my lips and blinked hard. Sometimes Mrs Pugh made it very difficult to remain a lady.

“Be it what it would,” I insisted. “We must place our trust in the establishment.”

“You’re a better woman than me,” she harrumphed. “That three-penny-upright didn’t die by natural causes,” she muttered. “And ain’t no bookseller who done her in, neither.”

A cold shudder ran through me. Mrs Pugh was talking about the murder of a young prostitute struck down by strychnine just before we arrived here. Another had fallen since then, too.

I consoled myself with the knowledge that Mina was no prostitute and wherever she had taken herself off to, it would not be across the river to Lambeth. No, Mina would be more inclined to traverse the crowded floor of the Crystal Palace. Or while away the day at St. Paul's Cathedral. Or stare longingly at a Constable in the National Gallery.

A quick glance at the grandfather clock at the end of the hall settled my heart rate. Even if most of those establishments had closed by now, Mina could still be wending her way home.

I cleared my throat. Before I had a chance to enquire as to Mina’s absence, however, the door to the sitting room sprang open, and young Miss Christabel Pankhurst stumbled out.

“I thought I heard voices,” she said breathlessly. Then offered up a small curtsey on spying me. “Miss Cassidy. What joy! Have you come to attend Mama’s meeting?”

I glanced at the now fully open door and spotted several of Mrs Pankhurst’s suffragettes. The thought of spending the evening conversing on matters of import with such like minded ladies was appealing. But my stomach churned, and perspiration started to bead my brow.

“No, sweeting,” I said to the young lass. “I fear I have a prior engagement.”

“In this weather?” Mrs Pugh exclaimed.

“Indeed,” I said, eyeing the dark skies outside the front window with trepidation. Mina was out in this.

“But supper is nearly ready,” Mrs Pugh complained.

“And I know Mama would love to hear more of your efforts in the Antipodes,” Christabel offered.

“Miss Cassidy is not within, perchance?” I asked the child hopefully. I feared the answer but was ready for it all the same.

“Ah, no. I have not seen her, miss.”

“Nor I,” supplied Mrs Pugh. “She left in a flurry of feathers and ribbons and too much scent, crying off morning tea this morning. She ain’t been back since.”

I’d been ready for the confirmation, but I’d failed to account for the panic that would ensue.

“Right. Of course. She didn’t happen to say where she was heading, did she?” I enquired.

“‘Twas not my business to ask.” I almost scoffed at that; Mrs Pugh had a knack for learning information. Especially if that information pertained to one of her guests.

“Hansom cab or on foot?” I asked, not wishing to waste a moment.

Mrs Pugh narrowed her eyes, but I held her reluctant stare steadily.

“Cab, if you must know,” she said in a huff.

“Toward town?”

“I’m sure I didn’t see.”

“Please, Mrs Pugh. She failed to show for my graduation.”

“You graduated?” Chrystabel shouted. “Oh, how splendid. Mama!” she yelled at the top of her voice as only a twelve-year-old could. “Miss Cassidy is now a doctor!”

Murmurs of congratulations sounded out. I nodded my head and smiled and then turned a pleading look on Mrs Pugh.

“She headed toward the Strand,” she muttered. “I thought perhaps Covent Garden this time. But she weren’t in no mind for costermongers. I feared she had a liaison planned.”

“A liaison?” With whom?

“She smelled all nice-like. And wore this pretty dress. Strange, but. She covered it in her darkest cloak. The one that seen better days that is.”

I scowled at the closet and then crossed the hall and swung the door open. Sure enough, Mina’s travel cloak was missing. Why would she dress in finery and then cover it with such a disagreeable outer garment?

I could cross Crystal Palace off the list. Heavens, I could cross many of her usual haunts off the list, as well. Where would Mina go? The dress may well have been for my graduation. Mina’s idea of appropriate clothing was somewhat different from others. Oh, she was always dressed in the height of fashion. But with a twist of the Continent thrown in for good measure. And not the bourgeoisie part of the Continent at that.

Ribbons and scent were not unusual adornments for Wilhelmina.

But the travel cloak had not been used, as far as I knew, since we’d arrived here.

“Thank you, ladies,” I said, executing a swift curtsey and then making my way up the stairs to our rooms. The hallway was lit by a single candle, not bright enough to pierce the gloom. I lifted it off the side table and made my way to our rooms at the front of the building. Mrs Pugh had placed us in the largest suite. Large enough that we could both stay together; leaving Mina alone at night was not a possibility. Nightmares. We all had them; Mina’s she lived.

I scanned the empty space, looking for clues. My desk was scattered with different study materials, the odd glass phial, my medical case, powders and liquids, a pipette, pliers, pinking irons, a recent scientific journal from the Royal Society, a Bunsen. But no note from Mina.

I placed my degree on top of the clutter and then pulled the latest missive from our admirer out of my reticule, placing it in the desk’s drawer along with the rest. I expected one to arrive tomorrow. They had become frequent enough to predict.

I ran my hand over the flowing writing, the scent of jasmine floating on the air. Sucking in a shallow breath, I closed the door on that mystery and turned my full attention to the most important one of all.

My eyes landed on the book Mina had been reading, a familiar embossed image of a flower stared back. An unpleasant thought entered my head.

Mina had intended to be present at my graduation. She’d dressed for it; that much I could make of her finery. But something had waylaid her. Something requiring subterfuge. Mina was the last person on earth I thought could rely successfully on deceit of any sort. It just wasn't in her nature.

But the cloak would not have been chosen by chance.

Mina was hiding something.

And I feared I knew what.

Exchanging my parasol for one more fitting the streets of London after dark, I exited the room and made my way downstairs. Mrs Pugh was waiting; worry etched upon her tired face.

“You’re going after her,” she said; not a question. “But where will you search first?”

A travel cloak designed to disguise meant only one thing. Mina needed to blend in. And where would a book about flowers lead Wilhelmina?

“Whitechapel, Mrs Pugh,” I said, pulling out my own travel cloak. “Where it all began.”

Curiosity killed the cat, Ben Jonson wrote. I feared it could also kill my cousin.

What The…?

Inspector Kelly

My cane slammed down onto solid ground with an audible thump that could be heard over the raucous noise of Albert Docks. I rolled my shoulders and scowled at the row of hansoms waiting for patronage. A barely-there breeze ruffled my collar; the scent of brine mixed with horse manure and more nefarious things. Fog hung low to the ground further from the river, masking the detritus of a busy port. Its skeletal fingers curved around soot covered corners and wrapped around the mud-soaked boots of able seamen.

I turned back and looked at the Tongariro; Captain Bone in deep conversation with Chief Officer Millward up on the deck. The Captain offered me a tip of his cap in farewell. I nodded my head, and adjusted my cloak, my leg throbbing with remembered agony.

This had been my home for over thirty years.

It had become a hell in the end.

A shudder rolled over my shoulders; my hands fisted the top of my cane, knuckles turning white. A dull ache set up shop in my thigh. She wasn’t here. She couldn’t be. She’d be mad to return to London.

“Temple Bar, is it then, sir?” Blackie asked at my side, watching the movements of dock workers and alighting passengers with a hawk’s eye.

I turned my attention to the sergeant. “We’re visiting policemen, Sergeant. We need to announce our presence.”

“A few minutes to ascertain Miss…”

“We’re here to chase down a criminal,” I snapped. “Not dally with old acquaintances.”

“Old acquaintances, you say, sir? I’d not thought Misses Cassidy mere acquaintances.”

I stifled the sigh that wanted out. “Why is it you are here again, Sergeant?”

He’d insisted on accompanying me on this fool’s errand. Taken leave of his position as if it didn’t hang by a thread at all. Aggravating Superintendent Chalmers and endangering his precious standing in Auckland, all on the pretence of solving a mystery.

I rather thought the mystery was me and not the origin of the letter in my pocket.

Blackie knew too much already. I feared what else he’d unearth.

“You need a friend, sir,” he said. “No one should face Whitechapel without an ally.”

“I have friends.”

Blackie snorted.

“And former colleagues.”

Blackie just stared at me.

“I’m sure some of my informants have survived.”

“What, half-rats and beefers?”

“I’ll have you know; I had a good rapport with my informants.”

“Aye, sir. And they had one with your blunt ’n all, too.”

“We are not friends, Sergeant Blackmore,” I said, striding off toward the closest hansom.

“We’re not mere acquaintances, neither,” he muttered behind me.

It had been a long voyage from New Zealand. And now it would be an interminable length of time here in hell.

The hansom rattled over the boards of Gallions Reach and turned toward Whitechapel. I settled in for the long ride, leaning back on the seat and pulling my hat over my face in a clear signal to Blackie that I was tired.

I was nothing of the sort. The passage on the steamer had been arduous. The days had crawled. The conversation had become repetitive. If it hadn’t have been for Sergeant Blackmore’s and Chief Officer Millward’s games of loo, little would have entertained me.

As it was, I’d had too long to think of Anna.

I pushed Miss Cassidy from my mind now and concentrated on the task at hand. The letter burned a hole in my breast pocket. The scent of jasmine left me feeling faintly ill. I’d recognised her hand, of course. The words, though, had been foreign. It didn’t matter. The affront was in the delivery.

She knew where I’d been hiding.

But worse still, she knew where Anna had been.

It had taken little to shatter the peace I had garnered in Auckland, but once the walls of my carefully built tower had tumbled, I’d packed my trunk and booked passage immediately.

Only to turn up at Queen Street Wharf to find Blackie.

I peered across the hansom at my travelling companion. His crooked nose and faintly scarred face seemed evil in the yellowed light of intermittent gas lamps. His beard was trimmed; the first time it had been so since boarding the Tongariro. His eyes flinty as they took in the streets of Limehouse. Fog thickened as we passed the kilns. Blackie didn’t stop watching.

If I had to have a man at my back, I’d take none other than James Blackmore.

I made a disgruntled sound, garnering the attention of the man himself.

“Time you ‘fessed up, sir,” he said softly. His words were mere wisps of breath in the confines of the carriage.

“There is nothing to confess, Blackmore.”

“I never seen you so distraught,” he murmured, making me shift on my side of the seat.

“Nonsense.”

“It ain’t like you to abandon your post.”

“You know nothing of me, Sergeant.” I’d abandoned posts before now.

“I know you’re loyal. To a fault. I know you’re a dedicated copper. I know you’re an honest man.”

“Fine traits, to be sure. But irrelevant. And not necessarily accurate.”

Blackie stared out of the window at the London Hospital. Its arched entranceways shrouded in fluttering shadows. Fog climbed the front steps as if hunting injured prey.

“What did the letter say, sir?” he said to the haze.

Like a thief in the night, he stole all air.

Slowly, Blackmore turned to look at me. “I seen you readin’ it. Your fingers white where you held the paper. Your face a matchin’ shade. You keep it in your pocket.” He nodded toward the breast pocket of my coat. “As if you can’t bear to be parted from it. But when you draw it out, thinkin’ yourself alone-like, your face betrays you.”

“Careful, Sergeant.”

“Ain’t no cause for care, sir. That letter hides the devil. I smelt the rat.”

The hansom rolled to an abrupt stop outside Leman Street Police Station. Silence descended inside and outside of the cab. Blackie held my stare. My heart beat too fast. From memories. From anticipation. From fear.

“If there’s a scheme afoot,” Blackie murmured. “I’d like in on it.” He sucked in a fortifying breath of air. “She’s my friend, too, sir.”

I ground my teeth and pushed open the door, stumbling down onto puddle-strewn cobbles. Blackie paid the driver and the handsom rolled off into the mist. The light from a nearby gas lamp left us in shadows. Matching the shadows of my heart.

I looked across the street to my former place of employment and waited for my pulse to settle.

“This is personal, Sergeant,” I said, watching the silhouettes of policemen through the windows.

“I understand, sir.”

“Then you agree, you’ve overstepped the mark?”

“Not at all, sir.”

Of course not. Blackie had never met a situation where he didn’t think he belonged.

I smiled grimly. Tapped my cane on the ground and crossed the street to the Police Station’s front door.

The familiar smell of lemon and vinegar met my nose.

And the all too familiar voice of Miss Cassidy froze my heart.

“What the…?” Blackie announced.

“Indeed,” I said, taking in every inch of Anna as if starved.

Don’t Get Ahead Of Yourself, Anna

Anna

“Where did you say you consulted?” the policeman behind the desk asked.

“Auckland, Chief Constable. I’d be willing to offer my expertise while I remain in London.”

“I see. And you don’t think we’ve not got our own surgeon?”

“I’m sure you do. But one more set of eyes can’t harm.”

“One more set of eyes, you say?”

“I’m really rather good,” I offered. “Did you hear about the bastard daughter of Sir William Withey Gull?”

“We get the broadsheets, madam. Even those what tell of the Antipodes.”

“I consulted on that case.”

“So you say.”

“Perhaps if I could speak to your superintendent?”

“Superintendent Arnold is out.”

“Then his inspector.”

“Inspector Reid is busy.”

“I’m sure he is,” I said, forcing a smile. “May I enquire as to your surgeon?”

“Listen, missy. I’m sure you think you’re a doctor, but this ain’t no parlour and it ain’t right for you to pretend such here.”

“I am not pretending. I graduated from the London School of Medicine for Women; I’ll have you know.” Today. But he needn’t be aware of that fact. “I am a doctor.”

“There are no cases requiring a woman’s hand,” the chief constable said offhandedly, shuffling papers on his desk as if that would indicate the end of the discussion.

“You do not have female victims?” I enquired mildly. “Perhaps prostitutes that require a more feminine touch?”

“Now, I’ll have none of that suffragette nonsense here. Women’s rights, my arse. You just get along…”

“Mind your tongue, Chief Constable Aldridge,” a voice said from behind me.

I knew that voice. My heart skipped a beat. My mind was playing tricks on me. Fear for Mina causing aural aberrations. I forced myself to turn.

“Well, I never,” the chief constable exclaimed. “If it ain’t Inspector Kelly. We’ve had no word of your return.”

Oh, my Lord, it was him. He was here. Right here. Inspector Andrew Kelly. My would-be guardian. Auckland’s finest. The man who held my heart. And refused to keep it. I couldn’t stop staring. His eyes, in turn, were locked on mine and not the officer at my back.

“Just visiting, Aldridge,” he said, not looking away from me. He sounded the same. Gruff but warm. Deep as an ocean. He looked the same, if not a little tired. Tall, broad of shoulder. Brown locks that hinted at auburn. His beard was clipped, his blue eyes shone vibrantly.

No one else existed but him.

“Oh, aye,” the chief constable said. “And thought you’d pop in and ‘ave a natter, eh? Oi! I guess you’d know this lady doctor, then?” The constable sniggered, making my skin itch. Or was that the hand holding my parasol readying to strike? “Said she’s a crime scene specialist from Auckland. What a load of bollocks!”

“Language,” Inspector Kelly said, his eyes finally leaving my face and glowering at the chief constable.

“Miss Cassidy,” Sergeant Blackmore said in greeting, off to Kelly’s side. I hadn’t even realised he’d been standing there. Embarrassment made my skin burn as I met the sergeant’s eyes.

“It’s Doctor Cassidy, Sergeant,” I murmured.

He smiled, but it was Andrew’s reaction that filled my heart to bursting.

“Doctor Cassidy,” he offered with an exultant smile. His eyes shone with understanding. A wealth of pride he couldn’t hide there. I longed to hear him say more.

“Bloody hell,” the chief constable said, interrupting the moment. “She’s not from Bedlam, then?”

“Not today, Chief Constable,” I managed, attempting to appear unruffled.

“Well, then,” the policeman said, looking about his desk as if an answer to this dilemma would be found.

“Why are you here, Anna?” Andrew asked quietly.

“Seeking employment,” I replied.

Andrew seemed perplexed. “In Whitechapel?”

“I’d heard such good things,” I jested. Blackmore scoffed, covering his smile with the sleeve of his jacket. Kelly ignored him.

“At this time of the day?” he pressed.

“I was just passing.”

“I repeat, Doctor. In Whitechapel?”

“Errands brought me this way.”

“Whitechapel,” Kelly reiterated. I was starting to get a little miffed.

“Yes, Inspector. My legs are quite capable of taking me to all number of places. I dare say, should I feel so inclined, I could walk the streets of Lambeth on occasion.”

Kelly narrowed his eyes. Then said, “What’s happened in Lambeth?”

The infuriating man.

“Murders, Inspector,” the chief constable supplied. “Tarts. Dirty puzzles. Dollymops.”

“Yes, I understand the meaning, Chief Constable. How many so far?”

“Two. You back for good, then?”

“Only two,” Kelly said, clever eyes twinkling.

“And a scare at the Metropole Hotel,” I added for good measure.

“Now, none of that,” Chief Constable Aldridge reprimanded. “We’ll not have you starting a riot. Nothing’s confirmed. ’Twas someone playing a lark, ‘sall.”

“No one’s here to start a riot, Chief Constable,” I said. “But the scandal sheets did say a letter was left with the manager, did they not?”

Aldridge shifted nervously behind his desk. “Not our district,” he said succinctly.

“Soho,” Kelly declared. “And the murders were in Lambeth?”

“Yes, sir,” Aldridge replied. “Are you back, then?”

“What was in the letter, Chief Constable?”

“I’m not sure I should say, sir.”

“Of course you can,” Kelly argued. “Have we not worked on this type of case in the past?”

“Yes, sir. And ’twas right exciting to get your correspondence regarding Gull. Reid was all aflutter, he was. But, sir, you ain’t a London copper now, is you?”

“I am still an Inspector, Chief Constable.”

“Yes, sir. By all accounts, a good one. But Superintendent Arnold won’t like me barking.”

“Is he in?” Kelly asked immediately. “I should like to pay my respects.”

Aldridge looked at me and then grumbled under his breath.

“Of course, sir. You know the way.”

“Thank you,” Kelly said and offered me his arm.

I smiled up at him; how could I not? It was like old times. If old times were not laced with so much heartache.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Anna,” Andrew murmured. “I know you’re here for more than a job.”

“I’m merely offering my services, Inspector. Crime is on the rise, after all.”

He stared down at me as we navigated the narrow corridors of the police station.

“Hmmm,” he said doubtfully and softly stroked a thumb over my hand.

Oh, Bother

Inspector Kelly

What was she playing at? I could hardly guess. This was Anna Cassidy. Anything was possible. If she got it into her very intelligent mind to meddle in the affairs of the local constabulary, then woe betide any who got in her way.

Anna. Here at Leman Street Station. My Anna. And my past come back to haunt me.

Her closeness was torture I’d gladly bear. Her scent as sweet as any blossom. She looked paler than I remembered. Her skin nearing porcelain in texture, her eyes two luminous orbs of storm grey. I longed to run my fingers through her thick, dark hair. Brush the tendril that curled at her temple behind her ear.

Anna was not unaware of my affections. But she was aware of why I could not act on them.

She wore a rich blue dress; out of mourning for her father. The vibrant colour made the police station seem a dark den. She walked with purpose as if an audience with the superintendent was rightfully hers to claim. Chin lifted, eyes ahead. Pulse thundering on the side of her neck.

Anna. What have you got yourself into?

My hand involuntarily tightened on her arm. I forced myself to lower it; to move it away. If I had the strength to spare, I’d move away completely. But Anna always laid me bare. Stripped me raw. Tempted me in a fashion that was not entirely gentlemanly.

I’d break a thousand rules for her. But not that one.

She deserved far better than me.

Superintendent Arnold’s door approached, and my own pulse quickened. Our last conversation had not been fit for ladies’ ears. My presence would only tarnish Anna. But she walked beside me as if honoured I was there.

If she knew the secrets I harboured, she’d run the other way.

I lifted my hand and knocked, waited for the obligatory shout to enter, and then pushed the door open for Anna to precede me. I noted the way she took in the entirety of the old man’s office. Her eyes scanning the books on criminal behaviour, the small scientific experiments laid out below a shrouded window, the uncomfortable, hard-backed chairs before the large leather-topped desk, the dried rose petals that stood in a jar to his right.

It took her a mere second to scan the contents of Arnold’s room. Contents that hadn’t changed in the five years since I’d last been here. Did she see what he wanted her to see? Or did Anna see beneath the act the superintendent put on?

“Inspector Kelly,” Thomas Arnold greeted. “This is a surprise.”

“Good day, Superintendent Arnold. May I introduce my companions. Dr Anna Cassidy, lately of Temple Bar, formerly of Auckland, New Zealand. And Sergeant James Blackmore of Auckland Police.”

Arnold nodded gruffly, shaking Blackmore’s hand and addressing Anna with another nod of his head. His sharp eyes returned to me.

“In Whitechapel, no less,” he said, the words heavy.

“Passing through,” I offered.

“To where?” he called my bluff.

“Lambeth.” Silence. Heavy from all those in the room. Blackie looked stoically forward as if we’d discussed this and he knew exactly where I was going and why. Anna’s shoulders stiffened, but she remained calm at my side.

“Now what would an Auckland copper want in Lambeth?”

“I’m on the hunt,” I advised.

“Name?”

“I’m not at liberty to divest.”

Arnold stared me down. The moment stretched. And then he gruffly indicated the seats in front of his desk, waiting for Anna to take one, and then sat down. Blackie and I followed suit; Blackie’s chair further back in the room. Mine beside Anna’s as if we presented a united front.

His eyes scanned all three of us and came to rest on Anna.

“Dr Cassidy,” he said. “You have immigrated from the Antipodes?”

“A finite stay, sir. One which, I fear, is nearing its end.”

The news was welcome, but I refused to show a reaction.

“You did not accompany Inspector Kelly and Sergeant Blackmore?” Arnold enquired.

“No, sir. I am visiting with my cousin, Wilhelmina Cassidy.” Anna sat forward slightly in her chair. The movement catching my eye, despite its modest motion. She held her breath, and then, perhaps noting my attention, released it.

The action was forced.

I turned back to look at Arnold to see if he had noticed.

He had.

“And yet you attend me with two police officers?”

“Merely chance,” Anna offered. “And old acquaintances.”

“For certain, Auckland is that small a city?”

Anna smiled. It was at once beguiling and altogether mischievous. I had no idea what Arnold was thinking, but I was drowning in my Anna.

I shook myself and looked to the superintendent. His eyes met mine.

“Dr Cassidy has helped the Auckland Police Force on occasion,” I offered. “Her father was the former police surgeon.”

“Ah,” Arnold said. “Mystery solved.” Was it?

“I believe you have murders in Lambeth,” I said, deciding Arnold had entertained his curiosity in regards to Miss Cassidy long enough. “Would you be of a mind to share details?”

“’Tis not my district, Kelly, and you know it. You’d have to converse with L Division.”

“Fair enough,” I replied. “What are the scandal sheets saying?”

“The usual. Gossip and hearsay. Nothing remotely accurate.”

“Two dead. You fear more?”

“Hard to say. The Metropole debacle didn’t help.”

“The letter,” I pressed, remembering what Anna had said to the chief constable.

“A fabrication. But strychnine has a habit of making all concerned excitable.”

My pulse thundered. My vision darkened. My skin felt altogether too clammy.

“A woman’s poison, sir,” Blackmore said, perhaps aware of my sudden inattention. “Hardly a woman’s crime, though, if you don't mind me saying.”

“Indeed, Sergeant. Nasty business. But then those types of women are more inclined to come off second best.”

“Those types, Superintendent?” I heard Anna ask.

“A discussion best left for different company,” Arnold gruffly remarked.

“Don’t curb your tongue for me, Superintendent. I am a physician, after all.”

“Yes, well, be that as it may, this really is inappropriate. Inspector Kelly, how long do you intend to stay in London? Hunting.”

“Until I catch my prey.”

“Can H Division be of assistance?” The offer was made freely. The assistance would come at a price.

“Thank you, sir. But I believe L Division is where we’ll be starting.”

“Lambeth,” Arnold said flatly. “The last time you hunted, Spitalfields was your range.”

“Indeed,” I said standing. “Times change.”

“Do they?” Arnold queried mildly. Anna stood, forcing the superintendent and Blackie to do the same. “A pleasure, Dr Cassidy,” he said.

“Likewise,” Anna replied, offering a small bob of her head.

“Thank you for your time, sir,” I said, leading Anna toward the door. I couldn’t get out of here fast enough.

“Cassidy!” Arnold suddenly barked, thumping the desk with a fist in exclamation. “I knew I’d heard that name before.”

Anna turned. Pale.

Arnold held her wide-eyed gaze. Slowly his attention swept to me.

“I fear someone else is on the hunt, Inspector,” he said. “Such inquisitiveness can be troublesome, wouldn’t you say?”

Anna took a step forward, but a hand on her arm halted her trajectory. Thomas Arnold was as crafty as they came. The books on his shelf were real. The scientific experiments a prop. The rose petals a foil to hide the true man behind the mask.

What had Anna’s cousin done to set Thomas Arnold off?

I nodded my head, accepting the warning, and escorted Anna from the room; Blackie on our tail. We didn’t speak until we stepped out of the building proper. Anna still pale. Blackie looking perturbed. My blood pumping.

Arnold was warning me. But why? What the dickens would Wilhelmina Cassidy be doing to warrant such?

“I think you need to start talking, Dr Cassidy,” I said gruffly.

Anna blinked. Sighed. And then said, “Oh, bother.”

Mince Pies?

Anna

The chief constable had not reacted to the mention of Wilhelmina. And for most of the time that we’d spent in that farce of a room with Superintendent Arnold, he’d not reacted either. But that look he’d cut Andrew at the end. It meant something. And that warning he’d issued.

What had Mina done?

She’d been here, of that I was certain. She’d asked questions. Of which I was sure the superintendent had not answered. But where had she gone afterwards?

“Doctor?” Kelly pressed at my side.

“Give me a moment,” I instructed, starting to pace.

Had she been visiting any of the sights we’d discussed of an evening? The Crystal Palace? Marie Tussaud’s? Olympia? Had it all been a charade? What had happened to my meek and mild cousin? And why this sudden interest in Inspector Kelly?

The flower book was of course in relation to the inspector’s wife. Mina had been involved in the discovery of Mrs Kelly’s name in the book from the inspector’s old barracks. But we’d not discussed any of it since arriving here. It was the past. It was over. It was the reason why my heart had been shredded. I did not wish to revisit it.

But Mina had. Why?

If I knew how she’d been spending her days, perhaps I could extrapolate as to why she had pursued this course of action. I’d been so busy lately. So concerned with my own affairs. The pressure at school had been unrelenting, but I could have spared a moment to check on my vulnerable cousin. Followed up on her supposed day’s attractions. Attended one when she’d advised of her schedule.

I fisted my hand and stopped pacing. Mina? What have you done?

“Anna, it is getting late,” Inspector Kelly advised from behind me.

I turned and lifted my face up to his; saw the concern there. A matching look graced Sergeant Blackmore’s weathered face.

It was getting late. Perhaps Mina had returned to our lodgings. It was a hollow hope, but I clung to it. At the very least, I needed to go through her belongings. Find a clue. Follow up on every scrap of evidence.

Kelly stepped closer. So big and broad of shoulders. So imposing. So safe.

My heart rebelled at that thought. There was nothing safe about Andrew Kelly.

“Anna,” he said softly. “What is going on?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. And then said, “I don't know.”

“Your cousin?” he pressed.

“Missing.”

He drew back; shock replacing concern. “Since when?”

“This morning.”

Sergeant Blackmore stepped closer. “Doesn’t she wander, miss?”

“So I believed,” I admitted. “But I fear I have not kept a close enough eye these past months.”

“Does Miss Cassidy require a close eye?” Kelly asked.

I nodded my head. “Mina daydreams. Loses herself in her fantasies. I thought she’d been daydreaming at the National Gallery. Or maybe St Paul’s. That’s what she led me to believe.”

“And you doubt it now?” Blackmore asked.

“I do,” I said, realising the truth of the statement. My eyes met Inspector Kelly’s. “I hadn’t put the facts together. I’m not sure I’m aware of all of them yet. But it would seem, Inspector, that my cousin has taken an interest in… you.”

“Me?”

“I know,” I said, waving my hand in dismissal. “It does seem bizarre.”

“Indeed.”

“But you must confess, you cut an imposing figure.”

“I’ll do no such thing as confess.”

“And carry an air of mystery.”

“Mystery?” Kelly demanded.

I shrugged my shoulders, twisted my closed parasol around in my hands, then started walking in the direction of Temple Bar.

It took several steps for me to realise Andrew was not following. I stopped and turned. Was it that easy to lose him?

“Sir?” Blackmore pressed. “She’s getting away.”

“She’s not a fish,” Kelly remarked mildly.

“Yes, sir. But she is Miss Cassidy. Doctor Cassidy.” Blackmore cleared his throat. Leant closer and whispered, although his words carried on the fog-filled air, “Yours.”

Kelly made a frustrated sound and marched after me. He didn't limp at all. I curtailed the smile that wanted out. Told myself his presence did not help one iota. But as he made my side and matched his steps to mine, I couldn’t help the feeling of peace that stole over me.

“This is not over,” he declared. “We’ll escort you home. You’ll tell us everything. And we - Sergeant Blackmore and I - will start searching for Miss Cassidy.”

“What of your hunt?” I enquired.

His turn to wave a dismissive hand through the air. “Miss Cassidy must come first.”

Relief washed over me. I knew the constabulary would not move on a missing woman of a mere few hours. But something told me, Mina was in trouble. We needed to start looking straight away.

For the life of me, I did not know where to start. I prayed a more thorough look through her possessions would elicit some new information. But I was thankful for an experienced eye.

Despite our disagreements, Inspector Kelly was very good at his job. And even if not a member of the Metropolitan Police Force any longer, he still had contacts. He still knew the city better than I. He was still Mina’s best bet.

“I’m glad you are here,” I murmured, feeling the heat of his gaze as we continued to walk.

He didn't reply, though. And I’d not expected him to. But his continued presence was answer enough for now.

A short time later, having hired the service of a hansom cab, we arrived at Mrs Pugh’s boarding house. A candle burned on the windowsill of the sitting room. The suffragette meeting long past. I tipped my head back and looked at the darkened window above. The curtains weren’t drawn. Mina had not made it home.

A sick feeling settled in my stomach. My hand automatically moved there. Kelly made another frustrated sound, and gripped my elbow, helping me up the steps of the home.

The door opened before we reached it; Mrs Pugh peering out, looking alarmed.

“Dr Cassidy,” she said. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine, Mrs Pugh,” I managed. She opened the door, staring daggers at the inspector and sergeant. “Allow me,” I said. “Mrs Pugh, Inspector Kelly and Sergeant Blackmore of Auckland Police. Gentlemen, my landlady.”

“Mrs Pugh,” Andrew said offering a bow, his hat removed, his large frame taking up too much space in the entryway.

“Inspector,” Mrs Pugh whispered.

“Mrs Pugh,” Sergeant Blackmore greeted. “Fine establishment you got yourself ‘ere.”

She brightened immediately on hearing Blackmore’s accent.

“And all the more cheerful for your being ‘ere, sir,” she replied, fingers curled in her apron self-consciously.

Blackmore winked, nodding towards her sitting room. “Do you mind, luv, if we partake of your accommodations. We’ve business to discuss with Dr Cassidy.”

Mrs Pugh turned her eyes to me, questioning.

“It’s all right, Mrs Pugh. They’re here to help.”

“Mina,” Mrs Pugh said, the first time I’d heard her call Wilhelmina anything other than Miss Cassidy.

“Has she…?” I started. Mrs Pugh shook her head, worry now etched into her features. She bustled over to the sitting room and began lighting more candles.

“I’ll make tea,” she advised.

“Much obliged,” Blackmore said, receiving a look from Inspector Kelly. The sergeant nodded his head and followed Mrs Pugh out of the room. “Tell you what, luv,” I heard him say. “How ‘bout you and I have a natter. It’s been a right long time since I parleyed with somin’ who’s mince pies light up the skies like yours do.”

“Oh, you!” Mrs Pugh scoffed happily, any further reply lost as they made their way to the back of the house and the kitchen.

“Mince pies?” I said, arching a brow at the inspector.

He shook his head, his hat in his hands before him, uncertainty painting a picture across his handsome face.

And then he dropped the hat on a nearby settee and took three steps to reach me.

“Anna,” he rasped, wrapping me up in his warm embrace.

Poisonous In More Than One Way

Inspector Kelly

She let me hold her for a mere few seconds and then stepped back and looked away. Pain graced her perfect features. Sorrow and heartache.

I’d done that to Anna. I’d broken her heart and turned her away.

The sound of my throat clearing was too loud for the room. I watched as she made her way to the fireplace, stirring it back to life again.

“Will you tell me?” I asked.

“There’s not much to tell,” she offered.

“Then this won't take long.” And she could be rid of me.

Anna turned and looked up into my face. We stared at each other. And I knew without a shadow of doubt that I shouldn't have told her. That I shouldn’t have been so weak.

I love you. I have no right to, but I do. So help me God, I’m so very much in love with you.

“Why are you here, Andrew?” she asked. My heart beat louder at the sound of my name. “In London. Why have you come all this way?”

“That is irrelevant,” I said softly. “Mina. Tell me of Mina.” My troubles could wait another day.

Anna looked lost for a moment and then turned to the nearest settee and sat down. Billows of lush sapphire fabric floated around her. She looked a vision in blue. I’d last seen her in charcoal grey. I’d imagined her in scarlet every night and every day.

“I graduated today,” she said, stunning me silent. “Mina didn't show at the auditorium.”

“What time was this?” I heard myself say.

“Two o’clock.”

“Were you aware of her plans?”

“She’d told me she’d be attending the graduation.” I couldn’t imagine Anna’s cousin missing it. “She failed to mention any other engagement. Mrs Pugh saw her leave at morning tea.”

“You’d already left for the graduation?”

“Meeting friends prior,” she confirmed. I smiled. The knowledge that Anna had made friends warmed me. “Dressed as though she intended to make an appearance at the graduation,” she added, “but wearing her well-worn travel cloak over the top.”

The travel cloak was significant, and Anna had not failed to notice its importance.

“Rather like the cloak you wore this evening,” I guessed. Her eyes met mine and she nodded. “Why Whitechapel?”

“You know why.”

“I’m sure I don’t, Miss Cassidy.”

“Must we revert to type?” she demanded; standing and beginning to pace.

I forced myself to my feet, my thigh beginning to ache.

“Apologies, Doctor.”

“You know what I mean, Andrew.”

“Do I?”

“Argh!” she growled making me suppress a grin. I’d forgotten how amusingly vexing Anna could be.

“Back to Mina,” I said.

“Mina,” Anna repeated. Then sighed. “When Mina was young, she was incorrigible. Such an inquisitive child, I'm told.”

“You didn't know her?”

“Not back then. Her parents worked up north, near Hokianga. Missionaries.”

“Ah,” was all I could manage.

“Their work took them into the heart of Ngāpuhi land. Māori land. She speaks it fluently, did you know?”

“No. I did not.”

“Anglican, of course,” she said. “But there were Catholics aplenty still then. Many of the indigenous favoured Catholicism; the church having secured patronage of the local Māori chief some years before. But, as I’m sure you’re aware, Inspector, if one tribe or hapū adopted Catholicism, a rival often adopted Anglicanism or even Wesleyan. In some cases, different members of the same community chose a completely different religion from their neighbour. To cover their bets, you see? Differences of religion, therefore, added to an already unstable environment.

“Mina’s parents were caught up in the ensuing unrest. It is believed that on one excursion to a Māori settlement in the far reaches of the Hokianga, Mina’s parents attempted to broker peace between tribes. Their efforts failed, and they were lost.”

“Killed?”

“As many of the Māori were killed.”

“But not by Militia.”

“No, infighting amongst themselves caused enough deaths.”

Anna looked away, staring into the fire, no doubt thinking of her own father’s death.

I longed to soothe her, lest she falter in her storytelling. I warranted Mina’s history explained a lot of the chit today.

“Where was Mina at the time of her parents’ deaths?” I asked instead.

Anna lifted haunted eyes to me. “With them, Inspector. Where they went, Wilhelmina went.” She looked down again. “Thank the heavens that did not apply to their graves.”

“Bloody hell,” I murmured. “How did she escape?”

“I don't know. She has not talked of it. She arrived on our doorstep in late in 1883. Mute. Malnourished. A ghost of a human being. Father couldn't turn her away. I wouldn't have let him. We took her in and slowly nursed her back to health. We managed to ascertain some of what had transpired; the missionaries who deposited her with us filled in the rest of the gaps. But not how she walked out of Ngāpuhi land in bare feet and dressed as a local.

“Her first words to me were in Māori.”

Shocked, I too stared at the fire unseeing.

“Do you understand, Inspector? Do you see now how precious she is? And yet how strong?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Mina thinks differently from us. She has an enormous capacity for empathy. And an abhorrence of violence. She faints at the sight of blood. She dresses as femininely as she can. Adheres to all social conventions. And yet she cannot pass a Māori on the street without greeting them in their native tongue.”

“Unique.”

“Yes,” Anna said. “And possessing an inherent need to correct wrongs.”

“The suffragette movement,” I guessed.

Anna nodded. “I thought perhaps her involvement was mainly because of me. Mina always supports me, even when she doesn’t understand me.” Anna’s eyes met mine. “Blood,” she added simply. I nodded. “But at her heart, hidden behind layers of psychological trauma, is a woman with strong ideals. It’s just that her mind can not always think clearly enough for her to act on them.

“She gets distracted, so easily, you see. One thought can merge into another on the fluttering of a bird’s wing. She can lose hours that way. Days even. I had thought there was much to entertain her here in London. Much for her distracted mind to engage.”

“And instead she has engaged in something other than sightseeing,” I offered.

“Yes,” Anna said simply.

“Me,” I added.

“Yes.”

“Whitechapel is close by,” I offered.

“Very.”

“They hold tours for Jack the Ripper, I believe.”

“Indeed.”

“The murders in Lambeth,” I said on a breath of exhausted air. Damn you, Wilhelmina Cassidy.

“Prostitutes, just like Sir William,” Anna agreed, referring to the real Jack the Ripper.

“But they weren’t… slashed.”

“Disembowelled,” Anna agreed. “No. Poisoning this time. Strychnos nux-vomica. Nasty thing.”

I swallowed bile, forced my heart rate to settle. Strychnine was indeed nasty. I had seen its effects before now. I feared we’d see its effects many times more before this murderer was through.

“But the Wilhelmina you describe,” I said, “could not possibly have gone from Whitechapel Ripper to Lambeth Poisoner.”

Anna stopped pacing and turned to look at me.

“Couldn’t she?”

I blinked. Unable to formulate an argument.

“Think, Inspector,” Anna urged. I felt too hot all of a sudden. “A poison derived from a plant. The seeds of a flower, to be precise.”

No. I wouldn’t accept it.

“Anna,” I started.

“Much like the flower found on the book in your barracks. The book delivered to me by a murderer.”

“Deadly Nightshade is not strychnine.”

“But both kill.”

“Anna,” I started again, but she turned her back to me.

Deadly Nightshade and strychnine. Poisonous in more than one way.

A More Incongruous Vision I Had Never Seen

Anna

The sound of the post arriving made the tea I’d just sipped taste sour. I lowered the cup to its saucer, noting absently that my hand did not shake although my breath stuttered, and waited for Mrs Pugh to enter the dining room.

Mina had not come home last night. Her bed sat empty this morning. That damnable book lying beside it, taunting me.

Mina. What have you done?

Mrs Pugh bustled into the room with a silver tray; one solitary envelope atop. “Your admirer again, is it?” she said, as I dutifully took the missive from its resting place.

“I have no admirers, Mrs Pugh,” I said, noting the familiar handwriting, the Dutch East Indies stamp in the top right-hand corner, and the soft scent of jasmine on the air.

“Piffle!” she exclaimed. “This must be the tenth letter you’ve received.” She leant closer, squinting at the handwriting. The urge to cover the envelope was great. “Nice penmanship, ‘n all,” she commented. “Where’s it from, then?”

“Nowhere,” I said, idiotically.

“Well, then,” she huffed, stepping away. “I shall leave you to it.”

I grimaced as she exited the dining room, regretting my poor behaviour. My eyes flicked across the empty table to where Mina usually sat. It was early, none of the other lodgers had yet risen. I sat alone, and the solitary silence was deafening.

Shaking the maudlin thoughts away, I snatched up a clean knife and tore open the envelope.

My Dearest Anna,

No gifts this time, only my admiration and, I’ll admit, surprise.

You honour me with your continued respect.

For is it not imitation that makes one feel flattered?

I am flattered, dear Anna.

Sincerely.

MM.

I stared at the writing, trying to make sense out of something that was clearly designed to muddle the senses. The jasmine scent was feminine, the handwriting masculine. The sentiment endearing. The hand-drawn image of a bird in the top right-hand corner intriguing. The threat, for there was a threat hidden between the lines, alarming. Imitation. Imitation of what and who? And if I failed to continue to imitate this ghost of an admirer, then what should come to pass?

His anger? His disdain? His ill favour?

I folded the letter and slipped it into my reticule. I was not going to be waylaid by immaterial matters. MM was clearly someone affected by the mental illnesses, and as they appeared to be residing in the Dutch East Indies, their threat was a distant one.

Of course, how someone in the Orient should be acquainted with me…

My Dearest Anna. Such familiarity.

I stood from the table, aware I had hardly eaten a morsel of food and made my way into the entryway. I was reaching for my travel cloak when Mrs Pugh bustled out of the kitchen.

“Off then?” she enquired, none the worse for wear from our earlier conversation.

“Yes. I intend to explore Whitechapel again. Wilhelmina was there, I am certain of it. I just need to ask the right questions.”

“That inspector and fine young sergeant, they ain’t searching for young Miss Cassidy, too?”

“Indeed,” I replied, donning my thick, dark cloak. The weather had not improved one bit since yesterday. Fog had danced upon my windowsill when I awoke and beckoned with its wispy fingers. “However, they concentrate on Lambeth,” I added. And as Inspector Kelly had expressly forbidden me to accompany them, I had to resort to drastic and more surreptitious methods.

“I don't know, Dr Cassidy,” Mrs Pugh said, wrinkling her apron as usual. “Ain’t right to go searchin’ without a gentleman to escort you.”

“I am more than capable of making my own enquiries, Mrs Pugh.”

“I’m sure you is, miss. But Whitechapel is not for the faint of ‘eart.”

“I’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

She didn't look convinced. But then she didn’t know the secrets I had squirrelled away inside my reticule and parasol. I ducked my head and looked out the front window. Hardly a day to be protected from the sun. The parasol would stand out, unfortunately. But needs must.

Mrs Pugh rushed forward to the hallway stand and began to scribble down a note in a careful hand. She offered it to me.

“Who is Will Dumble?” I asked, reading the note once received. “And what and where is ‘The Blind Beggar’?”

“’Tis me cousin. And that there is the finest tavern in all of the East End. New, it is. Right proud of ‘imself is William.” She drew closer, lowering her voice as if a lodger might be eavesdropping and what she had to say was scandalous. Or condemning. “Not a thing goes on in Whitechapel that he don’t know ‘bout. Mind you,” she added, drawing away, “not much he don't profit from, neither.”

“I see.”

“He’ll do you right, Doctor. Just tell ‘em, Polly Pugh sent ya. Tell ‘em, Polly got her cracker, ’n all, then.”

I stared at the woman and then nodded. There was little else to do; she was trying to help me. And whoever this Will Dumble turned out to be, cognizant of goings on in Whitechapel or not, it was a place to start.

“Whitechapel Road, miss,” Mrs Pugh said, nodding her head toward the paper.

“Anywhere near Leman Street?” I asked.

“A lifetime away and just ‘round the corner.”

“I see.”

Mrs Pugh offered one last nod of her head and scurried back to her kitchen. I could hear movement on the landing above, so I folded the note with Will Dumble’s name and tavern on it, and placed it in my reticule, along with MM’s letter. Then tapped my parasol on the wooden floorboards reminiscent of a certain police inspector and walked out the door.

Hailing a hansom took a few minutes. The streets were practically bare. The fog as thick as any pea soup Mrs Pugh could manage, the air heavy with unmentionable threats. But having eventually flagged down a passing cab, I made good time to Whitechapel. Whose streets seemed a bit more populated, despite the dour weather.

Colour seemed to have leached out of the world, however; vibrancy a word not mentioned here. Young boys dressed in dark clothing pushed oversized carts across filthy cobblestones calling out their wares. Children played in the mud and muck, spinning hoops, kicking rocks, a solitary empty can fought over by barefooted urchins for the right of next kick. Awnings hadn’t been lowered, the sunlight attempting to break through the clouds so dim. Large windows showcased a variety of goods. From J. Sainsbury’s grocers to H. Shaw fishing tackle, to Broom, Reid & Harris photographic dealers, and finally Dick’s Depot full of leather boots. A surprising number of proprietors for what appeared a working class neighbourhood.

But a swift glance down the numerous alleyways that abutted Whitechapel Road and one became acquainted with the real East End. Clotheslines hung across narrow gaps, laden with garments in every shade of grey. Tired looking mothers held scrawny undersized children in their laps as they sat on stoops begging a penny for supper. Fights and fisticuffs broke out in several shadowy corners; all those who passed turning a blind eye. Soot covered children carrying the tools of their trade, walked heads tipped down one after the other. Furtive eyes hidden behind dirty hair, not a smile to be seen on their grimy faces. Their malnourished hunched shoulders striking a discordant note in my heart.

I stood across the street from a tall building, one that had not had the chance yet to slather itself in dirt. Three stories high, red bricks almost gleaming, golden archway atop pristine painted black doors. The Blind Beggar stood out like a shining beacon and an irrepressible representation of hope for the future.

Gathering my nerve to cross the inordinately busy street, I took a step forward only to stop mid-stride at the sight before me.

Henry Tempest, Esquire, checking over his shoulder as he pushed through the door of Will Dumble’s tavern.

A more incongruous vision I had never seen.

Why Didn't You Say So?

Anna

I waited as long as I dared before following. Then crossed the street and pushed through the door. The smell of hops and gin met my nose. My booted feet stuck to the wooden floor. Raucous shouts filled the air, my eyes scanning for their origin. Hard, worn workers sloshed over-filled jugs of ale, their laughter an aberration when contrasted with such exhaustion on their faces.

The tavern wasn't as full as I'd expected, but then it was early in the day. Still, there were tables overflowing with people playing card games, ladies plying their wares, sitting on gentlemen's thighs, nimble fingers disappearing down open trousers. Money exchanged hands in more than one darkened corner, followed by whispered conversation, eyes warily watching their surroundings.

This was a dark den of sin, but strangely it still held welcome. The warmth of a tall, stone fireplace took up half of a wall. The low light of gas lamps was strategically placed about the room. The odd bundle of dried flowers hung limply from the rafters.

I smiled up at the sight, wondering if that had been Mrs Pugh's addition.

Bare wooden furniture glowed in the low light of the room. Straw scattered across the floor, attempting to catch spilt drinks. The smell of pork roasting accompanied by a variety of herbs wafted out of a door behind a long counter. A lone bartender stood behind the bench, his narrowed eyes surveying me from head to toe.

Henry was nowhere to be found.

I straightened my shoulders and approached the barkeep, attempting a friendly smile. He scowled.

"What'll it be?" he asked in an accent similar to Mrs Pugh's.

Which reminded me... "Polly Pugh sent me," I said, watching as his eyes swept over my face and then lowered. "She said you could help."

"Help, you say? Well, then, what form exactly would this help take?"

"You are Will Dumble?" I enquired.

He nodded his head, then leant forward and rested his arms on the top of the bar. His face was a mask of friendliness; I didn't trust it. I'd long ago learned not to trust what was displayed on the surface. It is only when we dig deeper, that truth is revealed.

