Fearless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 1): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series (10 page)

I looked about the room at the twenty or so women who had faithfully attended. Mrs Ethel Poynton stood centre stage at the front of two rows of neatly lined chairs, holding court as only she seemed capable. Wilhelmina offered a brief squeeze of my hand and then made a beeline for her friend, Helen Nelson, leaving me to my own devices.

I hadn’t told her. I hadn’t told anyone, not even Ethel Poynton. Inspector Kelly wanted the second murder to remain out of the papers. Announcing to the women present, that another Suffragette had been brutally slaughtered, wouldn’t affect that outcome. He was right, panic would ensue.

But they needed to be cautious. They needed to be aware that their activities could bring them harm. I had to warn them.

I sucked in a deep breath of air and approached Mrs Poynton.

“We will not let poor Margaret’s demise sway us from our chosen path to light and freedom,” Ethel was saying to the small group of women who surrounded her. “Margaret would not have wanted us to miss this opportunity. It is sad enough that her demise caused a delay in presenting our petition to the deputy mayor. But to be dilatory now, for the sake of respecting the dead, would be an unforgivable sin against all she held so dearly.”

Margaret had believed in what we were fighting for, but she had hardly been a staunch supporter. Her idea of equality for women went only so far as being heard, having a say. She didn’t believe in prohibition. Nor was she so inclined to march for temperance within society. Margaret wanted the vote. If we could attain it. Outside of that, she was the most contented housewife I’d ever seen.

“If anything,” Ethel went on, “we should do this for Margaret. For her sacrifice. For her memory.”

“For Margaret,” someone repeated.

“For Margaret!” another picked up the cry. Soon the room was murmuring the words in a synchronous chorus, voices rising rapidly to the rafters, hands fisted above their heads in a show of determined power.

Ethel could rouse a sleeping nursery to riot. Her eyes flashed in the sunlight filtering in through the windows of the hall. She watched on with an ill-disguised pride at her dedicated followers. Pleasure lifting the corner of her lips into a thin smile. If we ever did win the vote for women, I wasn’t sure what Ethel Poynton’s next rabble-rousing goal might be.

I was certain, however, that I did not want to know. But I did believe in the Suffragettes. And not all of them were members of the movement for the thrill of a protest rally or the chance to raise their voices against men. These were my sisters-in-arms. These were my friends. There were good people here, in amongst those like Ethel Poynton. Women like Wilhelmina and Helen, here for a show of support more than a chance to shout out their convictions. I couldn’t leave without at least attempting to curtail some of the enthusiasm Ethel was wont to inspire.

We needed to tread carefully. Ever forward, but with all due care.

I stepped through the throng that surrounded Mrs Poynton and waited for the voices to die down. Thankfully Ethel wasn’t encouraging them further. The show she’d received was clearly enough for right now.

“It might be wise if we move forward with caution,” I announced, and was immediately frowned upon by the woman in question.

“Nonsense, Miss Cassidy,” Ethel said with a self assured air. “Caution of what? That they won’t hear our words?”

Several voices tittered with their agreement, but I forged on.

“Margaret’s death was a tragic occurrence,” I started.

“Perhaps one we could use to our advantage,” Ethel interrupted.

“I beg your pardon?” I asked, unsure if I’d heard her correctly or not.

“You have said it yourself in the past, Anna Cassidy,” Ethel announced, and I cringed internally at what words of mine she’d now misrepresent. “No event should be overlooked. No opportunity lost. Those were your words, were they not? The right to vote is more important than us. More important than anything.”

“I did not infer that our safety should be overlooked.”

A hard hand firmly gripped my wrist and pulled me several feet away from the suddenly hushed gathering of women. Only now putting Margaret’s death together with the fact that she’d been on a Suffragette rally. A coincidence it could well be, but with Mary’s demise this morning, I was wont to disagree.

I didn’t have all the answers. And I couldn’t back up my fears here today. I was silenced, as much as the newspapers. More so even, because failure to keep Mary’s death out of public purview would forever condemn my chances of being chief surgeon in Inspector Kelly’s eyes. He may have argued my methods on occasion. Shown outright support of Drummond’s role. But I knew, if he could, he would back me.

I just needed to be patient and wait for my chance.

I saw Suffrage as being that opportunity.

The world was about to change dramatically, but that did not mean we should rush head first into the abyss without wariness.

Not now. Not with two women dead on the street.

But I couldn’t say any of this to Ethel Poynton. Who rounded on me now with a dire look upon her face.

“What in the blazes are you doing now, Anna Cassidy?” she demanded. “Sowing fear where fear need not be. You spend your days in the entrails of society’s most immoral and think to cast that disgusting