"I'm looking for news of my cousin," I advised, watching his reactions carefully. "Light brown hair, five foot five, petite and demure."

"Not the place for demure," the man said, his eyes again sweeping over my chest.

I found the move at once vulgar and contrived; I was no more this man's type than Mina would have been. And yet he used the simple action as a means to exert his control.

I smiled; I was sure it was shark-like. I hadn't survived the past few years in the cutthroat arena of male-dominated medicine without gaining a sharp edge or two by now.

Will Dumble stilled, his eyes gaining an intensity that should have alarmed. But here lay the truth beneath the façade.

"You say Polly sent you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I'm thinkin’ me cousin would not 'ave sent one such as you 'ere."

"And yet here I am."

He turned away, picking up a cloth and started to wipe down the bench. It was the only place in this tavern that seemed clean.

"Can't help you, luv," he said. "Never seen such a chit."

I had the distinct impression he was lying.

Mina wasn't a resourceful person, but of late, I had noticed she had become more cunning. Evidenced by her reckless behaviour the day of my graduation.

"She would have been asking questions," I said, attempting to engage the man again. "About Jack the Ripper..."

"All everyone ever talks about."

"...and perhaps the policemen who attempted to catch him."

"Best you attend Leman Street Station, then."

"I have spoken with Superintendent Arnold." Another sharp look in my direction. "He was unable to assist me."

"Never seen a good copper who would."

"But the policemen my cousin would have been enquiring about is a good copper," I said, using his term for the police. "Perhaps you've heard of him? Inspector Kelly."

"Don't know no Kelly and don't know no demure filly, neither."

"Oh, come now, Mr Dumble. Your cousin insists you are the eyes and ears of the East End."

He stopped wiping the counter and pointed the rag at me. "Ain't seen no proper bit of frock 'round 'ere. Best you be leaving."

I bit my lower lip in consternation. Mrs Pugh had been so sure. Without another lead to aid me, I had no idea where to look next. Mina was out there. Perhaps still in Whitechapel. A ripple of fear coursed through. Or in Lambeth. I prayed Inspector Kelly was having better luck.

Pulling my travel cloak closer about me, I made to turn away, and then abruptly stopped.

Reaching into my reticule, I pulled out two shillings, placing them on the bar top.

Dumble's eyes met mine.

He didn't reach for the coins.

"Mr Dumble," I said. "I really am worried for her safety. Please, won't you help?"

He shook his head and kept on cleaning. The money ignored, but I was sure he was aware of its continued presence.

I could have added more coins to the pile, but somehow I thought the bribe was not the issue. I turned my back to the bar and scanned the taproom. No one was paying attention to us; perhaps a necessity in such a location. Everyone kept to themselves, heads down over tumblers of gin, eyes averted, gazes manufactured to look glazed.

I wondered where Henry could have gone to, and if he would have the answers I sought. If he frequented such an establishment, might he not have a more thorough understanding of bartering for information than I did?

I turned back to Will Dumble. He was still there. Still cleaning. Even though his gaze was on the rag in his hand and not me, I was sure he was keenly aware of what I was doing.

"I say," I said, "Mr Dumble. I recognised a fellow who entered your tavern before me. A friend. Would you be so kind as to point me in his direction?"

The barkeep stopped his ministrations; not that I believed they were genuine in any case.

"No one entered before you, missy. Now, 'tis high time you were gone."

The note of aggression in his voice had me clutching my parasol tighter. Gone was the affable barkeep, or even the grudging one. In its place a man who lorded over his surroundings. Safe in his knowledge this was his domain, and all who entered did so only under his suffrage.

A sudden rush of anger surged through me. If I was to have any luck in finding Mina, I needed somewhere to start. Something to go on. A name. A place. A whispered word. Anything.

In an uncharacteristic show of aggravation, I stomped my booted foot on the wooden floor.

"Polly said you'd help!" I exclaimed. "Said you were the one to approach for such information! I am desperate, Mr Dumble. My cousin does not fare well on her own. She needs me. Please! I beg you. Have some compassion."

"Compassion don't last a minute in Whitechapel. Best you learn that fast."

But...but..."

"I've said me piece. Be gone."

"Polly and her bloody crackers," I muttered, turning away.

"What did you say?" Dumble demanded.

"Nothing. Nonsense." I kept walking toward the door.

A shadow fell over me, blocking my path. "What exactly did Polly say?" Dumble demanded.

I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin, offering a glare to the man before me.

"For your information, sir, she said something along the lines of 'Polly has her cracker, too.'"

A slow smile stretched his lips, changing his angry visage to a much more pleasing one.

"Well, then," he murmured, cupping my elbow. "Why didn't you say so?"

And then he led me back to the bar, placing me on a stool.

Was This A Game?

Inspector Kelly

Much like H Division, L Division did not take kindly to visiting detectives. Superintendent Cox sat behind his overlarge desk and stared daggers at Blackmore and me. His gruff personage was fitting for the streets of Lambeth. A grizzled greying beard took up most of his face and narrowed dark eyes peered out above a gin-soaked reddened nose.

I could smell the drink on him from here.

"We're merely chasing up a lead," I said, repeating myself for the umpteenth time. We'd made no progress on Wilhelmina Cassidy's disappearance, so I had chosen to pursue a private matter instead.

"And like I said, Inspector, what lead would that be?" the superintendent asked.

"Your poisoner," I ventured. "Is a match for ours."

Blackie shifted in his seat but didn't say anything. Sooner or later, I would have to confess all my sins.

The notion sat uncomfortably upon me.

"You think our murderer from the Antipodes?" the superintendent asked.

How to answer that?

"I think him remarkably similar. Perhaps we can share information. Aid each other on this one occasion."

Cox studied me for a suspended moment and then nodded his head. This poisoner must have been causing immeasurable trouble for the superintendent to contemplate letting a foreign policeman in.

It was with a sense of disquiet that I realised I was indeed foreign. New Zealand my home now, and not this rotten landscape. There was little to compare the two locales. London was old and weary, despondent and downtrodden. Auckland was a breath of fresh air.

I rolled my shoulders as Superintendent Cox stood, and then pushed myself up to standing to follow him.

"We've had two more," he said, as he headed toward the rear of the building. "Found this morning in their rooms. Young lasses," he announced, a returning glint of compassion entering his pickled look. "Just one-and-twenty and eighteen."

"Prostitutes?" I enquired.

"Yes. Aren't they always?"

"Too often, I fear."

"Indeed."

Cox led us into a surgery and to a stopped figure complete with leather apron, elbows deep in the innards of a cadaver. The man glanced up at our entrance, a sour look on his bespectacled face.

"What's this then, Superintendent? Are we to charge admission now?" he said.

"Come now, Parson. You've never been gun-shy before this."

"I'm not a circus act," the surgeon complained.

"And yet you physicians insist on theatres for your performances," the superintendent shot back.

For all his shickery, Cox was a formidable policeman.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," the doctor lamented.

Cox bustled over to the first of two victims and turned a hard eye to us.

"Alice Marsh and Emma Shrivell," he announced. "Those names mean anything to you?"

"Not at all," I replied calmly and stepped closer. A pale face stared up at me in morbid peace. Fine lines appeared around closed eyelids. The same ethereal marks beneath the translucent flesh appeared as if filigree across her cheeks.

That was all the peace the woman had been afforded.

There was a tightness to her facial features, her neck lying at a strange angle. I glanced down her body and noted the curled fingers, the pointed toes. The arch of her foot quite pronounced, even in death.

"Ten to twenty minutes after exposure," the physician said, "the muscles begin to spasm. Trismus, or lockjaw, if you will, sets in. Followed by risus sardonicus, or a rictus type grin. The spasms then spread to every muscle in the body, culminating in convulsions that last until death. The entire ordeal would have been excruciating and an unforgivable form of torture, in my opinion. Pleasure would have been reaped by the one who doctored their drinks."

"Ingested?" I enquired.

"Stomach contents confirm this," the surgeon said.

"Strychnine," I murmured.

"You've had similar deaths?" Cox enquired.

“Yes,” I said.

Blackie shifted forward then. I pierced him with a look, halting his trajectory and any oncoming words.

"How many?" the superintendent asked.

"Six."

Blackmore's huff was loud in the ensuing silence.

"Do you think the murderer one and the same?" Cox asked.

“It's hard to tell. Strychnine is not a calling card," I offered.

"No poison ever is," he agreed, staring at the corpse morosely. "What else can you give me?"

"Nothing you don't already know. There will be more. He enjoys it. He won't stop until made to do so."

"One got away," Cox suddenly said. "Got a glimpse of her potential poisoner."

My head shot up and met the superintendent's steady gaze. Gone was the gin-guzzler. In its place a hard, sharp-eyed gentleman.

"Then you are close. Male?" I forced myself to ask.

"Yes. Nine days ago, in fact. How long did you say you've been here?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Less than forty-eight hours, Superintendent. RMS Tongariro, of late at the Royal Albert Dock."

He didn't look abashed in the slightest.

"And the man you chase?"

"Unknown whereabouts."

"But you suspect London? Lambeth?"

I shook my head, my eyes on the cadaver before us. I grimaced. "Similarities exist, but this is not the act of my assailant."

"You would tell me if you suspected a connection?" the superintendent pressed.

"Of course."

Cox watched me for a long moment and then nodded his head. It was his signal of acquiescing. I felt myself relax.

Saying goodbye to the police surgeon, we made our way to the front of the Cavendish Road Station. No one dared break the silence, but Blackie was brimming with unspoken words.

"Thank you for your time, Superintendent," I said, shaking the man's hand.

"By all means, old chap," he said amenably.

"I wish you luck on your hunt."

"And you," he said, making to turn away.

He stopped mid-motion; sharp eyes stared across the space between us, holding me prisoner. The air hung suspended.

"There was one more thing Parson failed to mention."

"Oh? And what was that?" I asked, dreading the answer.

Cox waited, letting the moment stretch, watching the play of emotions that flitted across my face. Here stood a formidable opponent. I had a brief thought that Lambeth would have proven a challenge Whitechapel had failed to give.

And then I remembered the Ripper.

"Flowers," Superintendent Cox suddenly said. "The bodies are adorned with a single flower."

My heart thundered inside my chest.

"Flowers?" Blackmore enquired, stepping up when I failed to respond. "What type of flower, if I may ask, sir?"

"Of course," Cox said, not moving his assessing gaze off my no doubt pale face. "Deadly Nightshade," he murmured. "Strange that, when strychnine originates from an entirely different species. What make you of that?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Blackmore mumbled. "A flower's a flower is a flower," he added.

Cox narrowed his eyes, then glanced at Sergeant Blackmore. "Should you or your inspector remember a connection to a previous or on-going case, please be inclined to contact me."

"Of course," Blackie said. He turned. I followed. Tethered to the man as though he was my life line.

The door to the station finally shut behind us; I drew in my first real breath.

"Tell me, sir," Blackie said in a low voice. "When are you going to admit it?"

"Admit what?" I demanded.

"This ain't no case."

"Yes, it is," I insisted. It was the unsolved case of my lifetime.

"Poppycock, if you don't mind me sayin'."

"I do," I snapped, attempting to place much-needed distance between myself and Lambeth Station. My cane came down on the pavers in agitated bangs, giving away my emotions.

"Deadly Nightshade, Inspector," Blackie persisted.

I sighed. "Deadly Nightshade," I agreed, feeling grim.

Blackie said nothing, but his face matched my mood.

Dark. Bleak. Unforgiving.

Was this a game? And I the pawn? If so, it was deadly.

But then, all of Eliza May's games had resulted in death in the past. Why not our latest?

Armed And Ready

Anna

I watched as Will Dumble poured a generous helping of gin into a tumbler, then slid the drink across the bar top to me.

"Thank you, but I don't partake," I said, unsure why he had changed his mind so drastically and now entertained my presence in his tavern when moments before he had practically thrown me out of its door.

"Best to keep up appearances," the barkeep said, pouring himself an even more generous portion.

He lifted the glass in salute, waiting for me to do the same with mine. I glanced around the taproom, but for all intents and purposes, no one was paying attention to us. Will, however, kept up the charade. I could only surmise that looks were in fact deceiving.

I reached for the tumbler, receiving a twitch of a smile from Mr Dumble, and raised my glass to his.

"To new friendships," he announced.

"New friendships," I dutifully replied.

The gin tasted bitter; my throat constricted, a cough lodged itself inside. I grimaced and placed the glass back on the bar top, feeling the heat of alcohol burn my oesophagus and settle deep down inside.

A low chuckle and then Will downed his entire glass in one swallow, thumping the tumbler back on the bar's surface.

"Not to everyone's taste, but you'll never find better in all of London."

"Indeed," I replied, my lips still smarting, my breath capable, I was sure, of starting a fire.

"So, Polly sent you," he said, his sharp gaze meeting my eyes.

I could only assume the cracker statement was some sort of code. All very cloak and dagger. All very mysterious. I had a new appreciation for my landlady.

"Yes," I said. "Will you help me?"

"I don't know, luv. What's in it for me?"

"Saving a young girl's life," I tried, knowing full well that men like Will Dumble did nothing for free. Not even preventing the death of an innocent.

"And if I saved every chit who walked the streets of Whitechapel," he confirmed gruffly, "I'd have no time for me own business. Heroism does not pay the bills, lass."

"Dr Cassidy," I said. "My name," I offered. Hoping the surname would illicit a cost-free reaction.

It didn't. Or perhaps Will Dumble was too practised at this sort of thing.

"Lesson one," he said, leaning forward. "And the fact that Polly ain't told you this is a tragedy. Never give your name away freely."

"Did Mina?"

"Who?"

"My cousin."

"There you go again, luv. Too much information. It'll cost ya."

"Cost me what?"

"Ain't for me to say. But there's folks about who'd use your name to harm you. It's a dirty world with dirty rules, and dirty scoundrels abound."

"Not everyone is a jaded as you, Mr Dumble. There are those amongst us, I would argue, who would do the selfless thing."

"And what's that then? Sacrifice themselves for a bit of skirt? Ain't nobody in Whitechapel who'd stand between you and the piper. Best you learn that now or pay the consequences."

"And in Lambeth?"

"Whitechapel. Lambeth. Spitalfields. Seven Dials. They're all just names. It's life you need to beware of. It'll suck you dry and leave a bag o' bones in its wake." He studied me for a long moment, then said, "You ain't from around 'ere, so I'll give you a tip for free. On account of you knowing Polly and all. Man is a hungry beast. He desires. And what he desires is never good, you see. For what in this world is worthy of being coveted, lest the worthy be better defiled?"

"You would have me believe there are no gentlemen in life."

"I would have you open your eyes. Your so called gentlemen, they wants ya for a reason. A nice bit of candy on their arm, a prop for their machinations. Beauty and manners and fine blood lines, they matter naught when he has you beneath him, subject to his whims; losing himself in your sweet smelling cunny."

I raised my eyebrows. If he thought I would be so easily run off, he had another thought coming.

"Be that as it would," I said archly. "Physical desires are but one part of a relationship."

He laughed; the sound loud, bouncing off the high rafters.

"So you say, luv. But I asks you this; Is your gentleman any different? Does he not steal a kiss, cop a feel, lust after you with his eyes?"

My mind immediately turned to Inspector Kelly. To the touch of his lips against mine. To the feel of his big body wrapped around my own. To the way he sometimes looks at me when he thinks himself unobserved.

No. I refused to believe there were no gentlemen left in this world. Andrew Kelly was the epitome of gentlemanly behaviour.

For was it not his honour that stopped him from going further than just a kiss, a touch, a covetous look in his eyes?

I smiled. Will Dumble leant back, and then grinned; mischief making shadows dance in his eyes.

"I've played your game long enough, Mr Dumble," I declared. "Will you help me find my cousin or not?"

He reached over and swiped up the shillings I'd placed on the bar top earlier, making them vanish from sight with slight of hand.

"For Polly," he said and looked toward a door at the back of the tavern. His eyes soon returned to me.

"She ain't come in ‘ere," he offered, my heart sinking. "But that don't mean I ain't heard of a young chit walkin’ the streets and askin’ too many questions. You see," he said, "ain't the bit o' jam what's so surprising. We've got enough of them to cater to our needs." I ground my teeth and took a step closer to the man.

What I thought I could do when Mina was clearly long gone was debatable. But my fingers clutched my parasol tightly as if I could pound this cur into submission, and have him produce my cousin immediately.

He smiled, flashing shark-like teeth. Several were crooked and one was missing, but I didn't fail to register the meaning.

"But questions," he said. "Now there's an interestin’ quandary. Those who ask questions are lumped in with the Met. Those who use young girls to do their bidding are lumped in with the Bailey. And ain't no one who wants to mess with 'em."

"The Bailey?" Did he mean the Old Bailey at Newgate? London's criminal courts?

"Times are a changing, luv," he said, picking up his rag and starting to clean the bar top again. "If you ain't one of us, you're one of them. And if you're one them, then God help ya."

"What did you mean, 'the Bailey'?" I pressed, but Will just kept cleaning the bar top, and when someone approached for a refill, he turned his attentions there.

I was left confused and none the wiser for our conversation. I'd wanted a word, just one word, to give me direction. I had it. But what on earth did Will Dumble mean by Bailey?

I waited a few moments longer, but Will had clearly said all he was going to say. Bribery wouldn't work, and I feared I'd used what good standing I had as Mrs Pugh's lodger.

I had only one choice: To visit the Old Bailey.

But I wasn't oblivious to Will's warnings. Asking questions could land me in trouble.

Like it did Mina?

I tapped my parasol on the bar top as thanks and spun on my heel. I'd take care who I asked. What I asked. But I was damned if I wasn't going to ask questions in order to find Wilhelmina.

Eyes watched me traverse the taproom, no longer glassy or vague but penetrating and obvious.

Whitechapel was a ruse; a mask worn to hide the truth beneath.

I wasn't here to uncover Whitechapel's truths; they could keep them.

Unless they pertained to my cousin.

Storming out of the tavern doors, I lifted my parasol; armed and ready.

And promptly whacked Henry Tempest on the cheek as we collided on Whitechapel Road.

Urging Me Ever Onwards To Mina

Anna

"I say!" Henry exclaimed, lifting his hands in fists as if to fight me. "Watch where you're going, old chap!"

He blinked down at me. Looked over my shoulder to The Blind Beggar's door. And then did a double take, eyes scanning my travel cloak and parasol.

"Dr Cassidy? What the dickens are you doing here?"

I could have asked the same of him but refrained from voicing my curiosity. Sometimes more could be attained by guile and finesse.

"Henry! Oh, thank the heavens!" I remarked, immediately wrapping a hand about his arm and moving close as if seeking shelter and protection.

"There, there," he murmured, patting my hand absently. "Are you lost?"

"Quite," I said, for more reasons than one. The look of confusion on my face would not entirely have been a mask. "Perhaps you'd be so kind as to escort me from here?" I enquired beseechingly.

"Of course, dear lady. Of course. Perhaps refreshments are in order. Yes, yes. I think Claridge's should suffice." He glanced down at my worn travel cloak again and grimaced. "Maybe Dorothy's would be better."

"You'd risk being bachelor breakfast for me?" I asked with a small smile. His eyes darted down to my lips, and he cleared his throat.

"I'd risk anything to get you out of here." I thought perhaps he was speaking the truth. But as to what truth, I couldn't decipher.

He aided me into his brougham, which conveniently appeared out of the ether, and followed me inside. Removing his hat, he shifted uneasily in the seat across from me, his gaze taking in - again - my attire.

"You're as bad as my sister," he quipped. "Always seeking new ways to thrill yourselves. Whitechapel," he scoffed. "Could you not promenade in Hyde Park instead? Perhaps catch a show at the Royal Albert?"

"Where would the fun be in that?" I asked.

"You are up to no good, Dr Cassidy," he said. "I have no doubt. You require a firm hand; I'll wager. A gentleman to keep you entertained and safe from harm."

I would have you open your eyes.

I refused to believe Henry was anything but a gentleman. I pushed Mr Dumble's words from my mind.

"I am quite capable of entertaining myself, Mr Tempest," I offered. "I have done so for many moons now."

"You see, that is your problem, dear lady. You have been without male guidance for far too long."

"I am what I am, sir. And I will not change for any man, be they my jailer or my saviour. This is the nineteenth century, after all. Practically the twentieth. Think what we'll be like when we have the right to vote."

Henry harrumphed. "A fine fettle you'd make of it, I'm sure. I live in wonder of my sister."

I smiled. I had not expected such high praise from Henry Tempest. Perhaps there was hope for the man yet.

"However," he added. "One must take care, dear doctor. The streets of Whitechapel are not for ladies. And that tavern," he said, shuddering, "why ever did you go in there?"

I met his eyes. He looked away first. Were we to pretend he hadn't been in there, as well?

"I was looking for Mina," I said, thinking it best to have something of the truth in my answer.

Perhaps then, I could gain some honesty for my efforts.

"Wilhelmina? In Whitechapel? No! No," he said, shaking his head. "I'll not hear of it."

"And yet I was just there."

"Yes, but you, Doctor, are incorrigible. Miss Cassidy is not."

I begged to differ.

"What a splendid world you live in, Henry," I murmured. "You would have us all at home, sequestered with our embroidery. How did Emily persuade you to allow her attendance at college?"

He grimaced. "She wore me down if you must know. Exactly how I imagine you will wear your husband down. I can see it now, the poor lad. Besotted with your beauty, enamoured with your quick wit, a slave to your desires."

Man is a hungry beast. He desires.

Don't we all, Mr Dumble. Don't we all.

"Is a lady not to have desires?" I asked, taking a leaf from Will Dumble's book of enquiry.

"Good Lord, Anna. Have you no shame? To talk as such to a gentleman?" He looked at me askance, but I saw the interest in his eyes.

Perhaps Mr Dumble had not been too far from the truth, then.

I smiled and glanced out the window.

"Wilhelmina is missing," I said to the foggy shroud.

"My dear, Dr Cassidy. I had no idea. The graduation?"

I nodded my head. "Perhaps since before then. I have traced her to Whitechapel."

I would seek help wherever I could find it, and Henry Tempest was not the fop he so often appeared. He'd had business at The Blind Beggar. I couldn't say what sort of business, but to be there at all made me realise there was more to Henry Tempest, Esquire.

"I am so sorry, Anna," he said quietly. The words sounded like a death knell in my head.

My eyes met his. I saw the truth of it there; he had no hope for Mina's survival.

"What know you of the Bailey?" I asked, refusing to countenance such dire thoughts.

"The Old Bailey?"

I presumed so. I nodded my head.

"London's criminal courts. Seek you knowledge from within, then?" He stared off into the distance and nodded his head. "Perhaps you are right. One might know of disappearing ladies in such a place. But Newgate is a treacherous ground, dear Anna. I should like to accompany you, if I may."

Somehow I thought we might have crossed a certain line in our acquaintance. Dropping formality was always so disconcerting.

Aside from when Andrew said my given name, of course. Then it was scintillating.

"I thank you, sir," I said demurely, attempting to put us back on course again.

"No need. It is not often I have such charming company. Charming," he added with a wink, "and incorrigible. Wait until Emily hears of this! She'll think me roguish. Helping a damsel in distress. I say! I shall be the talk of the town by the time we are through."

And what of Mina? Was this all a game?

I smiled wanly and stared out of the window at the passing scenery, as Henry gave his driver the new directions. He turned back around eventually, removing his coat and making himself more comfortable.

"This is a far better diversion than I had planned for this afternoon."

"It is?" I asked. What exactly had he planned that required a trip to Whitechapel?

"Oh, yes. My uncle has had some trouble up North, you see. I have been tasked with checking his records, ensuring the trouble has not spread to his holdings in London. All very dull stuff."

"Trouble?"

He leant forward conspiratorially. "Strike, my dear lady. Workermen's strike. A nasty thing. But never fear," he said leaning back with an insouciant grin. "I shan't bore you. For we're off on an adventure, you and I." He rubbed his hands together, entirely too gleeful for my liking. "I shall be Sherlock Holmes," he announced, speaking of that popular literary character. "And you shall be my Dr Watson."

I rather thought myself Sherlock Holmes. Or perhaps a combination of the two.

Mr Arthur Conan Doyle had nothing on Anna Cassidy, I mused. I allowed my imagination to run wild as the streets of London swept past my view. Urging me ever onwards to Mina.

I Am Home

Inspector Kelly

Sammy Swift Fingers danced from foot to foot, his eyes constantly assessing the alleyway we were in.

"Times have changed, guv'nor," he said. A common enough theme of late. "'Tis not desirable to parley with the Met."

"I'm no longer a member of the Metropolitan Police Force, Sammy," I pointed out. "Merely an old acquaintance."

"One and the same, if you asks me." He pulled back further into the shadows.

Aware of my surroundings and cognisant of the fact that only one person presently watched us - that being Sergeant Blackmore - I moved to block Sammy from the street.

"How's the wife?" I asked, conversationally.

"Got the pox," he shot back, chewing a thumbnail.

This was not the man I had used on several occasions in the past for sly word of Whitechapel mood out on the street. I resisted the urge to glance over my shoulder; Blackie had my back, and these were my old streets.

"Who runs the Strutton Ground Boys nowadays?" I asked.

Sammy snorted; snot hanging loosely from one nostril. He rubbed at it with his grubby sleeve.

"Ain't no Struttons left on the streets, guv. The Blind Beggars seen to that."

"The Blind Beggars?" They were news to me. Not at all surprising, given my absence from Whitechapel. "When did they emerge?"

"'Round 'bout a year ago. P'haps sooner."

"And they are the top of the heap?"

"Aye, and not to be trifled with, ‘n all. Nasty buggers." He spat on the ground, the globule yellow with infection. "Sooner slash ya, than talk to ya. That's not until they've fleeced your pockets, of course.”

"Petty thieves?"

"And the rest, guv. Ain't the Whitechapel you left, see?"

"Murder?"

"You're the copper. You tell me. On second thoughts, guv. Don't. Better off not knowin’ some things."

I nodded. Self-preservation at its best. No honour among thieves.

"What say you of missing women?" I asked.

"I says nothin'. That's what I says."

I fished out four shillings and dropped them in his outstretched fingers. It was more than an informant expected to receive, and it might well have tipped my hand; finding Mina was paramount. But I had a feeling Sammy needed the blunt. His clothes were more ragged than memory served me.

"Not just women, guv. Young kids. Orphans and the like. No one misses them, do they?"

"No, I should think not. And the women?"

"Can't says I 'eard of any in partic'lar. But I've been keepin' me nose clean."

Hence the ragged state of his clothes. For Sammy Swift Fingers, the most notorious pickpocket to run Petticoat Lane Market, to cease his activities, things must be dire indeed.

"And where do these orphaned children go, Sammy?" I asked.

"Where all evil goes if it ain't strong enough for London's streets."

I stared at the man.

"The Old Bailey, guv. They go to Newgate and hang for all I knows. Maybe they serve another purpose. Maybe they don't. I asks no questions. I get no knife in the gut, see? My philos'phy."

"And a good one, I'd wager."

"Aye." He flicked another nervous glance around the dark alley we were hidden in. Thankfully not spotting Blackmore, nor anyone else, for that matter, either.

"Are they all male, these missing children?” I pressed.

"Mostly."

"But female children are taken, too?"

Sammy nodded his head abruptly.

I couldn't fathom why the courts would waste their time on children when there were more nefarious criminals on our streets. Children were so often the forgotten, the lost. Neither thought of nor missed when not seen.

But for those at Newgate to clean up the streets, perhaps there was a new agenda afoot I had not been made aware of. If the children were rehabilitated outside of London's borders, that had to be a good thing.

"Fewer pickpockets," I commented, watching Sammy for a reaction and receiving none. "Easier pickings," I added. He shifted, but not from my poor prodding.

"Is it the Blind Beggars you fear, Sammy?"

"You should and all, guv."

"Who runs them?”

"No one knows. They hunt in packs. Fingers in all pies. Even I got the sense not to touch some things. But them?" Another head shake. "They're above the law, see?"

"No one is above the law, Sammy."

"There was this one time," he started; Sammy had always been a talker. When he was nervous, he talked more. Usually, that had required an underhand move from my Sergeant. But Blackmore was hidden and I'd not threatened, even obliquely. Sammy's nervousness was not because of me.

He opened his mouth to say more and then choked out a sound. His hand flew up to his throat, his eyes bulging.

"Sammy!" I said, reaching forward and catching him as he crumbled.

His lips twisted, his brows furrowed, foam frothed at his mouth.

And then his entire frame started to shudder; rapidly. His body contorting this way and that.

"Blackmore!" I shouted. "Blow your whistle!"

Blackie obliged, but by the time he reached my side, I'd found the culprit. A feathered dart, of eastern origins at a guess, protruding out of the side of Sammy's rigid neck.

"Don't touch that, sir!" Blackie ordered, as my hand hovered over the weapon. "I'd hazard a guess; it's dipped in strychnine."

I stared in horror at the convulsing form of Sammy Swift Fingers and then pushed to my feet.

"Stay with him, Sergeant. See that he gets help."

"And you, sir?"

"I know these streets."

"But, sir!" I heard Blackmore shout. Any further words, however, were lost to the sound of my boots splashing through the mud and muck of an East End street. My cane slammed down on each alternate step, adding a hitched beat, announcing to any who cared that I had an injury.

Easy prey, though, I would never be.

The dart had come from the west. Blackie had been hiding downwind to the east. I'd stood in front of Sammy, blocking him for all intents and purposes from view, and yet somehow the attacker had managed a direct line of sight, landing the dart with ease.

What had Sammy been about to say? Was it regarding the Lambeth Poisoner?

But we were in Spitalfields. And as far as I knew, the poisoner had only struck women of ill repute on the other side of the Thames. Not here on my streets.

But then, he'd also manufactured disorder at the Metropole Hotel in Soho. Was he escalating, as Anna would say? Diversifying?

I was about to find out, as I caught sight of a dark cloak swiftly disappearing around the edge of a grocer's store up ahead. My footsteps took me thundering after the sneak, my breaths laboured.

My thigh screaming.

Several long twists and turns later, I came up short outside an old dilapidated building; one which brought back too many memories. Memories of blonde hair and bright eyes and curved lips shaped into a taunting smile. Which all disappeared in the unforgiving orange glow of fierce flames behind my closed eyelids.

I sucked in a ragged breath and looked upon the ghosts of my life.

Evidence of the blaze that had taken place on the building’s upper floors still existed; so many years afterwards. The owner unprepared to mend what had surely been broken beyond repair that fateful day. Shattered windows stood testament to the fire that had raged. To the heartache that had followed. Dark eyes looking out on a forgotten street.

I hadn't forgotten.

I panted for breath, my hand fisting above my thigh, sweat making my skin feel clammy. My vision wavered.

He'd brought me here. Lured me. To this exact spot.

I swallowed thickly.

Pushing past failures aside, I walked up the steps and through the broken door determinedly.

Eliza, I thought bitterly. I am home. Is this where she wanted me?

What A Pickle

Anna

"I say!" I exclaimed, sitting up straighter on the bench seat. "That's Inspector Kelly!"

"Who, my dear?" Henry asked as he lounged on the seat opposite me, looking like the rogue he so wanted to be.

"I know him," I said as if that explained everything. "Stop the carriage!"

"Stop the carriage? Good grief, Anna. We're still on the outskirts of Whitechapel. Give it a few more minutes, and we'll have made it past Fenchurch Street, at least. There's a good girl."

I thrust my parasol at the ceiling of the brougham and made as much noise as I could muster.

The carriage pulled to the side of the road, and I was out of the door before the horses had stopped moving.

"Anna!" Henry called after me, but I made like the wind, parting the fog and the few pedestrians before me, as I lifted my skirts and thundered off after Inspector Kelly.

If he was on the hunt for Wilhelmina, it made sense that he was chasing after someone who had seen or, God forbid, harmed my cousin. I would not have him chase down a suspect alone.

"Anna! Dr Cassidy!" Henry continued to yell over my shoulder; letting me know he was indeed following down these dark streets.

I didn’t stop. Determination gripped me. I had to catch Kelly!

The roadways became narrower, the traffic non-existent. The sound of my footsteps echoed off tall buildings. I could hear Andrew's cane as it came down on every other footfall ahead of me. The hitch it gave his gait, the sound magnified in such close quarters. I could no longer see him, though, the mist had thickened since we'd entered this part of the city.

And then several steps later all was silent.

I slowed to a walk, not daring to call out to him. If I announced my pursuit, I would also announce my presence to the person he followed. I sucked in lungfuls of air, trying to silence my breathing. I hadn't realised how far from Fenchurch Street we had come.

Had Henry followed or given me up for a lost cause?

I glanced over my shoulder, but couldn't see him, either. Perhaps he'd returned for the carriage and would appear out of the fog in due course. For now, I needed to locate the inspector.

I took tentative steps, straining my ears for a sound, wishing the fog would thin. Then thinking better of it. At least with the fog so thick, I couldn't be seen. But then, neither could Andrew and who he'd been following.

Reaching down, I released the knife from my parasol's handle; the long, thin blade more a rapier than a machete. I hefted it in my hand, settling the familiar weight of it, ensuring it remained balanced as my father had taught me. Then took another tentative step forward.

A sound to the side caught my attention; I stopped walking, turning my face towards it. The scrape of a boot, the snick of a cane. There!

I walked across the street, emerging from the mist as a tall residence took shape, looming darkly over me. I stared up into haunted windows, their glass long broken, evidence of scorched wood wrapping around their frames like charred fingers.

I stood stock still for a long moment, letting my mind comprehend what I was seeing. A burned out house, mould growing beneath the sills, the front garden overgrown, weeds choking what would have once been an abundance of flowers. The front door was broken, dirt had accumulated on the stoop. A once white fence stood like broken teeth across the footpath.

Chills of foreboding washed down my spine.

Then a noise sounded within. Not loud. Not a shout. But it sent shivers down my spine, all the same.

Ridiculous, I thought, pushing my legs into motion. I was sure Andrew was in there somewhere, and I would not be a coward and abandon him to his fate.

What a strange thought, I mused. Andrew Kelly was not one to run blindly into danger. He'd have Sergeant Blackmore nearby as backup. He hardly needed a surgeon.

At least, one could hope not.

Besides, Henry would appear in a moment, and the sound of his carriage would scare off whoever Andrew had chased inside.

I ensured my footsteps were silent, though, as I entered the forlorn dwelling. But the floorboards had seen better days. London's inclement weather having breached the threshold and left its calling card in the form of rotted wood. I stepped over a hole in the floor and peered into rat infested corners. The scuttling of tiny feet confirmed my suspicions.

But no other sound emerged from within. I made my way to the rear of the building, taking in the faded patches on the moth-eaten walls where artwork or photographs may have at one time laid. The sitting room was bare. The kitchen cupboards hanging open. A wood fired stove was full of dark ashes; no doubt a squatter or two having made this abandoned home their base of operations.

I returned to the base of the stairs feeling disproportionately uncomfortable; I had the sense I was witnessing someone's past, and it seemed tragic.

I shook my head, taking one last look towards the front door for Henry, but coming up blank, and then made my way up the crooked stairs, one by one. My heart was in my throat with every footfall, so sure my boot would go through the rotten floorboards at any second. I dared not hold onto the bannister, as it looked in even worse repair than the treads beneath my soles did.

The landing had fared the worst from the fire, it seemed. A beam had fallen. I grimaced at the need to climb over it but checking to the sides; there was no way to avoid the effort. I gazed up at a cloud-choked sky through a hole in the ceiling; no sun to direct me. The darkness within the house seeping under my cloak and making me shiver.

Enough of this! I thought and hiked up my skirts. Then used a gloved hand to aid my climb over the beam, slipping down the far side and hearing material rip. I could only hope it was my cloak and not my dress; Mina would not approve.

It was the thought of my cousin that had me proceeding when silence was all that greeted me. Silence, the odd scuffle of rodent feet, and the creak of abused woodwork.

I strained my ears but heard nothing. Checking first one room, and then the other; all abandoned.

This was a sorry state of affairs, such a once proud house brought down by fire. Was it arson? Or an accident? Or something more nefarious?

None of it matter; all events of the past. For I had heard the inspector.

"It isn't like that," he said, his familiar tones sounding muffled. "You wouldn't understand."

I couldn't hear the other participant in the conversation. So, I crouched, moving slowly, lest I announce my presence, attempting to get near enough to discern their words. My parasol shook in my left hand; the blade shone dully in what little illumination there was in my right. My breaths came in small huffs, fogging the air before me.

My foot scraped along the debris strewn floorboards.

"No!" I heard Andrew say. It had been forceful but sounded not nearly loud enough.

And then I was through the door, brandishing my weapon rashly, and daring whoever had made Andrew sound so weak to step forward.

"Show yourself!" I demanded, my eyes trying vainly to see in the dark. "Step forward!" I growled, ears straining.

"Anna," Andrew murmured from my side. I walked sideways, my eyes on the rest of the blackened room, my parasol hand reaching out for the inspector.

I found him, bound to a chair, his breaths shallow, his head lolling. Bile coated my tongue. I swung to face the room, dropping my parasol, and raising my blade in two shaking hands.

A delicate laugh sounded out; so carefree and light, when all that existed in this accursed room was darkness. Then the curtains shifted, and a weak fog-shrouded moon shone through, outlining a cloaked figure as it jumped through the window. I ran across the empty space and peered out, but all I could see was shadows.

"Don't," Andrew mumbled. "Too late," he added.

I searched, but the figure was gone, as if a ghost disappearing into the ether, leaving no trace of its passing behind.

I shook my head, pulling the curtains open to allow as much light in the room as possible, and returned to Andrew, staring down at the many knots that adorned his restraints.

"Well," I said. "What a pickle," I added. "How did you manage this?"

"Tricked me," he said, his words a mere whisper.

"Andrew?"

"I like you saying...my name."

"Oh, well."

“Say it...again."

"I will do no such thing."

"So fearless."

"I am not!"

"I love that...about you." Oh. "I love...everything...about you. Forgive…me."

“Yes, of course. Hold on. What's the matter with you? You're never this gushing."

"Gushing. Mushing. Touching. Touch me, Anna."

"Oh, dear Lord." I searched his body, baring his skin, making him sigh. Heat washed down my spine, centring in my stomach, but I forced it aside and considered the problem at hand. Assessing the inspector as I would any patient. As I had many times before now.

And rightly so. For I found the culprit.

A feathered dart sticking out of his shoulder, dangling by the hole it had pierced in his skin.

"What on earth...?" I started, just as Henry called out from downstairs, "I say! Anyone home?"

You Haven’t A Chance, Old Boy

Anna

“What’s the matter with him?” Henry demanded, brandishing a lantern from his carriage.

“He has been drugged,” I supplied, pulling on various knots, trying to dislodge them.

“Not…strychnine,” Kelly mumbled. “Truth…serum.”

“Hmm,” I said, frowning down at a particularly stubborn clove hitch.

“Never heard of a such a thing,” Henry harrumphed. “Any excuse to accost a lady.”

“He is not accosting me.”

“So you say, Doctor. The man is leering at you like a thirsty sailor. I say!” Henry exclaimed, stepping closer, and in the process making the lantern sway alarmingly, “stop staring at Dr Cassidy like that.”

“Henry, do please be careful,” I instructed. “There is still some unburned wood in this building which might like a naked flame.”

“Absolute dump,” Henry grumbled moving further away - with the lantern - to investigate the damage.

“Home,” Kelly murmured. Then laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh either. One devoid of humour; bitter to its core.

“Whose home, Inspector?” I asked, my fingers becoming numb from the effort required to dislodge him.

“Hers,” he said.

“Who her?” I pressed, trying to keep him awake. His head lolled alarmingly.

“It was…a dart,” he said, out of nowhere. We’d left the “her” for now, it seemed.

“Yes. Dipped, I dare say, in scopolamine.” I leant forward, gripping his chin, and peered into his eyes. “Dilated pupils,” I announced. “Slurred speech. Lowered level of consciousness. It’s derived from the scopolia plant. A member of the nightshade family.”

I studied him for a reaction but received only a soppy smile for my efforts.

“You’re quite corned, Inspector,” I commented mildly. “Perhaps I should interrogate you.”

“Ask me…anything. I am…yours.”

It would have been humorous if it wasn’t so heartbreaking.

“Who lived here, Inspector?”

“Andrew. Say my…name.”

I sighed. Releasing one of his hands finally. His fingers wrapped around my wrist in lightning fashion, putting paid to the theory of inhibited reactions.

“My, you are a fast one,” I murmured, releasing his grip and moving to his other side to start on the ties there.

He was silent for a moment, and then I think he might have begun to snore.

“All right for some, eh?” Henry remarked jovially from across the room. “Bit of a swizzler, what?”

“He is not drunk, Mr Tempest.”

“He’s not right in the head, either.”

I narrowed my eyes at the knot in front of me and pursed my lips, lest I come to Andrew’s defence and give myself away.

“Who is this fellow to you, Anna?” Henry asked softly, moving closer. Uncomfortably aware of my thoughts.

But it was the uncertainty in his voice that had me answering. Had he blustered and demanded, I might well have kept close counsel. But Henry did follow me here out of concern for my wellbeing. And would be providing our means of escape.

“An acquaintance from Auckland,” I said, releasing a knot and moving on to the next. “Inspector Andrew Kelly of the Auckland Police Force.”

“I say, a copper! And from the Antipodes to boot!” Henry peered closer at Andrew’s face. “Why’s he here, then?”

“Attempting to locate Wilhelmina for one,” I said.

“He came all the way here for that?” Henry shook his head. “Was he forewarned?”

An interesting thought. “I assume he has another reason for visiting England, Mr Tempest. However, I am not familiar with it.”

“Rather timely, though, isn’t it?”

“A coincidence I am not above utilising. Wilhelmina is still missing.”

“Oh, Anna. I am sorry. Wherever would the chit have taken herself off too?”

I was not about to divulge my theory of Mina being fascinated with Inspector Kelly. Nor was I about to tell Henry of Andrew’s past. What little I knew of it. Henry was a friend, of sorts. But only a recent one. Hardly close enough to carry my burdens.

“I must thank you, Mr Tempest,” I said, clearing my throat to speak on. “For following me here. Coming to our aid.”

“Our aid, Anna? I rather thought I was rescuing you, not him.”

I didn't reply, releasing instead the last tie that held Andrew to the chair. I let out a loud sigh and stood upright, stretching my back. I noticed belatedly that Henry watched my every move hungrily. Rather like a thirsty sailor, come to think of it.

“Perhaps your driver would assist us in removing Inspector Kelly from his stool?” I enquired.

“Oh, yes,” Henry said, shaking himself awake. “I shall ask him to attend to the inspector in due haste.”

He left the lantern on the floorboards and walked from the room, quite prepared to leave me unchaperoned in the presence of an intoxicated gentleman.

“Whatever am I to do with him?” I murmured to myself.

“He is…too familiar…with you, Anna,” Andrew said.

I spun back around and stared into remarkably blue eyes. Even with blown pupils, his stare was forthright.

“And you are not, Inspector?” I asked.

“I am…ever your servant, madam.”

“It’s wearing off, isn't it?”

He nodded. Then shook his head. “Not quite,” he murmured.

I took a step closer.

“Whose house is this, Andrew?”

He lifted his head and stared right at me.

“You know. Too clever…by far. My Anna.”

I turned and looked around the near empty room, taking in the faded wallpaper in the light of the lamp. Flowers. Pale pinks and dark blues. Green vines intertwining them. It would have been rather pretty, once upon a time. Now, it looked abandoned and uncared for.

“This is a bedroom,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Yours,” I whispered.

“In a previous…life.”

I kept my back to him; I couldn't look him in the face. Not when I asked this.

“Was it her?” I swallowed thickly. “Your wife? Did she do this to you?”

“My wife,” he spat.

I turned, my body moving of its own volition. My breath stalling in my chest. My heart bursting.

“Was that your wife I chased from the room?”

He lifted his eyes and held my unwavering stare. My body shook. My eyes were steady.

“I have no wife,” he rasped. “She is dead to me.”

“Ah, but Inspector, she is not dead, is she?”

He slowly shook his head as loud footfalls could be heard out on the landing. Henry and his driver stomped into the room, shattering the moment.

“There he is,” Henry said, waving a hand in Andrew’s direction. “And back in the land of the living, it appears. Pity.”

“Watch your…tongue, sir.”

“I say! No need for that behaviour. We’re all gentlemen here.”

“Some of us…more so than…others.”

“Well, I never!” Henry blustered. “Is this what has become of the Antipodes? I dare say, you are pleased to have emigrated here, Anna. No more ruffians to deal with.”

“Henry…” I started.

“Anna is returning home,” Andrew said, rather clearly, I thought.

“Home? My dear boy, ‘home’ is where I intend to keep her. In the manner of which she deserves.”

“Home is Mrs Pugh’s Boarding House on Fleet Street, gentlemen,” I said, curtly. “And I’d rather like to return there now.”

“With him?” both men snapped. Then eyed each other suspiciously.

“Have you booked accommodation, Inspector?” I asked calmly, when I felt anything but calm, right then.

“Not as yet,” Andrew replied, attempting to stand and falling back onto his rickety chair.

He tried again and promptly fell backwards. Sweat started to bead his brow.

“If you please,” I said to Henry’s horseman. “He’ll require a firm grip. Scopolamine has a tendency to render one insensate.”

“Jolly good, then,” Henry exclaimed, and promptly let go of his side of the inspector, allowing the man to fall back down yet again.

I arched a brow and turned on my heel, leading the way downstairs.

“You haven’t a chance, old boy,” Henry murmured over my shoulder.

Andrew, though, did not reply.

I’m Sure I Don’t Know

Inspector Kelly

It should have made things easier. The fact that Anna now knew of Eliza May. But instead, it only clouded everything; turned what was once lit so brightly into shadows. Making ghosts appear at every corner. Hiding Anna away.

Cutting me off from everything that made this damnable life worth living again.

I cleared my throat and took a sip of Mrs Pugh’s tea. Blackie paced the sitting room, his hands fisted, his face hard, his dark eyes glinting in the naked light of the room. Muffled voices could be heard from the hallway. The landlady offering up her own two pennies worth and that damnable Tempest trying valiantly to sway Miss Cassidy from her current chosen path.

I could have saved the cove the effort and pointed out Anna’s stubborn side.

“I rather believe,” the pompous prick said, “that their staying here is quite inappropriate, Mrs Pugh.”

“Where else should they stay, but a boarding house?” Anna replied neutrally.

“Well, anywhere but here, dear lady,” the cur said.

“I have the room,” Mrs Pugh offered. “And need the business. I’m not wont to turn ‘em away.”

“Think you not,” Tempest ground out, “that they should retire to another more appropriate location?”

“More appropriate, how?” Mrs Pugh demanded. “Is my home not good enough, sir?”

“No, no, of course not,” the idiot replied, back peddling like the coward he most certainly was. “But, madam, a lady is present.”

“Am I not a lady, then?” Mrs Pugh demanded, making me smile.

Blackie huffed, flicked me an angry glare, and then resumed his pacing.

“Of, course, of course…”

“Henry,” Anna said softly, making the smile slide from my face. “Thank you for your help this afternoon, but I am quite safe.”

“Anna.”

The front door opened. “Please send Emily my love,” Anna replied. “I’m sure she’ll be frantic to know where you have taken yourself off to.”

“Emily does not concern herself with my comings and goings of a night. I have time to dally a little longer.” The unsaid being “to keep an eye on things here.”

“Would you like a room and all, too?” Mrs Pugh enquired. “I’ve one in the attic which should suit you nicely.”

I gathered the woman did not much like the toff. I decided, however, that I liked Mrs Pugh.

“Good night, Henry,” Anna said firmly.

The sound of huffing accompanied the squeak of the door, and then the click of it closing behind him.

I let out a long breath of air I hadn’t realised I’d been holding and caught Blackmore’s eye.

“Don’t think you’ve got off scot free, sir,” he said. “Miss Cassidy’s only just gettin’ started.”

The door to the sitting room opened, and Anna walked in, followed by an apron wearing, hand-wringing Mrs Pugh.

“Gentlemen,” Anna announced. “I do believe we need to talk.”

I stood from my seat, swaying only slightly, my hand fisting my cane for added balance.

“It’s late, Dr Cassidy,” I offered politely. “I would be happy to address your concerns in the morning.”

Blackie let out a little laugh; his lips twisting into a smirk.

Damn the man.

“Scopolamine has a short half-life, Inspector,” Anna pointed out. “But I dare say your assailant used a significant amount on that dart.”

Mrs Pugh sucked in a mortified breath of air. Blackie only smiled wider.

“Never ‘eard of this scopolamine before, Doctor,” he said. “Do tell us how it works.”

“I’d be happy to, Sergeant,” Anna said, moving into the room proper and taking a seat on the opposite couch.

I sat too, lest I sway any further and give the chit more ammunition with which to hit me with. Blackie remained standing, but Mrs Pugh sat in a chair by the door. The nosy landlady was doing her best to keep Anna’s reputation intact when on our earlier visit, she had failed to do so.

“It is derived from the scolpolia tree,” Anna explained. “Most commonly found in Europe and the Orient. Its use as a truth serum began in 1881 and since then has escalated in many eastern countries. A muscle relaxant in low doses and a hallucinogenic in high. It also has the unnerving ability to inhibit memory.” She turned her storm grey eyes on me. “Do you remember what happened this evening, Inspector?”

“Vividly.”

“Even how you got lured into a dark house with no back-up and clobbered over the ‘ead with a dart?” Blackie asked, irritatingly impertinent.

I could see a corner when backed into it, so remained mute.

“Of course,” Anna went on, pouring herself a cup of tea, “its most common use is as a truth serum. Pray tell, Inspector, what did the assailant seek that required an honest answer?”

I blinked at her, my cane spinning in my agitated hand. Anna’s stunning eyes tracked the movement as she raised the teacup to her lips and hid a smile.

Enough!

“What were you thinking, Anna?” I asked in an explosion of air. “Following me into that house.”

“Oh, we are to disassemble my behaviour this evening, are we?”

“You are not a policeman,” I countered.

“I am a police surgeon,” she replied, daring me to say otherwise.

“Anything could have happened,” I argued. “What if he had fired another dart?” I demanded. “I could not have saved you, incapacitated as I was.”

“I require little saving, Inspector,” she said haughtily. “And unlike you, I was aware of my back-up.”

“Hear, hear,” Blackie muttered.

“Anna,” I said pleadingly. “I lost an informant tonight to that brigand.”

She stilled.

“I could have lost you,” I murmured quietly.

Silence met my words. Heat flushed my cheeks. I couldn't meet anyone’s eyes. But at least I’d obtained my objective.

Blackie finally cleared his throat.

“You said ‘he’, sir? Did you get a good look at the blighter?”

The silence stretched. “Did I?” I forced myself to say.

“Yes, you did,” Anna replied tartly.

“I’m sure I don't remember,” I tried.

“Oh, so now you call on the drug’s ability to restrict memory?” Anna demanded uncharacteristically harshly.

I lifted my head and flicked my eyes over her face. Tight lips. Pale skin. Firm jaw.

She was a vision when riled.

“Was it her?” she whisper-demanded.

“Was it who?” Blackie asked.

I held Anna’s stare with one as equally as determined. Damnation, couldn’t she stay out of my twisted past?

“The letter,” Blackie suddenly announced.

My head whipped around to face him, my eyes screaming at him to stop.

“This has nothing to do with young Miss Cassidy, does it, sir?” the blasted man continued.

“What?” Anna whispered, her face paling further.

I glared at Blackie and then leant forward in my seat, my eyes on Anna.

“We were chasing down a lead,” I explained. “In my old district.”

“Whitechapel,” Anna supplied.

“Spitalfields, actually,” I corrected. “But close enough.”

“Was Mina there?”

“Possibly,” I hedged.

“And the lead?”

“My informant.”

“Dead,” she said in a rush of air.

I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to breach the gap and wrap her up in my arms. But Blackie hovered, and Mrs Pugh watched on eagerly, and the sins of my past came back to haunt me.

The room was full of ghosts.

Anna struggled with her emotions for a long while and then lifted her chin; a tempest swirling in her beautiful gaze.

“And the letter?” she enquired.

The damn letter; currently burning a hole in my coat pocket. I almost reached for it. I almost smoothed a hand over my heart, giving myself away.

“An old foe,” I murmured. Then looked toward Sergeant Blackmore. “And not who confronted me in that Lime Street home.”

That Lime Street home, as if it hadn’t once been my home. I feared the omission revealed too much. It certainly had Anna stiffening.

“Then who, pray tell,” she asked, “was it?”

I met her eyes, willed her to believe me, then said, “I’m sure I don't know.”

But For Mina I Would Gladly Bleed

Anna

“Poppycock,” I said into the ensuing silence. Three pairs of eyes stared at me as if I’d sprouted two heads.

Then Sergeant Blackmore started laughing. He was swift to cease such behaviour, however, at one sharp look from the inspector.

“I did not recognise her voice, and her face was in shadow,” Andrew finally said, and silence once again settled between us.

A woman, as I had thought upon hearing that tinkling laughter. And not his wife, it would seem. But who would lure him to his former home and confront him with a truth serum?

“And this person,” I asked, “in what way would they be related to my cousin?”

Sergeant Blackmore scratched at his scruffy chin. “Therein lies the rub, miss. How can we be sure the bugger ain’t after the inspector’s informant for some other nefarious reason?”

“There could be many,” Andrew offered. “But in light of my enquires this evening, I must admit to one suspicion above all others.”

“And that is?” I demanded. My worry over Wilhelmina was making me rash. Hardening my enquiries. Frustration lurking at the forefront.

That and impotence.

I softened the question with a refill of the inspector’s tea cup. He waited until I’d finished and then took the offered brew, blowing on it gently.

He was stalling. I’d never thought Andrew Kelly capable of prevarication.

“Children are going missing from Whitechapel,” he finally said. “A new gang has started up at Petticoat Lane Market. All roads seem to point to the Old Bailey.”

“The Old Bailey?” both Sergeant Blackmore and myself said at once. We glanced at each other but soon returned our attentions to the inspector.

“I am unsure of the connection, at this time,” he went on. “But the disappearing children could be an initiative out of Newgate; an attempt to clean up the streets somewhat.”

“There were children on Whitechapel Road,” I mused. “They seemed fearful. Hiding as much as possible, keeping to the shadows.”

“Fear of abduction?” Blackmore asked.

“Could be, Sergeant,” Andrew replied succinctly. “And yet, I cannot help wondering why anyone in the Bailey would waste time chasing down children when a new gang has the streets in disarray a few short miles away.”

“Does seem odd, sir,” Blackmore agreed, his gaze shadowing as he contemplated, no doubt, dark things.

“I, too, have heard word of the Old Bailey,” I offered the quiet room, making the temperature plummet dramatically.

I stared at the fire in the hearth, but it still burned merrily; the heat, though, unable to reach me.

“Oh, this should be interestin’,” Sergeant Blackmore muttered.

“And how, pray tell, did you come by this news?” Andrew demanded.

“By asking questions,” I replied, sweetly.

“Of whom?” he snapped. “And where? Good God, woman! What have you done now?”

I bristled. Naturally. “You seemed intent on concentrating your enquiries in Lambeth,” I explained, hating having to explain myself at all. “I thought it prudent to cover both sides of the Thames in search of my cousin. So, I revisited Whitechapel.”

“Damnation!” Kelly erupted, launching himself from his seat in spectacular style. His cane thumped down on the rug beneath his feet. “Whitechapel? Again? Have you no sense of self-preservation at all?”

I stood to my full height, some foot or so shorter than the inspector. Making Sergeant Blackmore stand as well. Mrs Pugh, for all I could tell, remained sitting; my eyes were too caught up in the splendour that was Inspector Andrew Kelly in full alarmist might.

“I am quite capable of taking care of myself, sir,” I replied curtly. “Indeed, I have done so for several years now.”

“I should not want you walking those streets, Anna.”

“You have no say in the matter, Inspector. My cousin is missing, and I intend to find her. Besides,” I added, feeling smug, “I had a contact. One recommended to me by a reliable source.”

“You ‘ave sources?” Blackmore enquired, receiving a hard glare from the inspector.

“Do not encourage her, Blackie,” he ground out. “Next she’ll be storming the Old Bailey and demanding they let the children out.”

“Not an entirely inappropriate thought,” I offered, straightening the cuffs of my dress with fastidious attention. Not daring to look the man in the eyes.

“It is a very inappropriate thought, Doctor,” Andrew growled. “God knows what is transpiring in Newgate right now. You dancing in with your parasol twirling would only complicate matters.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, blinking rapidly. “Dancing?”

“Prancing,” he said, taking a step closer.

“If you intend to intimidate me, Inspector, do choose a more appropriate time.”

“Appropriate?” he asked, hesitating. “Intimidate?” he added, dumbfounded.

“All this growling and looming, one does wonder where you came by your manners. Not to mention the fact that you are still swaying; a sapling in a heated breeze.”

“What the damnation are you talking about?” he demanded.

“Scopolamine,” I replied with a smile. I was quite sure I flashed a row of sharp teeth.

He stilled.

“Is this the real Inspector Kelly?” I enquired mildly. “Or a figment brought on by truth serum?”

“I’d rather thought truth serum would reveal the truth,” he murmured, as if to himself.

“Au contraire, sir,” I said. “It reveals a facet of the truth. Truth itself is far more complex than a toxin can ever hope to achieve. For instance, is it not the truth that the home I rescued you from was indeed your own?”

“What’s that now?” Blackmore enquired silkily.

“You know damn well that it was,” Andrew bit out, ignoring his sergeant.

“And despite admitting you did not know your assailant tonight,” I continued, “is it not the truth, Inspector, that her luring you to your house has more to do with your history than missing children in Whitechapel?”

Andrew looked fit to explode. I almost took a step backwards, but lifted my chin, and held his penetrating stare.

“The truth, Inspector Kelly,” I said softly, “is never as clean cut as it appears.”

“Bloody hell,” Blackmore muttered. “Your house?”

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave,” I murmured.

“Sir?” Blackmore started.

“Not now,” Kelly snapped. Then tapped his cane on the floor and simply walked out of the room.

My heart sank to my toes, my breaths all but leaving me.

“He hides behind a mask, that one,” Mrs Pugh said quietly from her perch in the corner.

“His house?” Blackmore repeated.

“Oh, do keep up with the times, Sergeant,” I said tightly. My chest felt too constricted all of a sudden.

“Of course, Doctor,” Blackmore replied quickly. “I just wasn't aware of the inspector still ‘aving a house, you see?”

“No,” I murmured, looking to the partially open door through which he had departed. “I rather think he would have preferred it stay that way, don’t you?”

“Oh, trust me, miss; he’ll be a regrettin’ a lot more when I corner him on the morrow.”

“Another night,” I whispered, and looked to the darkened front window.

How long could Mina survive out there? Was she even still alive?

I swallowed back bile, pressing a hand to my stomach, panting for much-needed air.

“We’ll find her, Doctor,” Sergeant Blackmore said softly. “He might drive you barmy, but in this, you can be sure; Inspector Kelly won’t stop for nothin’ in his search for your cousin. He’ll tear Whitechapel apart. He’ll bang down Newgate’s door. She won't be missin’ for long, miss. Not if he has anythin’ to do about it.”

He nodded a good night to Mrs Pugh and then followed the inspector out the door. Mrs Pugh waited for several seconds, and then she too left the room, trusting I’d put out the lamps and tend to the fire when I was ready to move.

I walked on numb feet to the settee in the bay window and stared out onto a darkened street.

It took a few moments for me to register the movement for what it was and not just the wind in the trees, so caught up in the fears that gripped me.

A cloaked figure stood beneath the shadow of a crooked awning, smoke wafting up from a pipe which offered a low glow but little illumination in which to see. Their eyes unerringly on the boarding house, I was certain; their face a swathe of darkness; their features hidden from me.

When I blinked and looked again, they were gone.

The street empty. My heart in my throat. Fear curling my stomach in knots.

What had Mina walked into? What was she dragging us into along with her?

And what had this to do with Inspector Kelly?

I settled into the settee and awaited the dawn, my eyes on the shadows, my heart breaking, fear making it impossible to sleep.

I would have answers. I just wasn’t sure if I’d survive their honesty.

But for Mina, I would gladly bleed.

Breathless For Anna

Inspector Kelly

She slept in a shaft of bright sunlight as if God Himself parted the clouds and kissed her cheek. I stood silently in the doorway to the sitting room and watching her bosom lift with each indrawn breath, the dip of her breasts beneath her corset as the air was released.

I couldn’t move for fear of waking her.

I wouldn’t move for fear of losing even this moment of uninvited observation.

Anna always had a way of making me overstep boundaries. Of risking all by breaking my own hard fought for rules. If I were a coarser man, I’d walk across the room and touch her.

But I am not that man, nor will I ever be.

I stood vigil at her side, a room’s width between us, feeling every exhale as if she brushed my skin in tempting heat.

It was at once a test of my resolve and a dagger to my beliefs.

For Anna, I would give up everything.

At that moment, I believed it. At that moment, I saw us somewhere else. Wild and free. At that moment, nothing was impossible.

And then she sighed, a soft sound of pure delight to my ears, and shifted on the settee.

“I never took you for a watcher, sir,” Mrs Pugh said quietly from behind me.

I didn’t startle, but my heart thundered inside my chest, matching my breaths all too swiftly.

“I did not wish to wake her,” I murmured in reply.

“Dare say, she stayed like that all night, hopin’ for a glimpse of a returnin’ Miss Cassidy.”

“I dare say, you are right, Mrs Pugh.”

“Poor thing,” she said, moving on silent feet into the room and stoking the ashes in the fire. “How she keeps goin’ in the face of such horror, I don’t know. She has a backbone as strong as an ox, and an ‘eart as big as one, too.”

“She is remarkable,” I agreed, unable to look away from Anna’s sleeping form.

“Aye, and too good for the likes of you, eh?”

My eyes flicked to the landlady’s. “Of course.”

She chuckled. “Don’t agree, meself,” she muttered. “You’re a damn sight better than that toff; I’ll wager.”

“Well,” I said, straightening my cuffs, “in that we can agree.”

She stood to her full height of five foot nothing and stared me hard in the eyes.

“Tell me the truth now, Inspector,” she said, eyes hardening. “What chance Miss Wilhelmina is still in the land of the living?”

“In Whitechapel?” I enquired, strangely sure this woman could handle the answer.

“No more said,” she mumbled and checked the glowing flames in the fire.

“Needs must that I attend to a line of enquiry, Mrs Pugh,” I offered, forcing myself to break my vigil at Anna’s side.

“Oh, so you thinks to sneak out in the wee hours? Your sergeant and Dr Cassidy none the wiser?”

“Something like that,” I murmured.

“What will you have me tell them?”

“That you didn't see me?” I offered with a small smile.

“Oh, now I sees what she sees in you.”

“She sees in me?”

“Fishing for compliments ‘n all. You ain’t so diff’rent from the rest of ‘em.”

I ignored her jibe.

“Her contact,” I said, instead. “Would that, perchance, have happened to be you?”

“Not just a pretty face, eh?”

“Simply observant; you shifted with pride when the doctor mentioned her ‘reliable source’ yestereve.”

“Oh, now maybe you is a watcher, after all.”

“Indeed.” I studied her; she remained tightlipped. “Someone you know,” I guessed. She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her hip at me. “A relative?” She smiled, the look assessing. “Brother?” A twist of her lips. “No, cousin, maybe?”

“Won’t do you no good,” she said finally. “One look at you and he’ll be off runnin’. Not literally, of course. He don't run from no-one. But any chance of you gainin’ answers would as soon be in the wind as hang around waitin’ for you to finish asking ‘em, see?”

“Think of young Miss Cassidy,” I implored.

“Think of the older one, ’n all, Inspector.” Mrs Pugh nodded her head toward Anna. I followed her eyes and found startling grey staring back at me. “You two need to talk,” she declared. “I'm leavin’ this door open.” The old woman poked a finger at my chest. “You be anythin’ other than a gentleman, and I’ll bash yer ‘ead with me rollin’ pin. Right?”

“Right, Mrs Pugh.”

“Breakfast,” she announced, “will be in half an hour. I expect full attendance.” Then she swept out of the room; my eyes automatically following her. Somehow the diminutive woman demanded one’s complete attention.

Or perhaps it was the mention of her rolling pin which did.

“Sneaking behind my back, Inspector?” Anna asked mildly, stifling a yawn as she attended the wayward curls that had broken free of their clasp in her sleep.

“You would have me sneak with you, Doctor? Some lines of enquiry would be better suited alone, I fear.”

“You fear nothing, Andrew,” she said primly. “Save my interference in your work.”

“I enjoy working with you,” I argued. “Your insight and observations of a crime scene are exemplary, bar none.”

“And yet you are attempting to exit the building without raising alarm. Or calling attention to your misdeeds.”

“Anna,” I said moving further into the room, unable to stop myself. “Must you be so vexing? Must you argue every single point I make? ’Tis not necessary; I am in awe of your intelligence, your skills, your very tenacity.”

“Nonsense.”

“And alarmed,” I added purposefully, “at your inability to safeguard your wellbeing.”

“And we make it full circle again. How fitting.”

She stood and started pacing. I glanced at the settee with longing, but straightened my back and turned my attention to her movements instead. Her skirt was crushed from how she’d been sleeping, but she didn't seem to notice. The hem still showing signs of ash picked up at Lime Street.

I let out a long breath of air and fisted my cane. Anna in my former home. Bearing witness to my shame.

The enormity of what had transpired hit me.

“You will have surmised,” I said carefully, “that my life in Lime Street was not as one would have it.”

She stopped her pacing and stood stock still, her face tilted to one side, her gaze unnerving in its intensity. I didn't look her in the eyes but kept my focus on the settee she’d recently vacated. Urging my cowardice to vanish.

“I came to London to face a ghost,” I said. She remained silent. “You once pointed out to me, that my journey to Auckland took more than a year to complete. You were right. I hunted the ghost and failed to find it. I will not fail in the endeavour twice.”

I did look at her then, willing her to understand what I was about to reveal.

“It was not the Ripper who trapped me in a burning building.”

Her breaths stilled. Her chest immobile. Her eyes wide and so very deep; I felt myself fall into them. Willingly.

My leg chose that moment to twitch; one of the many involuntary movements it made throughout the course of a day. For the first time since receiving the injury, I was glad of it. Of the reminder. Of the focus it gave, that broke the taut line between us. The connection I attempted at every turn to deny.

Anna took a step closer. I held up my hand to stall her. If she touched me, I’d be lost.

And I was already in danger of losing everything.

“Who hurt you, Andrew?” she asked, and if the look on her face was anything to go by, I knew my Anna would have cut them down with her parasol if given half the chance.

I back peddled. I always did. For the thought of Anna being harmed cut me deeply.

And then my hand reached for my heart, the pain calling the appendage there to soothe it. The letter, that damnable thing, scorched my fingers, and I pulled them back with a hiss of alarm.

Ipsa scientia protestas est, Sir Francis Bacon wrote. Knowledge itself is power.

I lifted my eyes to Anna’s and felt a wealth of understanding flood back.

She knew. I didn't have to say it. But hiding this truth was no longer a luxury I had.

No longer a luxury Anna had, either.

“My wife,” I said, and felt the room move, the floor seeming to get closer, and then Anna was there, grasping my hand in a gloveless one of her own, helping me to that tempting settee by the window.

Dear God, what had I done? Dragging Anna into my sordid affairs.

“Head down,” she ordered, her doctor’s voice making everything seem not so bad. “It will pass,” she murmured.

“No,” I rasped, tasting bile. “It is a haunting that never ends. A ghost without salvation. A penance that I have no way of paying.”

“Nonsense,” she said matter of factly, settling into the settee beside me.

Anna. I longed to reach for her. I desperately wanted her to run as fast as she could, and escape this dark land I was forced to tread so miserably.

“It is a woman,” she said startling me. “A mere woman. And I have never known you to back down from a woman before, Inspector. Don't break the habit now, I beg you.”

“Anna,” I started.

She met my gaze; her chin lifted, her face serene, her eyes willing me to accept what solace she offered.

“You don’t understand Eliza May,” I urged frantically.

She clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them demurely. Then tilted her head as she gazed across the room and said, “Oh but, Inspector, I understand the human mind in all its frailties. I have studied it for decades, having seen the decline in my own dear Mama. I rather think your wife is not so different. Aside from the fact that she is your wife, of course.”

I stared at her.

She stared at the fire.

And then we moved as one and stared at each other.

Lost. I was lost. So help me, God, I was lost to this woman.

My hand was wrapped up in her hair in the next heartbeat. Her chest pressed against mine before the organ had managed another burst of life. And then my lips crushed to hers and her fingers dug into my shoulders, and her mewl of delight stole all thought.

I’d lost my soul that night in Lime Street. My heart so long ago battered. I was a fraction of the man I had once been.

But in Anna’s arms, under Anna’s touch, wrapped up in Anna’s embrace, I found something. Something I had no right at all to claim.

Hope. An insidious emotion. For hope could break a man, more so than a murderous wife ever could, it seemed.

Anna was far more dangerous than Eliza May had ever been.

And for the life of me, I couldn’t stop the train wreck from happening. I was breathless for more.

Breathless for Anna.

And destined to hell for my longing.

And Then The Beast Within Burst Out

Anna

My body came alive as though lit by fire. Miniature explosions coursed through me. Andrew’s lips melded to mine, his hands cradling my head, his frame wrapping around me as though it was made to do so for eternity. His tongue was an illicit invitation to tangle, twisting me up, setting me free even as I clung to him in desperation. His touch was a brand I gladly received.

He had kissed me before, of course. I prayed this would not be the last kiss I ever received. But I knew my inspector; I knew Andrew. He would eventually retreat. At that moment, however, he’d forgotten his propriety. Forgotten society’s rules. Forgotten his position of authority. Forgotten his estranged wife.

Forgotten himself.

Completely.

Andrew kissed me like a starving man. At that moment, he changed me.

For how could I go back to what we’d had when he’d opened up his darkest secrets and reached out a hand for me?

I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. If he asked it of me, I would surely crack.

Andrew Kelly had crossed a line today, and I was damned if I would let him retreat.

I kissed him back.

He made a sound. Dear God, how could a sound be felt? So intimately? How could noise make your body burn, your breaths hitch, your nerves unravel?

How could this man undo me?

He clung to me harder; just as desperately. My breasts grew heavy. My breaths laboured. My body shifting to accommodate him further. He immediately took advantage; lifting me up, placing me on his lap, devouring me. He pressed his torso against my chest; my hip moulded to his stomach; his thighs sat strong and unyielding beneath me.

“Anna,” he rumbled, his voice low and devilishly rough. His fingers combed my hair as his lips trailed a line of fire across my jaw, down my neck.

He breathed deeply. I had the sense he was trying to control himself. I willed him to failure, and then remembered myself.

This was Andrew Kelly.

“You’re going to stop, aren't you?” I said, sounding far too breathless.

“You make it inordinately difficult to do so,” he murmured in reply, laying a soft kiss on my bare shoulder.

“What a fine pair we make,” I said, suddenly feeling heartbroken.

“What a temptation you present, Anna Cassidy,” he whispered, pulling back to look me in the eyes.

I was grateful for that small mercy; the acknowledgement of what had transpired here. Andrew did not back away from much in life, but this forbidden desire we shared was his Achilles heel. The one thing that made him run, time and again.

He held my gaze, his lips softening; a calloused finger grazed my chin, swept over my jaw. Tingles flared out over my body, goose-flesh following wherever he touched.

“I am taking liberties,” he murmured.

“I give them freely.”

“They are not yours to give.”

“It is my body,” I argued. “My life.”

“Your father…” he started, and I let out a frustrated breath. “Anna.” This time curt, firm, a hint of the frustration he also felt clipping the end.

He pulled his face back, his expression determined.

“I am your guardian,” he said.

“Self-appointed,” I snapped. I wished to stand and pace, place distance between us. But Andrew held my shoulders firmly, kept my body in place. Refused to release me.

“You know damn well there is more to this than his dying wishes.”

Unfortunately, that part was true. Whether my father had asked Andrew to keep watch over me was up for debate; considering he’d died miles away from Auckland City. I didn't doubt his friendship with the young inspector had garnered many in-depth, late night conversations about his independent daughter. But Andrew often saw certain situations in an entirely different light than reality.

Especially if it involved protecting something he cared for. And I had no doubt that Andrew Kelly cared for me. The dichotomy of his desires lay, however, in more realistic pastures.

He was married.

“Your wife,” I said, tasting acid as it hit the back of my tongue.

“Ours is a complicated relationship, Anna,” he murmured. “Made more so by your father, my wife and society.”

“My father is dead, and I care not what society thinks of me.”

“You say that now, warm and safe, unobserved as we are, but think you not that society’s opinions would have a disastrous effect on your career? On the path you have chosen? You wish to return to Auckland, do you not?”

I nodded my head and bit my lower lip. Andrew’s eyes darted down, but he lifted them again and snared me.

“To take up position with the Police Force as surgeon?” he pressed, and my heart plummeted. “I would back you,” he said softly. “I would do everything in my power to make that a reality.” I looked into the depths of his dark gaze and saw the truth there. Andrew believed in me. “You know how Chalmers is, however,” he added soberly. “You know his prejudices are vast and ill received. If he caught wind of this…of us…he’d ruin you.”

“I’d take that chance.”

“I won’t.” Of course, he wouldn’t. “Anna,” he said, cupping my face. “Darling. I could not bear to see you hurt. Ostracised. Following in your father's footsteps has been your sole focus in life. I would not have that torn asunder by a bitter, misogynistic man.”

“Yet by living my life as he and others would see fit is giving in to his false opinions.”

Andrew smiled. I was momentarily caught in the trap that was this man’s magnetism when lit by a simple smile.

“Oh, Anna,” he murmured, “how wretched you make my life.”

I blinked. His smile widened. My gaze was drawn inexorably to those lips. I’d tasted them. I knew how they felt pressed against my bare skin. I longed for more; I would never stop longing for his kiss.

“So fearless,” he whispered, running a hand through my hair and tucking a strand behind my ear with such focus, such care, causing such a wealth of delight. “My scarlet suffragette.” He sighed. His hand stilling. Falling away.

I knew instantly he would return us to our former selves; respectable, professional, with the occasional burst of aggravated interaction. But not allowing the type of interaction I craved.

“One more,” I said urgently; anything to make this moment last. “One last kiss.”

“For what purpose? Torture? Torment? Oh, how you love to wound me.”

“To know this is not a dream, but a moment in time,” I whispered, reaching up and running my fingers over his whiskered jaw. “A moment I shall treasure forever. And then I promise, I will do as you wish. Behave in the manner you so desire. Return to how things were.”

Things could never return to how they were now.

He stared at me, his nostrils flaring, his eyes deep swirls of hunger and forbidden desire.

“One kiss,” he said as if testing the words aloud.

“Just one. A memory to sustain us. A parting gift.”

“You are temptation personified.”

“And I am desperate for that one last kiss.”

He made a sound; so deep and wretched. I understood then what he had meant. How I tortured him; tempted him; cut through his resolve and undid him. Made his life wretched.

It was heady, this power. My heart set up a dramatic pace, my breaths rushing out in quick succession. I licked my lips, my eyes darting down to his lips. His fingers clenched on my waist then inched me closer. I was certain he wasn't aware of what he was doing.

“One kiss,” I whispered, leaning in, my breath washing over his lips. “And then we are done.”

“Done,” he repeated.

I pressed my lips to his; he remained motionless for all of a second.

And then the beast within burst out.

My World Shattered Once Again

Inspector Kelly

I was going straight to hell. But I was going there with fire coursing through my body, melting my convictions, fuelling my desires. I was going there willingly for one last taste of Anna.

Oh, the siren had sung her song well.

She tasted of honey and Anna. She filled my senses with silk and chamomile. She matched me, tongue stroke to tongue stroke, eager fingers, desperate sounds. If this were indeed the road to hell, I would gladly live here. Forsake all else.

If it were a dream, I would kill any who should wake me.

To know this is not a dream, but a moment in time.

How I loved her. Craved her. Longed for her to be mine.

Bitterness edged its way into what should have been pure and light. This moment, this last moment tasting Anna, invaded with thoughts of my murderous wife.

I pushed Eliza May away, clung desperately to Anna, thrust my tongue between her lips even as I fantasised thrusting between her thighs. How this woman could make me wish to better myself; to live up to the man she deserved; to endeavour to provide the relationship she required. And yet fill my mind with such deliciously inappropriate thoughts.

I fantasised about bedding Anna. Taking what was not mine. Stripping her of these bothersome garments. Running my fingers over her naked flesh, watching that tempting shade of pink she so often wore infuse her cheeks, noting the storm brew in her expressive eyes. I longed to make her sigh, moan, beg. Call out my name. Become the woman I knew she was deep inside.

Fierce. Demanding. Fearless.

My hand cupped her breast through her corset. Damn the distance between us. She groaned, ground her hip against my achingly hard shaft, arched her neck, closed her eyes, parted her lips for my plundering.

I imagined plundering her elsewhere. Licking and nibbling on a taut nipple. I pinched one now between my thumb and forefinger, made her eyelids flick open, her mouth round in a surprised ‘O’. Her breath come out in a sigh.

My hand swept lower. My mind already there. Kissing across a decidedly feminine rounded belly. Biting the curve of a hip. Nuzzling between creamy thighs.

Good God, I was close to spilling. My hands shook. My breaths laboured. Sweat coated my spine.

“Andrew,” she rasped against my lips; such sweet sounds, such a delectable taste. Such temptation.

I kissed her silent, then pulled back to watch her reaction as my hand slipped under the copious layers of her skirts, trembling fingers dragging up silk stockings, desperate digits sweeping over unwanted hindrances. Finding that one place, I should never desire.

But I knew with a certainty I would die craving, I would gasp my last breath longing, I would never stop desiring Anna.

The parting in her drawers lured me into heaven and conversely condemned me to hell. My fingers moved of their own volition, seeking refuge, searching for salvation. Chaining my desires.

I watched her eyelids flutter as heat washed up her smooth cheeks and her mouth parted; hot breath panting. My finger stroked through her lush folds, dipping ever so slightly inside, and then returning, coated in her moisture, and circling the small hooded nub at the top.

God in heaven, she looked divine. Her hips rocked up to meet me, her back arched across my arm, her throat, her neck, her breasts begging for my lips, teeth, tongue.

And then she opened her eyes and looked right at me, and stole my heart and soul as she fell apart under my touch, in my arms.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. I couldn’t think.

I wanted more.

A small smile spread her delectable lips, the high colour of her cheeks only making her more delightful to look upon. Anna was indeed fire and light and sin and fearless wonder.

She was my temptress.

She’d be my downfall.

I could ruin her.

I had just ruined her.

I regretted nothing. But my eyes did dart to the still closed door.

Relief rushed through me. I looked down at the woman in my arms, stroking a hand over her thigh, down her legs, straightening her skirts.

“Well,” she said, all mischief and sinful smiles.

Bloody hell, what was I to do with that? I begged her silently not to continue the thought.

“That was fun,” she said, shattering my world and then swiftly rebuilding it.

I let out an amused huff, opened my mouth to reprimand her - this was our last kiss, last touch, last moment - when a loud clatter sounded out against the window at my back, pulling us both out of the bubble we’d created.

I sprang back, placing Miss Cassidy on the settee, far away from me, and turned to face the interruption.

A spiderweb of cracks appeared on the glass, and on the ground outside, head cocked at an odd angle, blood stark against ruffled feathers, lay a bird.

A nightingale.

My world shattered once again. This time, I feared, irreparably.

The Faint Hint Of Jasmine Met The Still Air

Anna

“It’s a bird,” Sergeant Blackmore stated.

We stood in a semi-circle around the deceased bird staring down at the poor creature in stunned silence.

“Birds hit windows all the time,” the sergeant added. “Must ‘ave got itself lost or somethin’.”

Mrs Pugh wrung her hands in front of her apron. “What would cause such a beautiful animal to fly at a window?”

“Perhaps it saw somethin’ it liked,” Blackmore muttered, reaching down to pick the bird up by the cloth he’d produced from out of nowhere.

“What type of bird is that, Sergeant?” I asked.

“I’m sure I don’t know, Doctor. Never been a birdwatcher, myself.”

“Mrs Pugh?” I enquired of the landlady.

“I’ve seen enough of ‘em around, but I’m afraid I’m not aware of its name, miss.”

“Inspector?” I pressed, turning to face him. He’d not uttered a word since the household had come running to see what the noise was about.

“Does it matter?” he replied, coolly.

I thought, rather, that it did.

“I think Wilhelmina has a book upstairs on birds,” I announced. “I shall fetch it.”

“Oh, Dr Cassidy,” Mrs Pugh cried, “knowin’ its breed will only upset you.” Or going through Mina’s things would, I thought.

“I must discover its name,” I advised.

“Nightingale,” Inspector Kelly said abruptly.

I paused, my back to him, and then turned and lifted my eyes to his face.

Thunderous was his expression. Inordinately angered at having to reveal his pain.

“Thank you, Inspector,” I said. “The mystery is solved.”

He and I both knew that was a falsity.

Nightingale. Nightshade. I sensed a theme, and the inspector damn well knew it.

“Well,” Sergeant Blackmore exclaimed, the bird somehow disappearing from view as if never there, “I’m famished. Fancy a bit of grub, then?”

“Oh, Mr Blackmore,” Mrs Pugh said, “you are a man after me own ‘eart.”

“Lead on, dear lady,” the sergeant said with an overly theatrical wave of his hand toward the house’s front door. “And I shall follow ye.”

Mrs Pugh giggled as she sashayed up the front steps, behaving more like a woman half her age than a widow of two-and-forty.

“He does seem to have developed a rather fascinating talent for mischief, does he not?” I enquired of the inspector.

“Incorrigible, I believe you would call it,” Andrew said, grasping the lifeline I threw him.

He walked beside me toward the door, but his eyes kept sweeping the street for any threats. He wouldn't see them. The shadowed form I’d witnessed last night had shown her hand already. If she wanted us to find her, she’d lay breadcrumbs.

The bird was an invitation to play.

“Do you know the scientific name for a bird-lover?” I said mildly.

“The what?” Andrew asked, stiffening.

“Someone who loves birds, Inspector,” I replied sweetly. “It’s an aviphile. A rather new term coined some time after 1870 when the scientific word for birds - avian - became popular.”

“Where do you get this nonsense from?” he asked, looking at me aghast.

He didn't mean it; he admired my depth of knowledge. What was it he had said? I am in awe of your intelligence. One does not become intelligent without reading a wide variety of subjects.

“Formerly, one would have called them ornithophiles,” I went on, ignoring him completely. “For ornithology, of course.”

“Of course.”

“The term is a broad enough one,” I said, as we walked into the hallway and the inspector closed the door behind us. But not without one last look up and down the street. “For instance, it does not specify as to which bird the bird-lover loves.”

“Anna.” A warning.

“You think I don't see you, Andrew,” I murmured. “You think I only see a man. But I assure you, I see much more than that.”

“That is what scares me, Anna.”

Mrs Lancaster appeared on the landing above, causing the inspector to rush out a greeting, relief coating each word. I smiled as I followed the lady into the parlour, where breakfast had been laid out, and Sergeant Blackmore was regaling the assembled boarders in spirited talk of his journey from New Zealand.

“’Twas a fine steamer,” he said, as Andrew held out a chair for me at the table and took one to my side. “Cut through the waves like a hot knife through butter,” he added, slathering a bit of toast with said butter while he talked.

I leant over to the inspector and said quietly, “The term for someone who fears birds would, therefore, be aviphobia or perhaps ornithophobia. Would you agree?”

Andrew closed his eyes slowly and breathed through his nose in jagged breaths.

“Again,” I added, “the terms do not specify which birds one fears.”

“Your point, Doctor?”

“Oh, I have no point, Inspector,” I said, louder now, a smile gracing my lips. “Merely making conversation.”

“I have never known you, Dr Cassidy, to merely make conversation. If you speak, there is always a purpose. At least, to your mind, there is.”

Blackmore snorted, then covered it with a large piece of toast thrust into his mouth. He chewed merrily, his eyes darting back and forth between the inspector and me.

“Oh, how well you know me, sir,” I said gaily, causing the women around the table to titter behind their napkins. “Indeed, my point, Inspector, is there should be a word for a specific genus of avian one either loves or hates. For instance…”

Andrew leant his head forward and pinched the bridge of his noise.

I proceeded unperturbed.

“…a lover of nightingales should be called a luscinia-megarhynchos-phile.”

“A what now, Dr Cassidy?” Blackmore asked, his eyes flashing that alluring mischievous glint yet again.

“The binomial for nightingale, Sergeant,” I replied, sipping my tea.

“Quite a mouthful, that,” the sergeant declared.

“Yes, which is why I’m sure, they are called aviphiles,” I admitted. “But I do detest ambiguous titles.”

“You would,” Andrew muttered.

“Therefore, I ask you, Inspector,” I said, turning partially in my chair and holding his dark eyes, “are you a luscinia-megarhynchos-phile?” Silence. “Or a luscinia-megarhynchos-phobic?”

“Can I be neither?”

“No, Andrew,” I murmured. “You cannot.”

The parlour thickened with silence. Not even a scraping of knife through butter to be heard.

“It’s just a bird,” Andrew said softly.

“You and I both know it is not,” I replied.

“You are incorrect, madam. Birds hit windows all the time.”

“Nightingales?”

“Leave this, Anna. I beg you.”

I reached into my reticule and pulled out the letter. Then placed it carefully on the table before him.

The faint hint of jasmine met the still air.

The image of a nightingale winked from the corner of the page.

Andrew’s hand shook when he reached out to touch it.

And then he pushed back his chair, making the women in the room jerk in alarm, and strode from the room. His limp nearly causing the manoeuvre to be unmanageable.

I reached down and lifted the missive off the table, flicking my eyes over the assembled guests, begging their forgiveness in that one swift glance.

And then chased after the man whom I loved with all my heart and who constantly failed to love himself in turn.

And Felt Bitter For My Efforts

Anna

He stood in the parlour, staring out of the bay windows, or perhaps at the settee he’d kissed me on. His back was straight, his shoulders rigid, tendons in his neck stood out starkly. He knew I was there, but he did not turn to face me, nor did he make a comment upon my arrival.

“I’ve been receiving the letters for close to two months now,” I said into the thick silence. “This one arrived yesterday.”

“It is not from whom you think it is,” he said to the window.

“The nightingale…”

“A coincidence. The writing is disparate.”

Of course, he’d recognise his wife’s hand.

“In any case,” I said, covering my disappointment, “the letters originated in the Dutch East Indies.”

“The Dutch East Indies?” Andrew repeated, spinning to face me at last. His eyes searched mine. “I had not thought…”

But he didn't finish the sentence. He shook his head and started pacing. I feared he’d exacerbate his injury with the irate way he strode across the carpet.

“What have the missives to say?” he asked, continuing his rapid march.

“More of the same,” I replied. “Some included gifts; pressed flowers, small beads, a bottle of perfume. Almost as if…”

“He is courting you,” Andrew finished.

“Yes.”

“Any idea who he might be?”

“Until this morning, I had not a single one.”

“The nightingales match?” he moved closer, holding out his hand for the letter. I held it close to my chest and raised my eyes to his. “Anna? May I?”

“Will you run again?” I asked.

“I wasn’t running.”

“Then hide, perhaps?”

“Nonsense.”

I arched my brow at him. He sighed and double fisted his cane before him, standing to full height; looming. I suppressed the smile that wanted out and handed him the note.

“Can you identify the scent?” I asked.

“Jasmine,” came the immediate reply. I could not tell, however, if that was simply because the fragrance was common, or because he had experience scenting such.

“Before you ask, I do not recognise the penmanship,” I declared.

“And the MM? Are you acquainted with one with such initials.”

“No.” I shook my head and started pacing. Between the two of us, we’d wear out poor Mrs Pugh’s rug in no time at all.

“‘Imitation?’” Andrew read. “To which act does he refer?”

“I’m sure I do not know.”

“Perhaps your efforts in medicine? Forensic surgery?”

“A valid guess.”

“But if the letters originate in the Dutch East Indies, how is it he is aware of your degree?”

“Are we to ignore the nightingale?” I asked abruptly.

“The one in the corner?” Andrew peered down at the hand-drawn bird.

“And the matching one which hurled itself at the window as we kissed.”

He flushed; which was charming and unexpected. Then straightened himself and scowled down at me.

“Perhaps it would be best not to discuss such matters openly.”

“Shall we retire to your room, then, Inspector? Where we shall have privacy?”

“Anna!”

I couldn't help it; I smiled.

“Damnation, woman! I am trying to save your reputation!”

“Then, perhaps, you should not have ravished me so thoroughly.”

I regretted the words immediately. Confirmation of the blunder followed in swift, hard tones.

“I assure you, it shall not happen again.”

“That is what I am afraid of,” I muttered, turning away from him.

Silence met my back, but I felt the heat of his gaze. It wasn’t quite the heat I would have liked, right then. But Andrew was a complicated and determined man; I’d have to make my move slowly; catch him unaware. It was devious in nature, these thoughts, but my heart sped up, and my brow shone with perspiration, and my breaths caused an ache to appear in my bosom.

Apparently, I liked the chase.

“The bird is significant, is it not?” I enquired, staring into the ashes in the hearth.

“You ask if my wife used it on occasion as a motive, do you not?” Andrew said softly.

“Yes.” I turned to look at him; I needed to see his face when he spoke of Eliza May. I needed to know what drove him; what caused that pain he tried to hide every single day. The thought of what she had done to harm him, in their own home, no less, brought unbidden tears to my eyes. How frightful. Such betrayal. It explained a lot of Inspector Kelly’s idiosyncrasies.

Andrew stared down at the image of the bird and nodded. “Yes. She had an affinity with birds and plants. She…she was quite knowledgeable, in fact. Studied them, one might say.”

“Including the properties of nightshade?” I tentatively asked.

His eyes came up to mine, and I almost stumbled back a step at the horror I saw there. He masked it immediately, but the shadow of the emotion left me reeling. What had she done?

“Anna,” he said, almost urgently. “Eliza May is not to be troubled with. She is dangerous.”

“I had worked that out, thank you.”

“No,” he said desperately. “You have no idea.”

“She hurt you,” I said taking a step toward him. “Left you trapped in a burning building. That alone tells me all I need to know.”

“That was a kindness,” he snapped. “Taking pity on a wounded creature. Abandoning her prey to a lesser fate.”

“You talk as if she is some monster.”

“She is more than that. She is…” He struggled to find the right word. His eyes searching the room as if the shadows hid the answer. “She is evil personified,” he finally managed. Then turned away as if ashamed.

I stood still for a long moment. Andrew is not a fanciful man. He acts on what he sees. On what is tangible to him. He does not fear ghosts or apparitions, or creatures from books. He has worked and lived on the streets of Whitechapel, made his living hunting men like Jack the Ripper. Devoted his existence to the protection of man.

I could not fathom the haunting his mind had suffered at the hand of the woman he supposedly had loved.

“How did you meet her?” I asked before I thought better of it.

“Through Leman Street,” he said, voice rough and hard to hear.

“In a professional manner?” Had she been a criminal already?

“Yes.”

“You arrested her?” I sounded as shocked as I felt. Andrew turned and looked at me, sadness sweeping across his face.

“No, Anna. She was quite respectable then.”

“Then…?”

“She consulted with a number of cases.”

Like I did. Like I had in Auckland, under Andrew’s guidance.

I stepped back and placed a hand on the mantle above the hearth, my breaths quickening, my mind whirling.

“She sold herself as a botanist,” Andrew said carefully, his eyes watching my every reaction. “We’d had a number of poisonings. She was the foremost knowledge on such.”

“A woman,” I said, appalled at the dichotomy. A woman considered the pinnacle of wisdom on a topic of dire importance, assisting in a male dominated profession. Openly. With acceptance.

With such acceptance, a senior officer had married her.

Eliza May Kelly had lived my life; the life I wanted with all my heart.

And had shattered it without a backwards glance.

My fists curled, my breaths rasped; jealousy was not an emotion I was familiar with. But I embraced it.

And felt bitter for my efforts.

And The Shock On Anna’s Face

Inspector Kelly

I watched as Anna absorbed the impact of my words and crumbled. I took two steps toward her, and she immediately gave me her back. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Anna was hurting. I had hurt her. I reached out and touched her shoulder; she stiffened. I paused. And then I pulled her close, wrapped my arms around her slender frame, and pressed her back against my chest, breathing deeply.

Her entire body shook; so fragile, so precious. She ducked her head, her hands fisting at her sides, averted her eyes, her breaths shallow and sharp, making my heart ache.

I didn't know what to say to make this better. I didn't know how to soothe her pain. I’d never intended to divulge so much, but Anna had a way of making me open up and forget myself. Of wanting to let her in when I shouldn’t.

I regretted my honesty a thousandfold. If I could have turned back time, I would have.

I held her and said nothing. Did nothing. Just let her feel my presence and through it, my support.

I’m not sure how long we stood like that, but it was long enough for breakfast to have finished, and Blackie to enter the room. It was certainly not the first time he had interrupted us, but it was the first time I didn't step back from Anna.

My eyes met his across the room, an understanding shared. I nodded toward the letter on the settee, where I had dropped it, and he silently crossed the space and started to read, head bent, back to us.

“Anna,” I said softly, brushing my lips in her hair. “We must address your letters.” I despised myself for bringing them up. “How many have you received?”

“Ten,” she said quietly, not sounding at all like her fearless self.

I stroked a hand over her shoulder, down her arm, resting it on the curve of her hip. Such intimacy was atrocious, but I couldn't stop myself. I leant forward and inhaled her clean, fresh chamomile scent. My fingers flexing where they gripped her.

“I can't seem to step away,” I whispered, the statement sounding more surprised than angry. I should have been angry; this was a compromise Anna should not have to bear. But my inability to remove myself from her vicinity left me feeling astonished, rather than riled.

“Would you like I should make a move first?” she asked, a small smattering of her former self emerging. A twitch of her lips, as she half-turned her head towards me, had me aching to touch mine to hers.

“It might be prudent,” I advised, “we are no longer alone in the room.”

Anna jerked in my arms, and any moment now I expected her to step free of my embrace, place respectable distance between us. As she should have. But this was Anna; my fiery, fearless Anna. And I couldn’t have been happier to see her again.

“I think that horse has long bolted,” she said at normal volume, garnering a clearing of his throat from Blackmore.

“Don’t mind me,” he said over my shoulder. “My lips are sealed. Always ‘ave been, always will be.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” I said, making to move away from the enticing heat before me.

Before I’d taken a step, however, Anna’s hand came up and cupped mine, her fingers tightening briefly. A show of support? An acknowledgement of what we had shared? Forgiveness?

I lifted her hand to my mouth and kissed it. Her eyes met mine as she turned in my embrace.

Something had changed between us. Something perhaps unavoidable, but nevertheless uninvited.

“Anna,” I whispered. My voice at once regretful. We couldn't do this. There were so many reasons why we shouldn’t even be contemplating this. The most prevalent being the ghost of a nightingale with the sting of a viper.

Anna just held my gaze with a determined one of her own.

“The closer you get,” I whispered, “the hotter you’ll burn.” I could attest to Eliza’s skill with flame.

She arched a brow, then replied equally as intimately, “I rather like the burn, Inspector.”

My breath left me as her heat retreated, my fingers twitching to haul her back, my heart thundering, my body shaking, my ballocks damn near blue and threatening to bring me to my knees.

I remained with my back to the room while I attempted to bring myself back to order, listening to Anna’s dulcet tone as she conversed with Sergeant Blackmore.

“‘MM’,” he said. “How very ambiguous.” I turned in time to see him wink at Anna.

I offered him a glare and received a smirking grin in return.

“Yes, frustrating, isn’t it?” Anna remarked. “I know not of anyone who could claim those initials. But I find the Dutch East Indies post stamp most alluring.”

“Not the reference to this chap admirin’ your imitation of ‘im, then?”

“Well, that is a conundrum,” Anna admitted. “But there could be any number of reasons as to why he thinks I follow in his footsteps.”

“Dr Cassidy’s degree,” I announced, entering the conversation.

“Of course,” Blackie said, looking down at the letter again. “But surely there were more than just yourself graduatin’ the School of Medicine?”

Good observation. I nodded my head. “You’re right. Even if a woman gaining her degree in medicine is a rarity as such, it is not a singularity.”

“I topped my class,” Anna said, her face blushing slightly.

“Well, well,” Blackmore said. “Congratulations, miss. Never doubted you.” His smile was infectious and genuine; Anna basked in his praise and then sobered.

“Still,” she said, “medicine is a far stretch.”

“Then what else?” I mused. “The other letters? Did they offer any more insight into character or name?”

“Nothing,” she replied, starting to pace. “Just gifts and more confessions of admiration. Everything vague enough to be nonsense. I dismissed them for some time; they seemed so vague.”

“Until this latest one.”

“Yes, it seemed so much more personal. Intimate. As if the sender was observing me, and an action I had performed had caused him to change.”

“Change how?” I demanded.

“His words are far more familiar than previously. I had the sense I was being watched.”

“Figuratively or literally?” I pressed.

“There have been shadows,” she said, biting her lower lip. I studied the movement with intense desire, barely able to reign myself in.

This newfound open attraction between us was vexing. And dangerous.

“What shadows?” I demanded.

“Cloaked figures. One stopped across the street last night and watched this very window.”

Bloody hell. “Why didn't you say something?”

“I just did.”

“Earlier. When I first walked in here to find you having spent the entire night sleeping on a settee.”

“I didn't sleep. Not really. I must have drifted off not long before you walk in here. I was keeping guard, you see?”

“Keeping guard?” I almost shouted, taking three long strides to reach her. “Heaven forbid you involve the police detectives living under the same roof as yourself! What would you have done should he have broken through the front door? We could not have reached you swiftly enough from our rooms at the rear of the house to protect you.”

She pulled herself up to her full height, still a foot short of me. I tried not to loom, but I was angry. No. I wasn't angry. I was furious. Had she no self-preservation at all?

“I have told you before, Inspector, I do not require protection.”

“Oh, it’s ‘Inspector’ now, is it?”

“As it is ‘Dr Cassidy’ when you are angry with me.”

“I am not just angry, Doctor. I am incandescent with rage. And why are you angry? You’re the one constantly putting yourself in danger. I have a right mind to lock you in your room until we sort out this mess.”

“Not your room?” the impertinent chit enquired. “Or perhaps a dungeon would be more fitting?”

“Do not test me, Anna.”

“Do not presume to contain me, Andrew.”

“You are entirely too vexing!”

“You are pigheaded and bullish!”

“Foolhardy woman!”

“Irritating man!”

“Ahem,” Blackmore muttered. “It’s nice, and all, that you’re gettin’ along so…well, but ‘ave you thought that these letters might link in some way to Miss Wilhelmina? Or, dare I say, be a match to your own letter…sir?”

God damn the man. What was he thinking? Anna deflated at the mention of her missing cousin. Then turned desperate eyes to my face.

“The letter. Are they at all similar?” she asked with all the hope in the world swimming in her stormy gaze.

“I…” I said, feeling all my rage dissipate. I swallowed, wanting desperately to reassure her, then shook my head. “My letter is not the same.”

“But it don’t half smell the same,” Blackie muttered, and I swear, I wanted to hit the man square in the face.

All that saved him was the fact that he’d hit back harder.

And the shock on Anna’s face.

So Very Protective

Anna

“The letters are connected,” I declared, staring at the two notes, side by side.

Andrew had baulked at revealing his missive, but Sergeant Blackmore had been most persuasive. And the corner in which the inspector had been corralled into left him little room to manoeuvre.

“The handwriting and origin are not the same,” Andrew argued now.

“You cannot deny the link between the nightingale and jasmine.”

“Coincidence.”

“Is that deadly nightshade?” I asked, peering at the flower drawn in the lower left-hand corner of Andrew’s letter.

“The one and same,” Blackmore agreed, almost cheerily.

I stood up and stared at the inspector. “Nightshade and nightingale. One could hardly call that a coincidence, rather a message.”

“The Dutch East Indies and London,” Andrew replied, tapping the stamps on the envelopes one after the other.

“Jasmine,” I returned, crossing my arms over my chest most inappropriately for a lady.

Andrew sighed. “It is not her penmanship,” he said softly, waving a hand at my letter.

And the tone of my note did not match the tone of his, either.

I read the words again, my heart clenching. No wonder Andrew had eschewed revealing its contents.

Husband,

Your little bird has flown the coop and is no longer under your protection.

For shame, Andrew. Don’t you know how I long to cage it? To watch it break, its feathers losing lustre, as day by day it withers away, locked inside a gilded prison.

I had thought, my love, that you had learned your lesson. For the jailor is the one who ultimately pays, is he not? And I am ready for my penance.

I shall face the final hour with aplomb. But not before I steal your little bird away.

EMK

Mad. She was mad. And clearly playing with Andrew as though he the prey and she the hound. In some wicked, twisted version of a fox hunt.

“I see now, sir,” Sergeant Blackmore said carefully, “why you booked passage so swiftly.”

He came to London to protect me.

My eyes met Andrew’s; he held my gaze with one so stoic I swear I could feel the chill of it emanating from his body.

And instead of finding me in harm’s way when he got here, he’d discovered my cousin missing.

“She thinks Wilhelmina is me,” I whispered, horrified at the discovery.

“It would appear so,” Andrew said slowly.

“Where would she take the young miss?” Blackmore asked.

“I fear, I have no knowledge,” Andrew replied, his eyes still on my face; as if he were unable to look away. “But with last night’s charade and children missing from Whitechapel streets, I believe there is a chance of Eliza May’s involvement.”

“With missing children?” I asked, aghast, well aware that the confrontation in the inspector’s house last evening led to only one conclusion.

“It is not out of her purview,” he admitted now with a grimace. “And the means to abscond with someone from off the street requires a certain talent the abductors of children would possess. Eliza is adept at bending people to her whims; she is less likely to get her hands dirty that way.”

What horror had she performed to make her husband, this man who prizes loyalty and protection of those he cares for above all else, to turn on her? To cause her to leave him for dead.

She sold herself as a botanist. We’d had a number of poisonings. She was the foremost knowledge on such.

“The Lambeth Poisonings,” I said suddenly.

“What of it, Doctor?” Blackmore asked.

I lifted my eyes to Andrew’s; he winced, stepped back, and then straightened.

“You already suspected a connection,” I guessed.

He sucked in a breath and then murmured, “Strychnine.”

“A plant derivative,” I added.

“One she has used before?” Blackmore asked, his eyes not uncaring as he looked to the inspector.

Andrew nodded, his gaze darkening, thunderclouds appearing across his face.

“She will not be immediately involved,” he said quietly, turning slightly as if he wished to give us his back, not face the condemnation he was sure would be there, but couldn’t countenance the cowardly act.

I loved him more for his courage right then than I had thought possible. What a wretched world he had lived in. What a wonderfully moral man he had remained despite it.

“Eliza May is a mastermind of deceit and slight of hand,” he said gruffly. “Nothing she does can be held against her. She has always remained two steps removed from the acts.”

He stared out of the window, watching the clouds darken as the day closed in. No fog; there was too much wind. But the wind had a bleakness to it, that brought to mind one’s worst fears; the patients in Bedlam would be revolting. The wind, they said, spoke to them of its ill intent. Stirred them to do its bidding.

“What did she do, Andrew?” I asked.

“I never wanted you tainted by this,” he said softly.

“Knowledge itself is power,” I replied and watched as his nostrils flared and his eyes widened.

“Ipsa scientia protestas est,” he said in reply.

We waited. He could not be pushed on this. Should not be. To relive his past would be to invite the ghost back in. But had she not invited herself back into his life again with that letter? He'd hunted her across the globe and finally given up and turned his back on his past, claiming a new life in New Zealand. She was free of him, as she must have intended when she left him for dead in their burning house. Why garner his attention now? Why lure him back to London?

The only reason I could think of was me.

The thought was a desolate one. For I would not have him harmed by my hand or that of another who wielded the weapon because of me.

As much as I longed for our relationship to become intimate, I knew without a shadow of doubt that to do so before Eliza May was caught would cause Andrew harm.

I took a metaphorical step back as my heart broke and my throat ached with the need to shout my anger and disappointment to the rafters.

Oh, what a wretched world this is.

“The poisonings at the time,” Andrew finally said, “were at her bidding, I was sure, but I could never prove it. I found…things in our home. Things that even a botanist should not tamper with. But nothing at the murder scenes could be linked to my wife. And still, every night she cooked dinner for me. Tended to my needs. Acted as any wife is wont to do.”

I swallowed back bile.

“She knew I knew,” he said. “I’m not sure for how long she continued to play the act of wife with that knowledge. At any stage, she could have laced my meals with strychnine. But she did not.

“Then the Ripper struck, and the world changed overnight. I insisted she remain indoors, off the streets, away from Leman Street, which had become a target. Little did I know that chasing the Ripper would bring my hunt to my own doorstep and my wife as she waited for me.”

“They worked together?” Blackmore asked, his shock making him forget Andrew’s pain for a moment. Or maybe it was the inspector’s pain that forced him to interrupt his superior.

“Again, I have no proof,” Andrew said in that dead voice he’d adopted. “But the only murderers I found on London’s streets that year were men who claimed to know my wife. Even if only remotely.”

Oh, good Lord. His professional standing must have been in question. Was that why Superintendent Arnold spoke to him so witheringly?

“Poisons and slashings,” Sergeant Blackmore mused.

“And missing children,” Andrew added. “There were always some of those.”

“She uses them?” I asked, my mouth dry. “In what capacity?”

“In whatever capacity suits her needs.”

To murder, steal, work to the bone for scraps of food and a flea-infested bed upon which to sleep. It could hardly be for the comfort of her bosom.

“So we start with the children,” Blackmore said.

“The Old Bailey,” Andrew replied, nodding his head, some colour returning to his cheeks at last.

“I’m coming with you,” I announced, expecting the obligatory argument.

Andrew opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again, but said nothing.

Thinking of his wife? Or the gilded cage she claimed I was imprisoned in?

But it wasn’t Andrew’s need to protect me that kept me trapped. Emily Tempest burst through the door to the sitting room, trailed by Mrs Pugh, who frantically dusted her hands on her apron.

“La, Dr Cassidy!” the young chit exclaimed. “What fascinating company you keep!”

My eyes met Andrew’s. Had she heard what we’d been discussing?

I shook my head and rose from my seat, clasping Emily’s hands in my own.

“Sweeting,” I greeted, kissing her cheeks. “How splendid you are here.”

“Now, now, Anna, don't be coy. You know very well Henry has sent me. And not a moment too soon. For shame! Alone with two gentlemen. Henry has the right of it to be concerned.”

I arched a brow at her; Emily would be the first to slip her brother’s leash when it so pleased her. She’d been successfully navigating that minefield for the past four months.

“Humour him, dear one,” she whispered. “Or he’ll challenge your inspector to a duel. So very protective.”

“And proprietary,” I muttered.

Damn Henry Tempest, Esquire. I watched as Inspector Kelly and Sergeant Blackmore left the building, heading towards the Old Bailey.

Leaving me behind in my gilded cage, my feathers most definitely ruffled.

Minutes Felt Like Days

Inspector Kelly

I watched from the shadows as Blackie completed the exchange with the newsie, tugging his hat low over his hard eyes, his gaze on the surroundings, a limp to his gait as he crossed the street. The act was convincing, for I believed him injured when so presented, yet I knew the sergeant had not fought in the rings for months and therefore did not suffer such an injury.

“Well?” I said, as he slipped into the alley I was hiding in. The thought had me reminiscing my last conversation with Anna.

“Will you run again?” she’d asked.

“I wasn’t running.”

“Then hide, perhaps?”

“Nonsense.”

I pushed Dr Cassidy from my mind; I had no hope of pushing her from my heart, however.

“It’s as we feared, sir,” Blackie said, straightening his posture. “Two days past, a Black Maria full ‘o orphans entered under the portcullis. Their cries could be ‘eard for miles. At dusk, that same day, they left via the west gate in a closed wagon, but the newsboy ‘eard ‘em just fine.”

“Did he see Miss Cassidy amongst those taken?”

“He did not, sir, but he did confirm there were girls amongst those he seen.”

I scowled at the pavers, then flicked my eyes over what I could see of Newgate Street.

“They take them to the gaol,” I mused, “openly one could say, and then surreptitiously remove them. To what purpose?”

“I do not know, sir. But I can speculate. For nefarious purposes, eh?”

“Female and male orphans?”

“Yes, sir.” He looked as grim as I felt.

“We needs must approach the gaol,” I declared.

“Is that wise, sir. Showin’ our hand, and all?”

“What choice have we, Sergeant? If there is a chance that Miss Cassidy was wrongly taken - and one can only hope her diminutive size, nervous disposition, and worn travel cloak would have convinced the abductors she was indeed a child - then we must discover to where she has been sent. This may have nothing to do with my wife.”

It was a small hope, but I clung to it.

“Well, this was no Met doin’, neither, if you don't mind me sayin’, sir. For the newsie did not see a blue drivin’ the wagon.”

“Could he identify who was driving the wagon?”

“Warden garb, sir.” Blackie looked to the gaol. “Why would Newgate get involved with cleanin' up the streets?”

“And why do all roads lead to the Old Bailey?”

“Maybe they don’t, sir. Maybe the reference to the Bailey was the location, not the buildin’. Newgate Gaol lies on the corner of Newgate Street and Old Bailey Street. Just ‘cause the courts share a street entrance with the gaol, don’t make it our destination.”

“And yet I cannot move past the Central Criminal Court being essential to this operation. If this is an effort to clean up the streets, then the order originated there. However, without Metropolitan involvement, I cannot believe this is an official undertaking.”

“And let’s not forget the twilight escape through the side door.”

“Indeed.”

We both stared at the imposing structure across Newgate Street, the newsie calling out his latest headline, pie carts selling their hot wares, curricles rolling past, their occupants oblivious to the horrors that transpired within the solid brick walls.

“There are children on this street,” I observed.

“Dressed to the nines, and all, sir,” Blackie agreed.

“The wrong type of children.”

“Aye.”

We watched on in silence a few moments more, then I said, “I’ve seen enough, Sergeant. This entrance is their official façade. I wish to see what lurks beneath.”

“Old Bailey Street, then, sir?”

I nodded and started walking toward the western entrance to the gaol.

The Central Criminal Courts beckoned, but I refused to be led down a path without first eliminating every other avenue. The west gate, which could hardly be called a gate, more a thick, double-sided, wooden door, appeared a few seconds later. One solitary guard stood outside, but I was certain more watched from behind the battlements.

We studied the entrance, noting the evidence of wagon wheels running beneath the doors, and then took up residence across the street, watching the comings and goings of an inner city gaol. Supplies were delivered, the guard marking each off on a list he kept in his breast pocket. No one exited, other than those who delivered their goods. Nothing else indicated what lay beyond the closed doors.

“We need inside,” I announced.

“Should be easy,” Blackie replied, receiving a raised eyebrow from me. “Breakin’ into a gaol is much simpler than breakin’ out, is it not?”

“I am sure that is not entirely the case, Sergeant.”

“Watch and learn, Inspector. Watch and learn.”

Blackmore took off down the street, heading towards what was obviously a delivery wagon rounding the corner from Ludgate Hill. I held my breath as he crossed the roadway, intersecting the wagon, causing the driver to pull on the reins and slow the vehicle. Then in a move befitting the cunning wile of a pugilist, he rolled beneath the wagon as soon as it picked up speed.

And did not emerge from the other side.

I took a step forward, dumbfounded at his temerity. Stupefied by his idiocy. And immobilised by the opportunity his access to Newgate could provide.

The wagon halted at the west gate. The guard taking his time clearing the delivery from his trusty list. My heart beat a military tattoo inside my chest, my thigh twitching with renewed agony; reminding me why it was my sergeant placing himself at risk and not me. I held my breath and did not release it until the wagon had rolled through the gate and the doors had clunked shut behind it.

Blackie was in, but whether or not he’d get out was another matter.

I settled in for the long wait; the wagon had been heavily loaded. And there was no telling if Blackmore would use it for his escape, or be forced to wait upon another. Every second that passed chilled me to the bone. Every beat of my thundering heart sounded a death knell for the sergeant. Seconds felt like hours. Minutes like days.

The shock of the gate opening again some time later had my heart lodging in my throat. I fisted my cane; sure there would be some form of disruption upon finding a stowaway beneath the axle of the wagon. But after a brief inspection, the vehicle was on its way.

I stepped out from under the shadow I had claimed and followed it back toward Ludgate Hill. Blackie did not emerge, but from another carriage alighted the familiar form of a gentleman. I hesitated. Follow the delivery wagon? Or follow this unexpected arrival?

I watched as the wagon rounded the corner, disappearing toward St Paul’s Cathedral, and decided my course of action.

I stepped onto the street and crossed toward the Old Bailey.

Where Henry Tempest, Esquire had just entered through the front doors.

My Name Is Mary

Anna

“Must you continue to pout?” Emily enquired as the carriage rattled across the pavement.

“I am doing no such thing,” I argued, straightening on my seat.

Emily studied me for a long moment and then leant forward. “He is a catch, I will admit. But whatever happened to make the cane necessary?”

I turned my gaze on my friend.

“It is a long story,” I advised.

“One you are privy to. I do declare; this is exciting. A mystery wrapped up in a romance tied up in tragedy.”

“You speak such nonsense, Dr Tempest. I sometimes wonder how it is you gained your degree.”

“With winsome talents and fluttering eyelashes and a backbone made of steel.”

I smiled. Emily grinned back at me.

“But do tell,” she said, quickly returning to her earlier curiosity, “just what did the fine inspector do to garner such a heroic injury.”

“Heroic?” I enquired of my friend. “Think you not, he might have come by the wound in a more mundane manner? Perhaps navigating the stairwell in the middle of a night, searching for the outhouse?”

“Oh, Anna! You do shock with your jests. But I shan’t be distracted. A man of his stature did not come by his injuries in such an ordinary fashion. No! I won't countenance it. He was chasing a criminal, wasn’t he?”

Emily was usually quite distractible, but like so many who came in contact with the inspector, her fascination this time would not be diverted so easily. I sighed inwardly. Andrew’s stories were his to tell, but some of his history was not so unknown to the public.

“The Ripper, if you must know,” I said, looking to the window for my own distraction.

“You don't say? How simply macabre.”

“Indeed.”

“We’ll say no more,” she declared, magnanimously. “Besides, I do believe we have arrived, dear one. And look you there! Mrs Pankhurst. We arrive with today’s nobility.”

“I hazard a guess, Mrs Pankhurst would argue your moniker for her.”

“Pish! If she succeeds in her franchise, then she will pave the way for a new nobility.”

I studied my friend. Emily was a strong supporter of the suffragettes, but I did not for a moment believe she would give up her luxuries in order to achieve full rights for our nations’ women.

“I believe you will adore Dorothy’s,” she said with enthusiasm. “Such a fine establishment with a noble bearing.”

“Gad! You are incorrigible. Just as Henry suggests.”

“My brother would have me embroidering my days away. Perhaps providing a respite when he decided it time for me to be wed.”

“Is he such a tyrant?” I asked carefully.

“The worst! He is restless to be travelling again. So he turns his energy to making sure I remain a lady. Thankfully, I have waylaid any interference on his part and found myself a suitable gentleman.”

“You have?” I was not aware of Emily courting anyone.

“Yes. A fine doctor. One who has travelled, as well. They have much in common, my Dr Cream and Henry. They even present alike. Enough welcomed familiarity to halt Henry’s pursuit of any further matrimonial prospects for the time being, at any rate. I shall not wed, of course. But Dr Cream does provide a worthy distraction.”

I shook my head at the chit. Emily could be so mercurial at times. Shy one minute and fearless the next. Having a brother like Henry made the duplicity a necessity no doubt. “Is Henry aware of today’s suffragette meeting?” I asked, staring out of the window at Mortimer Street.

“Never!” Emily exclaimed with a shudder. “And don't you dare tell him, either. I shall cease our friendship immediately should you betray me so.”

I smiled as the carriage rolled to a stop outside the restaurant.

“He would sequester me in your embroidery room along with you, should he think it is I who encourages you to these misdeeds,” I said as the door opened.

“Then we shall be misfits together! Seeking our combined freedom. And the odd gentlemen to entertain us.” She offered a wink.

“He is your brother not mine, sweeting.”

Emily smiled; a mischievous, conniving one. It changed her innocent demeanour completely.

“He may not be your brother, Anna, but I assure you he longs for you to be my sister.”

On those portentous words, she alighted the carriage, opening her parasol once on the pavement, and staring up at the tall, red brick building with something akin to wonder.

I followed suit and took in the austere appearance of one of London’s most popular venues for business women. And a fitting location for a suffragette meeting.

We walked through the doors and divested ourselves of our coats and parasols in the cloakroom, then made our way into the restaurant proper. Over fifty suffragettes sat at various round tables, the clatter of so many female voices rising in pitch on the air. Scents of roast lamb and rosemary wafted from the adjoining kitchen, the young Misses Pankhursts running between tables, offering drinks, sneaking bread rolls, giggling even as they stared wide-eyed at their mother’s compatriots; their modern day heroines.

“Oh, Dr Cassidy!” Christabel Pankhurst cried, her younger sister Sylvia turned wide-eyes to me as she followed in her rambunctious sibling’s wake. “Mama will be so pleased you are attending. Will you speak to the congregation about your Antipodean efforts?”

“Now, now, Christabel,” Emily chided softly. “Dr Cassidy is here as a guest, not a speaker.”

“But their franchise is so far advanced than ours. Mama said it is to the colonies that we must look for guidance.”

“I assure you, Miss Pankhurst,” I murmured, “our efforts match yours in their success. We all still have a hard row to hoe.”

The chit looked crestfallen. But reality for our plight was essential. This was not a quick fantasy, but our destiny. Equal rights for all women. I would not have a child believe it should be easy. For nothing worth fighting for is ever painless to achieve.

My own dear Papa had often said, If you believe in it, then you fight for it. And no fight is ever trouble-free.

I had lived by that mantra for so long now; I did not know any other way to survive. Everything I sought in this world, I sought with determination, grit and alacrity. I would not be deterred. In our efforts as suffragettes. And in my pursuit of a position in the Auckland Police Force as a surgeon.

It was a lesson young Miss Pankhurst should heed. Ours is not an easy road to walk, but it is an essential one for humanity.

“I should like to pay my respects to your mother,” I said, offering the girl a chance to shine in a small capacity.

“Oh, yes. She would like that indeed. Please, won’t you follow me?”

“Dear one,” Emily said, laying a hand on my sleeve before I could take a step after the young Miss Pankhurst. “I, too, wish to pay my respects, but I must declare, I am feeling ill suddenly. Too much tea, it would seem. Do you mind?”

She nodded toward the door to the ladies’ powder room, looking decidedly peaky indeed.

“Of course. I shall check on you shortly.”

“Thank you, sweeting.” She gripped my sleeve tightly and then walked toward her sanctuary.

I turned, looking for Miss Pankhurst, but saw only a rich sea of colours, feather bedecked bonnets, and a plethora of silk and taffeta for my efforts. I sighed, then started the arduous task of locating the leader of the British suffragette movement, and hoping this hunt would not prove as fruitless as our hunt for Mina had so far been.

With Wilhelmina on my mind, I made my way around the room, sharing greetings and enthusiastic words with several newly acquainted suffragettes, and failing to locate Mrs Pankhurst.

Then a swathe of dark colours and the distinct profile of the formidable lady caught my eye, as she vanished around a corner. I followed swiftly in her footsteps, lest she escaped me. Chasing the tail of her skirts as she disappeared some distance down a hallway.

Silence pervaded my senses as my muffled footsteps came down on the thick floral carpet beneath my feet. But the snick of a door closing ahead had me speeding up, until I caught the door handle and turned the nob, ending the hunt, finally.

The room within was all shadows and harsh light. The sun making a brief but welcomed appearance through the parted curtains along one wall of windows. The bright light blinded me, making me raise my arm to shield my face, tears welling in my eyes and blurring my vision completely.

“Mrs Pankhurst?” I called, unable to spot the woman within. I stepped inside, my eyes straining to make sense of the darkened corners, blinking rapidly to rid themselves of the white spots that now adorned the view before me.

Then jumped at the sound of the door closing behind my back.

“Do not turn around,” a woman’s whispered voice said; I did not recognise it. “I have a pistol pointed at your head.”

I froze, my chest heaving, my corset too tight.

“Who are you?” I demanded. “Where is Mrs Pankhurst?”

“No doubt regaling the assembled about her useless plight.”

“You are not a suffragette?”

“I have no care for such nonsense. For where would the likes of me be without men believing their high and mighty roles in society?”

I struggled to understand the situation as it presented to me. Who was this woman? What did she want? Why lure me to a room, threaten me at gunpoint, and not reveal yourself? All at a suffragette meeting, one my opponent did not entertain. Yet I could not shake the feeling, she believed herself superior to our male counterparts, much like many of my contemporaries here today.

“Who are you?” I asked again.

“Can you not guess, Doctor?”

“I should not even attempt such a thing.”

“For shame, and here I thought we so alike.”

“MM,” I whispered, wanting to turn so desperately.

My body shifted, the muzzle of a gun pressed into my back, halting its trajectory.

“You, Dr Cassidy, can call me Mary,” the pistol wielding woman said.

“You wrote the letters,” I murmured, alarmed and intrigued in equal measures. “From the Dutch East Indies. Why?”

“Oh, I don't think we’re truly ready for that just yet.”

“Then why this confrontation?”

“To introduce myself. I could not deny the urge to see your face.”

“And yet, you will not afford me the same privilege?”

“You have not earned it. Not yet. But we’ll see.”

I struggled to keep my breathing level. So long I’d been haunted by those missives. Those strange gifts. The image of the nightingale in the corner of the paper flared to life behind my trembling eyelids, reminding me just how twisted this entire state of affairs actually was.

“Why the bird?” I asked, breathlessly.

“’Tis pretty, is it not?”

“What significance is a nightingale to you, madam?”

“You ask such silly questions. The better one should be, what comes next?”

I chewed on my bottom lip and fought the need to turn and face her; this woman who had tormented me. Who may or may not have been involved in Mina’s absence. Who had a link to Eliza May Kelly.

“Who are you?” I said again, but this time with emphasis.

“Ah, and we reach the end of our discussion.”

“This is not a discussion!” I had no idea what this was, other than a threat, it seemed.

Hot breath washed over my neck, a gloved hand lifted a loose curl and drew it back, sliding it beneath a hairpin with practised ease. I shook with trepidation and the need to face my admirer.

The absence of my parasol felt like a hole in my chest, crippling me.

“The woman you seek,” she whispered, almost intimately, “is not the woman you think you seek.”

“What woman?”

“My name,” she said harshly, “is Mary.”

“Mary who?”

The muzzle disappeared. The room seemed to expand as if having spent the past few minutes in a vacuum. The door squeaked on rusty hinges.

“Moriarty,” was whispered as the sun beat down and the shadows loomed, and the door clicked closed at my back.

Moriarty. Mary Moriarty. MM.

“Someone has been reading A Study in Scarlet,” I muttered, shivering. “Moriarty, indeed.”

And Fears For Anna

Inspector Kelly

My credentials, such as they were, allowed me entry into the Old Bailey. A quick scan of today’s proceedings gave me an excuse to enter further into the sacred heart of London’s legal system. Black gowned men, their powdered wigs shining brightly in the lamp light, crossed the marble foyer; purpose in their gait causing those before them to scatter. Reporters milled around the edges, pencils to notebooks, darting eyes on their surroundings, occasionally attempting to approach a member of the courts, only to be rebuffed summarily with obvious disdain launched down lifted noses.

A photographer worked beneath a blackout shroud; an artist sketched beside him. Voices rose in a moderate hum of masculine pride, the discordant sound of a woman crying disturbed the otherwise professional scene.

I’d attended court cases before, in my previous capacity as Inspector to H Division. But I was not here to witness the downfall of a criminal. Unless, I thought darkly, Henry Tempest fit that bill.

I spotted the man in question entering one of the main courtrooms. Following swiftly behind, I slid through the still closing door and took a seat at the back of the room.

A young man stood in the witness box; worn clothes, worn features, worn physique. Before him gathered a plethora of lawyers. The judge, a Justice William Blackborough, sat above the congregation, his stern façade making short work of those formerly speaking in the gallery. A hush fell over the courtroom, lifting the fine hairs on my arms.

I scanned the seats on the lower floor and found my man. He'd managed to circumnavigate the room, and sat directly opposite me; to the left of the judge and I to His Honour’s right.

“Garotting is a serious crime, Mr Grimes,” the judge said into the now silent crowd. “What say you of this charge, sir?”

The young boy looked down at the hat in his hand, contrition obvious in his frame. But when his face lifted and his eyes met those of the presiding judge, I could have sworn I saw a glint of something less appealing.

“’Tis my word against his, Your Honour. I did not do as he says.”

“You were witnessed fleeing the scene, stuffing pound notes in your pockets.”

“They were mine, sir. ’Tis not illegal to earn a livin’.”

“But to steal one?”

“I did not mug ‘im. I swear it on me life! He uses me circumstances against me, sir. I worked hard for me blunt. And like the rest of ‘em, he wants to take it from me calloused hands.”

The gallery burst into a frenzy of agreement; anger rife on the air with the perceived injustice.

The judge leant back in his seat, his hard eyes scanning the crowd. In seconds he’d spotted Henry Tempest. He stiffened, scratched at his greying beard and then sat forward.

“Where do you earn your…living?” the judge asked.

“I’m a telegraph boy, Your Honour. Honest labour it is.”

“And the notes that day? Far more than a telegraph boy should earn, I think.”

“I’m the best in me area. The fastest and hardest workin’ of the lot. Just ask me boss, sir. He’ll tell you.”

The judge scowled, his eyes darting to where Mr Tempest sat looking for all intents and purposes bored.

“Very well. Is your superior here today?”

A man in telegraph uniform stood in the lower gallery, his hat nervously turning in his clasped hands.

“I am, Your Honour.”

“Your name?”

“Arthur White, sir.”

“And you vouch for this young man?”

“I do indeed, sir. One of our finest.”

“Fine enough to be in possession of five quid?”

The telegraph supervisor shifted nervously, his eyes darting about the room. He didn’t hesitate when his gaze slid over Henry Tempest, but his unease was obvious.

“They receive tips, Your Honour. ’Tis not inconceivable that one such as David would earn an extra shilling or two.”

“I say again, sir. Five pounds?”

The overseer swallowed thickly.

“I have seen it a time or two.”

“Indeed. It would seem the profession of telegraphy is a lucrative one.” A tittering of laughter filled the gallery as if choreographed to do so. I shifted in my seat, my eyes watching Tempest with curiosity. Why would he be interested in a mugging? Or, perhaps, in the bribing of a telegraph employee?

It made little sense. But the man himself made little sense to me. I needed to know more about him; I made a mental note to follow up on his activities of the past few years. I was fairly certain Anna had mentioned he had been travelling.

My eyes narrowed as the judge droned on, the crowd’s heightened excitement pushing all air from the room and making my skin too tight to fit about me. Most court cases garnered a little public attention. More often than not, those of a more serious nature, resulting in confinement in Newgate, were the most popular. But it seemed petty thievery was of note, too, nowadays.

I did not buy it. The crowd was either here for the boy. Or for the judge.

I forced my gaze from Tempest and took in Justice Blackborough. I’d not had occasion to sit in his court before today. He appeared learned and of an age to have earned his position on that bench, but his nervous disposition raised alarm bells. He controlled the courtroom with a mere glance, but those glances were interspersed with a fine sheen of sweat and shifting of his body.

I scanned the crowded room, not recognising those up in the public gallery. A sergeant from S Division sat across the lower space, reading notes from his booklet, ignoring the happenings in the room. A reporter I recognised sat several seats down from where I did, his hawk-eyed glare upon the judge and not the accused. Gentlemen from the Temple School of Law sat taking notes in the centre of the room. Their attention on both the judge and young Grimes; the supposed garroter.

There were no women present. Even the public gallery was devoid of the fairer sex. Although their absence was not uncommon in the lower, more professional area of the courtroom, their missing form above was intriguing.

Had young Grimes no mother? Sister? Wife or girlfriend, to offer moral support? A hard working lad such as he surely earned the extra shillings for some reason. And more often than not, I have found that reason to be a lady.

The judge was winding up, the sun slanting through the window at a lower angle. His urgency to be done with the case was obvious, but he still took the time to cite law and ensure we knew his knowledge was exemplary.

The gentleman Grimes had reportedly mugged was injured and lying in St Bart’s. The lad hadn’t a chance in hell of escaping Newgate.

And then Justice Blackborough went and abolished that theory by granting bail swiftly.

I sat forward. The reporter I was familiar with did the same.

And then the judge was up and leaving the room, and the crowd was cheering, and the bailiff was removing the accused, and Henry Tempest was slipping through a door across the way that led undoubtedly to the judge’s chambers.

I rushed to follow, bumping shoulders with the reporter. I glanced down at the notebook in his hand; saw one word written only and underscored thrice.

Bribery.

Then I was through the door behind Tempest and Blackborough and navigating the bowels of the Bailey.

I found them at a corner of the darkened corridor. The judge, wig removed, bald head gleaming despite the lack of illumination, face blotchy and red with rage.

“I will not countenance it, sir! Have a care. Your uncle expects too much.”

“My uncle would like to remind you, Justice Blackborough, that he is an old friend and has on occasion provided favours.”

“At Eton! We were children!”

“And you would have been expelled.”

“You think that scares me, Mr Tempest? You think a peer of the realm with such a secret from my past is what keeps me awake at night? You are ignorant of life’s harshest cruelties, sir. I have a far greater task master than the Marquess of Londonderry.”

Tempest bristled. “You will pay heed, sir. For my uncle is a man of influence.”

“Your threat is futile. I care not what his mines are harbouring, and neither does the law.”

“Be that as it may, sir, my uncle does care to escape persecution in such matters.”

“Don’t we all!”

“The fee will be deposited in your account by day’s end. The necessary documents will be provided by dawn tomorrow. Are we clear?”

“I have no choice in the matter?”

“You have dug your own grave, sir. Think you not that we are aware of your…predilections?”

The judge scoffed indignantly, his face becoming redder still.

“Tomorrow at dawn.” Then Tempest swung away, heading in my direction, forcing me to take refuge in an empty room at my side. I waited as his shoes tapped out a jaunty rhythm on the floorboards, the cane he carried beating an accompaniment that grated on my nerves. His shadow was merely a darker hue beneath the door that hid me, but the movement enough to show his progress.

Justice Blackborough stood still for several seconds longer after Tempest’s departure and then retreated to his chambers further down the corridor, slamming the door. I crept out of my hiding place and sucked in a deep breath of musty air, letting the words of the past few moments wash over me.

Bribery. Tempest was bribing the judge, whom it appeared, had accepted bribes in the past. Perhaps even as recently as today. That courtroom had been a mockery of the legal system; bail should not have been awarded for the type of crime committed and on display.

Who was David Grimes to warrant such a reprieve?

What was the Marquess of Londonderry hiding in his mines?

And how did it all fit together?

I had a sudden frantic urge to reach Anna. To protect her from Tempest’s regard and soothe the fears that plagued me. Fears for her cousin. Fears for the missing children.

And fears for Anna.

I’m Coming With You

Anna

I found Emily in the powder room, reclining on a chaise and looking pale. I was sure I looked much the same. I walked stiffly across the plush carpet, my wobbling feet sinking into the woollen weave. Straightening my back and lifting my chin, I perched on the edge of her seat.

“Good heavens, Dr Cassidy. You appear as awful as I feel.”

I attempted a smile, but in truth, I was shaken by my meeting with my supposed admirer.

“Are you still unwell, dear one?” I asked.

“Frightfully ill, I’m afraid. Have you caught the wretched bug, too?”

I shook my head, feeling like my innards were about to attempt an escape up to my oesophagus. Leaning over, I placed the back of my hand against her forehead, having removed my glove before attempting to gauge the temperature of her glistening skin.

“You’re hot, Emily. Terribly so. You need your bed.”

“I agree. Our outing will have to be delayed for another day. I am sorry.”

“No need for apology, sweeting. You are ill and must retire immediately. I shall arrange for your carriage to be made ready.”

I made to move just as Emily reached out and gripped my wrist.

“What ails you, friend?” she asked, eyes big pools of worried blue.

“Nothing of import,” I murmured, offering a small smile, and then making my way to arrange our escape from the building. Suddenly Dorothy’s did not seem as vibrant and alluring.

My gaze searched the assembled women, several prominent suffragette voices rising above the clatter of cutlery. I skirted the edge of the crowd, listening with only half an ear to the ladies’ words.

“The NSWS is the start of a new era,” Mrs Pankhurst was saying. “We must not, however, rest on our laurels. The National Society for Women’s Suffrage is but one step toward our ultimate goal. With the government, under the pressure of men with votes, increasing punishment for organised gatherings, we must take care to work our agenda more surreptitiously.

“The breaking of windows as a political protest is to cease. We have lost several women to Her Majesty’s Gaols. Four and six months imprisonment! It is unconscionable that our plight should meet such a fate. Take heed, ladies. We fight the good fight. But we do so with care and attention to detail.”

“Hear! Hear!”

“We are not without assets, however,” Mrs Garret Fawcett added, standing as she was to Mrs Pankhurst’s side at the front of the room. “Husbands who may be converted to our cause. Brothers who may offer support. Sons who can be directed to our suffering. All manner of gentlemen in all manner of professions. But take heed, ladies. Soldiers are off the menu in our pursuit of equality.”

“Half our husbands have served Her Majesty!” a woman called out.

“Then let them be,” Mrs Pankhurst replied immediately. The united front the women presented was appealing, and the gathering quietened suitably. “For it has come to our attention, that inciting soldiers to disobey orders, such as attending a protest rally on Parliament’s steps in support of their wives’ liberties, is a much more serious crime. A felony! And such a crime in the eyes of our government is punishable by penal servitude.”

Gasps of horror sounded out in the crowded room, a chill washed down my spine. I swiped a hand over my brow and ducked out of the restaurant, approaching the maître d’hôtel to organise Emily’s carriage.

I didn’t believe in the more aggressive approach some of my fellow suffragettes had taken to recently. Riots in New York had broken out; Seneca Falls was a long time past and the mood had shifted from one of optimism to one of oppression. Hull House in Chicago, however, was a shining light on women’s education for the rest of us. But London, I feared, was much darker. The loss of Mr John Stuart Mill, MP, was devastating. And as yet, no other member of parliament had taken up the banner to which we marched beneath. With little progress to reward them, the female population of Great Britain had taken to more drastic measures to make themselves heard.

I did not envy the likes of Emmeline Pankhurst or Millicent Garret Fawcett. And yet, I too had my battles coming.

Returning to Emily, I helped her to her feet, listening to her increasingly slurred speech with great alarm. We emerged onto Mortimer Street just as Emily swooned. Her driver stepped forward immediately and lifted her up in his bulging arms. Swinging her body toward the carriage as though it were merely a falling leaf, he deposited her on the bench seat within, covering her form with a rug.

He seemed rather familiar with the action.

I blinked at him as he exited, holding the door open for me to enter. I stared at the man in his livery, noting he would not look me in the eyes.

“Does she do this often?” I asked quietly.

“’Tis not for me to say, miss.”

“I’m a doctor. My patient’s history is pertinent, I assure you.”

He did look down his nose at me then and sniffed haughtily. “Dr Tempest is well enough to look to herself, miss.”

I took that to mean this was a regular occurrence. Nodding my head, I entered the dim interior of the carriage and took a seat across the way from Emily.

“Charles,” she called out.

“Yes, miss?”

“To Temple Bar first, I think.”

“No, sweeting. I can hire a conveyance from your house,” I argued immediately.

“Nonsense. I won't hear of it.” And then she promptly fell asleep.

Charles for his part didn't seem remotely concerned. He shut the door to the carriage and climbed onto the driver’s seat, snapping the reins with a loud whistle, making the vehicle lurch forward.

I stared across the small space at my fragile looking friend. Emily had taken more than her fair share of days off from school over the past half year. I had thought nothing of it; regrettably too caught up in my own harried studies and Mina’s constant wandering. I wondered now if there was more to be concerned about.

She’d seemed in relatively good health. This was the first time I had seen her truly peaky. It might well have been an infection as Emily had alluded to, but I couldn't help thinking her brother’s tight leash was cause for her ailment.

A nervous stomach would not be unheard of for one in such a position.

But then there was the temperature.

I slipped my glove off, laying it on the bench seat beside me. And then timing my movement so as not to fall upon my friend, I leant across as the vehicle slowed at a corner, and pressed the back of my hand to her forehead.

Cool. Not clammy. And definitely not febrile. I frowned and sat back, just as the carriage lurched forward again. My rear meeting the bench seat with an almighty thump, pushing my skirts up and around my shoulders most ignominiously.

I fussed with the copious amounts of fabric, catching Emily’s half-lidded gaze.

“Fashion,” she muttered, attempting to sit upright. “A woman’s bane, is it not?”

“Absolutely.” I hesitated, gnawing on my lower lip, and then asked, “Are you feeling better now?”

“Marginally, yes. I do believe it is a mere stomach upset and not something nasty.”

“Too many cream buns at tea.”

She grinned across the carriage at me, my body relaxing at her renewed vigour.

“Ah,” she announced, peering out of the window. “There he is.”

“Who is, sweeting?” I looked out the same window and took in the familiar shape of the inspector’s broad shoulders, as he stood on the steps to Mrs Pugh’s boarding house, handing over a shilling to a telegraph boy.

“What a fine specimen of manhood,” Emily said enthusiastically. Her cheeks flushed with excitement or perhaps something akin to female appreciation.

Where had the stomach ailment disappeared to?

“Nothing like a handsome chap to set you right,” she said happily.

“You, Dr Tempest, are incorrigible.”

“Pish!” she murmured studying the inspector keenly. “I’m merely jealous.”

“Jealous?”

Her shining blue eyes swept across the space to me.

“His heart belongs to you, does it not?” she enquired sweetly.

“I hold no such thing,” I automatically replied.

“Pity. It would be such a waste.”

“What would be a waste?” I demanded as the vehicle stopped outside the boarding house.

“All that masculinity!”

I shook my head as Emily chuckled gaily; clearly feeling very much better.

“Say hello from me, won't you, Dr Cassidy,” Emily urged as Charles opened the door beside me. “If I were feeling better, I’d accompany you. I know how my brother would have kittens if he saw your gentleman waiting so patiently. Do be a good girl and misbehave accordingly.”

“You have changed your tune,” I muttered, alighting the carriage, but turning to look back inside at my mercurial friend. “Are you sure you are well enough to travel alone, Emily?”

Emily smiled. “Don’t lose your courage now, Anna. He’s waiting.” My lips parted in surprise. “Come on, Charles,” she called regally. “Henry will be looking for me.”

I shook my head at her audacity as the driver shut the door and climbed aboard the conveyance. Emily lounged back on her seat and offered a wave of her hand through the window. I clutched my hands together, realising I’d left my glove inside on the bench where I’d been sitting. And watched as the Tempest coat of arms caught a lowering sunbeam and rolled out of sight.

I turned to find the inspector watching me; his lips thin, his frame rigid, his eyes darkened to a storm-tossed sea.

“You disapprove of my friend, Inspector?” I enquired politely.

“I’m sure I do not know her well enough to form an opinion.”

“Then perhaps it is the Tempest coat of arms that has you scowling so.”

“I do not scowl, madam.”

I smiled, then started to move past him, uncaring for a showdown now when Emily’s changeable behaviour had left me feeling so dizzy.

“Anna,” Inspector Kelly said, catching my arm as I made to move past his towering frame. My heart skipped a beat; my breath caught in my bosom. Where he touched me, heat unfurled and raced throughout my body.

I lifted my eyes to him, noting - rather bemusedly - that he gritted his teeth at the contact.

“Yes, Andrew?” I enquired mildly, not moving out of his grip.

His fingers released, as if reluctantly, and he cleared his throat, shifting his head on his neck uncomfortably.

If I had that much of an effect on the man, then why did he continue, again and again, against his better judgement I was sure, to reach out and touch me?

His eyes darted down to the telegram he still held in his hand.

My heart stilled completely.

It wasn't touching me that left him uncomfortable. It was what he was about to reveal.

“What is it?” I asked, stepping closer, needing his strength and warmth when suddenly my knees felt weak, and a chill had invaded my body.

“Anna,” he said; a wealth of agony in that one utterance.

I snatched the telegram from his hand and began to read.

INSPECTOR KELLY -(STOP)-

ANOTHER MURDER -(STOP)- SAME METHOD -(STOP)- MATCHES YOUR MISSING GIRL -(STOP)-

SUPERINTENDENT COX -(STOP)- L DIVISION -(STOP)- 4:17 PM

An address in Lambeth was listed below the typewritten words.

“It does not mean…” Andrew started.

“I’m coming with you.” My hand crushed the telegram in my fist, my body trembling.

“Of course,” he said, shocking me. “I shall require your expertise.”

Oh, how I loved him. For he refused to believe the poor girl found by Cox was Wilhelmina. But Andrew Kelly was not one for fanciful notions, so his slip of character now seemed momentous.

As did the fact he held my gloveless hand in his own in the hansom cab the entire wretched journey to Lambeth.

It Is Yours

Inspector Kelly

Anna sat with her back straight and her chin up; one hand securely wrapped around her parasol, which lay across her lap. The other wrapped up in my fingers. It was warm and soft and so very small compared to mine.

And trembling.

Anna Cassidy rarely showed her fear. But in this, she was terrified. And I had no idea how to soothe her.

So I sat silently. Stoically. Giving her the only support I could in the form of her hand grasped in mine. It was a privilege that I should not have taken. A sweet innocent affection that was bound by a fierce longing. A simple action that was layered in the complexities of my desire and the inappropriateness of my attentions.

For months…years, I have told myself I am not for Miss Cassidy. She is destined for far more deserving than me. I am not at liberty to pursue such a free spirit. For I, myself, am by no means free.

I still remember the day I first laid eyes on her. She was in her father’s home surgery, attending a cadaver with tweezers in one long-fingered hand and a pencil in the other, as she jotted down notes in a book to the side. ’Twas not the sight of a woman bending over a deceased body that caught my attention. Nor the scarlet of blood that coated her wrist and hand.

It was the pencil. She licked the tip before she wrote her note down. My eyes drawn to the movement as if Icarus drawn to the sun.

I burned for her. It was instant. I would have gladly met my fiery fate for one taste of this woman.

And then her father had walked into the room.

“I see you’ve met my daughter,” Thomas Cassidy had said.

“Introductions have not been made,” Anna had offered, her attention riveted on the corpse.

Look at me, I’d thought desperately. I could not look away.

“Anna,” Thomas had said distractedly as he hunted for something on his desk. “This is Inspector Kelly from London.”

And still, the cadaver held more sway.

“Miss Cassidy,” I’d managed, bowing slightly; a redundant movement as she never lifted her eyes from the body before her. Her focus was my undoing.

“Be a good man and hand me the trephine,” she’d said in place of a greeting.

“The trephine?”

“The human brain, Inspector!” she’d announced with vigour and a wicked glint to her eye. “To discover a nut’s secret one must first peel back the shell and peer within, wouldn’t you say?”

“The skull?” I’d idiotically murmured. “You’re removing the skull?”

She’d smiled. That smile. I can see it now as if it were only yesterday.

Anna Cassidy had been playing with me. This slip of a woman, elbows deep in the blood and gore of the deceased, had been teasing me. She hasn’t stopped since that day.

I’d known then, that my greatest challenge in Auckland City would not be crimes of a dark nature, but my own conscience. My own morality.

For at every opportunity I found myself seeking her next smile, that next quick retort. That next mock or taunt.

Even when I shouldn’t have.

Anna is my weakness. The one thing I crave. The one thing I cannot resist. Although God help me, I have tried. And yet, I have constantly failed.

I should not have been enjoying the sensation of her warm, smooth skin against mine. The feeling of supple strength and delicate precision her hand in my own conveyed. I should not have been.

But I was. So help me God, I was.

I have studied her movements at a crime scene. I know her every tell. I have committed each to memory. Savoured her. Devoured her with my eyes alone. Her dance as she assesses what should not be seen by a lady. The way she tilts her head when she diagnoses an illness no one can explain. The narrowing of her eyes when she’s faced with an insidious method of demise. Her lifted chin when challenged for the right to be there. To be heard. To count. To be the voice of the dead.

She is my downfall. My saviour. The light that keeps the darkness at bay.

And I am naught but a shadow, a Machiavellian predator who threatens her world. Who brings little but heartache and angst and…terror.

I let a breath of air out and studied the scene through the window. We were crossing the Thames, soon to enter Lambeth proper. Wilhelmina Cassidy had been missing for three days. I could not countenance the belief that this body we sped toward would be Anna’s cousin. I could not fathom the depth of pain her death would cause the woman I loved.

The impotence I felt at that moment was astonishing. It sucked all air from my lungs. I attempted to assess the situation methodically. A rote coping mechanism I’d established early on in my career. One I’d used with much success since. One which had proved faithful as I’d chased down the Ripper and greeted the darkness of a new day. The darkness of Eliza May.

Wilhelmina had been pursuing clues to my past. Visiting my old haunts in Whitechapel. Chasing my ghosts. Had she found one? Had she found the ghost of my past?

The letters from the Dutch East Indies, the gifts, the flowers. Nightshade. Nightingale. Scopolamine. Strychnine. Orphaned children. Bribed judges. The Marquess of Londonderry’s coal mines. It all correlated but I had not the wherewithal to link the evidence precisely.

I could not distance myself from the events when the events harmed Anna.

With dawning realisation, I faced my greatest fear. I was incapable of separating myself from the crimes, the cases, the potential for loss and heartache.

If this body proved to be Wilhelmina Cassidy, the world would know my rage.

“It’s all right,” Anna said softly to my side.

“Pardon me?” I enquired, brought out of my panic with one quietly murmured phrase.

Anna tightened her hand in mine, stroked her thumb across my palm. I should have done that, I realised. I should have soothed her with more than a simple holding of hands. I should have done more.

“It’s all right, you know,” she said again. “If it’s Mina.”

My throat constricted painfully. My heart was ripped from my chest.

“It may not be,” I said gruffly.

“You do not need to protect me, Andrew.” Always. With my dying breath. “I have known for some time that Wilhelmina would come to some such fate.”

“Murdered?”

Anna shrugged; it was stiff and accompanied by an indrawn jagged breath of air.

“She is so lost to her own reality, that she often fails to register what is around her. She is innocence brought low by former depravities; ones which her mind has graciously chosen to forget, yet her body still remembers with aching clarity. She would not have fought; it would not have occurred to her that should have. She would have greeted her death with wide open eyes and yet she would not have seen it coming.”

“She is a dichotomy.”

“She is beautifully complex. And yet singularly simple in her desires.”

“What does Miss Cassidy desire?” I was grateful that Anna was still using the present tense. She had not given up hope entirely.

“Love. Acceptance. Peace. I have tried to provide it. To give her what she needs. But coming to London was a mistake.”

“How can you say that? Your degree.”

“I could not have left her with Mrs Hardwick. My housekeeper is fair and kind, but she does not understand the intricacies of Mina’s condition. I thought it best to keep my cousin near. To keep her safe with my proximity and love. But I failed to offer the full trinity of necessities. I failed to offer her my time.”

“You cannot live your life for another, Anna.”

“Even if you love them more than life itself?”

“She is your cousin. She knows she has that love. But to sacrifice your own desires for her wellbeing would diminish that affection. It would soon sour.”

Anna turned to me, her eyes large and full of such emotion my heart stilled at the hauntingly beautiful sight.

“You speak from experience,” she said.

“I…” Did I?

“I would not have you sacrifice yourself either, Andrew.”

“That is different.”

“It is not so different, I think.”

“Wilhelmina can survive without your love, Anna.”

“Evidence to the contrary is fast approaching.”

I shook my head, turning in my seat to fully face her. With both hands, I gripped her own, held them tightly, placed them on my lap between us. Demanded her attention with a tug toward me.

Her eyes met mine. Such sadness. Such intelligent assessment. Too clever for her own good was my Anna.

Too compassionate for her own heart’s survival.

“I would that you did not have to face this,” I said earnestly. “But I am keenly aware of your strength of character, Dr Cassidy. I have watched it for these past four years. I am acutely acquainted with your conviction and dedication, your loyalty and compassion, your sense of self. Your courage. It will not be easy, should the worst come to pass. But you will survive it. You have survived worse.”

She blinked. A tear slowly rolled down her cheek. My thumb came up and caught it. My hand cupping her cheek.

“And you, dear Inspector, would survive, too, would you not?”

How could she say that? How could she compare her love of her cousin to my love of her?

Why would she not? I have not claimed her. I have not made any vows of undying love. I have not forsaken all others. I still hold a necrotic part of my heart for Eliza May. The blackened organ hell-bent on vengeance. I will have it. I will have my justice. Until then, my heart can not heal. My heart is not whole enough to openly love.

But I love her. Dear God, I love Anna Cassidy with the entirety of my soul, if not the entirety of my heart.

And yet, I would die for Anna. I would sacrifice myself if it meant she lived on.

I had never felt the need to do so for my wife.

“You have my honour,” I said, stroking my thumbs over the back of Anna’s hands. “You have my loyalty. You have my soul and, God help us all, you have what is left of my heart.” I swallowed. Anna’s mouth opened in shock, or fear, or disbelief, I am uncertain.

I pulled her closer still; hot breaths mingling, the temptation to wrap her in my arms a heavy weight on my conscience.

I kicked my conscience to the dust.

Gripping the back of her neck, lifting her over the seat and onto my lap, I wrapped a hand around her waist and held her against my chest. Intimately.

“My darling Anna,” I whispered, laying a kiss to her cheek, her jaw, the soft dip below her ear. I lifted my lips to her lobe and added, “You have my body. It is yours.”

Damnation

Anna

Of all the times for Andrew Kelly to declare himself, to commit himself, he chooses this.

I wanted to throttle him.

I wanted to throw him to the ground and cover his body with mine.

I wanted to savour his taste, cherish his words, have him repeat them while he lay naked at my side.

My desires had really taken a turn for the physical of late, and yet it was his soft tone, his grave countenance, the heartfelt words which undid me.

You have my body. It is yours.

Of course, those would be the words my mind chose to repeat with aching clarity.

“I trust,” he murmured against the flush of skin beneath my ear, “that you have the strength to resist me. For I no longer have the fortitude to distance myself. I am lost to you, Anna. But I am still the same man. Tainted. Darkened. Not worthy.”

“Stop talking,” I said, bringing my lips to his and silencing his doubts with the sweep of my tongue.

His hand at my neck tightened; not enough to harm, but enough to feel desired. His fingers at my waist dug into my corset, branding me in that simple touch. His hard thighs pressed into my rear, the rapid rise and fall of his chest matched mine. His tongue delved between my lips, danced with my own, tasted divine.

He groaned against me, his breaths rampant with longing. I licked into his mouth, showed him my conviction and dedication, dared him with my courage.

“Anna,” he rasped. “Say no. Stop this.” He pulled me closer, held me tighter, ruined his objections with his fervent touches. Desperate hands and searching fingers. Hot breaths and achingly ardent kisses.

“I choose you,” I said.

He held me closely, kissed me softly, then lay his forehead against mine.

“Dr Cassidy,” he said. “I will ruin you.”

“You long ago ruined me, Inspector, for all other men.”

He growled, his forearms flexing beneath my fingers. His hands gripping me almost too tightly.

“Anna,” he pleaded, “turn me away.”

I opened my arms and waited.

“I am yours, Andrew Kelly,” I said softly. “And you are mine.”

“I am not whole,” he argued, his body leaning toward me, his eyes sweeping my face, dancing down over my breasts, coming back up to rest on my lips, staring hungrily.

“And yet I have never loved a man so completely.”

“Anna.”

“No. No more. It is done. I choose you, Andrew. I choose you and no other.”

He searched my eyes, my face, the air around me for long moments.

“So be it,” he murmured. “I cannot fight this any longer. I need you. I want you. I love you.”

“Then have me,” I said, breathless. “Take me.”

He smiled. It was stunning; the sun emerging on a cloudy day.

“Right here?” he asked, one eyebrow raised. “In a hansom cab, no less. Doctor, you disappoint me.”

I blinked. Uncertain.

Andrew leant close, wrapping his hand up in my hair, burying his nose against my neck, laying a soft kiss there.

“I intend to take my time with you, Anna,” he whispered against my skin. “A long, slow, delicious amount of time to be precise. With no interruptions. No chance of being stopped mid ruination. And somewhere,” he said, licking up my neck and then gentling biting my earlobe. I shuddered. My back arching, nipples hardening, my gasp filling the air. He chuckled; so manly, so self-satisfied. “Somewhere,” he repeated, “where you can scream my name without fear of being overheard.”

“Andrew,” I said, shocked. Delighted. No, shocked. No, definitely delighted.

“Yes, my love?”

The carriage rolled to a stop and reality crashed into our little slice of heaven.

He stilled. I stilled. Our eyes met.

I closed mine before he said a word and gently removed myself from our entanglement. I could hear Andrew straightening his clothes, returning himself to the police inspector the world knew him as. I struggled. Dear God did I struggle to make myself as professionally presented. To don the mien of physician.

To detach.

I didn't want to detach. I didn't want to face what waited out there. I didn't want reality to wipe away the fantasy that had so recently presented itself inside here. If I were honest, that was my greatest fear. Shockingly not finding Mina laid to waste on a dirty street in Lambeth - my mind could not countenance such a macabre visage - but inviting that distance between Andrew and myself by allowing reality to creep in.

Would he be reminded of his former convictions? Would he realise how inappropriate society would deem us? Would he be faced with the treachery of his wife and forbid himself his freedom?

Would he push me back out again?

My heart was still thundering inside my chest. My breaths still uneven. I could feel his touch, his heat, his physical desire as if he were still pressed against me.

I could still taste him on my lips.

With a jumbled mind and distracted expression, I climbed down from the hansom and took in the scene before me. Lambeth in all her gritty glory. Crooked roofs and haphazard chimneys. Broken windows and crumbling brick fences. Narrow streets and grimy gutters. Houses leaning toward one another, as if to offer support to the woe begotten. Children paddling barefoot in puddles, the filth of everyday life coating them from toes to knees and beyond. Laundry drying on open lines, crisscrossing the roadways in a plethora of faded colours.

Across the way, a large orange-brick workhouse stood sentinel to the poor and faithless. Grey smoke billowing up into the heavens, the scent of charcoal hanging heavy in the air. The aura of despair coating everything like soot from the oversized chimney.

Andrew stepped down beside me, cane in hand, hat in place. He stared across the street, his eyes taking in perhaps more than mine did. He spotted what he was looking for, offered me a single glance, and then took off toward a group of policemen, some of which held up off-white sheets.

I knew what we’d find behind those makeshift curtains. I knew the chances of the body which lay forlorn on the other side being anyone but Mina was not great. But I sucked in a breath, lifted my chin, and followed behind the inspector.

I was a police surgeon. A qualified physician. I would not let Mina down by behaving any other way.

A portly man with greying beard separated himself from the crowd at the crime scene, striding across the packed dirt toward us. His eyes narrowed on noticing me, but he quickly hid his reaction. Then thrust out his hand for Andrew to shake.

“Superintendent Cox,” Andrew greeted.

“Inspector Kelly.” His astute eyes turned to me. “And you are, miss?”

“Doctor Cassidy,” Andrew replied before I could. “My surgeon.”

Well, it was an improvement from previous monikers, even if it wasn’t the moniker we’d established today.

What was my moniker? Lover? Partner? Mistress?

Reality that cunning and devious harridan slammed back in my face. I would never be wife to Andrew Kelly. I would never be introduced in such a way.

I lifted my chin further, practically having to look at the superintendent from down my nose.

He nodded his greeting, dismissing me summarily. I should not have been so relieved.

“She looks like your girl,” he said to Andrew. “Dirty cloak. Travel worn and muck smeared. Nice dunnage beneath.”

“Well made?” Andrew enquired.

“Fine stitching, top notch material, and petticoats a plenty.”

“So, no chance of her being a worker?” Andrew stared up at the workhouse; I followed his line of sight, noting several shadowed faces peering out of the grimy windows.

“Not a chance,” the superintendent agreed. “At first, we thought she was a doxy. What with the state of her outerwear. But on closer inspection, she’s from a fine home. Pale skin. Clean fingernails. Shining hair.”

“And yet she finds herself in Lambeth,” Andrew said solemnly.

“Sooner or later, they cross the river and end up here.”

“Not our girl,” Andrew said sternly.

“No, I guess not.” The superintendent studied Andrew for a suspended moment, and then said, “Shall we?” Indicating the sheet-shrouded woman.

Andrew turned toward me, his lips parted as if to speak.

“Thank you, Superintendent Cox,” I said. “Do lead on. We mustn’t delay.”

“Right you are, Doctor,” he said chirpily, turning on his heel and walking toward where the body was hidden.

Andrew was a silent tower beside me, his unease an almost physical thing to bear. We walked down the side of the building, passing darkened windows and poorly maintained flowerbeds, and a stone plaque given pride of place on the corner of the main wing.

I hesitated. My eyes drawn to the foundation stone. Lured to the words chiseled into the tablet.

THIS STONE WAS LAID

ON THE 3RD OF APRIL 1871, BY

JOHN TEMPEST, ESQ

CHAIRMAN OF THE BOARD OF GUARDIANS

I stopped. Andrew halted beside me. Our eyes glued to the name inscribed on the side of the workhouse.

“Damnation,” Andrew muttered. “Must that family be connected to everything?”

I spun toward him. He grimaced.

Just what the dickens had he discovered about Henry?

And why had he not divulged any of it to me?

My eyes met his. His flicked toward the sheets.

I let my anger go, but held onto my dignity. It was all I had left as I rounded the edge of the barrier and faced my worst nightmare become reality.

It Is True

Inspector Kelly

The woman was dressed in an old worn cloak; the state of it in some disrepair. Beneath the dark and grimy garment, however, was a beautifully tailored dress.

The murderer was playing with us because this girl was not Wilhelmina.

Anna let out a wretched breath of air. It tore at my insides. She closed her eyes briefly, and then slowly opened them, assessing the scene before her. She’d donned her physician’s façade, but the minutes prior to this moment had been costly.

She wore her anguish on her face, in her storm grey eyes. It damn near broke me.

“Presents in the same manner as previous victims,” Cox announced. “But from your lack of reaction, I am guessing this is not your missing person.”

“You’d be correct,” I offered, studying the position of the body in relation to the windows on the workhouse. “At what time was she found?”

Cox hesitated, perhaps trying to decide if I warranted such information, considering my tie to the crime was now severed. He rolled his thick neck on his broad shoulders and huffed through wide nostrils. But the decision had been made as he answered.

“Midday.”

“By a worker?”

“The superintendent sick-nurse on completing her morning rounds of the infirmary.”

“Through one of these windows?” I asked, nodding toward those that looked over the small, overgrown courtyard we were in.

“Yes. She confirmed upon our arrival that the girl is unknown to her. Our physician has estimated time of death at approximately ten this morning. She is fresh.”

“But she did not die here,” Anna said, from her crouch beside the victim.

“What makes you say that, Doctor?” Cox asked, clearly disgruntled Anna had discovered something his surgeon perhaps had not.

“Lividity, sir,” she said succinctly. “The corpse was upright when it expired. “See here.” She pulled back the cloak to reveal the wrists and hands of the woman. “The bluish colour is indicative of pooled blood upon death.” She moved to the feet. “Here also indicates a pooling perimortem. As a corpse is unlikely to be standing at the time of death, I’d hazard a guess you will also find pooling in her buttocks, lower back and lower abdomen. Indication she was sitting, legs lowered, arms below the level of her heart, at the moment she expired.”

“Eating a meal laced with strychnine, perhaps?” I enquired.

Anna shifted her observation to the deceased’s face.

“Cyanosis. Trismus. Petechiae. Risus sardonicus. Evidence of emesis.”

“In English, Doctor.”

“Chemical asphyxiation, Superintendent. The cyanosis, or blue jaundice, and the petechiae, or spotting on the skin, indicates a lack of oxygen. The trismus, or lockjaw, along with the risus sardonicus, or rictus grin, add weight to a chemical induced paralysis resulting in asphyxia. In particular, these are signs of strychnine poisoning. But you already knew that.”

“I did.” He’d been testing her. I bristled. Anna simply smiled; a benign almost bored smile.

“Did I pass?” she asked sweetly.

“Humph,” the curmudgeon replied.

“That makes how many now?” I enquired, drawing his attention away from Anna.

“Five that we are aware of. Six if you count the one that got away.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re aware of all of his victims, Superintendent,” Anna announced, standing to full height again and twirling her closed parasol in her hands. “This woman has been staged for you to find.”

“The others were not.”

“Yes, well, he likes his audience now, does he not?” Anna looked at the name etched on the foundation stone, her shoulders shuddering ever so slightly.

Cox scrubbed at his scraggly beard. “He didn't shift the others.”

“No?” I pressed. Any information we could gain could be essential. And Cox was in a sharing mood, perhaps impressed with Anna’s swift assessment.

“Ellen Donworth died in her bed and was discovered there. Likewise Matilda Clover, Alice Marsh and Emma Shrivell.”

“In their own beds,” I said, appalled.

“That does not mean they ingested the lethal dose at their place of death,” Anna argued.

“No,” I agreed. I was well aware that death by strychnine could take time and deliver much agony. I turned to look at Cox. “You said one got away?”

“Yes, a doxy by the name of Lou Harvey.”

“How did she thwart our killer?”

“Our killer, Inspector?”

“I am here, am I not?”

“You claiming Lambeth as your own now, too?”

“I claim all of London, sir. As, I am sure, do you.”

He grumbled something under his breath, and for a moment I thought he would not divulge further evidence. But Cox was an experienced policeman; one who had seen the darker side of London Town for many a year. He knew when he had met his match. And five deaths, with no end in sight, was cause enough to explore every avenue.

We were merely another avenue to the seasoned detective.

“He slipped her two pills, and she made as if to take them, only to throw them in the Thames when he was not looking.”

“Male?” Anna asked, leaning closer. Was that concern for Henry Tempest I saw in her eyes?

“Yes, Doctor. We have a description, and all. Middle aged, perhaps in his late thirties, early forties. Well-to-do. Educated-like, the chit said. Bespectacled with a magnificent mustachio. Carried himself with confidence befitting a gentleman.”

Anna paled slightly. He could have been describing Henry Tempest.

“Tablet form,” Anna mused; clutching a lifeline? “It would take someone with knowledge of medicine in order to extract the toxin from the plant and reproduce it in a pill.”

“He could have just bought it,” Cox provided. I could almost see Anna wilt.

Henry Tempest was no medical aficionado.

But then again, his sister was.

“The plant,” I said.

“Strychnos nux-vomica,” Anna provided, wearing her professional face as if a mask.

“Not native to England,” I said carefully.

Anna shook her head, but would not look at me. “No, Inspector,” she agreed, voice subdued. “You’ll find the likes, most predominantly, in the Orient.”

“Such as the Dutch East Indies.”

She did look at me then, but I could not decipher what the look in her eyes meant. Wariness? Weariness? Confusion?

“What’s this about the Dutch East Indies, then?” Cox demanded.

“Merely a line of enquiry I am following pertaining to another matter,” I smoothly supplied.

At least, I thought the move smooth until Cox harrumphed.

“I told you before, Inspector, I’ll tell you again: the sharing of information needs to be a two-way street.”

“At this point and time, Superintendent, it would only muddy the waters. Your killer is based in England, not the Orient. I suggest you enquire with local apothecaries as to the availability of strychnine in tablet form.”

“Do not presume to tell me how to do my job, sir.”

“I would do no such thing.”

“The Dutch East Indies,” he snapped.

“Irrelevant,” I replied coolly.

“Gentlemen,” Anna said, drawing both our attentions. “Our Oriental line of enquiry leads to a woman.” What? “Your killer, Superintendent, has been described as a man.”

“Is this true, Kelly?” Cox demanded.

I looked to Anna. She met my gaze; grey eyes steady.

She knew something. Something she hadn’t seen fit to divulge to me.

An angry flush washed through my body, flaming my cheeks.

But I said calmly, my attention still fixed on Anna, “Yes. It is true. We hunt a female.”

Or, perhaps, it was a female who hunted us.

You Don’t Say?

Anna

The silence in the hansom was stifling. I had to battle not to shift on my seat, or draw attention to the perspiration that coated my brow. My gloveless hands were a welcome respite, but my corset proved itself almost too much.

Andrew stared stoically out of the window as the carriage rolled across Westminster Bridge. The gentle clop of the horse’s hooves was drowned out by the raucous shouting of drivers as they passed one another. The newly rebuilt Palace of Westminster garnered much of his attention, but I was certain a good portion was still back at the workhouse.

The relief I should have been feeling that the woman poisoned was not Wilhelmina was absent. Instead, I couldn’t help thinking we were being corralled, herded into a forbidden pasture. Toyed with yet again.

The workhouse had been chosen with care, the placement of the body so near the foundation stone, and Henry’s father’s name, purposeful. The poisoner, a male by all accounts, was tempting us with little snippets of information.

Did he wish to be caught?

Was it Henry?

He had been at The Blind Beggar on Whitechapel Road. Why? Following up on the missing orphans? It all connected, I was sure. But how? The Lambeth murders. The stolen children. What of the Old Bailey?

“What, pray tell,” I said into the silence, “did you discover at the Bailey, Inspector? And where is Sergeant Blackmore, for that matter?”

“The more pressing question, Doctor, is how are you aware the writer of your letters is female?”

Andrew didn't sound in the least pleased with this discovery.

“I should have thought you’d be delighted that progress on that front has been made.”

“Has it? You know as well as I that the letter, although somewhat disparate from my own, is connected in some way to Eliza May.”

I was stunned he’d spoken so freely of his wife. In fact, the mention of her name left me reeling. Was the woman I’d met at Dorothy’s Andrew’s duplicitous spouse? Could I have unwittingly met my arch nemesis? And if so, why the false identity?

Mary Moriarty. I scoffed.

“What is so funny?” Andrew demanded, turning his attention away from the window and blasting me with his fierce gaze.

Having Andrew Kelly’s full focus was enough to make any reasonable woman quail. I am not reasonable by anyone’s estimate.

I glared back at him and said, “This. Everything. The mess that we seem to be tangled within.”

“And this amuses you?”

“In a how-much-worse-can-this-possibly-get way.”

His lips twitched. “Your sense of humour, as always, is charming.”

I was quite certain that was a euphemism of some description.

“Answer the question,” he said softly.

I let a slow breath of air out. Andrew speaking softly was not a sign of concession. More likely a sign of something far more explosive to come.

In a fit of immaturity, I demanded, “I asked my question first, Inspector.”

His jaw flexed where I assumed he was grinding his teeth. I almost warned him that was a bad habit. Thankfully, I heeded the stern look to his turbulent gaze and said nothing.

“Sergeant Blackmore is investigating Newgate Gaol; the last known location of the missing children.”

My breath caught, my heart thundering. Drowning out the steady clip of our horse’s hooves beneath the carriage.

“Was Mina with them?”

Andrew’s face softened slightly. “It is uncertain. However, females were accounted for in the number.”

“Where did they go?”

He shook his head. “I am hopeful Sergeant Blackmore can uncover that in due course.”

The brief flash of concern that crossed his face was alarming, but he soon reverted to type and scowled down at me.

“Your turn,” he said succinctly. “The Dutch East Indies.”

“You have yet to divulge your results at the Old Bailey.”

“Anna, if you test me any further on this, I will turn you over my knee. Answer the damn question!”

I jumped. His voice had been rather loud in the confines of the carriage. Bristling, I opened my mouth to argue when he reached across the seat and gripped my hand. His fingers tightened. His breath too fast to count the respirations.

“Please, Anna,” he urged. “Can you not see why I am concerned?”

Oh, bother. He, too, thought the letters were from his wife.

I swallowed, allowing myself a moment’s respite through the touch of his hand in mine, and then said, “I was confronted by a shadowed woman at The Dorothy Restaurant. Cornered, one might say. I never saw her face,” I rushed to add. “And did not recognise her voice.”

“Why did you not see her face?” Andrew’s words were forced through gritted teeth, his jaw made of marble.

“She approached from behind me in a darkened room.” This next admission would not go down well, I feared. “She threatened me with a pistol, should I turn around and attempt to identify her.”

Silence, and then slowly, darkly, “A pistol.”

I nodded my head and bit my lower lip. The action reminded me of my father and his failed attempts to break me of the habit. I released the flesh and sat still, waiting Andrew’s judgement.

“Why would she hide herself?” he mused.

“So that I may not discover her?” I offered, uncertainly.

He shook his head. “I would not have shared her image with you,” he said. “She would know this. My need to distance myself from my past has meant I no longer possess any likeness of her.”

“Then perhaps it is not your…”

“Wife? Come, Anna. How much more proof do you need?”

“You said yourself that hiding her visage makes little sense.”

“Unless she is promenading the streets of London for all to see and expects to chance upon yourself.”

“And what of you? Would she risk chancing upon you?”

“Mayhap, she does not know I am here.”

I looked to his breast pocket; his hand lifted and pressed against the letter I knew to be there.

“Besides,” I said before he could comment further. “She introduced herself as Mary.”

“Mary?”

“For MM.”

“And the second M?”

I grimaced. “Moriarty.” It sounded so absurd.

“Mary Moriarty?”

“Indeed. Perhaps Arthur Conan Doyle is involved, as well.”

“Do not jest, Anna. Professor Moriarty is known for his master criminal mind. A rather fitting likeness of Eliza.”

I frowned, staring down at our joined hands. My heart beat like a flailing bird.

A rather fitting analogy considering the nightingale.

“And the Old Bailey?” I asked, wanting desperately to turn the conversation elsewhere. Away from criminal wives and back to criminal abductions.

“Yes,” Andrew said, straightening. “Would you care to speculate as to who I ran into there?”

Oh, dear. I was sure; I did not want to know.

“No guesses?” Andrew pressed. “Not even a one?”

I shook my head.

“Why, your old friend, Dr Cassidy.” Andrew leant forward and offered me a tooth-filled smile. “Mr Henry Tempest, Esquire.”

If he expected me to be shocked, he was sorely disappointed. I was beginning to think Henry was neck deep in whatever had befallen London since I arrived.

A bitter, acrid taste filled my mouth. Poor Emily.

“Well,” I said into the strained silence. “That does sound rather fitting.”

“Fitting?” Andrew did not look amused in the slightest.

“Considering I spotted him Whitechapel.”

He dropped my hand, his eyes wide, his nostrils flaring, a tick appearing along the edge of his jaw.

“You don't say?” he growled. “The Old Bailey, Lambeth and Whitechapel. What a coincidence, wouldn’t you agree, Doctor?”

I said nothing; Andrew was preening. No doubt because his former assessment of my friend had turned out to be correct; he’d not once shown a liking toward Henry. Perhaps, rightly so, but I couldn't bring myself to celebrate with him.

Henry, my dear friend, what have you done with my cousin?

Secrets Have A Way Of Shackling You

Inspector Kelly

Blackie hadn't made it back to Temple Bar by the time we returned there. In fact, the boarding house was bare, save for Mrs Pugh herself, and after greeting us, she scurried back to her kitchens, mumbling something about fixing tea.

One look at Dr Cassidy and I agreed with her alacrity. I was certain Anna hadn’t eaten a thing since this morning. She looked pale, weary, dark smudges appeared beneath both her eyes.

I watched as she stood in front of the blazing fire in the parlour, warming her gloveless hands. Her dress today was a lovely shade of forest green shot through with ruby. Anna was not one to wear fanciful colours, but the dark tone was reminiscent of her mourning weeds. The red far too close in hue to that of blood.

Anna had experienced far too much grief in her young life; I longed to save her from further agony.

I took a step closer; closer to the forbidden. My eyes trailing the curve of her slender neck, devouring the soft curls at her nape begging for my fingers. The way her shoulders rose and fell with every breath. The shape of her breast lovingly embraced by her corset.

The sound of a sharp rap against the front door of the building had me almost jumping.

That or the fact I was becoming far too poetic all of a sudden.

Mrs Pugh’s voice sounded out in the hallway. Anna turned, her eyes meeting mine. I could fall into Anna Cassidy’s eyes; a storm surging one minute, a cloudy day another, a mist-shrouded morning the next.

Mrs Pugh cleared her throat behind me. I stepped aside and met the landlady’s gaze instead.

“Inspector Kelly,” she said. “You’ve guests.”

“Guests, Mrs Pugh?”

The door behind the matron pushed further open, and Superintendent Arnold walked in.

My chest constricted. My back straightened. Fear had me glancing to Anna.

“Inspector,” Arnold greeted gruffly, and through the door at his back walked Inspector Reid.

“H Division’s finest,” I murmured, nodding my head in greeting. What was this?

“Doctor,” Arnold said, addressing Anna. “May I introduce my senior inspector, Edmund Reid?”

“Mr Reid,” Anna said as the upstart offered her his hand, helping her stand from her curtsey.

My fists clenched, but I did not interfere. Arnold missed nothing.

“To what do we owe this…pleasure?” I enquired.

“’Tis official, Kelly. We come seeking answers to perplexing questions. Questions which, I fear, you shall not find appealing.”

“Do tell?” I said, shifting back further in the room to peer out the front window. A Black Maria stood upon the street for all to see. The driver looking bored not restless. He intended to stay for the duration, it would seem.

Anna returned to the fire, not sitting. H Division spread out, Reid taking in the artwork and decor, sparse as it was in the room, Arnold presenting himself front and centre.

“Death does stalk our streets, Inspector,” the superintendent said, his voice booming.

“Among other things,” I added.

He nodded his head stiffly in agreement.

“But it is the death that brings me to your doorstep.”

“Poisoning?” Anna enquired.

Arnold turned partially to face her; keeping me in his periphery.

“Why, yes, Doctor. Poison does appear to be the culprit. Are you an expert on such matters?” His eyes flicked to me, and it took everything in my body not to lash out. To fight back.

Something was going on here, and it didn’t take a seasoned police detective to work out I, or perhaps even Anna, was a suspect. But any reference to my murderous wife and her particular skill set was not welcome.

Arnold knew more than he’d ever let on, it seemed.

“I have had experience diagnosing such,” Anna replied pleasantly.

I didn't for a second think Anna wasn't aware of the tension emanating from the man. And Reid’s shadowy presence in the background added weight to the strain stretching the air thin in the room. I could only be relieved that Anna could not see the street from where she stood and therefore had not noticed the wagon waiting.

I did not like to think she would be alarmed to that degree. I would do everything in my power to prevent it.

“Have we not known each other for years, Superintendent?” I asked. “Must we dance this dance? Cut to the chase, if you please. Death should not be left wanting.”

“Indeed,” the old man said. “A telegraph boy was found in a darkened room, his body prone upon the floorboards. Vomitus around his blue lips; scarlet in colour.”

“The vomitus?” Anna pressed.

“Yes, madam.” Arnold returned his attention to me. So, I was to be the chief suspect? “The body had contorted, turning a once tidy room into disarray. The victim’s pupils, according to our surgeon, were dilated. His time of death estimated at midday.”

Midday, when Anna and I were hastening toward Lambeth.

“This is all very unfortunate,” I remarked. “How may we be of assistance in your investigation?”

I was sure my aid was the last thing the superintendent wanted.

Arnold turned back to Anna, making my blood boil in my veins.

“In your esteemed opinion, Doctor,” he said, “where would you lay the blame?”

“By which toxin was he poisoned, Superintendent?” Anna replied steadily. “Pray tell, was there evidence of berries having been consumed?”

Hush, Anna. Do not play the intelligent woman with him. He leads us into a trap.

“Why, yes, come to think of it,” Arnold exclaimed jovially. “Little shiny black ones. Some, though, were green.”

“The green are not yet ripe,” Anna offered. Of course, she did. “The black would have been sweet, but hide their insidious nature.”

“You don't say?”

I glared at Arnold, noting Reid glaring back at me.

“Come now, Superintendent,” Anna said with a soft smile. “You cannot tell me your surgeon did not inform you of this.”

“Oh, but I’d like to hear you say it, madam.”

“Very well. Atropa belladonna.” Damnation! “Otherwise known as deadly nightshade.”

Arnold started clapping his hands. Reid stepped closer to Anna. I tapped my cane down on the floorboards to garner all of their attention.

“What game do you play, Thomas?” I demanded.

“The telegraph boy,” my former superior announced, “had one thing on his person.”

“And that was?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“A telegram, sir. With your name on it.”

I looked to Anna. Her storm shrouded eyes met mine. The nightshade was a message from my beloved wife. The method of delivery one which could destroy my life.

“I received a telegram earlier today from L Division,” I said, feeling numb.

How far would Eliza May go to seek her revenge?

Would she threaten Anna?

Of course she would. She’d taken, I was sure now, Wilhelmina.

Eliza May held us all in the palm of her hand and I had never known my wife to be forgiving.

“Yes, we are aware,” Reid said, finally speaking. “Why would L Division consult with you, Mr Kelly?”

Not “Inspector Kelly.” Not from this man. This man who had stepped into my shoes and pushed me from my position.

This man whom I had let do so.

For a moment I was unsure how to proceed. They had little to tie me to the telegraph boy’s murder. Nightshade is readily available to those who seek it. The telegram could have been the last thing he delivered, the copy one for his records. It was all circumstantial at best.

Save for the fact that my wife was enamoured with belladonna, and looking to Superintendent Arnold now, I’d hazard a guess he knew it.

Secrets have a way of shackling you. They do so surreptitiously. Before you know it, they are wrapped around your limbs, threatening your circulation, until you are weighted down by them.

The weight of my wife’s secrets was stifling. Water lapped at my chin, the chains of their binding dragging me downward. If I did not kick free, would I drag Anna down with me?

I looked to Thomas Arnold, a man I had at one time called friend.

Could I call him that again?

Should I?

My eyes found Anna’s. The decision made in an instant.

For Anna I would strip myself bare, flay my very skin. For Anna I would suffer any punishment.

If it meant she did not drown along with me.

How On Earth Did I Combat That?

Anna

I did not care for Inspector Reid. The man held himself above all others, including, I was certain, Superintendent Arnold. Reid had a hungry glint to his eyes. The dark gaze that surveyed the room now took in everything in exacting detail; discarded the useless and preyed upon the relevant.

Relevant according to Inspector Edmund Reid.

“Well?” he pressed now. “Have you nothing to say for yourself, man?”

“It would seem, you have made up your mind already,” Andrew replied levelly.

His knuckles fisted the top of his cane as if he wished to brandish the weapon at Reid. The two stood on opposite sides of the parlour, staring off at each other; an equal amount of hostility in their gazes.

“I follow the facts and the facts lead to you,” Reid shot back with alarming accuracy.

The facts did indeed lead back to Andrew.

“Nightshade, Inspector?” I enquired mildly. “Not exactly a unique poison.”

“And you, madam, have experience of poison?”

“As I have already stated, Inspector, I have had experience diagnosing such.”

“Seen much death, then, Doctor?”

“More so, I dare say, than you.”

He laughed; a raucous, ill tempered guffaw. Looking down his hooked nose at me, he said, “And from one so young. Who would have thought it, Superintendent?”

“Indeed,” Arnold offered, but he did not enter the fray further.

“And how have you gained such a knowledgable base at such a tender age, then?” Reid enquired, directing that flinty glare back at me.

At least Andrew was using the time to regroup somewhat; his knuckles were no longer white.

“My father was chief surgeon for the Auckland Police Force,” I advised, endeavouring to keep the shark’s eyes on me and no one else. “I have witnessed death in all its gruesome guises, Inspector, since I was old enough to walk unaided into his surgery.”

“And you believe this formative experience in a small Antipodean town affords you superior knowledge?” He did not appear convinced.

“I do.” Father always said confidence in one’s ability went a long way in persuading non-believers.

“More so than a police detective working the streets of Whitechapel for ten years?”

“Are you a doctor, sir?”

He studied me as if I were an insect barely worthy of his assessment.

Then whisper soft, he said, “‘But I do not allow a woman to teach or exercise authority over a man, but to remain quiet.’ Timothy 2:9-15.”

“‘Strength and dignity are her clothing,” Andrew murmured, his gaze cutting. “And she laughs at the time to come.’ Proverbs 31:25.”

Reid glared at him, his lips pressed into a thin line, his face blotching with his increased ire.

“Aye,” he snarled. “And you would know all about hiding behind the skirts of a woman.”

“Enough!” the superintendent growled. “This is not a schoolyard, and we are not children.” He turned to face Andrew. “Fifteen years,” he said, voice softening. The length of time they'd known each other? “It would have been longer, I am sure.”

Andrew inclined his head in agreement.

“I would have your back, Inspector. Know this. But I cannot defend one who does not tell all.”

“Is it to be my secrets you’re after, then?” Andrew enquired.

“Just the one.”

They stared at each other, while Reid glowered in the corner, a dark spectre observing a darker scene. I almost pitied the man. His role as a senior inspector at Leman Street Station was overshadowed by that of Andrew’s history. And the friendship his nemesis shared with Thomas Arnold.

“Where is she?” the superintendent said. “Is she in London? Is this her work?”

Andrew looked toward Reid, who smirked upon meeting his gaze. They didn’t suspect Andrew, I realised.

They suspected his wife and they thought he knew where to find her.

My eyes turned inexorably to Andrew, then. I watched as he reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the letter. My heart gave a wretched thump within the confines of my chest.

Handing the note to Superintendent Arnold, Andrew said, “She is here. And I aim to find her.”

Arnold stared hard into Andrew’s eyes and then ducked his head to read the missive. Heavy silence engulfed the room, crushing all else. Reid thrummed with the need to see what had been written. Somehow, though, the inspector found the wherewithal to hold his ground. Discipline, at last, strengthening his frame before our very eyes.

Or it could have been the monumental weight of what Superintendent Arnold was reading.

“I see,” the superintendent said; his eyes sweeping across the room to me.

He remained silent for a suspended moment and then folded the letter and returned it to Andrew. Reid almost jumped from his corner to intercepted the damn thing.

“The Cassidy chit,” Arnold suddenly said. “The one asking questions of late.”

“We believe my…wife may have arranged her abduction.”

“Hmm,” the older man said, scratching at his long, grey beard. “And what of Lambeth?”

Andrew looked to the floor, as if seeking an answer there. “The poisonings,” he supplied.

“Not nightshade.”

“No, but also not out of the realm of her abilities.”

“What else?”

“Must there be more?” Andrew hedged.

“There was always more, Inspector. More than any of us were aware. Save, perhaps, you in the end.” His eyes met Andrew’s. “If not for the fire…”

“She would have found another way,” Andrew interrupted him.

“Perhaps. We shall never know.”

Andrew looked to Reid. “And now? You have ascertained my connection to the telegraph boy. Is it enough to cuff me?”

“A night in the cells would do you some good,” Reid muttered.

Arnold looked toward his inspector, scowling, but he didn’t correct him.

“Perhaps it is not an altogether unwise suggestion,” the superintendent said instead.

“On what charge?” I exclaimed, just as Mrs Pugh entered the room, a silver tray in her hand, an envelope upon it.

My stomach sank. My breath sped up. Bile coated my tongue.

“No charge,” the superintendent was saying. “Not an official one, in any case.”

“You wish to use me as bait?” Andrew replied steadily. I was not so steady as I approached the landlady.

She bobbed a curtsey, her soft brown eyes full of worry. Then turned her back and left the room once the missive had been delivered. I stared down at the envelope, at the familiar handwriting. My nostrils flaring at the scent of jasmine. My hands shook.

“It could work,” Arnold said.

“She is too clever to fall for such a thing,” Andrew was saying.

“Has your investigation progressed sufficiently to discard a possible solution?”

“This is no solution,” Andrew growled. I sensed his eyes on me. I kept my back to the room and read the letter.

My chest constricted. My lips trembled. Tears filled my eyes. My fingers hovered over the gift pressed between the paper.

“You need to step back,” the superintendent was saying.

“Step back from what she is doing? Impossible!”

“No, Andrew,” Thomas Arnold said. “Step back from your new lady.”

I turned to face the room, well aware that all eyes were now trained upon me. I lifted my chin and met their gazes. My heart a rampant, desperate beast beneath my breast.

“Too late, Superintendent,” I announced, stepping forward.

All roads led to Eliza May. I was no longer, nor had I ever been, safe.

I handed the superintendent the letter, along with the lock of Mina’s hair tied up in one of her exquisite ribbons.

“Damnation!” Andrew said with feeling, his gaze taking in the “gift” and letter.

Superintendent Arnold raised shrewd eyes to me.

“Your cousin?”

I nodded.

“She played a dangerous game.”

“She had no idea,” I murmured. Sweet, sweet Mina.

Arnold met Andrew’s hard gaze. “What choice do you have, Inspector? Lay a trap or be trapped.”

“Sir,” Andrew said gruffly, “I have yet to escape my wife’s original trap, think you not I shall avoid all others?”

Arnold looked to me. “Think you not it worth the risk again?”

Andrew met my gaze, his face stoic, his fingers fisted about his cane.

“There is no comparison,” he rasped. “I would do anything to keep Anna safe.”

Which seemed to include throwing himself under a carriage.

I arched my brow; let him see my disapproval.

He returned my gaze with one of utter devotion.

How on earth did I combat that?

And A Torrent Of Tears

Anna

Their plan was a ridiculous one. How could they not see it? Eliza May wanted revenge. And she would have it. She was having it. Andrew was about to be led out of the boarding house and into the rear of a Black Maria. Arrested for the murder of a telegraph boy.

Eliza May would only see this as a success.

“Don’t look so worried, Anna,” Andrew murmured, his head lowered, his body curved around me, his breaths a mere wash of heat across my cheek. “It is all an act. An act designed to lure the spider out of her web.”

“How will she be lured?” I demanded, looking up into a startlingly blue gaze. “This is what she wanted. She’ll clap her hands and move on to her next diabolical scheme.”

Andrew shook his head. “No. She has worked too hard on this to not watch it play out. She will wish to see my suffering. She’ll either approach me at Leman Street, or perhaps on the trip to Newgate.”

“Newgate,” I said on a gasp. “Must it progress to such?”

“We may have no choice but to play the ruse to fruition.”

“A former Metropolitan Police Inspector inside a gaol. Can you not see the foolhardiness in this?”

Andrew reached up and cupped my cheek. I was acutely aware of Superintendent Arnold and Inspector Reid talking quietly in the corner of the parlour. Their eyes undoubtedly on us.

“She is too smart to be convinced of fakery. We must make it appear real.”

“How real, Andrew? What will they do to you?”

He grimaced, and then stood to his full height; shoulders back, spine stiff, chin lifted.

“I have enough detractors in the Met to warrant ill-treatment.” He did not look toward Reid, but I knew he thought of him as such. “No one fancies a policeman who has forgotten what he stands for.”

“But you have not forgotten. Nor would you ever.”

“Darling, they must think I have.”

“No.” My head shook so hard; my hair came loose from its clips.

“Anna,” he pleaded. “It is all I can think of to do. Eliza May is adept at hiding herself behind others. She is complicit in Wilhelmina’s abduction.” He tapped the letter I held in my shaking hands. “She has confronted you once already. She toys with strychnine and implicates your friend. There is more going on here than her seeking revenge on me. Murder. Stolen children. Bribery. The telegraph boy is a message.” Of course it was. A message that she could interfere with Andrew’s life. “She has used them before, you see.”

“Used who? The children?”

“The children and the telegraph boys. It is her way. She uses people.”

“To what end?”

“To discover secrets.”

“Secrets?” He was losing me. I couldn't think for the fear that ruled me.

“There is no secret as valuable as that which arrives in haste. Telegrams are the modern day method of delivering secrets. The more she amasses, the more gold for her empire.”

“Bribery.”

“Yes. I witnessed a telegraph boy accused of garrotting undergo trial at the Old Bailey.”

And now it all comes out. At last!

“The evidence was stacked against him. He should not have received bail. But he did, and I’d hazard a guess, it was due to the judge being bribed. A judge I witnessed receiving another bribe not five minutes after the telegraph boy was released. Bribery is rife in the Bailey and Eliza May would have taken advantage of that to free one of her men.”

“The telegraph boy in the court?”

“Yes.”

“But why kill the one who delivered the telegram from Superintendent Cox?”

“Because she can. Because she believes them hers to dispose of and use at will.”

“Just as she does the children?” My pulse skittered beneath my pale skin. “How can she? How…how…?” Words failed me.

“How did I not see it before I married her?” Andrew asked carefully.

I didn't know how to answer.

“I was blind, I admit it. And she is good at hiding who she really is. She had more than just her husband convinced and much of what I know to be true now, I only discovered in the year I spent hunting her across continents.” He glanced across the room at the two policemen. “Even Arnold does not know the full of it,” he murmured.

“Secrets,” I said quietly.

“She knows mine,” he agreed. “But I also know a good deal of hers, too.”

I let out a ragged breath of air. “But this sting the superintendent suggests?”

“Trust us. Trust me. And wait here for Blackie. He will protect you. Bring him up to speed and await word from Thomas. And whatever you do, Anna Cassidy, do not visit Leman Street or Newgate Gaol.”

I harrumphed.

“And stay away from the Old Bailey. If she does have fingers in that pie, then her spies will report back with alacrity.” He reached for my hands and held them in his larger ones. “Promise me; you’ll stay safe.”

I blinked up at him. This was all wrong. I didn't want this for him. He'd suffered enough. Why must she do this? Why couldn't she let go of him? Let him let go of her!

I wanted to curse Eliza May Kelly to hell and back, and then repeat it all over again.

“Anna? Promise me.”

“No Leman Street, Newgate or Old Bailey.” I nodded my head.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me, pressing my cheek to his broad chest.

I would never get used to this open showing of affection. To the Andrew Kelly I’d longed for, but never actually seen. I craved his touch. I craved his acceptance. I craved every single piece of his heart.

Even the pieces she’d stolen and broken so completely.

“We should be going,” Superintendent Arnold said gruffly, moving toward us from across the room.

“Perhaps a show of resistance will garner attention out on the street,” Inspector Reid offered.

He sounded convincing, not eager or righteous at all. I didn't believe him. He had an axe to grind, and he’d abuse the situation in no time, I was sure.

“Be careful,” I whispered, clinging desperately to Andrew’s coat.

“I will be fine, Anna,” he promised. A promise I wasn’t certain he should make.

“Come now,” Arnold chastised. “We have this in hand, Dr Cassidy.”

I pulled back from Andrew and stared the superintendent in the face.

“I hold you accountable for his wellbeing, sir,” I said archly.

Reid scoffed, but Arnold merely bowed his head in acknowledgement.

“You have my word; I will take care of him.”

I breathed easier, felt myself steady somewhat. Superintendent Arnold, I believed I could trust.

Inspector Reid on the other hand…

“Don’t look at me, madam,” the man in question huffed. “I am opposed to this charade.”

Because he believed it justice?

I met his dark gaze but said nothing. My words would have only fallen on deaf ears.

“It is time, Andrew,” Arnold said.

Andrew didn't move. His solid form beside me both a luxury and a curse. I wanted to melt into his heat. I wanted to tie myself to him. I wanted to fall to my knees and beg him not to risk his life for Mina’s.

The guilt of that thought had me stepping back, placing myself out of arm’s reach.

“Let us do this,” Andrew said, stoically.

“How about that resistance, then?” Reid asked enthusiastically.

Andrew nodded his head as if the request was reasonably given. I bit my lip, my entire body trembling.

At the door to the parlour, Andrew stopped. His head tipped to the side, his back proud. He did not look at me, but whispered, “Do not watch.”

He walked out of the room, Reid following. Superintendent Arnold stopped at the threshold and glanced in my direction. I almost wished he would not; I was close to breaking.

“She may have your building under surveillance. If she sees you fretting, she might assign you more value than necessary.”

“I am already a threat to her, sir,” I pointed out.

“Why else do you think he does this?”

I met his gaze, but could not hold it. Andrew sold his soul for me, not Mina.

The superintendent nodded his head, donned his hat, and walked from the room.

I stood by the fire feeling no warmth. My back to the window. My ears straining.

When the first sound of a scuffle reached me, my body bowed. My arms wrapping around my stomach as if to shield me.

Shouts sounded out. Mrs Pugh came running. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Oh, my!” she said from beside the window; the superintendent had not said a thing about the landlady observing the faux scene.

“What are they doing to him?” I asked.

“Oh, Dr Cassidy,” she said on a breath of expelled air. “It is better you do not know.”

My heart broke into a thousand tiny pieces.

Then I was running from the parlour and thundering up the stairs, bursting into Mina’s and my suite with an almighty crash.

And a torrent of tears.

That Damnable Cane Tapping

Anna

Andrew had said nothing of avoiding Whitechapel. And having ascertained Henry was not at their London residence, I’d decided approaching The Blind Beggar was my only option. I’d left a note addressed to Sergeant Blackmore with Mrs Pugh, but as he had been missing for close to a day now, I did not hold out hope of his coming to my rescue.

My parasol sat heavily in my hand. Its reassuring presence a balm to my ragged nerves. I walked into the tavern with confidence I did not truly feel and strode toward the door at the back.

“Oi, now!” Will Dumble called out from behind the bar. He threw his cloth down and rushed to intercept me.

I withdrew my sword from my parasol and held it out to waylay him.

“What’s this then?” he demanded. “You bring a weapon into my establishment?”

“I only prove to arm myself, sir,” I replied steadily. Surprisingly my hand did not shake at all.

Will’s eyes flicked to the door I stood before.

“You can’t go in there,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“And why ever not?”

“It ain’t for the likes of you.”

“Just who do you think I am, Mr Dumble?” I waved the parasol-sword in front of his eyes. “A lady?” I scoffed.

“Even if you isn’t a lady, luv, you ain’t what passes for ‘em in there.”

I looked to the nondescript door. A brothel?

“Ah, the penny drops,” he said in exaggerated tones. “Now if you want a change of profession, I think I could fetch a fine bit of blunt for you. Virgin?” he asked, as if the question was quite appropriate. “Me thinks you might be, ’n all. Could charge more for that, of course. If you’re willin’ to offer up more than just your cunny, you and me could make a killin’.”

The talk of murder had me girding myself against the obvious use of vulgarity. I stood taller, unaware I’d begun to sink in on myself. I righted the mistake immediately.

“If you stand in my way, Mr Dumble, I will strike.”

“So determined to pop ya cherry is you, luv? Hell, I’d be inclined to take a tastin’ if I wasn't so keen on makin’ more money.”

“Does Mrs Pugh know?” I enquired sweetly.

“What me cousin don't know won’t hurt her.”

“Ah, but Mr Dumble, she and I have such an open relationship. Communication between us is fluid.”

“You threatenin’ me, sweet?”

“I thought the sword a sure signal of my intent on the matter.”

“That piddly thing?” He pulled a knife from beneath his jacket. A rather large, long, sharp knife, with a serrated edge along both sides of the blade.

“You’d do better with a sleeker edge,” I suggested. “A weapon such as that leaves behind clues as to its design. I’d hazard a guess,” I added, “that it is relatively unique in origin. And the fact you draw it so readily in a room full of people leads me to believe it is not the first time it has been seen in your hand. Use it, and word will reach the Met. Your fine establishment and your person will be under intense scrutiny, then, sir.”

“What the hell are you on about?”

“Forensic medicine, Mr Dumble. The way of the future. And I intend to lead it.”

“You are the most perplexin’ chit I ever had the misfortune to witness.”

I smiled. “Why thank you,” I said.

Slowly his face softened, and his lips edged up in a grin. “I think I like you, Doc. You’ve got somethin’ special about you. Somethin’ not too many ladies ‘ave got.”

“I thought we’d established I am not a typical lady,” I offered, lowering the sword as it seemed the immediate threat had passed somewhat.

“Luv, you can call yourself whatever you want.” He leant froward. “But you ain’t goin’ in there.” He nodded toward the door. “Polly’d kill me,” he added in a mutter.

“Then she does know?”

“Know? No. And I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very kindly. But if she found out you was in there, with that debauched lot, she’d turn me guts into garters; she would.”

“Perhaps, not utilising the telltale knife to achieve it,” I suggested, nodding towards the blade still held loosely in his hand.

He looked down at it, and then purposefully hid it away beneath his jacket.

Out of consideration for his compromise, I did the same to my sword. My parasol hung from my arm innocuously. Dumble’s lips twitched.

“Who you after, anyway?” he asked, moving back to the bar top and forcing me to follow. He poured me a gin and sat it down on the surface. I didn't have the heart to decline the offer.

Sipping the libation, I tried to decide if I should confide in him. As it was clear he intended to keep me out of his den of ill repute; then I was left with few options.

I could force my way inside and offend my landlady’s cousin.

Or I could wait for Henry out here. His stablehand had indicated the Tempest carriage had travelled toward Whitechapel, and for a few shillings had added it did so every Tuesday and Friday. Today was Friday. Henry was here.

I didn't want to think too closely on what my friend sought in such an establishment, but considering the alternative, thinking he was responsible for murder, I decided this was indeed the lesser of two evils.

“I can wait,” I said, placing the barely touched gin back on the bar’s top.

“Only if I let you,” Dumble replied.

“Will,” I said. “May I call you Will?” He nodded. “Will, I seek a friend. The same friend I sought on Tuesday, who I witnessed enter this tavern, and could only have disappeared through there.” I nodded toward the door.

“This friend want you following ‘im? Oi, you blackmailin’ the blighter?”

“If I were, would you like to be in on the action?”

“Sweet Jesus, you are perfect.” He grimaced. “But I got a reputation to uphold, see? And word could get around that I stiffed one of me customers. Not good for business that sort of thing.”

“I should think not. Well, I’m not here to blackmail him, so you can rest easy.”

“What is you here for then, luv? A little somethin’ dirty?”

Information. The truth. A way to trap the spider.

Could I trust Henry? Was it all an act? One designed by a master criminal? Or was Henry complicit in some way? Part of the poisonings in Lambeth. Part of the abductions in Whitechapel.

Behind Mina’s disappearance.

It didn't matter. Either way, he was my only means to solve this mystery and get Andrew out of Newgate.

The thought of him beaten and taken advantage of spurred me into action. I pulled a one pound note from my reticule and laid it on the bar’s surface.

“For your hospitality,” I said softly.

“For the turnin’ of a blind eye,” he replied, slipping the large note off the wooden bar top. “Go sit in the corner.” He nodded toward an empty table, out of direct line of sight of the doors should someone walk in, but allowing me a full view of the taproom. “I’ll bring you somethin’ from the kitchen. Keep an eye on you until your ‘friend’ gets done with his business.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, turning to find my seat.

“Oh, don't thank me, luv. He ain’t gonna like bein’ found out. Most of them in there come to places like this ‘cause it’s off the beaten track like. Not their usual haunts, so to speak.” He leant forward, resting his elbows on the bar top. “But no man, toff or not, likes to have his secrets revealed. And by a lady,” he added in a scoff. “You sure you want to do this?”

“I have to.”

He studied me for a moment, and then nodded his head, turning to enter the kitchen and place my order for a meal.

I didn't ask what he was organising; I wasn’t in the slightest capable of eating. But the pretence of a meal would provide some camouflage, and I couldn’t help thinking I needed a disguise to hide behind to face Henry.

My friend had lost an awful lot of his lustre these past few days, and today he’d lost all semblance of respectability. Guilty or not of being involved in Mina’s absence, of being complicit in murder and bribery, Henry Tempest visited a brothel in Whitechapel. Twice a week.

Did Emily know? I shook my head and settled into my seat.

My meal was cold when the door to the bordello finally opened.

But the man appearing in its frame was not who I expected to see.

Sergeant Blackmore’s eyes found mine almost instantly. So much for my hiding spot in the corner of the taproom. And then he crossed the room, pulled out a chair, and sat down heavily.

“If Inspector Kelly knew you were here, miss, he’d spank you ten ways to Sund’y.”

My cheeks flushed, my lips parted. Sergeant Blackmore chuckled.

“Don’t worry; I ain’t gonna tell ‘im.”

“Th…thank you,” I murmured.

“How did ya lose ‘im, if I may ask?” he enquired, staring at my uneaten plate of food as if beyond starving. I pushed it toward him. He nodded his head, muttered, “Much obliged,” and dug in.

I cleared my throat; it felt raw all of a sudden.

“Newgate,” I said.

His spoon stopped midway between plate and parted lips.

“Gaol?”

I nodded.

The spoon clattered back to the plate.

“Well,” Blackmore said. “Ain’t that a turn up for the book?” He smiled. “At least I know how to break ‘im out of there.”

I blinked.

And then Henry Tempest walked into the room; cravat askew, flush to his cheeks, a satisfied skip to his step. That damnable cane tapping.

Blackie looked over his shoulder and stilled.

Dumble watched from behind the bar with sharp eyes.

And I pushed up out of my seat and walked toward my friend.

Practically making Henry jump a country mile.

Checkmate

Anna

“Dr Cassidy! Anna,” Henry said, somehow gaining control of his surprise. He glanced around the tavern, then stiffened. “Have we not already had this discussion?” He leant forward, reaching out to grip my elbow tightly, and whispered, “This is no place for a lady, madam.”

“But for a gentleman?” I enquired.

“’Tis the state of society, Anna. One cannot fight the monster that is the ton.” He stared down at me, a plethora of emotions flittering across his handsome façade. “You do vex me, Doctor. Why is it that you insist on trawling Whitechapel. Is it your cousin? Seek you answers in the inns and wine shops? Would Mina have traversed here?”

“I have learned much of my cousin, Mr Tempest, in the past few days. I do believe she was seen on Whitechapel’s streets before her abduction.”

“Abduction? You suspect such foul play?” He was very good at acting the part. His shock appeared genuine, but I was not so easily persuaded.

“Wilhelmina is small in stature,” I advised. “And was dressed as if she belonged on the street. It is our belief she was picked up along with several orphans and taken to Newgate.”

He took a step back. Horror painted a vivid picture across his face. His skin paled, his hands shook, his moustachio quivered as if it were a nervous caterpillar.

“This cannot be,” he whispered. “Oh, my dear Anna. I have never heard of such a thing.”

“‘Ave you heard, then,” Sergeant Blackmore said from behind me, “of such urchins bein’ used in slavery?”

I spun to face the sergeant; shock now painting my face a shade of pale. Slavery?

“Sl…slavery?” Henry enquired.

Blackmore’s eyes flicked to mine only briefly, before returning to Henry. The sergeant narrowed his gaze.

“Know you much of the mines up north, sir?”

“Mines?” Henry said carefully. “There is many a coal mine north of London. Speak you of which precisely?”

“Perhaps the Londonderry coal mines, sir. In County Durham.”

“Now, see you here, man! I will not have you saying such things!” Henry took a step toward the sergeant, his righteousness making him bristle alarmingly.

I noted Will Dumble move out from behind the bar, and several other patrons stop their conversations and watch eagerly. Tension rode the air. Eagerness twisted features. Henry had his hands balled into tight fists. He had half a foot on the sergeant in height as well, but the sergeant was a pugilist. And I’d hazard a guess Henry Tempest was not.

This could turn ugly.

“Gentlemen,” I said urgently. “Perhaps we need to take this elsewhere?”

“Seems a fittin’ place for treachery,” Blackmore offered. He would not look away from Henry, but I was sure he noted the barkeep’s hostility.

Not much got past Sergeant Blackmore. Evidence of that fact was present in his current line of enquiry. Had he learned such whilst inside Newgate Gaol? What had he learned exactly?

“Treachery!” Henry exclaimed. “I’ll tell you what is treacherous, sir. Your accusations against a peer of the realm.”

“Your uncle,” Blackmore supplied. “Charles Vane-Tempest-Stewart, the Marquess of Londonderry. Keepin’ it all in the family, aren’t we?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The family,” I repeated. “Tempest.”

“Anna?” Henry asked, looking lost and angry and desperate for me to stop this confrontation from progressing.

I couldn't do that. Not if we were to find Mina. The Tempest family was involved in all of this. From Henry’s presence on Whitechapel streets to his father’s role in the Lambeth Workhouse. To the family coal mines up north and the supposed destination of the abducted orphans.

“Lambeth Workhouse,” I said.

Henry shook his head. Taking a step back from both Blackmore and me.

“Your father is on the board of guardians, is he not?”

“Why are you doing this?” Henry asked quietly.

“I must find her, Henry.”

“This is not like you, Doctor.”

“I fear you do not know me at all,” I offered.

“No, perhaps I do not. Nor shall I endeavour to discover more.”

He made a move to turn away. Blackmore stepped in front of him, cutting off his egress.

“Not so fast, lad,” he said, making Henry jerk to a stop. “We need answers.”

“I do not answer to you, sir.”

“Perhaps you’ll answer to this?”

And then Blackmore hit him. A swinging punch that had fist meeting jaw. Henry spun, his cane toppling to the floor, his hand coming up and cupping his chin.

And then he was on Blackmore, fists flying, breaths ragged, grunts of exertion as each man pummelled the other.

I jumped back, lest I receive a stray cuff to the head. Hands landed on my shoulder, a rough grip followed, and hard words met my ear.

“You bring trouble with you, luv,” Will Dumble said. “Your quid don't cover the cost of this.”

He let go and stepped around me, reaching into the fray and gripping first Blackmore’s jacket collar and then Henry’s. He lifted them both up as if they weighed nothing, and stormed toward the front door to the tavern. With a grunt and a heave, he threw them out of the building.

Then turned toward me.

“Tell Polly I’ll eat her bloody crackers if she sends another the likes of you to me.”

He held the door open and glared, his hand outstretched, indicating I should walk through it.

It had all transpired in a mere few seconds.

I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders and walked across the taproom. My boots making little clipping sounds on wood which sounded far too loud in the echoing silence.

I stepped out into fog-filled London. The door slammed shut at my back, making me jump. I scowled at it and then scanned the road for Blackmore and Henry. They were nowhere to be seen. I searched the footpaths and shop stoops for their dark forms, my ears straining for the sound of fisticuffs. The longer it took to find them, the more I was ill at ease.

I looked to the ground at my feet, seeking inspiration. My eyes landing on my reticule as it hung before me. Reaching inside, I withdrew the latest letter. I needed answers. Not a thing was making sense. Blackmore and Henry were gone. I had nothing to lose by rereading it.

My eyes scanned the words again for meaning. The writing this time made as if in haste. Or anger. The words cutting, as though delivered by knife. The jasmine scent had weakened, but it still left me feeling faint. The postal stamp confirming Eliza May’s presence in London. The Dutch East Indies would not have been too far away.

My not so dearest Anna,

It is with the gravest of hearts that I must cease our communications.

For you have so disappointed me.

I have seen you with him. I have witnessed your disloyalty.

Ours is not a loveless relationship, is it? Must you tear it apart so harshly?

If this is your chosen path, then mine has also been written.

And I am afraid to say; it does not bode well for your cousin.

Yours, at one time, sincerely,

MM

This was all very perplexing. We knew Eliza May was involved in Mina’s abduction. We knew she was hell-bent on seeking her revenge on Andrew and had, therefore, staged the telegraph boy’s death. Eliza May also had links to the Old Bailey and the bribing of judges. Yet here we were on Whitechapel Road, where the orphans had disappeared and then been sent on to work in a Tempest coal mine. Blackmore and Andrew both believed Mina had been taken along with the children. If so, how did Henry’s family connect to Eliza May?

I’d wanted answers. I’d only found more questions.

Wilhelmina’s absence. Andrew’s arrest. The orphans and slavery. The Lambeth poisonings and telegraph boy’s death. The bribing of judges at the Old Bailey. Newgate Gaol and a house burned to the ground on Lime Street. Strychnine. Scopolamine. Nightshade. Nightingale. Jasmine. The Dutch East Indies. London. County Durham.

It was all so unintelligible. Illogical even. But it did not matter who had taken Mina or even why. But where she had been taken to instead.

And Blackmore had narrowed it down to Lord Londonderry’s coal mines.

That was where we needed to go, then.

But first I needed Sergeant Blackmore. He was handy with his fists, and a parasol only provided a woman so much cover.

I spied an alleyway off to the side; the only possible location for the scuffle to have hied itself off to. So, determining my course of action, I took the necessary steps to reach it.

Rounding the corner into darkness, I marched on heedlessly.

And felt an arm go around my neck, cutting off all air.

“Shhh,” a whispered voice I instantly recognised said. “Be at ease, Doctor. You and I need to have a little chat.”

Mary Moriarty my mind supplied. Eliza May my heart corrected.

I gripped my parasol with one hand, and her arm about my neck with the other.

Then purposely removed one to aid the other.

The snick of my sword sliding free from the parasol’s sheath sounded out on the air.

The click of her pistol cocking at my ear drowned out anything further.

“Checkmate,” she whispered. And then laughed. “Oh, you never fail to surprise me. Such a delight.”

Contrary woman, I thought, and dropped the sword to the ground.

This was her game, after all, and I a mere pawn in it. I waited on her next move, wanting nothing more than to corner the queen with my knight.

My eyes darted down to the fallen parasol-sword, and I grimaced.

Well, this was a fine pickle. So, I stomped on her foot instead.

Nothing But My Fear

Inspector Kelly

The stench of urine mixed with the smell of sweat. A hacking cough sounded out in the dim interior of the gaol. Something scuttled through the straw mattress I rested upon. A drip worked its methodical way into the stone in one corner. A grimy, long fingered hand wrapped around the bars of the cell opposite me, and two dark eyes peered out from behind lank hair.

“It’s not like they don’t know who they work for,” the man said, then spat on the ground outside of his cell. “’Tis not often a man can say he’s called for a higher purpose.”

I shifted, resting my back to the cool stone, my legs out before me, my boots barely missing a piss-filled puddle in the middle of the room.

“This person styles themselves as a god, then?” I queried.

The cove chuckled; a wet, throaty sound. He ran a ragged sleeve under his nose and leant in closer to the thick bars containing him.

“More like a goddess, guv. And who wouldn’t sell their soul for a fine bit o’skirt, eh?”

“Indeed.”

“Charlie!” someone snarled. “Wot you talkin’ to ‘im for? You know he’s naught but a blue bottle.”

“Aye, a blue bottle who’s gonna get me out of this ‘ere trap.” Charlie, my would be snitch, rattled the iron cage that surrounded him in emphasis.

The guards who normally patrolled this section of Newgate were conspicuously absent. Giving me time to do some work. Blackie had already been inside the gaol, and as far as could be seen, he was out again. Whether he’d already ascertained where the orphans had been taken to, I did not know. But I wasn’t about to waste an opportunity when so presented with one.

Something bit my leg and I slapped a hand against it. My palm came away with a telltale spot of blood. Fleas. I grimaced. It would take a week of bathing to rid myself of them once I left here.

If I left here, that was.

“A woman,” I said, reminding my talkative friend of where in his diatribe he’d been interrupted. “You say a woman runs the Blind Beggars gang?”

“Ain’t no beggar, guv. But she sure as shite’s a lady.”

“A name?”

“I mights be convinced to give you one when you gets me out of ‘ere.” He didn’t know this woman’s name. Eliza May would be more careful than that, anyway. Or she’d use the Mary Moriarty moniker she’d adopted.

“And the orphans?”

“Takes ‘em up north, she does. Takes ‘em home, they says.”

Home? Eliza May was born and bred in London. She had no home north of here. But perhaps she did now. Perhaps after having wandered the earth with me hot on her tail, she’d decided to return to England when I gave up. Return to pastures greener than London.

“Does this woman have a benefactor?” I enquired.

“She don't need no benefactor, guv. She’s the top dog, she is.”

“I hardly believe that.” I believed it wholeheartedly. Eliza May never did take kindly to being second best. Unless it suited her, of course. I purposely pushed the memories away. I had no time for them in here.

“This is no average chit,” Charlie said with a hint of awe. “She’s gots the entire city eatin’ out of the palm of her hand.”

“In what way?”

“She runs the markets.” Covent Garden. Petticoat Lane. “She runs Whitechapel. She runs the Old Bailey. She runs the river like it’s the blood in her veins. London runs to her beat, guv. No one messes with her or her boys. First thing she did was get rid of the Struttons. Crushers found ‘em all holed up in a warehouse in Lambeth, froth pouring from their mouths, their skins so pale they say you could see clear through ‘em to the filth beneath.”

“Poison.” How apt. And in Lambeth, no less. According to Sammy Swift Fingers’s last words, the Blind Beggars appeared in Spitalfields close to a year ago. Perhaps the Struttons’ demise, so different and yet so similar to the whores’, was far enough in the past for L Division not to make the connection.

“Charlie,” the interfering conscience of two cells down called out. “Shut your bone box! Do you want a scroby, then?”

“None of her boys is in ‘ere, is they?” Charlie shouted back. “If you was a Blind Beggar, then you’d not be found in Newgate.”

“No Blind Beggars at all?” I asked.

“None, guv. They all gets their bail.” Justice Blackborough.

I grimaced and shifted my leg before it grew too numb. The reminder of who I dealt with left a foul taste in my mouth. Eliza May was indeed capable of running the back streets of London city, of mixing with the downtrodden, manipulating their desires, and then washing herself clean again with a sip of middle class wine.

But she’d need contacts. Contacts up north, it seemed. I scratched at my beard, noting absently that it needed a trim. Chances of that in here were slim to none. The whore left at the Lambeth Workhouse could have been a misdirection or a mistake. Eliza either wanted us to think the Tempest family was involved or she’d used a Tempest coach which would not have been unusual in such a location, but had for some unknown reason had to dump the body in that courtyard.

The foundation stone with John Tempest, ESQ imprinted upon it may have been an oversight. How many people look to those when perpetrating a crime?

But although my gut told me the Tempests were involved in this somehow, I also knew Eliza May to be more careful than that. I’d chased her across three different continents and a handful of islands for twelve months. She’d barely left a trace of her footprints.

Dumping the woman, a woman who looked for all intents and purposes like Wilhelmina Cassidy, in the Lambeth Workhouse gardens was not an action I would have assigned to my wife.

“Charlie,” I called softly. “Where up north do you think the orphans have gone?”

“You plannin’ on rescuin’ them, guv?”

“Perhaps.”

“I’ll believe that when I sees it. A peeler doin’ somfink for the likes o’ us? Nonsense.”

“Say I’m not like other policemen. Say I have a vested interest in one of the poor souls taken from Whitechapel. What then?”

Charlie scratched at his tuft of hair and then spat out a glob of phlegm on the ground.

“I ‘eard it was Durham, guv. Lots of mines to hide a lost soul in up there.”

Coal mines. The Londonderry coal mines. The Tempest family seat of power. Of course!

A thrill raced through me; a sudden urgent feeling of needing to investigate further. But trapped as I was inside the impenetrable walls of Newgate Gaol, the thrill soon was replaced with despondency. I picked up a tin mug and banged it against the bars of my cell in frustration.

“Oi,” someone called out. “Don’t be doin’ that! They’ll come runnin’.”

Exactly. I hit the bars more firmly, really throwing my back into it.

The rattle of keys and the clank of locks turning soon followed, and then the groan of several prisoners accompanied by the clip of shoes upon flagstones. A brown suited figure appeared before my bars, hat still upon his head, pipe protruding between pursed lips, a glint of mischief in his dark eyes as he peered down at me and grinned.

“Inspector Kelly,” Edmund Reid announced. “Fancy seeing you here.”

I pushed up from my resting place and approached the bars. Reid did not step back but simply smirked.

“Where is Arnold?”

“Superintendent Arnold to you, sir,” Reid shot back. “And he does not need to dirty his shoes in such a foul-smelling place.”

“Smells like pigs in ‘ere!” someone yelled.

“Oink! Oink!” sounded out in chorus. The rattle of tin cups against iron bars followed. I grimaced.

“You’ve started a trend, Inspector,” Reid commented mildly, picking at some lint on his tweed.

“I believe I know where the orphans have been taken to,” I said urgently.

“Do you now?”

“Durham, Reid. We must go there.”

“Ah, shame you’re behind bars, then, in’t it?”

“Good God, man! This is not a game.”

He stepped forward and gripped my shirt between the bars, hauling me hard against the steel.

“No, Inspector. ’Tis a game, indeed. Checkmate.”

I stared at the man and wondered what it was I had done to garner such hatred.

“Got some news for you, and all,” Reid said conversationally. He did not release my shirt front. His breath smelt faintly of tobacco. “Your doctor was seen leaving Temple Bar.” I closed my eyes, a familiar feeling of exasperation flowing through me. “My men followed her to Whitechapel, and all.” I smiled; it was in no way humorous. “But that’s not all, Kelly. Guess who’s with her?”

God, please let it be Blackie.

“Who, Inspector?” I asked as he seemed to want me to say it.

“Why that fop, of course. That one that’s been sniffing around her skirts.”

“Tempest?” I all but shouted.

“The one and same.” Reid grinned and released my shirt front, using both hands to flatten the wrinkled fabric.

Panic coursed through my veins, heating my blood and making me desperate.

“It’s him,” I said. “He’s her foil. Her contact. Don't you see?”

“You’re talkin’ a load of bollocks, man. Can’t handle a little time away, then? Making you sickly?”

“Tempest. The Londonderry mines. That’s where the orphans are. That’s where Wilhelmina is. County Durham, man! This,” I said, starting to pace, my hand flinging out and indicating the cell I was in. “This is a ruse. A ploy. A trick. She wants me out of the way.”

Reid studied me, his pipe in his hand, his lips in a thin line.

“She is not coming, Inspector. She has already fled. And Tempest is acting in her stead to secure Dr Cassidy.”

“You don't say?” Reid muttered.

I rushed the bars. He stepped back slightly, scowling.

“Anna needs me.”

“I have men on her. She is fine.”

“Is she? This is Eliza May we’re talking about.”

“I know who she is,” Reid snapped. “Your wife.” The knife should have cut, but I felt no pain.

I needed to get to Anna.

“The woman who pulled the Ripper’s strings, Edmund. What think you now she is capable of?”

He swore. Looked to the ground for a moment. And then pulled a thick bundle of keys from his pocket. I stepped back as he unlocked the cell’s door, the iron bars rattling.

Shouts sounded out from the cells joining mine; Charlie screamed at me to honour our bargain from across the way. I would. I would put a good word in for him. But not now. Not with Anna in such peril.

We ran down the hallway, ignoring the jeers and globules of saliva spat at us. And burst through the next gates with urgency. Reid freed lock after lock with surprising alacrity, and finally we emerged to dull sunshine and a hansom waiting.

“Whitechapel Road,” Reid yelled at the driver. “The Blind Beggar!”

The Blind Beggar. It all made sense. The Petticoat Lane Market gang. The tavern Tempest had been seen at on occasion. Henry Tempest, ESQ, nephew to the Marquess of Londonderry.

And he had my Anna.

“Faster!” I shouted to the horseman, the horse tossing its head and snorting in agitation. Our wheels splashed through murky puddles and the horse’s hooves clattered upon the pavement. The wind whistled through the gaps in the carriage. A ringing sound invaded my ears.

I was sure we took too long to arrive.

But the streets were remarkably bare, and the way unhindered, and as The Blind Beggar Tavern appeared through the mist, my heart in my throat, my breaths ragged, a small smattering of hope blossomed.

And then I heard it. It could not be mistaken.

A pistol firing. The percussion of which matched itself to the rampant beat inside my chest; the echo of its retort leaving me shaking, repeating again and again inside my head.

I didn't feel my leg when I jumped down from the hansom cab. I didn't feel the chill on the air as evening approached.

I felt nothing. Nothing but my fear.

This Town Is My Kingdom

Anna

Eliza May’s arm about my neck stiffened and then tightened to an almost unbearable pressure. Breathing became difficult. She jerked my body backward, then spun us both until we faced the brick siding of The Blind Beggar Tavern. With one final heave, she pushed my cheek against the rough surface. Her rapid breaths sounding out beside my ear.

“Now, now, doctor,” she whispered harshly. “We don’t want to cause ourselves an injury.” Her booted foot came down hard on my toes. “An eye for an eye,” she murmured.

I bit back a gasp, certain she’d fractured a bone somewhere. Tears blinded my vision. She tightened her arm minutely, and then slowly released the pressure enough so I could draw air. But she did not move away from her position. I could feel her eyes on the side of my face. Her breath slower now, but no less loud inside my ear. She wore a dark cloak made of fine material. The skirts of her dress were hidden behind the heavy fabric as it draped to the ground picking up dirt from the pavement.

I studied the brick wall before me, trying to think of a way to extricate myself. The pistol pressed into my side, reminding me how much at her mercy I actually was.

“Well?” I said, archly. “What now? You have me at a disadvantage. I am unarmed. You are not. Seek you your revenge and be done with it.”

Perhaps calling the mad woman’s bluff was not the wisest of actions. But had she wanted me dead, I was sure she would have pulled the trigger already. No, Eliza May Kelly’s desires were more complex than that. I could sense her curiosity. Her excitement at having trapped me. Her eagerness to make me suffer some more. The only thing missing from her tableau of evil was Andrew’s presence and him witnessing my downfall.

“In such a hurry to shuffle off this mortal coil?” she purred.

“I am bored of our conversations. I seek an end to them once and for all.”

“You are in no place, Dr Cassidy, to achieve such. I hold all the cards. Your life. Your cousin’s life. His.”

His. She meant Andrew’s. And yet, I could not assuage the feeling that she would have killed him already also, should that have been her ultimate desire.

“He awaits you now, Moriarty,” I said, using her moniker; I was not so immune to her threat to push her beyond that which she could endure. Calling her out by her given name may well have tipped the scale.

Eliza May Kelly was psychotic in nature. Unstable, irreverent, and completely mad. Unfortunately, her type of mental illness was also laced with a lethal and sharp intelligence. She thought herself above all others, superior in abilities and mind, untouchable.

A noose about her neck was all that would fell this woman.

But she also owned Newgate Gaol. The orphans’ disappearance through those gates said as much. And prosecution via the Old Bailey would prove ineffectual. Eliza May Kelly had far reaching influence in too many different places. Places of power.

She’d built herself an empire. And she the evil empress.

“I see you understand at last, Doctor,” she whispered when my shoulders drooped and the starch evaporated from my spine. “You cannot win. You are but a tool in my shed to be used when I so deem it.”

“And what, pray tell, do you deem of me?”

She laughed. It sounded unhinged and faintly familiar. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to my cheek, her blonde hair falling free of its ties and stroking my forehead. She shifted slightly, making it impossible to see her face. I knew she wore a hood of some description, but her continued efforts to hide herself even from me seemed strange. Had we not revealed ourselves sufficiently?

The pistol dug in deeper. Her arm tightened again, making breathing painful.

“Did he go calmly?” she asked, having no desire it seemed to answer my question.

“Did who go calmly?”

“Your disloyalty does not become you, Doctor.”

Andrew. She meant Andrew. Did he go quietly into the Black Maria.

“Why do you do this?” I pressed. “Why hunt him so?”

“He started the hunt. I aim to finish it.”

“You killed people. Poisoned them. You’re doing it again. The prostitutes. The telegraph boy. To what end?”

“You would not understand.”

“I would try if you would tell me.”

She shifted, readjusting the pistol as if it were too heavy. Her arm about my neck had loosened some, enough to draw breath without injury. But she did not step back and face me. She kept my body pressed against the brick wall, my back to her chest, my face turned away from her visage. This was to be a clandestine confrontation.

Which left me with no other conclusion than she did not wish to end my life today.

“He causes suffering wherever he treads,” she whispered. “He leaves behind a trail of broken pieces. He cannot see it, for he is too closely observant of his role in life. All else falls by the wayside. Have you not experienced such neglect of attention? Have you not sought it simply because it was not there?”

“You were his wife.” She laughed. It was not so much bitter as full of amusement. “He came home to you every night.”

“Did he?”

Andrew would have returned to his matrimonial home as often as his role of police inspector would have allowed it. He was a man of honour. This I had no doubt. His reluctance to start a physical relationship with me was due in sole part to his promise to this woman. This woman who held me flush against her breasts, pressed up against a wall, and cut off my air. Despite everything Eliza May had done to him and others, Andrew was still loyal to his wife. To the legalities of his marriage.

“What more would you have had of him?” I demanded.

“What I would have had is irrelevant. What he failed to provide is all that matters.”

“The past is the past,” I tried.

“And yet is not life built on the shattered remains of where we have trodden? Are we not but mere reflections of where we have been? What we have done? How we have been treated?”

She sucked in a breath as if the subject riled her beyond anger; that anger removing all oxygen from the air with its lethal flame of rage.

“Did he fight them?” she asked eventually. “Or did he take the punishment as stoically as he walks through his day?”

Andrew. I refused to be pulled further into this macabre retelling of events. She would have had someone watching in Temple Bar. She would have known how Andrew had been arrested and had been treated by H Division. His former superior, Superintendent Arnold. His replacement, Inspector Reid. Eliza May would have known all, and yet she wished to relive it, just as she relived that fateful night in Lime Street, when Andrew was the hunter and she his prey.

“Did you stay to watch?” I asked, my throat parched, my lips sticking together in their dryness. “Did you burn along with him?”

Her arm tightened. The pistol pressed in harder.

“What know you of this?” she hissed in my ear.

“I know everything. He has told me.”

“No.”

“He shares his darkest secrets and brightest hopes.”

“Never.”

“He tells me all.” I was certain Inspector Kelly did no such thing. But he had revealed much since arriving here in London. More so than he had in the past several years of living in Auckland city.

“You are inept at lying, Anna Cassidy. But I do so admire your gall.”

She shifted again; either to taunt me with her continued hold or because she herself was uncomfortable in this position. Was she smaller than me? Shorter? I could not say. For now I was trapped and she the faceless jailor.

“Tell me,” she whispered against my ear. “Does he speak of his wife when he shares these things? Does he think of her when he holds you? Can you be sure it is not her he sees when he closes his eyes and ruins you?”

I did not want to let her words reach me, but standing as I was, helpless and contained, nowhere else to escape to, I had little choice but to confront them. Hear them. Feel them.

Andrew Kelly lived by a noble set of rules. Rules which defined his every action. Rules which, undeniably, included his wife’s continued existence.

If I were a different woman, I would wish her dead.

A sobbed laugh escaped me.

Maybe I was not so indifferent as I thought.

“You think this amusing?” Eliza May snarled. “You think I will not pull the trigger?”

I did not know what to think. Emotions coursed through me. Sadness. Hopelessness. Defeat.

For once in my life, I could not rise to my father’s expectations. Fight had been drilled into me from an early age. Fight for my place in society. Fight against the pull of my mother’s addictive personality. Fight the unfairness in life.

Fight.

And yet I stood there and let a woman who held my happiness in her hands abuse me. My parasol forgotten. My anger defused. All that was left was sorrow.

“Have you nothing to say, Doctor?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“All that talk of equality for women. All that self-righteous indignation at your lot in life. And you are trapped by your circumstances. By your choice to love a man who has a wife. By the laws which govern your existence. Where is your fearless rage? Where is your dignified superiority? Fled, like all courage flees, in the face of such horrors. This is life, Anna! This is what we as women must endure. We have a choice. Live it. Or rule it. We die by choices and if I should die, I will die having ruled my life as I see fit. Not as a man sees fit to rule me.”

“I had not thought suffrage was your impetus,” I murmured.

“I suffer no man and no fool, save those who live by my rules. I fight my fight and no other’s. This world is abhorrent and defiles with such ease, but those who should live outside of man’s rules are above such degradation. The jest is, my dear Dr Cassidy, that the rules man sets that we so despise can be tailored to our own perceptions. Man is not so clever he can turn down a wet quim or soft mouth. Ruled by his sex he is controllable. Given enough and he is owned. Those that own the men who make the rules, own the rules. It is simple biology. Animalistic in nature. I own the men who make the rules. I let them think they are in charge when in reality it is a woman who sets the parameters for them. It does not suit my purpose to fight for equality. For I do not need it. I already have so much. I have my freedom. Do you have yours?”

I stared at the brick wall before me trying futilely to reconcile her speech into some semblance of sense. She was utterly mad, but with a focus that alarmed me.

“You have had such cause to rule men’s lives?” I asked, for want of something to say. My mind was a jumbled mess of words and meanings, images and sensations. Of course she had ruled men, she ruled Andrew to this day.

“This town is my kingdom,” she said. “The streets my palace. The people within its walls my servants. I rule them all, including the men. I say who lives and who dies. Who floods with bliss and who gives the pleasure. There is no one and no thing who can say otherwise.”

“I beg to differ,” a gruff male voice sounded out at the end of the alley. “I seek me own sweet death when it suits me, and no abbess of London tells me when to do so.”

Eliza May spun us both around to face the newcomer, my body shielding hers in case the intruder was armed in a similar fashion to herself. He wasn’t. Save for a billy club. One I had seen the sergeant wield on many occasions.

“You!” she growled, tightening her hold on me, dragging us further into the shadows. I barely managed to squeeze in a breath or keep my feet under me. Her panic made my heart rate thunder.

“Me,” Blackmore stated, looking none the worse for wear from his fisticuffs with Henry.

I wondered if Henry’s distraction had been planned. And then I wondered how we’d all get out of this without being felled by a bullet.

And then I wondered no more when Eliza May fired her pistol at Sergeant Blackmore.

The sound ricocheted off the high walls, and then my body followed suit, my shoulder bouncing off bricks, my head connecting with unforgiving concrete, the world turning black in an instant.

Not If My Wife Lived

Inspector Kelly

I saw nothing but Anna. Anna lying in the dirt and detritus of a backstreet alleyway. Anna, her face pale, her lips parted. Anna, her body limp, the scarlet of blood pooling beside her head. Anna hurt, possibly dying.

“Anna!” I cried, my cane lost as numbness invaded. My footsteps crooked as my body weaved in fits of motion. The walls of the tall buildings that surrounded shifted closer, leaning in, bringing darkness and heavy shadows.

I fell to my knees at her side, my hands shaking as I reached for her. A sound I am not proud of left my mouth, my lips trembling. I brushed her hair aside to reveal the cream skin of her cheek beneath. My fingers came back wet with blood.

“No,” I said. I pleaded. “No, Anna!” I lifted her frail body up and clung to her with everything in me. Her cheek against my cheek, her heart against my heart, the abundant folds of her skirts spreading out about my thighs as if a mourning shroud, mixing with her blood on the ground beneath us.

I rocked her as though she were a baby. A fragile being needing to be carefully handled. I cradled her in my arms and laid kisses over her face. Her forehead. Each cheek. Her nose, and jaw, and lips.

I crushed her to me, a keening, desperate sound escaping my lips. My heart beat erratically within the confines of my chest. Tears pricked my eyes. A red haze lowered over my vision.

Anna.

“Have I not taught you a thing, Inspector?” she said, her voice at once the sound of an angel speaking and that of a small, delicate child’s.

I blinked down at her. My arms tightening. My chest expanding beyond that which my body should have allowed.

“One should not move an injured patient,” she scolded, “until all injuries are tested soundly.”

“Anna,” I said, relief coursing through me. “I thought…”

“You did not think,” she remonstrated. “I could have suffered debilitating trauma.”

“Have you? Need I tend your wound? Hold you closer? Carry you from this place to a better location? One which would afford me adequate light to inspect your injuries appropriately.”

Her lips twitched. “I fear we have passed ‘appropriate’ some time ago, Inspector.”

“I fear you may well be correct.” I sobered. “Where does it hurt most?”

She lifted a gloved hand to her head, the material coming away wet with blood. She stared at it, sighed, and then tried to sit upright.

“Do not move an inch, Doctor.”

“Don’t coddle me,” she snapped.

My brow arched. “Have you a headache, perchance?”

“And it appears to be increasing.” She glanced over at Reid, whom I noticed now was tending to Sergeant Blackmore.

Alarm coursed through me; I hadn’t even seen Blackie on the ground once I’d spotted Anna. I cleared my throat, reluctantly allowing Anna to sit upright unaided, and turned to face my sergeant.

“Are you well, Blackmore?” I asked.

“Fighting fit, sir. No bullet’s gonna get the better of me.”

I looked at Anna. “Who fired the pistol?”

Her storm-grey eyes met mine; she did not need to speak.

“Blonde hair,” she said eventually. “That is all I can tell you. She wore a cloak. Never faced me. Whispered in a fashion which would not reveal her natural speaking voice.”

“Blackmore?”

“I did not see the chit,” he advised. “Just the flash of the muzzle.”

I was certain that was enough at the moment to contend with. But Blackie’s anger at his inability to make a catalogue of evidence enough to identify the woman was evident. He stood to his feet and kicked at the brick wall, the sound of his boot hitting concrete loud in the alley.

“Fine policemen, you lot are, eh?” Reid exclaimed, smiling broadly.

“Why is he here?” Anna asked, making Blackie chuckle and Reid splutter and me so very proud of her. “Actually, Inspector,” she added, turning to look at me, “why are you here?”

I smiled; I was sure it was grander than any I had shown her to date. She looked stunned. I felt ten feet tall. I took a step toward her and gripped both her hands in mine, my thumbs tracing circles over her wrists.

“They could not hold me,” I said. “No man could. Not when I heard you were in danger.”

“In danger?” she queried. “Or merely in Whitechapel?”

I arched a brow at her.

“Oh, never mind,” she said, shaking her head and then wincing.

I glanced around the alley and took in the sights. Dim, dirty, and forgotten. It smelled of rotten food and urine. No windows looked out of the grime covered buildings. No other person lurked in the shadows.

“She has long gone,” I advised. “And we have no indication of where she might have taken herself off to.”

“She has wounds to lick,” Anna offered.

“You harmed her?” Perhaps I sounded alarmed because Anna did not look impressed with my exclamation. “I mean to say, did you manage to cause injury?” An arched eyebrow was my only answer. “Anna!” I said, frustrated. “Is she incapacitated?”

I saw the moment she realised I was not fearful for my wife’s injuries, but instead eager to know if we had an advantage.

Anna shook her head carefully and then said, “I was unable to do damage.”

“She had you by the throat, Doctor,” Blackie offered, not unkindly. “Not much to be accomplished in such a position.”

“She took me unawares,” Anna agreed. “I was searching for you, Sergeant.”

“Why?” I demanded.

“They were fighting.”

My eyes met Blackie’s. I knew the answer before he opened his mouth.

“Tempest, sir. The mug was in The Blind Beggar. As was Dr Cassidy.”

I should not have been surprised.

“Polly, that is to say, Mrs Pugh’s cousin owns the establishment,” Anna provided, as if that would make me less angered at her presence there.

“And this made your attendance in such a locale without danger?” I enquired politely.

“I am quite capable of defending myself, Inspector.”

My eyes flicked to her head, then down to the blood that splattered the dirt, and then over to where she must have dropped her parasol. The bladed part of the device was out, the metal edge glinting in what little light there was to be had here. My hands fisted. Anna had clearly tried to fight back. And failed.

I wanted to hold her again. To never let her go. Maybe, to shake some sense into her while I was at it.

I cleared my throat, scratched at my jaw, then straightened my cravat.

“Find out why he was in there, Sergeant.” Blackie nodded and turned on his heel, disappearing around the corner of the building. “Inspector,” I called to Reid. He eyed me uncharitably. “What know your division of Henry Tempest, Esquire?”

“Landed Gentry. Nephew to the Marquess of Londonderry. Family seat in North Durham. Recently returned from travels abroad.” Succinct and well informed. My estimation of Reid rose a notch.

“Where abroad?” I asked.

“The Orient, mainly. So I have heard.”

“The Dutch East Indies,” Anna murmured, her face paling. What little colour that had returned after her confrontation with my wife vanished. As did, I should think, any hope her friend’s brother was not involved in all of this.

“I see,” I said, just as Blackie returned. “What say you, Sergeant?”

His eyes flicked to Anna. She did not appear to be aware of her surroundings. I walked toward Blackie and lowered my voice. “Well?”

“A brothel, sir. Half of ‘em what works in back ‘ave seen his truncheon and pearly shower.”

“A brothel,” I repeated with a grimace.

“Hardly an offence,” Reid offered. “He would not be the first gentleman to succumb to a pinchcock’s cunny in Whitechapel.”

“Indeed,” I said. “And the landlord?” I looked to Blackie.

“It is as the good doctor says,” he advised. “Mrs Pugh’s cousin; barman and cash carrier.”

“Who oversees the girls?”

“A woman of some experience, deferent to the landlord.”

“Just her landlord?” I enquired.

“What are you getting at, man?” Reid snapped.

I looked to Anna, who watched us intently from her sad looking seat upon the ground. I had to get her out of here. I could not bear to see her brought so low any longer.

I strode across the gap between us and lifted her into my arms. My leg threatened to crumble, but with gritted teeth and a determined attitude, I managed to keep us both upright.

“She is connected to it all, is she not?” Anna asked softly.

I swallowed thickly, cursing my wife and her proclivities, and Anna’s unavoidable inclusion in this foul part of my life.

“And so is Henry,” she added, and my mental curses doubled.

“Fingers in all pies, Doctor Cassidy,” Reid murmured as we passed, revealing the extent of his knowledge.

I bore his appraisal with a tilted chin and straight back, my leg an aching reminder of what had transpired and what was yet to come. The woman in my arms a mere promise of that which I would never be able to claim as mine.

Not if Eliza May succeeded.

Not if my wife lived.

Make Haste!

Anna

The ride back to the boarding house was carried out in utter silence, yet we had so much to discuss.

Eliza May had fired upon us. What had been until that moment an intellectual knowledge, now had a basis in reality. Andrew's wife was a murderess.

At least, she was an attempted murderess. Oh, I knew she'd killed before, the inspector had said as much. And not forgetting her attempt to trap her husband in a burning house. Poison was her weapon of choice according to history. But she was not above using more base means to achieve her goal.

She had fired a pistol at Sergeant Blackmore. Who sat now in stoic silence, staring out the window of the carriage contemplating life and death, no doubt. I took in his bruised knuckles, the gash below his right eye, the crooked slant to his nose which was not a new addition. His clothes, made finely to be sure, wore the evidence of dirty streets and back alleys and soot accumulated for decades upon brick walls.

It was evident he'd rolled around in muck and filth whilst combatting Henry Tempest.

He had survived both encounters, Henry and Eliza May. But would he survive the next?

Would we? Had Mina?

I let out a tired sigh, garnering Blackmore's attention. He met my gaze across the landau with a friendly smile, one I had been the recipient of on many occasions.

"All right, Doctor?" he asked, making Andrew stir beside me.

"Where did Henry go?" I asked when both of us knew the real question was how he had escaped the sergeant?

Blackmore grimaced, which did not do his hard features any favours, and flicked his eyes to Inspector Kelly. Andrew, for his part, remained relaxed at my side, his attention riveted to the sergeant, his hands, palm flat, on his thighs.

He'd lost his cane, I realised. Left it behind when he'd carried me into the carriage. Neither Reid nor Blackmore had retained it for him. Reid, no doubt, purposely. Blackmore due more to the morning's events and their effect upon his mind.

"I had him dead to rights, sir. I did," the sergeant said. "He can take a fist. But cannot throw one." Poor Henry. If Blackmore looked dishevelled, I dreaded to think how my old friend had fared. "It 'twas not an even fight, if you get my meanin'. But in a moment of weakness, he divulged himself."

"How so, Sergeant?" Andrew enquired.

Blackmore flicked his gaze to me and then back to his superior.

"He afeared 'imself for Dr Cassidy, sir. He passed comment as such. In that instant, I realised my mistake." The sergeant appeared contrite, then. "I had left Dr Cassidy alone in the tavern when I should not 'ave. Forgive me, sir. I lost myself in the moment. To the fight." He ducked his head, ashamed at his perceived error.

"There is nothing to forgive," I said.

Andrew looked at me and scowled. Then turned his anger on the sergeant.

"You changed course," he said.

"I did, sir. Immediately. I let the cur go and returned to the tavern. Only to find Dr Cassidy in dire straits."

"You did as is expected, Sergeant." Blackmore relaxed. "It is not always easy to keep Dr Cassidy safe."

I turned in my seat to look at Andrew. A small curve of his lips let me know he was teasing. Teasing! The shock of such left me speechless.

But only for a moment.

"That is all well and good," I said, choosing not to address Andrew's remark. "But to where would Henry have gone now?"

"Perhaps he has absconded with..." Blackmore looked to Andrew again, uncertainty gracing his ragged features.

"With my wife?" Andrew finished for him. "It would appear they are in cahoots."

"How?" I asked, feeling numb. No, not numb. Feeling...violated.

Henry had been my friend. A fast friend upon making Emily's acquaintance. I had dined at their townhouse. I had danced with him at music halls. I had allowed him to escort me on walks in Hyde Park. I had spent more time than a lady should have alone in his company. I had entertained him at Mrs Pugh's house.

The shame of my conduct wrapped itself firmly around the horror of his involvement in so many deaths. And then tied itself up in a neat little bow with the guilt of not having seen through his foppish behaviour.

He had fooled me. And I did not take kindly to being made a fool of.

"The Dutch East Indies," Reid said, entering the conversation at last. His presence had almost been forgotten, silent and still as he had been in the corner of the carriage. "He spent an extraordinary amount of time there. Is that not where you suspect your wife to have been as well?"

The question was directed at Andrew. It had not appeared anything other than a simple query. But Andrew's hands, until that moment resting peacefully against his thighs, fisted. He met Inspector Reid's eyes with a steely glint. Then nodded his head once.

I feared he was unable to speak, such anger in his appearance.

"It stands to reason," Reid went on, unperturbed, "that they made their acquaintance in the Orient. Established a rapport, perhaps. From there, it can be concluded, that they made plans to return to England and extract what little they could from the good people of our country. Establishing themselves in the East End. Laying claim to territory once ruled by others."

"He is not the mastermind behind this," Andrew advised.

"No, I dare say he is not," Reid agreed. "And as you are the foremost knowledge of our perpetratrix, mayhap you can shed light on her next move."

Andrew's anger was a physical thing. I longed to reach out and calm him. Lay a hand upon his clenched fist. Stroke his arm. Whisper encouragement.

But confined as we were with Blackmore and Reid, such action was unconscionable. I may have behaved in a manner much too free of late, but I was still capable of acting the lady.

Still, my heart ached for Andrew's discomfort. Having to address such personal issues with his professional nemesis could not have been easy. But then, Andrew Kelly was not one to avoid unpleasantries for the sake of his reputation. Not when so much hung in the balance. Not when innocents were in danger.

"I'm sure I do not know," he said succinctly.

"Mr Tempest shall require some time to recover," Sergeant Blackmore advised. "And although Dr Cassidy did not lay a hand to Mrs Kelly..."

"Please, do not call her that," Andrew growled.

"One cannot deny the reality," Reid offered.

"Her moniker of late is Mary Moriarty," I supplied.

Blackmore threw me a grateful smile.

"Although Dr Cassidy did not lay a hand to Miss Moriarty," he corrected, "she, too, shall require time to recover."

"How so?" Reid demanded.

"Is it not obvious?" I said, understanding where Sergeant Blackmore had been going with his statement. "Andrew, that is, Inspector Kelly is no longer behind bars at Newgate. Her ploy failed. She had appeared much too pleased with his discomfort when discussing the issue with myself. His appearance, besides that of an H Division inspector, would have cast a harsh blow."

"Perhaps the only blow she has received of late," Blackmore offered.

"No," Andrew said softly. "The first blow was my attachment to Dr Cassidy. And hers to me."

"How did she become aware of such a thing?" I asked.

No one supplied an answer. Of course, Henry was forefront in my mind. His acquaintance with Eliza May, made in the Dutch East Indies, would have supplied the impetus for their continued communication. The letters from the Orient did not arrive until I had been in London some time. Time enough for my friend to have informed his cohort in the Dutch East Indies.

I did not speak freely of my feelings toward the inspector with anyone other than Mina. But Mina could forget herself on occasion, and speak of things best left unsaid. There were times when she was alone with Emily. Time enough for her to share my secrets.

And a sister at the beck and call of her brother may feel obliged to divert his attention from herself when needed. It was not a far-fetched belief to conceive that Henry had come by Andrew's and my relationship by means of his subjugated sibling.

Anger, fierce and wild, coursed through me. Ours was not an open friendship, the inspector's and mine, but it was real and should not be talked of in such a manner. It was ours, and ours alone. Complicated by my father's desires, society's rules, and the existence of Eliza May Kelly.

And it was the motivation behind Mina's abduction.

Eliza May was striking back. Had struck back the only way she knew how. Death and destruction were her companions. She knew no other way to act now. In her chaotic mind, stillness would only be achieved through the act of violence.

And Andrew and I had surely disturbed her peace.

So, she had gone after my cousin. Not me. No. I could have faced my own destruction. She knew this. Even as she knew Andrew could not. But watching me die a little every day Wilhelmina was missing was a surer punishment than a direct attack on my person would have been.

And making Andrew witness my ever-increasing dismay was a form of torment his wife knew would cripple him eventually. Impotence was not an emotion Inspector Kelly embraced. Only a twisted mind could have come to such a conclusion. Could have arrived at such a dreadful fate. Eliza May Kelly was aberrant. Sadistic and depraved.

Oh, what had she done to Mina? What had my delicate cousin faced?

It was me this time who showed her anger. My fists clenching in the folds of my skirt. Reid looked down at them. Blackmore flicked his eyes to my face. Andrew reached over and pried my fingers loose, one by one. So carefully. So purposefully.

Such bravery.

"North Durham," I said into the stunned silence. "We must proceed there without delay."

"Anna," Andrew started.

"While she is occupied with Henry," I added, ignoring his forthcoming rebuke. "I will go alone if I must. But I am leaving today. Stand with me. Or stand out of my way."

Blackmore smiled; amusement and pride shining through in equal measures. Reid snorted, tipped his hat forward, and settled in for a long journey.

Andrew let out a weighted sigh, linked his fingers with mine, and tapped the roof of the carriage.

“Euston Station!" he said to the driver. “North Eastern Line. Make haste!"

He lifted my hand to his thigh, his fingers still laced with mine, then sat back on the seat as if it was the most natural thing to do; hold me. I tried to not show my reaction. I tried to hide my elation.

But it was too late for that, and every person here knew it.

I was in love with Andrew Kelly, and God willing, he was in love with me enough to fight.

Fight my father's dying wishes.

Fight society's exacting rules.

Fight his murderess wife.

Anna

Inspector Kelly

“It’s not as bad as all that,” I murmured, pressing a wet cloth to the gash on Anna’s head. My heart clenched when she winced with renewed pain, the cloth coming away stained red.

The gentle rock and rhythmic clack of the train’s wheels as they rolled over the tracks soothed me. The thought of our destination conversely agitated me. The fact that Anna, who had already sustained an injury at the hand of my wife, was accompanying us on this dangerous expedition only compounded the sense of desperation I felt.

I turned my focus toward the task at hand and, for now, pushed all other thoughts away.

We’d transferred ourselves to the North Eastern Railway at Euston. The cost of which Reid had generously offered to cover. The Metropolitan Police Force had officially laid claim to this operation.

I was not certain how to credit this development. Inspector Reid’s continued presence left a foul taste in my mouth. The value of his contribution, however, was undeniable. Teesside, the seat of Londonderry power, was some three-hundred miles north of London itself. The closest railway station was Darlington. We would reach it by morning. By midday, we’d be in Wynyard Park, at the Londonderry Estate in North Durham.

Upon boarding, Blackie had immediately taken himself off to the third class coaches, in search of a game of loo, no doubt. Reid had mumbled something about food and not having eaten for the better part of the day, leaving me alone in a compartment with Anna.

I could not complain, seeing as I sought her company out at every turn. Only that which required my continued regard now could dash the sense of companionship I felt in her presence.

“It is nothing,” Anna murmured, allowing me to tend her wound.

“Does your head ache?”

“Only a little.”

I scoffed. “You were unaware, Doctor. For an extended period. Please do me the honour of not reducing the significance of your injury.”

She shifted on the bench seat beside me, making the act of cleaning her wound increasingly difficult.

“Sit still,” I ordered.

“I will sit still when you stop fussing like an old maid.”

I withdrew and then placed the cloth on the side of the bowl of water I’d been using with exaggerated care.

“It is clean,” I advised, standing to remove the items and tidy the side table in our compartment.

“Andrew,” Anna said from behind me.

“You are right, I fuss,” I offered before she could voice an apology.

“It is because you care.”

I turned to face her. It could not be denied. Nor had it ever been. But the type of care she spoke of, we both knew, was more than just my designated role as her guardian.

For a moment I cursed my old friend Thomas Cassidy. For placing me in such a predicament. Had he intended for me to fall in love with his daughter? I would not have put it past the man. He was far more adept than most at assessing a situation and coming to a conclusion that suited his family’s needs.

But I would be lying to myself if I believed he had not also been looking out for my own needs.

“Even now, I ruin you,” I whispered. “Alone in a first class compartment. No chaperone. The door fully shut.”

“If I am to be perceived as being ruined, I should like to actually feel as such.”

I closed my eyes and tried not to smile. So fearless. Even when it came to her station; her place in life.

“I would that circumstances were different,” I murmured, lowering myself to the seat across the room from her.

“I thought we had established they are as they are and we will not be bound or constricted by others.”

“You did, perhaps.”

“Was that not you, sir, that brought me such sensual pleasure?”

“Anna,” I chastised.

“No.” She shook her head, her lips pressing in a thin line as her injury made itself known. “I will not regress, Andrew. She has taken so much; I will not allow her to take this.”

“But this is the one thing she has the right to take.”

“She lost that right,” she said in stringent tones, “when she attempted your murder.”

“The law does not see it as such.”

“’If the law supposes that; the law is an ass.’”

“You quote Dickens at me?” I asked, amused despite myself.

“Has my literary knowledge succeeded in persuading you?”

I shook my head, still smiling. Anna’s smile slipped from her face, and she peered out the window.

“Professor Moriarty,” she said.

“I have no knowledge of why she should style herself so.”

“She was not a Doyle fan?”

“My wife’s devotions took her to many places in life, but literature was not one of them.”

“And yet she studied biology.”

“Self-taught.”

“Even lacking formal instruction, you cannot deny her expertise.”

“I would deny her everything.”

My heart felt inordinately heavy. My chest tight. I rubbed at it, feeling the letter’s outline inside my breast pocket. I withdrew the note and assessed it now. The curved penmanship. The cutting words that sliced like knives.

Anna opened her reticule and withdrew her own letter. Her gloved hands spread the paper out across her thighs, trying to remove the creases. I could smell the jasmine from here.

“The writing is dissimilar,” she remarked.

“From my own letter, yes.”

“No. I mean to say, the writing between this latest missive and the one prior appears altered in some way.”

I crossed the compartment and sat beside her, studying the penmanship of both letters.

“You are right, but one could surmise that the words of the second missive were written in haste.”

“Perhaps.” She held her hand out to me. “May I?” she enquired, looking at the note I held squeezed in my fist.

Reluctantly I released it into her care, hating every second she was in contact with it.

“Hmm,” she said, but no more.

“What think you, Doctor?”

She flicked pale grey eyes to my face and bit her bottom lip. I was reaching to release the flesh before I thought better of it.

She sighed, her cheek pressing into my hand. My heart tugged at my insides. My body stirred, lit by a fire within.

“Anna,” I whispered, my eyes stuck fast on her sweet lips.

And then the notes tumbled to the floor of the compartment, forgotten, as she reached up, gripped my nape, and pulled my lips down to hers for a kiss.

I did not fight her.

Right In The Thick Of It

Anna

I’d grown accustomed to kissing Andrew. But then, I’d never become accustomed to his body pressed against mine. To the strength, I could feel beneath my fingers. To the heat that breached any gap. To the sounds, he made when we came together. To the sensation of his soft lips, eager tongue, entwined with mine.

Yes, I’d grown accustomed to kissing my inspector, but I would never become accustomed to how he brought my body to life.

One hand, so large it engulfed me, wrapped up gently in the loose tendrils of hair at the side of my head. The other curved around my waist, practically reaching the other side. Holding me steady, pulling me closer, making all manner of sensations branch out from that single touch.

Andrew always made me feel so petite and precious. And conversely so full and on fire.

He kissed me eagerly, enthusiastically, no thought of ruination now. I met him touch for touch, kiss for kiss, moan for moan. His whiskers scratched my cheek; I sought their roughness out. His breath washed over my jaw and chin; I tipped my head back seeking its caress further upon my body.

His lips laid a trail of heat down my neck, over my collarbone, towards my breasts. The hand in my hair moved with unerring accuracy, wrapping itself around my bosom, fingers pinching tight through the material. I groaned, his voice was added to mine. And then my pelisse was gone, and my sleeves were bared, and his face was buried in my cleavage.

“You’re wearing too much,” he rasped, his fingers skating over fabric, outlining the boning in my corset, coming to rest on the buttons that swept down the centre of my back.

“Undo them,” I begged.

His fingers nimbly obliged; his lips ever busy, keeping me wanting, making time slip by.

The collar of my dress dipped, flushed skin meeting cool air and then hot breath as Andrew followed its path. I pulled my gloves off in a manner of which I was certain would make him laugh, but when I looked into his eyes, I saw only intense desire; focus and attention; a desperation that mirrored mine.

He paused on the metal busk of my corset, his eyes meeting mine, a question there. I reached down and released the first hook, watching as his body shuddered. The second came undone and then the third, the garment hanging open, revealing my chemise. My breasts felt heavier than usual; full and aching for something I was sure Andrew could give me. The cool air of the compartment seeped through the thin cotton, making my nipples peak and throb.

Slowly, Andrew lowered his eyes to my breasts, made a sound in the back of his throat, and then reached up with a shaking hand to cup the underside of one bosom, lifting the areola towards the heavens.

Then with one last hungry look in my eyes, he lowered his mouth to the nipple and sucked it through the material of my underwear.

Such delight to be had with a man’s lips wrapped around so intimate a part of one’s body. My back arched. My head resting against the rear of the seat, my breaths uneven, chest heaving. And then I was lying along the length of the seat and Andrew was above me, kissing one breast and then the other, and then touching me through the thin material of my chemise.

He traced a pattern across my stomach, twirled his finger up under a breast, flicked a nail across a nipple, then followed it up with the lick of his tongue. I writhed beneath him, an ache taking up residence between my thighs. My chemise was wet where he’d kissed me, sucked me into his mouth. It clung to my frame, outlining every dip and curve. Andrew sat back and stared down at my wanton position; his pupils dilated, his lips parted as if breathing escaped him right then.

“Dear God, you are beautiful,” he whispered, one hand resting on the seat back to keep himself upright, the other moulding itself to my breast.

“I am still clothed,” I pointed out.

“And shall remain so.”

Disappointment, sharp and real, coursed through me. I struggled to cover myself. My dress lay in folds at my waist, creasing. My corset had fallen from the seat and lay on the floor at our sides. I felt naked, even though Andrew had only just pointed out I wasn’t. Nor would I ever be. At least, not right now.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, wrapping a hand around my hip and holding me still. “I have not finished taking my fill.”

“You look but go no further,” I accused.

His eyes met mine; so bright, so luminous. So pained.

“I am already ru…” I started, and his finger met my lips, sealing them.

“There is not much I can give you but this,” he said. “My honour.”

“I do not want your honour,” I snapped.

“Anna,” he said softly. “What is it you see when you look at me?”

What a question. I struggled to understand his meaning. To make sense of his words when laid so bare before him. When left so unfilled by my desires and his attentions.

“I see,” I said, licking my lips, swallowing tightly. “A good man. An honest man.” I closed my eyes and whispered, “I see a noble man.”

He sighed, his fingers flexing at my waist, but their presence not ceasing.

“Am I noble to touch you so?” I didn't reply. “Am I noble to want to see you lost to passion? Slick with wanting. Skin flushed. Teats turgid. Back bowed. Am I noble then?”

“Andrew.”

He spoke over me, his voice clipped. “I have struggled with my longing for you. With the temptation, you have presented. With my duty and your father’s wishes. With my unwanted marriage. I have struggled, and I am near the end. I cannot deny you much longer, but while I still can, by God, I will.”

“Why?” I begged, my heart aching.

“Because I love you. Because you deserve better.”

“I want you,” I whispered. “All of you. Nothing else matters.”

“It matters to me, and should you think more clearly on it, it would matter to you, also. Society…”

“To hell with society,” I growled, sitting upright, pushing his hand away. I reached for my corset and repositioned it, fumbling with the busk, my body numb, my breaths too rapid.

Andrew pushed my hands aside and connected each hook with gentle fingers. Covering me up. Returning me to respectability. Hiding me from his so sad eyes.

“This is not fair,” I said, close to tears.

“No, it is not,” he agreed, helping me into the sleeves of my dress, methodically redoing the buttons down my spine.

“Am I to mean nothing to you?” I asked, voice numb. Body numb. Everything so very numb.

“How can you say that? How can you even think it? Anna!”

I looked him in the eye; my dress returned to rights again. My composure shattered.

“If you loved me,” I began and stopped. I would not hold his love for me against him. I would not be that woman. I smiled. It was brittle. Fragile. Like the state of my heart.

“Divorce her,” I said, my voice cracking.

“You would take a man once bound in holy matrimony to another?”

“I would take you any way I could get you, Andrew Kelly.”

He searched my eyes, my face, the entire compartment. Then lowered his gaze to the floor of the carriage.

“Do you love me?” I asked.

His gaze flicked up to mine.

“Desperately.”

“Is this not the nineteenth century? Almost the twentieth?”

“The church…”

“It is the duty of barristers, not the Church of England to dissolve a marriage.”

“But your faith…”

“Will not be altered.”

“I am uncertain, Anna. Society has not changed as much as you wish to believe it.”

“You think I am not aware of a woman’s place in society?” I demanded. “You think I do not know how my profession is still governed by men? Superintendent Chalmers would have me barred from the station in Auckland should he believe I am an immoral influence on his officers. Andrew,” I said. “I would fight it. I would fight for us. Can you say as much?”

He reached forward and gripped my gloveless fingers and lifted the backs of my hands to his lips for a barely there touch.

“You humble me,” he murmured. “I am awed by your courage. By your faithful devotion. By the sacrifice you offer. For make no mistake, darling, it would involve a sacrifice. A young woman seeking a position of standing and a divorced man. Even in 1892 that would be commented upon.”

“Let them gossip. We live in Auckland, not Mayfair.”

“And Chalmers?”

“I have to discredit Chief Surgeon Drummond first. Let us not get ahead of ourselves.”

His smile was small, but it was there.

“You would do it, too, I am certain,” he said, his thumbs moving over the backs of my hands in soft circles.

He looked to the window; darkness looked back. He sobered. Not that Andrew had really given himself over to joviality.

“Divorce,” he said. “I had not thought of it. My vows…”

I was asking him to do something his moral code did not accept. I was asking him to be someone he was not. I was asking a lot of him.

I said nothing. I waited. And waited some more. The night grew long, my eyes weary. At some stage, I curled up on the bench seat, as Andrew stared out of the window at nothing. The rock of the carriage set me off to sleep. His presence a balm in the middle of such calamity.

It was Sergeant Blackmore’s return which woke me. Reid was already sitting silently across the compartment, his eyes closed, his hat tipped low over his forehead.

“Success?” Andrew enquired quietly of his subordinate.

“Much, sir. The cards were in my favour, and so was the company.”

“The company?”

“A boy returnin’ to his family. His father a gillie.”

“From North Durham or further afield?”

I could practically hear the grin in Blackmore’s reply.

“Wynyard Park, sir. And guess you what he told me?” He didn't wait for a reply. “Trouble at the Mines, there is. The Lord ‘imself has been in attendance, bringin’ in new blood to work the seams. But not only that. Oh, no! His nephew’s been seen with ‘im, repeatedly.”

“Henry Tempest,” Andrew said harshly.

“The one and the same, sir. Right in the thick of it.”

I Would Do It

Inspector Kelly

“Aye, I seen the Tempest coach come through ‘ere,” the horseman said. “Right thunderin’ it was. Fair did scare the barmaid at the King’s ‘otel, ‘n all, it did.”

“Did you see who was within?” I asked as Blackie kept his position beside Dr Cassidy, and Reid surveyed the carriage we were to hire.

“Can’t say I did, guv. Four-in-hand, it was. Big brute of a thing. Dark colours, darker horses. Like the devil itself was chasin’ ‘em.”

I scowled at the dirt packed courtyard. If Henry Tempest thought we were close on his tail, then he’d behave as if the hounds of hell were on him.

“Thank you for your help,” I said to the horseman and walked the short distance to reach Blackie.

“Is it ‘im, sir?” he asked.

“Yes. Ahead of us somehow.”

“He couldn’t ‘ave beat the train ‘ere, could he?”

I shook my head.

“Then how?”

“I do not know, Sergeant,” I said curtly, approaching our hired conveyance and assisting Anna in boarding. “However, it does not change a thing. We ride for Wynyard Park and confront him.”

The coachman nodded his head at the mention of our destination, climbing atop the driver’s bench, as we all followed Dr Cassidy inside the carriage itself.

It smelled musty and damp, but thankfully the seats were dry enough to sit upon. Anna perched to one side, allowing me space to sit beside her. Reid and Blackie sat opposite us. My eyes met the inspector’s just as the vehicle began to move forward.

“And then there’s Lord Londonderry, of course,” he said, once we were all seated. “Accusing a peer of the realm is not a task to be taken lightly.”

“Have you changed your mind, Reid?” I demanded.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he snapped back.

“What if Mina is at the mines?” Anna asked, her face so very pale. Her raven hair seemed darker for it. Her skin almost porcelain white in the early morning light that shone through the window.

“I sincerely doubt it,” I offered, wanting to give comfort in a more physical manner. I forced myself to offer only words.

Anna might not fear society’s reaction to our relationship, but I knew differently. Even amongst friends - although I could hardly call Reid a friend - we would be judged. I, at one time, would have judged, as well. Life takes on a different meaning when it is oneself who cannot resist temptation.

“We can safely say,” I added, “Miss Cassidy was not abducted along with the orphans by error. Their abduction merely proved a useful cover. Her role in this tragedy is not one of manning the mines during a time of discord. No, I would hazard a guess, Lord Londonderry did not lead Wilhelmina away. It was his nephew. Acting under the instruction of my wife.”

“Then Henry Tempest,” Blackie added, “works both for his uncle’s nefarious means and Mary Moriarty’s.”

I appreciated the effort the sergeant took to not use my wife’s married name.

“Two different crimes?” Reid pressed. “We charge Londonderry with the missing children, which one can only assume are being used in the mines. And Tempest Esquire for the abduction of Miss Cassidy.”

“Yes.”

“What of the bribery at the Old Bailey?” Anna offered.

“Ah, the Old Bailey,” I said, wishing I had my cane to tap on the floorboards before me. I felt naked without it; off balance. At any moment I expected my leg to give out and to tumble to the ground in an embarrassing heap. I could not rely on Blackie to offer support, and I would never place such a burden on Anna. In the face of Reid’s continued assessment, I kept the weight off my bad leg and pretended I was whole.

The more Eliza May became entwined in this debacle, however, the less whole I was perceived to be.

“Tempest is extorting legal privileges from Justice Blackborough,” I surmised. “I am certain on the direction of his uncle.”

“He did advise he was tasked with checking his uncle’s London holdings,” Anna announced. “To ensure whatever strife the Marquess was experiencing up North had not reached the city.”

“Tempest told you this?” I asked.

“He did. He referred to it all as being rather dull.”

“Of course he would,” Blackie declared. “Not much excitement to be ‘ad in the Old Bailey.”

“Not like that which he would find in The Blind Beggar’s backrooms,” Reid agreed. They both sniggered as if their camaraderie allowed such.

“And then there is Mary Moriarty,” I mused. “And the telegraph boy’s unprecedented bail.”

“Both bribing the judge?” Blackie enquired.

“A strange coincidence, is it not?” I offered.

“So, the connection is the Old Bailey,” Reid surmised. “All three players have ties there.”

I nodded.

“And then there is the Lambeth Poisonings,” Anna added.

“Complicates matters, does it not?” I said with a small smile. I was not amused, so much as overwhelmed at my wife’s duplicities.

Yet again, Eliza May had managed to twist my world upside down.

Perhaps Anna was correct. Perhaps it was time to disassociate myself from the woman. I could hardly be blamed for seeking a dissolution of our relationship when such heinous crimes were being committed.

But assigning blame to Eliza May would prove difficult. And although she had no intention of acting the wife she had at one time pretended to be, I was in no doubt she would fight me on the legalities.

Without a conviction, a divorce was not guaranteed.

But for Anna, I could attempt such a thing.

For my own peace of mind, I could face reality.

I did not love my wife. I despised her. It might not be a truth I wished all to hear, but I had been duped by love. Tricked by my own feelings of devotion. For what I provided my wife was not protection and adoration, as a husband is wont to do. But access to case files and the inner workings of the Metropolitan Police Force.

I was a tool, just as I assumed Henry Tempest was a tool. To be used and discarded.

I felt no empathy toward the fool. We each had our crosses to bear. But I did understand the allure Eliza May presented. For could she not be desirable when it suited her to be?

“Why kill the doxies, though?” Blackie demanded. “The telegraph boy makes sense. She aimed to frame you, sir. But the whores? I just don't get it.”

“There is no need to understand her motives, suffice it to say she likes to upset things. She revels in the Met’s disquiet. Watches as they run around like ants seeking a succulent piece of the puzzle. She directs their efforts and places them where she so pleases. The chessboard is her stage, gentlemen, and we are but her pawns upon it.”

“She sounds evil if you don't mind me saying,” Reid said softly. I wasn't sure, but I thought I might have seen a hint of compassion in his eyes as he looked to me.

“She is evil personified,” I announced, staring out of the side of the carriage, not wishing to discuss the matter further.

County Durham swept past; the verdant greens of pastures, mixed with the brightness of whitewashed farmhouses. Small holdings with humble people. Each paying their dues to their lord liege.

“We have entered Wynyard Estate’s grounds,” I offered.

“Then we’ll face her soon,” Anna announced with all the calm and serenity of an avenging angel.

How could I bring her into such horrors? My thoughts drifted to Wilhelmina.

How could I keep Anna away when so much was weighted on this confrontation?

I would do it. I would seek a divorce. I would end my association with Eliza May once and for all.

I kept my eyes on the landscape but reached a hand over to grasp Anna’s fingers where they rested on the seat between us.

She squeezed mine back in support.

But At What Cost

Anna

Wynyard Hall appeared on the horizon when the coach crested the final hill then paused as if the horses themselves needed to take a breath when faced with such splendour.

Cream walls and deep-set windows spanned the view as far as the eye could fathom. A modest two stories in height, there was nothing else remotely modest about the structure. The east and west wings were as large, if not larger than the original building. Fanning out on either side as if some giant butterfly stretching its gossamer wings. A rounded façade was mirrored on the opposing side of the grand entrance. Two curved sentinels directing one’s line of sight to the door. Sweeping steps made their path toward the doorway, pulling the eye toward what could only be called a god-sized portal to the heavens.

A lake lay before the house, small specks of white floating upon it. A plethora of greens met the eye, covering every surface. Trees and grass and hedges and flowers. The lawn was well manicured, as was the sweeping private road we were riding upon. The edges trimmed to perfection, not a stray pebble out of place even as the wheels of our coach clattered over them.

Ornate statues were dotted about the property. Pergolas and rotundas and vine arbors sat with ease upon the landscape. Ivy grew up the east wall. Roses next to the west. A solitary coach stood before the door. The horseman seeing to the slick bodied horses, their state an indication of the speed and endurance of each beast. A coachman removed luggage from the overhead rack, coming back for more and then more.

Henry had planned his visit home. And had executed it in lightning fashion. Riding his horses to near death, racing a steam engine which could manage forty miles per hour on average. But then, he would not have had to stop, save to switch out horses, and we’d had delays at Cambridge, Peterborough, Lincoln, Doncaster, York, and finally Darlington.

It was an interesting experiment to prove a four-in-hand could outrun a NER Class M1 steam engine manufactured in the 1890s. Modernity was not always an answer to our prayers.

Not Henry Tempest’s prayers, at any case.

“Well, this is it,” Inspector Reid announced unnecessarily. “Our admittance will depend on Lord Londonderry’s favour, and seeing as we’ve been soundly beaten in the race to reach Wynyard first, I’d hazard a guess we’ll meet with some opposition.”

“We have the law on our side,” Andrew murmured.

“Do we?” Reid challenged. “We have supposition and conjecture. Have you forgotten Her Majesty’s law, then?”

“The Tempest carriage witnessed at Lambeth Workhouse the morning of a murder,” Andrew said levelly, meeting the inspector’s hard stare. “Henry Tempest overheard by myself bribing Justice Blackborough at his uncle’s behest in the Old Bailey. It is enough to gain entry.”

“And once we’re inside?” Reid enquired.

“We seek the truth of Miss Cassidy’s whereabouts. Or have you forgotten how to elicit information from an unwilling suspect?”

Reid made a growling sound.

“Then there’s the mines,” Sergeant Blackmore offered. “We would not be out of place to insist on an inspection, considerin’ the accusations that ‘ave been made, of course.”

“All of which are not official,” Reid supplied in a surly rumble.

“He need not know of this,” Andrew countered.

Reid met his steady gaze, held it for a moment, and then nodded his head.

“Sometimes the law is an ass,” Andrew murmured, making me smile.

How I could smile at a time like this was beyond me. I felt so close to Mina at last. So close and so uncertain. What had transpired in the days she had been separated from me? How had she fared when Wilhelmina is not accustomed to such variety?

Her wanderings of late may have imbued her with a false sense of protection. The more she saw of London, the braver she had seemed. She had not required my companionship for some months now. A reality that I cursed now for its stupidity. Had I insisted on accompanying her, she may well not have been taken. Had I paid her more attention, instead of throwing my heart and mind into my studies, she may not have sought out further entertainment.

For clearly Marie Tussaud’s and the nearly completed Tower Bridge had lost their lustre. The Royal Albert Hall and the Crystal Palace no longer enough to hold her attention. She had moved on to more dangerous pastimes. Pastimes I may have been able to help her avoid if I had paid her more attention. For the first time since writing to the London School of Medicine for Women, I regretted my motivations. I regretted my passions. My singular focus to be recognised as a professional woman amongst men.

I regretted my suffrage leanings. My blinkered vision of equality for women.

I regretted it all, for whatever had transpired to my darling Wilhelmina, it was due by virtue of my selfish desires.

I willed my shaking hands to still, clasping them firmly in my lap as the coach made a sweeping circle in front of the grand entrance. I could not afford self-recrimination now. There was no time to wallow in self-pity. What was done was done, and my guilt would not be assuaged by my musings. All that was left to me now was to save Mina from Mary Moriarty.

From Eliza May Kelly.

I turned my formidable focus to what was to come, not what had been. Our arrival would have already been noted, I was sure, but the carriage itself was unmarked. From its state of repair, however, one could easily surmise it was a hired conveyance. But how that would affect our greeting I did not know.

The coachman pulled the vehicle to a stop, the horses whickering quietly. Stillness met the air and hung suspended like the blade of a guillotine. Right over my wretched neck. Reid let out a disgruntled sound. I wished to mirror it. Then the H Division inspector was out of the door, Sergeant Blackmore following, leaving me alone with Andrew.

I was not sure I could face his condemnation, as well as my own. I could not look at him. But I also could not give him my back and exit the carriage.

“Anna,” he said.

“I am accompanying you, so please do not say what it is that urges you onward.”

“I would not ask that of you.”

“You wouldn’t?” I looked to him, unable to stop myself, and saw the sincerity there.

For the first time in so many minutes, I felt grounded. I let out a breath of air.

He shook his head, reaching over and taking hold of my fingers in his, running a thumb over my wrist, so intimately.

“I merely wish to tell you my answer,” he said.

“Answer?” I was lost to those swirling depths of deep blue. To the earnest plea, I could see within them. To the settling of my heartbeat from his mere presence.

“I will seek a dissolution of my marriage upon our return to London,” he said, making it suddenly impossible to breathe any air at all. “It is time. You were right. If you are prepared to face what may come, then I shall gladly have you at my side.”

“Oh, Andrew,” I said, unable to fashion a more fitting reply.

Someone knocked on the side of the carriage, and then Reid poked his head back in the door.

“Now is not the time to seduce the good doctor, Kelly. We’ve got company, and if accusations are to be made, by God, I’m not doing this alone.”

Andrew nodded his head, straightened his cravat, reached for his cane; which was not there. For a moment I saw such a depth of loss cross his features that I sat back. Moved myself away from the emotion as if it would somehow rub off on me should I sit too close to it.

He nodded his head again to Reid, shifted his weight to his good leg, grimaced, and then stepped out of the carriage.

And all I could think was what have I done? What had I been thinking asking this of him?

I cursed my desperate longing for this man; the need that overrode all logic.

I cursed my many, many failings.

I had asked of him the impossible, and he would endeavour to provide it.

But at what cost?

But at what cost were my many failings?

And Then Everyone Was Yelling At Once

Inspector Kelly

The ornate front door opened without us needing to announce our presence. It could have been because the Tempest carriage was still being unloaded, but even I knew luggage did not go through the front door of a house such as this.

No, we’d been expected. I’d hazard a guess, Henry Tempest himself had been watching our arrival from an upstairs’ window.

“Can I help you, sirs? Madam?” the footman enquired pleasantly.

Reid flashed his H Division credentials, saving me the effort of having to explain my presence twelve thousand miles from my place of employment.

“Inspector Edmund Reid,” he announced. “I’d like to speak to the Marquess if you please.”

“Lord Londonderry is not in residence at present.”

“He’s not back in London, is he?” Reid asked with a decided air of disgruntlement.

“No, sir. He is at the mine.”

“Business called him away, then, eh?” Reid pressed. The footman merely smiled.

Well trained. But to hide what?

“Who else is in residence, then?” Reid asked.

“Is there a purpose to your visit, Inspector?” the footman asked.

“My purpose is with the lord of the house and his guests,” Reid snapped. The footman flinched. Well trained but inexperienced.

“Perhaps you would like to wait in the drawing-room?” the footman suggested, just as a pinched looking man wearing the Londonderry livery scurried up behind the boy.

“That will be all, thank you, Turner,” the man said. “Gentlemen, lady, may I be of assistance?”

“And you are?” Reid asked.

“His Lordship’s butler. Samson.”

“Well, Mr Samson, we seem to have missed the Marquess, but our business is of the utmost importance.”

“I’m sure it is,” the butler sneered.

Reid ignored his effrontery. “May we await his Lordship’s return inside?”

“You would do well to return on the morrow, sir. Lord Londonderry is a busy man. Appointments must be made.”

“Would we do well to attend him at the mine instead?” I enquired, receiving a scowl for my efforts.

“If you must, you may wait in the servants’ hall,” the man acquiesced, gracelessly.

“Our business is best kept out of the servants’ quarters,” Reid replied softly. The butler stared him down for several drawn out seconds, and then relented, opening the door fully and indicating the direction to take once inside.

The drawing room was overly warm, a fire burning in the hearth. It had not long been empty.

“Are we disturbing someone?” I asked as I surveyed the family photos scattered about the room. Several were of Henry Tempest and his sister Emily. A couple of the Marquess’s dog. But no immediate family member. It appeared the Marquess did not have any.

At least, none he wished to place on display here.

Anna made a sound, making me turn to face her. She was reaching down to pick up a piece of fabric. No, not fabric. A ribbon. In sunshine yellow.

“Oh, forgive me,” Mr Samson exclaimed. “That must belong to Miss Emily.”

He reached for the ribbon and Anna snatched her hand back, making the butler take a necessary step forward, or lose his balance. In an instant, Blackie was there, stepping between Anna and the man, staring him down as I had seen him stare down opponents in the pugilist’s ring.

“Not so fast, guv,” he said. The butler straightened his coat tails.

“Pardon me, sir, but you are overstepping.” He peered around Blackie to Anna, who was studying the ribbon carefully.

I crossed the room to her side, using every method available to me to hide the pain in my thigh. I wasn't certain, but I believed my limp was negligible. I cursed my lost cane and Anna's parasol again. She may have been divested of the item upon admission to the house, but she could have at least had a weapon nearby should she have required it.

I felt on edge and on guard in this mansion. The staff were hiding something. Henry Tempest was already here. We were too many steps behind.

And where exactly was my wife?

“What is it?” I asked quietly.

“I know this ribbon,” she whispered.

“It belongs to Miss Emily!” the butler exclaimed. “Please hand it over, or I shall be forced to have you escorted from the house.”

“This does not belong to Emily,” Anna replied, turning to face the weasel of a man.

“And how, pray tell, do you know that?”

“I am a friend to Miss Tempest, and I am well aware of her fashion tastes. And they do not extend to bright yellow ribbons.”

“Nonsense!” Then the butler stilled. “You are a friend of Miss Emily’s?”

“A dear friend. She and I graduated medical school together.”

“Oh, that,” the butler said dismissively, making Anna pull herself to her greatest height. Which was still woefully lacking in regards to the butler’s taller frame, but from the formidable look on Anna’s face, you would not know it.

“Yes, that,” Anna said curtly. “I am Dr Anna Cassidy and this, sir, belongs to my cousin.”

She took several steps to reach the butler, startling Blackie and moving too fast for my compromised form to arrest. With one hand wrapped securely around the ribbon, Anna proceeded to grip the butler’s cravat.

“Where is she?” she demanded, shaking the man as if he were a child’s plaything. “Where is my cousin?”

It was really all rather impressive.

“I…I…I don't know what you are talking about. Please, unhand me at once!”

Several footmen entered the room as one. As if called by an unheard bell toll; all armed, all lethal. I held my breath.

“A tad overkill for a country manor, wouldn’t you say?” Reid enquired mildly, from his nonchalant lean against the pianoforte in the corner.

He proceeded to flick lint off his coat sleeve, but his eyes never once strayed from the threat.

I stepped forward to greet the footmen, who as yet hadn’t thankfully reached for a weapon.

“Stand at ease, gentlemen,” I advised. “This is Metropolitan Police business.”

“Metropolitan Police!” the butler sputtered. “You have no jurisdiction here!”

“Please,” Anna said plaintively. “If you know where my cousin is, do tell. She is fragile and needs great care. She will be lost without me. Please, sir, have pity. Where is she?”

The butler settled somewhat, in light of Anna’s distress. I moved closer, keeping the footmen in my line of sight, but placing myself nearer to Anna. I wished to reach out and touch her, hold her, but a small shake of her head had me realising how much of an act the doctor was performing.

My eyes met Reid’s, then Blackie’s. Both nodded their heads imperceptibly. They’d seen Anna’s signal as well.

I crossed my arms over my chest, resting my weight on my good leg, and waited. This was Anna’s game for now. How she would play it was anyone’s guess. How the pieces would fall was yet unpredictable. I would watch and wait and be ready to act when needed.

The butler clearly did not want us here, but I could not ascertain if his hiding something was that of Wilhelmina Cassidy’s presence. Or simply a corrupt employer using slave labour in one of his mines. Time would tell. But did Anna’s cousin have the time to spare?

“I am sure I do not know of whom you speak, madam,” the butler said evenly. “The ribbon belongs to Miss Emily.”

“What belongs to Miss Emily?” a young female voice asked, just as Emily Tempest herself and an unknown gentleman, who looked surprisingly like her brother but was not, walked into the room.

“Emily?” Anna murmured.

“Anna! Oh, what fun!” Emily glanced around the room looking stunned for a moment. Her wide eyes landed back on Anna. “But, dearest,” she said, “why are you here?”

Anna, for her part, looked confused. And then swiftly contrite.

She looked down at her hands for inspiration and spotted the yellow ribbon firmly clasped in her fingers.

Contrition turned to determination, and she raised her head and looked her friend in the eye.

“Emily,” she said, taking a step closer. “You may wish to sit down.”

“Sit down? Whatever for?”

“This,” Anna said, holding the ribbon up. “It is not yours, but my cousin’s. My missing cousin’s.”

“I…I don't understand,” Emily Tempest said, falling into a seat with little effort. I was guessing the young lady had an inkling. Perhaps she had suspected her brother of foul play before now.

Anna sat beside her friend and reached for her hand.

“Sweeting,” she said. “Where is your brother?”

Emily lifted confused eyes to look Anna in the face, and then she blanched.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I won't believe it.” Her frantic eyes darted toward the butler. “Samson? Say it isn't so!”

The man who had entered with Miss Tempest moved toward the rear of the settee and rested his hand on her shoulder. Emily reached up and gripped it, her fingers shaking.

“Samson?” she pressed when the butler refused to speak. “Has my brother done something untoward?”

The butler licked his lips, glanced first at the gentleman standing behind Miss Tempest, and then at Emily herself. He looked just as frantic and confused as Miss Tempest.

I glanced toward Reid. He shrugged his shoulders, still leaning against the pianoforte as if a crisis wasn’t unravelling before him. None of this was playing out how I would have expected.

“Yes, Miss Emily,” the butler finally said, but I wasn’t sure he believed what he was saying. “It was Mr Tempest.”

“It was Mr Tempest what?” Emily Tempest demanded.

The butler swallowed, looking even more nervous if it was at all possible.

“It was Mr Tempest, miss, who brought the chit here.”

For a suspended moment no one said anything.

And then everyone was yelling at once.

Inside I Was Screaming

Anna

She was here. Mina was here. In this house. Brought here by Henry.

I wanted to vomit. I could hardly breathe. My breasts felt too constricted, my lungs too crushed, my ribs fracturing.

“Anna,” Andrew murmured, wrapping a hand about my nape and making me tip my head forward. “Easy,” he said into my ear.

Shouts and curses, and too many voices, and somewhere someone was crying; I thought perhaps Emily.

Poor Emily. Her brother had fooled us all.

“Mina,” I rasped.

“Where is she!” Andrew thundered. Perhaps not as loud as all that, but it was impressive. “Take us to Miss Cassidy at once!”

“Of course,” the butler squeaked, all defiance having evaporated in the face of such authority.

“I cannot,” Emily was saying, shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. “Anna, please do not make me. I simply cannot.”

I reached out and gripped her hand; it felt cold. I was hot all over as if a fire burned inside me and at any moment I’d erupt like a volcano.

“I understand, dearest,” I said. I could not blame her fragility. I felt shaken myself. Henry was my friend. But to Emily, he was her much-loved brother.

“Do you? Really? Please say you do,” she cried. “I just…I can’t think…Oh, my,” she cried. “I don't understand.”

“It is all right, Emily,” the man who had accompanied her said. “The doctor understands.”

His eyes met mine. They seemed familiar. I could not say how save to say they left me unsettled with their familiarity.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, acknowledging his statement. “I believe we have not met.”

“Dr Thomas Cream, madam.” He bowed over my hand perfunctorily. “But acquaintances can wait until you see to your…cousin, is it?”

“Yes. Yes,” I said, rushing out the door behind Inspector Reid.

“Dr Cream?” Andrew was saying to Sergeant Blackmore as we careened down the hallway. “I am sure I have heard that name before.”

“I have,” I said, running to keep up with the spritely butler. “Emily has spoken of him previously. He is her new beau.”

“Beau?” Andrew enquired, holding a door open the butler had left to swing into my face.

“Yes, Kelly,” Inspector Reid offered, not sounding out of breath at all. “You may not be aware, seeing as how you’ve been married for years and whatnot, but most people nowadays who court call their prospective paramour a ‘beau.’”

“Very funny, Edmund.”

“Ever your servant, sir.”

Andrew grunted.

We raced down hallways and pounded up stairs, the decor becoming increasingly less ornate the further into the house itself we progressed. I was certain we weren't heading toward the servant’s quarters, which in a home of this size would be at the back on the uppermost floors. But instead to a wing of the structure not readily used. Dust covers floated like ghostly mirages in silent rooms. Shutters fastened closed over blank staring windows. A faint scent of mould wafted on the air. The sound of tiny feet in dark corners scurried.

“Not much one for keeping the place clean, is he?” Sergeant Blackmore said from the rear of our party.

“This is a large home,” the butler declared archly. “We rotate the use of the rooms so as not to waste funds better spent keeping the building itself in good repair.”

“It must cost a fortune to run heat in a place this size,” Blackmore added.

“Indeed it does,” the butler said, just as a wash of warmth greeted us through a final locked door.

It did not fail to register that the butler had the key.

This hallway, however, was swept clean, the carpets not throwing up dust where we walked. The side tables polished to a high sheen, a fresh vase of flowers sitting atop one. We passed a sitting room without its ghostly accompaniments. A writing desk in the corner, covered in sheets of note paper.

I paused in the hallway, making all those behind me stumble to a stop and Inspector Reid to mutter, “Oh, here we go again.”

I walked into the room as if in a daze.

“I say!” the butler exclaimed, but I ignored him, drawn to that desk. Unable to look away.

The room was empty of persons, but full to the brim with furniture. Books lined two walls. Jacquard covered settees sat facing each other. Tables covered in knickknacks dotted the landscape. A ribbon lay discarded on the floor. I almost bent down to uplift it, but my eyes were trained on the note paper.

I lifted a shaking hand and shifted detritus around, peering down at a familiar hand-drawn image in the corner of a blank sheet of paper. A bottle sat beside an inkwell. I diverted my attention to it, lifting it up and unstoppering it.

Jasmine wafted out to greet me. I hacked a startled cough.

“Dear God,” Andrew murmured from beside me, picking up a blank piece of paper and looking more closely at the nightingale stencilled upon it. “She has been here.”

“Of course she has,” I said, lowering the perfume to the desk’s top. “We already knew this.”

“But to see it for ourselves.”

I glanced toward him and was rewarded with a sight I never thought I’d see. Andrew Kelly pale as the sheets that covered the dusty pieces of furniture. Stricken completely.

I wanted to reassure him, but how does one reassure a person of this? Facing the ghosts of his past. Facing up to his reality.

Would this make him more inclined to seek a dissolution of their marriage?

Or would this bring his guilt to bear?

I rested my hand on his arm, offering a soft squeeze, and then walked toward the settee and picked up the ribbon from the floor. Blue. Cornflower blue. Had Eliza May Kelly touched it?

She’d certainly touched the letters and the bottle of jasmine scent. The inkwell and the quill pen.

My eyes searched out the butler.

“Is she here?” I asked, my voice sounding too far away.

“Who?” he enquired, genuinely looking bewildered. “Your cousin?”

“Mary Moriarty,” I said.

“I know not of this woman.” I wanted to believe him, for that would mean I did not have to face Andrew’s wife today. That I did not have to watch him face her, either.

But the note paper and jasmine scent said it all. Eliza May Kelly had been here, whether the butler was in on the ruse, I couldn’t say. But he did have a key to that locked door.

I shouldered past the man and walked down the hall, opening doors randomly, peering into beautifully adorned bedrooms, and finally coming to a locked door.

I knew. I knew this was the one that hid Mina. I knew and yet I stood there, staring at the door handle, my mind blanking. As if it couldn’t countenance what would be found within there. What we would have to face.

I stepped aside. The world narrowing down to just this.

“Open it,” I demanded; my voice was not my own.

I was unaware of who was around me. Who murmured encouragement, or simply stood stoically at my back. I could see nothing but the butler’s gnarled hands, liver spots adorning the back of them, the skin wrinkled and paper thin, the fine hairs stark against white flesh.

The door creaked open; a cloying scent drifted out. Stale. Mixed with sweat. Thick with vomitus.

I breathed through my lips, my eyes adjusting to the dimness, then took the first step across the threshold. The butler scurried out of the way; I was vaguely aware of Reid apprehending him. Andrew and Blackmore stood silently at the door, peering into the dark depths within.

I took another tentative step forward and called, “Mina?” in a too shaking voice. I cleared my throat, opened my mouth to call again, and then gasped. My hand coming up too late to cover my nose. The breath inhaled telling me everything.

I rushed to the bedside and pulled back the covers, desperately flinging the pipe away.

It clattered against the side table, disturbing more heinous evidence. A bottle shattered on the floor, its contents spilling. Sugar cubes chased one another across the wooden planks. The sweet scent of absinthe drifted on the air, accompanied by that of opium and laudanum.

“Anna,” a weak, delirious voice whispered. “She said you would come.”

I fell to my knees beside my cousin, my hands shaking as I took in the weakened state of her body. The sallow skin, the sunken eyes, the exposed bones at her elbows and shoulders and shins.

And the dozens of tiny needle marks all over her arms.

Inside I was screaming.

To Mina, I simply said, “I am here. Everything will be all right, sweeting.”

I lied. Everything would never be all right again.

It All Went Downhill From There

Inspector Kelly

We stood outside the closed door to Wilhelmina Cassidy’s bed chamber staring at nothing, seeing nothing, unable to comprehend what we had witnessed. Anna had ushered us out as soon as she’d recovered enough to move; although she had moved on shaking legs with trembling fingers and such a wealth of horror to her eyes.

Reid had the butler by the fist, the man’s shirt scrunched up in his hand, his face pressed against the wall of the hallway. He, too, looked appalled at what we had seen, but as he was not familiar with Miss Cassidy, his anger was muted.

Blackie looked fit to kill someone, and that someone was looking incredibly like Mr Samson. With one swift move, the sergeant buried his fist in the wall beside the butler’s face, not even flinching when his knuckles came away raw and bloody.

No one said anything, although Samson did whimper and a sound of distress echoed inside the bedroom. I blinked at Blackie, who wouldn’t meet my eyes, and felt such wretched impotence engulf me.

How in the dickens would Anna survive this? She had already nursed one relative through a medicinal dependance. Now she had to take care of a drug-addled cousin too, who had already been closer than warranted to the edge of sanity. I could not see a hopeful outcome to this. Mrs Cassidy had been a robust woman at one stage before the opium consumed her. But Wilhelmina Cassidy was not at all like her deceased aunt. Fragile. Delicate. Whimsical.

Had it been laudanum alone, perhaps she could have recovered. But I’d noted absinthe, opium, cocaine and other detritus in that room. Such a cocktail of debilitating potions.

I looked to the closed door, knowing Anna worked behind it to improve her cousin’s wellbeing. I wanted desperately to offer assistance. To give support when she flagged, for surely she would flag in due course having to face this.

Instead, I stood outside the door, banished to the hallway, society’s expectations drawing a line on the floorboards that matched the threshold to Miss Cassidy’s chamber. There was nothing I could do to help Anna, but learn of where my wife had disappeared to.

Guilt assuaged me, mixed in with an uncontrolled fury.

I turned to the butler and pushed Reid out of the way, replacing his grip with my own, and attempting to throttle the man for his part in all of this.

“You knew,” I snarled. “You had the key, man! How could you stand by when such atrocities occurred under your roof?”

“I…I…” he stammered like the coward I was sure he was.

I thrust him harder against the wall, aware neither Reid nor Blackie stopped me.

“Tell me where she is,” I growled.

The man had the audacity to look to Wilhelmina’s door.

I spun him away so he could no longer get a line of sight to the chamber.

“Where is Mary Moriarty?” I shouted.

“Wh…who?” the imbecile stuttered.

“Perhaps we should confront Miss Tempest again?” Blackie offered.

“You’d scare the lady of the house?” Reid asked. It wasn't so much said in surprise but consideration.

“I’d scare every damn one of ‘em for what they have let transpire ‘ere.”

Reid nodded his head and began to walk toward the main stairway and the drawing room below. I dragged the uncooperative butler along with me, as Blackie stared daggers at the man from behind us. Stumbling down the stairs, I almost released the cove and let him fall where he may. But his neck was set for far greater things, than a break caused by tripping on well-worn treads.

His silence unnerved me. He hadn’t sunk in on himself as so many apprehended criminals did. It was more a studied silence. A purposeful closing of his lips. He neither warned us off interrogating Miss Tempest. Nor offered an alternative for us to pursue.

“You would be wise to assist us with our enquiries,” I said gruffly. “Your silence will be taken as complicity. There is far more to contend yourself with than the use of children for slave labour.”

He made a sound in the back of his throat; one of distress and conversely fortitude.

“Abduction is a felony offence,” I went on blithely. “And lest we not forget the multiple murders of women in Lambeth.”

“Lambeth?” the man said, speaking before he could remember to stay quiet.

“Oh, yes,” I said, as we approached the door to the drawing room. “Several deaths, one of which has a direct tie to the Tempest family. What say you to that?”

“I have nothing to say, sir,” he snapped back.

“Don’t forget the bribery, Inspector,” Reid offered, pushing the door to the drawing room open obligingly. “Bribing a Justice of the court has damnable ramifications.”

I was not aware Reid had made that connection. But, then, there was much to Edmund Reid I had not realised. For a brief moment, I was relieved he had in fact accompanied us, and then we entered the drawing room and found it bare, and much more dire thoughts took precedence.

“Where is she?” Blackie snarled.

“Who?” the butler attempted again.

Blackie swung toward him, his face a rictus of fury, and took two menacing steps making Samson back up until his body was pressed against mine.

“Don’t bloody play that game with me, son,” Blackmore growled. “You think I won’t put my fist through your mug and not a wall?” He shook his hand out deliberately.

I gripped the butler’s shoulders, held him out before me and said, “He’s all yours, Sergeant. You swing, I’ll hold him steady.”

“Much obliged, sir,” Blackie said, flexing his fingers, practising a punch into the palm of his free hand, and grinning maniacally.

The butler started shaking.

“The mine,” he said breathlessly. “Miss Tempest would have gone to the mine to warn her uncle.”

“Warn her uncle?” Reid asked. “Is she complicit in all of this, then?”

“No,” I said, feeling confused. “It is her brother, Henry.”

The butler shook his head, but I could not tell if it was to negate my statement or because he did not care for the situation he found himself in; his entire frame trembled alarmingly.

“Ho!” exclaimed Blackie suddenly, peering out of a window. “A coach approaches.”

“The marquess’s?” Reid asked.

“Unmarked. Hired conveyance, I’d guess.”

I grabbed the butler’s jacket collar, towed him toward the window and looked outside. Indeed, it was a coach much like our own. Releasing the curtain ties closest to me, I stripped the length of cord from its hook on the wall and proceeded to wrap Samson up like a pig for slaughter.

Once securely bound, I pushed him toward a settee, uncaring that he missed his mark and landed on the floor; jarringly. Blackie strode past, offering a kick to his shins as he did so. The butler cried out just as Reid stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth to silence him.

It all happened in less than a heartbeat.

“That should do it nicely,” the inspector said, dusting off his hands and admiring our joint efforts.

“Can’t tell who’s within,” Blackie offered, looking out of a window closer to the front of the building. “Dark clothin’. Top hat. I think that’s a cane.” He growled. “Gotta a bleedin’ moustache, he has.”

I crossed to the hallway and barked at a footman to get the hell away from the entrance. My tone of voice must have been convincing because he ran.

Or perhaps it was the thunderous look to my visage that did it.

I was full of righteous anger.

With Reid at my back, we opened the oversized door, coming face to face with none other than Henry Tempest as he climbed down from the carriage.

How fitting.

Reid pulled a pistol.

I reached forward and relieved the cur of his cane.

Then we both grabbed a side each of his jacket collars and hauled him inside the building.

“I say!” he exclaimed.

And then Blackie appeared out of nowhere…and punched him. Right in the face.

Blood poured, a high pitched whine followed, and the sergeant spat, “That’s for Miss Cassidy,” offering an undignified knee to the chap’s groin as a follow-up.

It all went downhill from there.

But I Was Too Far Down The Rabbit Hole Now To Climb Out

Anna

I closed the door gently behind me. Wilhelmina was finally asleep, as at peace as I could make her. My breaths came out stuttered. My chest ached with each irregular expiration of air. My vision dimmed, my head spun. I placed a sweaty palm flat against the door and lowered my forehead to the cool wood.

Nausea welled in my stomach, and I had to bite back bile, or I’d surely vomit. I almost gave in to the need to fall to my knees and weep. But I managed, somehow, to stay upright.

Turning around I squinted into the dim recesses of the hallway, but no one was near, neither Wynyard Hall staff nor any of my travel companions.

A loud clatter could be heard from further toward the main stairwell. So, taking one last longing look at the closed door, I straightened my dress and proceeded in that direction. What in heaven would Emily say about this?

“I did not mean to cause you worry.” Mina’s fragile words inside my head made tears spill from my eyes. I dashed them away with a gloved hand.

“I am no longer worried, sweeting. I have found you.” My fingers shook as I fisted them, my footsteps drowning out the frantic beat of my heart.

“She seemed to care. I told her so much. Your mother. Oh, Anna. I am sorry.” A sound emitted from the back of my throat. I ruthlessly swallowed it.

“You are not Mama. Think naught of it.” My palm laid flat against my stomach, trying to assuage the buzz of angry bees inside of it.

“I fear now I may well be.” A sob escaped, my footsteps stumbled, the bannister felt solid beneath my shaking hand. I gripped it until the world righted, and then heard raised voices from inside the drawing room downstairs.

With determination I had not known I possessed, I made short work of the stairwell, pausing only to catch my breath in the grand hallway. Something crashed inside the drawing room. A male’s cry of alarm and then further breaking of furniture followed.

I rushed across the marble entranceway, my skirts swirling around my ankles, my heart beating an overwrought tattoo inside my chest. Pushing the door open, I entered mayhem. Then had to duck as a vase was thrown at my head.

“Are you insane, man?” Inspector Reid shouted. “Calm down!”

“I’ll calm down when you put that blasted pistol away, sir!” Henry Tempest shouted back in reply.

“Henry?” I whispered, but somehow the whisper carried.

“Oh, thank God,” Henry exclaimed. “Call off your watchdogs.”

“Stop throwin’ things,” Sergeant Blackmore growled, “and we’ll think about standin’ down.”

“What on earth?” I began.

“Anna,” Andrew said from beside me. “It would be best if you remained in the hallway until we have this under control.”

“You do not look as if you have a notion of how to control this, Andrew,” I replied calmly, surprised I could come across as calm at all. “Whatever ‘this’ is, in fact,” I muttered.

“They attacked me!” Henry cried. It almost sounded like a whine. “In my own home. This is an outrage!”

“No,” Blackmore snarled. “What’s an outrage is what you’ve done to Miss Cassidy.”

Henry stilled, then glanced at me. “You’ve found Wilhelmina?” he asked.

“Don’t you dare,” Blackmore growled low, stepping forward threateningly, “to presume such intimacy.”

I had never seen the sergeant so enraged. I bit my lip, and took a further step into the room, ignoring Andrew’s outstretched hand as though to restrain me.

“Why are you here, Henry?” I asked.

“This is my home,” he repeated.

“Not your home, Tempest,” Inspector Reid said. “But your uncle’s, the marquess’s, isn’t that so?”

“It is the family home. We all come back to it when London gets too rowdy.”

“And is London too rowdy right now?” Andrew enquired pleasantly. I knew that voice. That was his inspector’s voice. The one he used when he was irate but following the letter of the law.

I studied his profile; his firm jaw, stern eyes, and fisted hands about the top of his cane. Where had he managed to get one of those? My attention was drawn back to Henry, who looked bamboozled by the goings on around him.

“I am here on business for my uncle,” he said, sounding a little strained.

“Business, eh?’ Blackmore sneered. “And what, pray tell, is that?”

“None of your concern, sir.”

“Actually,” Reid said, pulling out his H Division credentials, “it is.” He flashed the piece of paper at Henry and then pocketed it. “We’ve found the girl, Tempest. And we’re aware of the children being used as slave labour in your uncle’s mines. Not only that, sir, but we also have a witness to your carriage at the scene of a crime. Homicide, in fact. Add in Inspector Reid’s,” he nodded toward Andrew, his eyes never straying from Henry, “evidence of observing you bribing a judge at the Old Bailey, and I’d say you’re neck deep in horse dung. Time to dig yourself out of it, wouldn’t you agree?”

Henry let out a startled breath and then slowly lowered himself onto the settee. His eyes drifted across the space to where, alarmingly, the butler lay trust up like a swine for the butcher. An inappropriate giggle tumbled to my lips. I pressed them firmly together, and then took the added precaution of covering my mouth with the tips of my fingers. As if that would keep the unwanted sound within.

Then my mind brought up the image of Mina; pale, delirious, wasted away on that bed. In such a short amount of time, she had been abused beyond that which any person should have to suffer. How much had Mary Moriarty injected her with? It was clear to see Mina had been subjected to multiple hypodermic punctures. The empty phials left discarded on the side table had laid weight to exactly what had been administered.

I looked to Henry again and felt the world disappear as if swept away by the force of my anger.

I was across the room in a heartbeat, my palm connecting with his cheek, the clap of sound suddenly amplified in the stunned quiet.

“You will speak,” I said, my voice ringing with fury. “You will tell all. How you met her. How she came to be in London from the Dutch East Indies. How she orchestrated so many crimes without being found out. How,” I said, leaning closer, my words spat in his face as if projectile weapons themselves, “you allowed her to harm Wilhelmina. In your family home. Under your uncaring nose. You will tell all, sir, or I’ll…I’ll…” I searched for a strong enough threat. My eyes landing on Sergeant Blackmore. His anger matched mine. I stood upright, pointed at his hardened façade, and said, “I’ll let the sergeant use you for practice. He’s a pugilist, you see? And it has been some time, I should think, since he last visited the ring. He should fine tune his skill before he returns to it, don’t you think?”

“Good Lord, Kelly,” Reid said. “She is quite frightening, isn’t she?”

“Anna,” Andrew said softly. A warning. A lifeline offered obliquely.

“No, Andrew.” I spun to face him. “You have not seen her. Not fully. I counted twenty puncture marks on her body. Twenty. Do you realise how much substance has been injected into her small frame? Do you understand the ramifications? The long-term effect of such a large dose over so short a time? Do you?”

“I do,” he said simply. “And they will both be brought to justice. But…”

“There is no ‘but’. Only retribution. And I will have it.”

“My dear God,” Henry had the audacity to mutter. “What has happened to you, Doctor?”

“Where is she?!” I yelled in his face. “Mary Moriarty! Tell me, or so help me God…” An arm wrapped around my waist and suddenly I was drawn back several feet. I struggled. Steady breaths sounded out in my ear enraging me.

“It’s all right,” Andrew said. “He will pay. But, darling, do not lose yourself to vengeance. Do not let them take more from you than they already have. Please.”

I panted for breath, my mind scrambling. Mina lay in the throes of addiction upstairs. Vengeance was too soft a word for what I wanted today.

“They will pay,” he murmured, stroking my arm, but still holding me contained. “I promise this to you. I will see them hanged in Newgate.”

“You promise?”

“On my life. I promise they will pay.”

I relaxed into his arms somewhat, the burden of carrying such horrific weight eased a fraction. I glared at Henry. Who blinked back at me in shock. My eyes landed on Sergeant Blackmore. He nodded his head, putting his lot in with his superior officer.

I looked toward Inspector Reid, who studied the scene with detachment. He pushed off from his semi-recline against the mantlepiece and said, “You heard the lady doctor, tell all, or fists will fly, and this time you shan’t escape them.”

“I…” Henry glanced around the room, frantically searching for an out. He would not find one. No man in this room would allow it. “Samson,” he said, looking to the butler. “What the dickens is going on here?”

The butler struggled in his binds, and then spat out a wad of cloth from his mouth.

“Forgive me, Master Tempest, but I had no choice. I had to lie to them.”

“Lie to them?” Henry said, just as Reid crouched down in front of the butler and studied the sharp tip of a knife that had suddenly appeared from out of nowhere in his hand.

“Lie, you say, Mr Samson?” he murmured, his eyes on the blade and not the shaking man curled up before him. “Perhaps you’d like to remedy that?”

Samson glanced at Henry and then straightened his spine, as much as the confines of his ties would allow it.

“The chit was brought here in the dead of night, along with the latest batch of orphans.” Samson licked his lips nervously but ploughed on with his confession all the same. “His Lordship proceeded to get the children settled at the mine, while…while…”

“Out with it, man, or I’ll hang you myself,” Reid urged.

Samson shut his eyes briefly, then resigned himself to his fate.

“While Miss Emily took the girl up to the east wing.”

Emily. My Emily. I felt the starch seep out of my spine and my knees buckle.

Before I hit the floor, Andrew had caught me.

But I was too far down the rabbit hole now to climb out.

Or Have You Courage Enough To Be Yourself?

Inspector Kelly

I stared across the coach at Henry Tempest. At some point, compassion for his predicament would surface. For the time being, however, I felt only rage.

“Where is Mary Moriarty?” I asked into the heavy silence of the carriage.

Anna shifted in her seat, pressed as she was between Blackie and myself. Reid watched on from beside Tempest with half-closed eyelids, his legs extended before him as if he were about to fall asleep to the gentle rocking of the coach as it made its slumberous way toward the mine.

“I am sure I do not know of whom you speak,” Tempest offered, sitting proudly upright in his seat; facing the horror of what his sister had done with his head held high.

I might have at one stage admired the man, but events of the past few days had caused enough damage to prevent such sensitivity. My wife had had a hand in this, and I was determined to discover to what extent.

Emily Tempest was the abductor of Wilhelmina Cassidy. This much we did know. She was also deeply entrenched in the abduction of the orphans from Whitechapel’s streets. It was not a difficulty, therefore, to place the drug-addled state of Anna’s cousin at her feet.

But the jasmine scent. The letters with the nightingale etched upon them. There were parts to this story we were not as yet privy to.

I glanced toward Anna, but she paid me no heed; her eyes all for Henry Tempest, her once upon a time friend and the brother of the woman who had betrayed her so completely. She’d almost collapsed in that room, upon hearing of Emily’s complicity. I wondered now how much more strength she had within her, for surely more heartache was yet to come.

I returned my assessment to the man across the seat from me. There was nothing for it; I had to ask.

“What of Eliza May Kelly?” The words hung suspended in the darkened coach for several long seconds, as I was sure not a soul sucked in breath enough to breathe.

Tempest’s eyes met mine; there was knowledge there. The man would be hopeless at cards with a face that gave such tumultuous emotions away with ease.

“You know of her,” I surmised. Reid, although appearing still relaxed, kept his sharp gaze on our prisoner.

“I…” Tempest blinked and shook his head. “She does not use Kelly.”

Of all the things he could have said, I had not expected that. Why? I am unsure. Eliza May walked away from our marriage over five years prior. Left it to crumble in the ashes of our charred house. Of course, she would have stopped using my surname. I had thought it was her using the moniker of Moriarty.

But Tempest’s acknowledgement of my wife’s Christian names proved the disconnection between the two. Was Mary Moriarty none other than Emily Tempest? Had my wife been involved in any of this, at all?

“Explain,” I demanded.

“She…I…” Tempest shook his head again and then let out a heavy sigh. “I met her in the Dutch East Indies.” The letters had originated from there. How did this all fit together?

Eliza May. Mary Moriarty. Emily Tempest. And then there was the male ‘doctor’ who had been slipping the whores strychnine tablets. None of this made any sense, but I was determined it would by the time we reached the Londonderry mine.

“I spent some time there,” Tempest was saying. “I enjoyed the climate. The people are very friendly, you see? I delayed further travels to submerge myself in their culture. I was on a journey of self-discovery.”

“We’re not interested in your character’s development,” Blackie sneered. “Tell us about the woman.”

Tempest paled at the sergeant’s inclusion in our conversation; his fear of Blackie’s fists once again making contact was real. Blackie for his part, looked as though he wouldn't hesitate to reintroduce Tempest to his knuckles. Which even in the dim light of the carriage looked bruised and battered.

“She was…is…a very formidable woman.” Tempest sounded as if he truly did admire my wife. “Much of Batavia is indebted to her organisational skills. She is freely giving of her time and expertise.”

“Expertise?” I pressed.

“In business management. She aids many store holders and started a community group in which the sharing of knowledge is given freely. Business is booming in the Orient.”

“Is this business corrupt?” I enquired, working hard to keep my voice level.

Tempest shook his head most vigorously. “No. No. Perhaps it once was, but Mrs Adler’s involvement has brought the entire area into good repute.

“Adler,” Anna said, a measure of humour in her voice. “Good god, the woman is incorrigible.”

I turned partially in my seat and looked at her.

“The name means something to you?” I asked.

“As it should you, also. Irene Adler? ‘A Scandal In Bohemia?’ Published in 1891 by Arthur Conan Doyle.”

“A Sherlock Holmes story,” Reid offered. “Moriarty,” he added.

“Indeed,” Anna agreed, straightening her gloves angrily. “It would appear this is all a game to her. A story evolving on life’s biggest stage. And we the side characters.”

“Is she Mary Moriarty, then?” Reid enquired.

“The letters addressed to myself were from an MM,” Anna declared. “Which I take to mean Mary Moriarty. They were also post stamped the Dutch East Indies.”

Anna withdrew several letters from her reticule. The scent of jasmine was faint but unmistakable. She lay them flat on her dress skirts and ran a hand over them; then a steady finger outlined the nightingale in the corner.

I pulled mine from my jacket pocket and placed it beside Anna’s. The writing was dissimilar, but there was no denying the coincidences.

Reid leant forward, as did Tempest; caught up in the intrigue despite himself.

“The slant of the writing is off,” Blackie said. “In such a way as to make you believe it is contrived.”

“I agree,” Reid said. “The effort is too great.” He tapped my letter. “This was post stamped the Dutch East Indies as well?”

“No. London,” I supplied.

“Then perhaps we have misinterpreted the writing differences,” Reid surmised.

It was all so confusing. Apart from the fact that Eliza May was indeed in the Dutch East Indies.

“Has Mrs Adler arrived in London?” I asked Tempest.

“I do not believe so,” he stated. “I, too, have had correspondence from her.” We all looked sharper at the man. “Amicable correspondence. The sort one receives from a friend.” We continued to stare at him. He became more and more agitated. “Emily corresponds with her as well, I’ll have you know!”

“Does she now?” Reid asked purposefully. “And what would that correspondence be about, Mr Tempest? When it was you, who met with Mrs Adler on your travels.”

“Emily visited him in the Dutch East Indies once,” Anna provided. “Before I arrived in London. She took time out from seeking her degree when it became obvious how difficult competing in London’s male dominated society for a role in medicine was going to be.”

“She never did like being challenged,” Tempest muttered.

“So, they met in the Dutch East Indies,” Reid surmised.

I looked to Tempest. “They may have,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders and then he resolutely stared out of the coach’s window.

“And my wife is actually not here,” I said, stunned.

“We cannot assume that is the case,” Reid argued, settling back in his seat, making himself comfortable.

“If she’s not ‘ere, then who poisoned the doxies?” Blackie asked.

“The perpetrator was described as a male,” I offered.

“Dr Cream,” Anna said with dawning understanding. “Emily’s new beau.”

“He is not her beau,” Tempest argued purposefully.

“She believes so,” Anna said simply.

“She is not entertaining a man like him!”

“You worry about her courting prospectives,” Reid asked, “when it is obvious she is complicit in multiple crimes? Fear not, Mr Tempest. I am sure there will be plenty of opportunities for her to rise above her station whilst confined in Newgate awaiting trial.”

With a lurch and swing, Tempest’s fist connected with Reid’s cheek. The carriage rocked. I threw an arm across Anna’s chest to keep her seated. Then Blackie was up, and fists were flying, and the driver was yelling something from atop the coach itself, and Reid pulled a pistol.

The sound of the weapon firing left us all momentarily senseless. Then noise rushed in again as if heralding an Armageddon.

Tempest lay in a pool of blood, his eyes staring sightlessly. Reid no longer held the pistol. I looked toward Blackie, his gaze darting down to the smoking gun in his hand. He dropped it. The sound of it thudding to the floor of the carriage sent an ominous shudder down my spine.

Then Reid sat forward and swiped the offending article up off the floorboards, disappearing it from sight completely.

Anna moved. Intent on checking on Tempest. Just as the door to the coach was thrown open and Emily Tempest pointed her own weapon into the darkened confines.

Reid shifted, covering Henry Tempest’s body from view. Blackie moved, allowing the chit to find a broad target in his chest and no one else’s.

And Anna said, voice soft but no less hard for it, “Emily Tempest. Or is it Mary Moriarty? I am certain there are other characters in Mr Doyle’s books you could yet acquire. Which is it?”

Anna pushed past Blackie before I could stop her, stepping down out of the carriage and facing off against the woman who had abused her cousin so heinously. Who had brought such wretched memories to the fore.

My chest ached for Anna. My heart sped up at her reckless behaviour. The roaring of my rapid pulse in my ears made it difficult to hear her next words.

But I managed.

“Or have you courage enough to be yourself?” she said, the voice of an avenging angel. “And face what it is that’s coming.”

To Everyone But Us

Anna

It all made complete sense, in the most peculiar way.

Emily had befriended Eliza May in the Dutch East Indies. Perhaps received tutelage in the art of manipulation from the woman herself. It was Emily who controlled London’s darker streets and hovels. Emily who ran the Blind Beggars gang in Covent Street Market. Emily who fired the dart full of strychnine at Andrew’s informant, and then used scopolamine on Andrew himself. Emily who had fingers in so many different pies, such as The Blind Beggar Tavern, where she could manipulate and control her overbearing brother in its backroom brothel. Emily who abducted the orphans for her uncle’s mine, perhaps using the increased revenue to fund her own desires. Emily who used the network of telegraph boys to garner information on London’s well-to-do. Emily who manipulated Dr Cream to murder those working women.

Emily Tempest. My friend. My greatest friend since arriving here in London. The woman I had sat beside in lecture theatres, and stood beside at laboratory benches. Emily who I had graduated London’s School of Medicine for Women alongside.

Emily who had cornered me in Dorothy’s Restaurant and outside The Blind Beggar Tavern in Whitechapel; altering her speaking voice, hiding in shadows, using the hood of her cloak to conceal herself from knowing eyes.

It had been Emily all along. Not Eliza May Kelly. We’d been chasing a ghost. A powerful one, but a ghost all the same. A ghost brought to life by Emily’s acquaintances with Andrew’s wife. She knew things another person would not have known. Perhaps she knew things even Eliza May was not aware her protégé had acquired.

“Where is your Dr Cream?” I asked, circling the woman so as Inspector Reid, Sergeant Blackmore and Andrew could climb down out of the carriage and close the door before Emily could see her brother’s body.

I was not yet sure if I should feel a loss at Henry’s death. He had been complicit in the bribery of Justice Blackborough, so how involved he was in his sister’s affairs was not yet known. But I believed his innocence in harming Mina. I’d carry that small smattering of hope for his eternal soul.

“Right here, Doctor,” Cream announced, as he appeared from behind the coach. He made quick work of divesting Inspector Reid of his pistol; if he noted its heat, having been recently fired, he did not comment. He proceeded to pat down Blackmore and then Andrew, but left Andrew his cane; clearly failing to see it as a potential weapon.

I wondered if he viewed canes as fashion accessories as Henry had done. And then I realised Henry Tempest would never jaunt along Hunter Street, swinging a cane, ever again.

I glared at his sister; for it was at her feet, I’d lay the blame.

“Ah, dearest,” Emily said sweetly. I was sure it was all an act. “Impeccable timing as usual.”

Cream smiled at her as if she were the sun to his moon. He moved to stand beside her, using Reid’s pistol against us.

Two guns, and we armed with only a walking stick. The odds were not in our favour.

“Strychnos nox-vomica,” I said, garnering a sneer from Emily and a look of pride from Cream.

“Such a nasty little plant, wouldn’t you agree?” the man in question asked.

“An interesting choice, Doctor,” I said. “I presume you are in fact a physician?”

“Indeed. One must keep up appearances, mustn’t one?”

“But to use a poison so readily known to have been the choice of weapon of another,” I offered.

“What do you mean?”

“Strychnine was my wife’s poison of choice,” Andrew offered, following my train of thought exactly.

I glanced toward him, but could not afford to keep my attention off the two murderers in our midst. Andrew appeared calm and untouched by the current topic of conversation. I could only hope that his state of mind was as such.

“I am not aware of your wife, sir,” Cream said stiffly.

“Ah, but Miss Tempest is, isn't she?” Reid offered.

“Quite familiar,” Blackmore added.

“In fact, is it not Eliza May Adler whom you model yourself on?” I said to Emily.

She stared, first at Andrew, then at Reid and Blackmore, and then finally at myself.

A bubble of laughter erupted from between her lips; so frivolous and as much the Emily I had often seen. This was the act; the gay façade she showed the world. The shallow socialite not witnessed within the confines of a theatre. The duplicity astounded but did not surprise.

She had fooled more than just me.

“Well done, Anna,” she said happily. “I am impressed. And here I thought you were so focused on your suffragette franchise that you failed to note a thing of worth outside of its cause.” She clapped her hands together with a little too much enthusiasm. “Brava! Brava! Really, it is quite impressive. What else have you learned?”

“Does she know you emulate her?” I asked, not bothering to answer.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, eh?” she teased. “But I digress. We have much to discuss. Unfortunately, not all of those here need be present for such.”

She turned her pistol on Inspector Reid and fired.

It happened so quickly. The sound of the weapon discharging almost deafening. The shock of it happening at all, despite the threat that had hung over us since we’d exited the carriage, debilitating.

And then Andrew was moving, his limp barely noticeable and Blackmore was rolling out of the way of a second shot, and the cane came down hard on top of Cream’s wrist, disarming him in one fell swoop. And I shot forward and kicked Emily’s side, making her stumble. And then we were grappling for control of the pistol.

Rolling around in the dirt and grass, our hair coming loose, our skirts getting tangled, elbows poking, and fingers scratching, and the pistol going flying.

I’m not sure how much time passed, but the cocking of the weapon at Emily’s ear had her stilling, and the nudge of the muzzle to her temple had her releasing my throat from her clawed hands. I sucked in air and rolled away, relieved to see Blackmore tending a still living Inspector Reid. My vision wavered and then refocused, then I watched as Andrew stepped back, pistol still held steadily on Emily as she righted herself on the ground as if nothing untoward had happened.

I searched for Cream and found him out cold to the side, a long welt marring his features. Exactly the width of Andrew’s cane.

“Where is your uncle?” Andrew demanded.

“Quite some miles from here, I should guess,” Emily replied.

“The children?”

“Why do you care, Kelly? They are just orphans.”

“Orphans made to work in appalling conditions, no doubt.”

“You have softened,” Emily sneered. “I can hardly fathom what she saw in you once. Such a proud man, she said. Such a loyal fellow. One cannot simply confront Andrew Kelly; one must convince him first of his follies.”

“What is this?” Andrew said, taking a step backwards and then realising his mistake. He straightened his back and waved the pistol. “Speak,” he demanded.

“All right,” Emily said, pushing to stand upright. “Your wife.” She offered that same sneer to me on those words and then returned her attention to Andrew. “Your wife has a knack for assessing character, and in you, she saw something unforgiving. Something she believed would assist her in her quest to right the wrongs in the world.”

“Wrongs she alone perceived,” Andrew snapped.

“Does it matter? They are wrongs in your wife’s eyes and therefore wrongs which were to be corrected. Upon meeting you, of course, I did wonder what it was she saw in such a male. The scopolamine didn't reveal anything new on that count, so I set about testing your morals. Did you like Newgate Gaol? Did you enjoy being cuffed and escorted out of the boarding house?”

“Would your…professor be pleased with your attempts to entrap me?” Andrew asked.

“The pupil has become the teacher, wouldn’t you say?” Emily said.

“Professor Moriarty,” I murmured. “But the letters I received are from the Dutch East Indies. From Eliza May. Does she also use that same moniker?”

“I suggested it, actually. A way to keep her new identity separate but still connected to her current one. The Orient is not the backwater it once was. People really do travel there. My wearisome brother is a case in point.”

No one mentioned his demise. Emily was far too close to the edge to warrant such honesty.

“So, you both use the moniker,” Andrew concluded. “Eliza May in her letters to Anna from the Dutch East Indies. And you when you chose to confront Anna directly.”

“You do possess a canny ability for summation,” Emily said. “Did it confuse you? Were you chasing your tails while I muddied the waters? That last letter was of my hand, you know,” she said, tilting her head at me. “Did you enjoy it? Did it perplex you?”

“Emily,” I said. “This is not a game. You killed people. Had them killed.” I glanced toward Dr Cream, who was now trussed up ready for committal at the Old Bailey. “‘First, do no harm,’” I said. “Have you forgotten so quickly? You have broken laws and defied logic, to what end? You had a career. A degree in medicine. Why throw it away now?”

“You are so small minded, Anna,” she snarled. “You fight the good fight, making a place for yourself in this male-centric world. You do not realise the freedom to be had when men believe themselves superior. We will never achieve equality. Not in our lifetime. Not sufficiently to count. But we can direct things from the background. Manipulate men to do what we would never be able to do in this or fifty lifetimes. Do you honestly believe once they grant you the right to vote, that your life will alter so significantly? It won’t. But, oh, the joys to be had, the money to be made from the background. Now. Not five years from now. Not ten. But now.

“Do you have any idea how much I am worth?”

“You did this for financial gain?” I was appalled.

“There are two kinds of people in this world, Anna. Those who go along, content to be classified as the world sees them, letting others rule their place in society, living within the parameters set, suffering. Then there are those who do not live by anyone else’s rules, who make the world as it exists already bend to their desires, who reap the rewards their chosen life provides them. I am not a follower, dearest. I aim to rule my empire.”

“And yet you are under arrest, Miss Tempest,” Inspector Reid announced. “About to be hauled before a judge, and we’ll make sure it is not Justice Blackborough, for your crimes. How much freedom do you feel yourself to have now?”

“Do you seriously believe my uncle has not the sway to exonerate me?” She glanced toward Cream and smiled. “I have been subjected to the most horrific treatment at the hands of men. Manipulated to perform for their pleasure. Such a vile being. Such an evil cur. Cream will be hanged for his crimes, and I will be exculpated.”

“And the orphans?” Andrew enquired. “How have they been treated, Miss Tempest? By your uncle? He may well be a peer of the realm, but he is just as culpable as yourself.”

“And then there is Mina,” I said, feeling bereft all over again. “She will testify.”

“Will she?” Emily asked, all knowing.

She was right. Mina would not be strong enough to testify. Henry was dead. The Marquess in the wind. Emily had powerful allies.

“She will testify,” I said, but even I could hear the lie.

Emily laughed. It was not a laugh I had heard from her before now. It was full of conviction and self-righteousness, and entirely not friendly. Not my Emily.

I had lost my friend. I was not certain that I hadn’t lost Mina, as well.

What more would this woman take from me?

“My pocket,” she said. “Inside you’ll find a missive. A rather telling one, I should think.”

Andrew kept his pistol on Emily as Sergeant Blackmore stepped forward and removed the letter. He shook it out, all of us scenting the jasmine as it wafted on the still air, and handed it to Andrew.

Andrew scanned its contents and then crushed the paper in his fist.

“Easy,” Reid warned, taking the letter before it was further damaged.

He started reading it aloud.

“My dearest Emily,

I am pleased to finally conclude my business here in Batavia. In time, I shall be remembered for my commitment to progress. For the enlightened way I have transformed a backwards city.

For is it not our lot in life to improve the condition of others?

Now, though, dearest, I must turn my attentions elsewhere. Across the seas to another backwards location.

I hear the weather is rather temperate in the Antipodes.

What fun I shall have in Auckland City, moving my chess pieces, placing them where they will benefit from my direction most surely. I have never so looked forward to a conquest as I do conquering that little bird’s city.

Be well, my darling.

Until our paths meet again.

Yours most sincerely,

EMA.”

“She’s going to New Zealand,” I said, stunned.

Emily started laughing.

“To Auckland City,” Sergeant Blackmore muttered.

Andrew stared down at the letter in Reid’s hand in unmitigated horror, his skin pale, his lips a tight slash across his face.

“You see?” Emily taunted. “It is not over yet.”

No. It was only just beginning.

“Oh,” Inspector Reid said, coming up behind the girl and placing her hands in shackles. “For you, Miss Tempest, it most assuredly is over. If it’s the last thing I do, I will see you in Newgate Gaol.”

He pushed her roughly toward the coach. The coach her dead brother lay within. I felt bereft of sympathy. Sergeant Blackmore grasped Dr Cream’s collar and pulled him toward the same conveyance also. In the distance, small figures began to appear out of the shadow’s cast by the mine entrance. Ragged clothes, dirt smeared, hollowed faces. A roar of delight rose from their lips when they spotted Emily Tempest, their captor and tormentor, being dragged toward the carriage.

Freedom sounded like angels singing.

I looked at Andrew. Somehow he’d got ahold of Eliza May’s letter. He stared down at it, his eyes hard, his face immobile, his breaths too rapid.

“We’ll go home,” I said. “We’ll face her. And finally, this will be over.”

He shook his head, his eyes pleading when they landed on me.

“You’ve seen what she can do,” he murmured. “How she can manipulate the vilest of creatures. Emily Tempest believes she was in charge of London.” He shook the letter at me. “Don’t you see? She was a pawn on Eliza May’s chessboard as surely as Jack the Ripper ever had been. Miss Tempest will fall for this because that is what Eliza May wants the world to see. Emily’s crimes. Not hers. She is a scapegoat. She is the villain. And the Eliza May who waits to greet us in Auckland will be a completely different character in this tragedy.”

“To everyone but us,” I insisted.

“To everyone but us,” Andrew repeated, staring down at the letter again. “I will divorce her. We don't need to go back.”

I stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm; his muscles tensing beneath his jacket’s sleeve.

“That is not who we are, Andrew,” I said.

He turned toward me, lifted a hand and cupped my cheek.

“Who are we, then, Anna?”

“We are better than her,” I said with conviction.

He closed his eyes and leant forward, placing his forehead against mine with such familiarity.

“Sometimes I wonder,” he whispered, “what is the truth and what is the fabrication she has created.”

“Look to me, and you shall see your truth, Andrew Kelly.”

“Always,” he said.

He pulled back and looked down at me; the world around us lost to the moment. With a soft breath and a look of longing, he wrapped his arms about me.

Pulling me close against his chest, to the only place I ever truly wanted to be, he tipped my face up for his lips to devour me; kissing me with as much care as passion burning brightly.

Just like Andrew Kelly did everything in his life. Care and passion, loyalty and dedication. Two halves of a golden coin, more precious than any material possession could ever be.

Loving this man, I thought, sounded like angels singing.

Epilogue

Anna

North Atlantic Ocean

August 1892

That is not who we are. I’d regretted the words almost immediately. But I’d stood by them. So had Andrew. On returning to London, he had not sought out a barrister.

He was married still. And would remain so. His soul was safe from Saint Peter’s judgment, as long as he resisted temptation. I was not sure I could. Even now, standing on the deck of the RMS Oceanic, staring out across the choppy waters, Andrew stoically at my side, I was certain I would fail.

“It would seem your Henry was as unaware of his uncle’s proclivities as he was of his sister’s,” he said, the wind whipping his words away, but not before I heard them.

“He is not my Henry,” I said, gripping the handrail tightly.

“You know what I mean,” Andrew said dismissively. If he could have, he would have dismissed Henry entirely. But Henry had bribed Justice Blackborough, and that evidence, presented in court by Andrew himself, had helped establish a connection between the bribery of judges at the Old Bailey and the Tempest family.

From there more witnesses had come forward and taken the stand, condemning both Lord Londonderry and his niece. Henry’s inability to stand trial had meant he could not prove his innocence completely. But it was to be understood he had been manipulated by his family.

I found that incredibly telling. Henry had been a fop in appearance and a fop by nature. But he had also been a friend. Perhaps it was a blessing he had not lived to see his sister hanged. For it was certain now that she would be.

Lord Londonderry, for his part, was still in the wind. His trial in absentia was short but compelling. His former miners had long ago risen against him, forcing him to find alternate measures to ensure production remained on schedule. He had a history of treating his workers most poorly, forcing them to seek employment elsewhere or starve from lack of remuneration.

Their evidence, attached to that of the stolen children, convinced a jury of his and Emily’s guilt.

Mina had not needed to testify. Her evidence would not have made a jot of difference. I could not help feeling, however, that she would regret it; missing the opportunity to stand up to her abductors. But she was still so frail, still so under the power of opium. Wilhelmina had moved on from laudanum. She’d bypassed absinthe. And rocketed right toward the dream stick.

I shuddered at the memory of my mother. At what lay ahead for us both.

“Thomas Neill Cream is said to be causing all manner of problems at Newgate,” Andrew added conversationally, pulling my thoughts away from an abyss. “His will be a much looked upon hanging.”

“Is there a date set?” I asked, numbly.

“These things take time, Anna. But it is a foregone conclusion. Not only is he responsible for the deaths of unfortunate women on England’s own shores, and the upset at the Metropole Hotel, but evidence has been unearthed that he carried out similar crimes in Chicago, as well. He escaped to London only to be drawn into Emily Tempest’s machinations. An undertaking that was no doubt achieved with skill. The man had every intention of hiding his base nature until he met Miss Tempest.”

“She corrupted the already corrupted,” I mused.

“And lead the lambs to treachery.”

“The telegraph boys,” I said.

“Yes, there is to be an inquest into the use of telegraphs for the delivery of important messages.”

“And are they to read our letters then, too?”

Andrew smiled, his eyes twinkling in the sunlight.

“I would rather the government did not,” he said softly.

“Are you planning to undertake a liaison through the exchange of love notes, Inspector?”

“I had planned to undertake one privately.”

He would break his vows for me. The realisation left me breathless. Andrew Kelly, who could not countenance a dissolution of marriage, would choose the path equally abhorrent to his nature of adultery.

Oh, I had very little faith that Eliza May had remained true to her husband. But Andrew had remained true to her, despite her failings.

Could I be the person who corrupted him so completely?

Just as Emily Tempest had corrupted the men in her life?

I shook my head. His smile dimmed.

And then he reached forward and took both my hands in his.

"You once told me," he whispered, "'If you believe in it, then you fight for it.' I believe in us, Anna Cassidy. I believe we are meant to be together. I cannot give you everything you want, but I can give you the better part of me."

I had thought the better part of him was his morality. His strength of character. His resolve. Idiotically, I had also thought those things were not as important as having his love, unconditionally. I had thought wrong.

I loved this man enough to be strong. To stand tall. To be the voice of reason when all logic fled. To steel my heart and preserve his. To save him from himself. And from me.

I loved him more than enough for that.

I shook my head. His thumbs stroked across the backs of my gloves one last time, and then he let me go.

Let me go, as I was letting him go.

It hurt.

We had a long voyage ahead of us. A harder battle to face once we reached New Zealand's shores. I could be strong.

And then I would need to find a reserve of strength to face Eliza May Kelly.

Because I might be saying goodbye to an intimate relationship with Andrew Kelly, but I was not saying goodbye to the man. And Andrew Kelly, the man, meant the world to me.

He had come into my life when it had fallen apart. Stepped up and stood back. Always present, never encroaching too far. A solid presence in a world that was sometimes unjust, and often darker than the pits of hell.

Andrew Kelly was my light in the shadows. My beacon in the dark. I could no further face this life without him in it than I could not fight for what I believed in with every part of my soul and heart.

And I believed in us. Just not the us we would be forced to be.

I looked up into stoic eyes; a blue so deep it was mesmerising. Then I opened my parasol, lifted it up above my head, and blocked out the heat of his gaze, the heat of his love, the heat of our heartache.

I could be strong, but I'd take any aid on offer. And right now, I needed the illusion of calm.

Bobbing a curtsy, I twirled the parasol handle in my palm and walked away. Across the promenade of the RMS Oceanic, toward another battle below deck.

Mina would be waking. She would need me.

And I her.

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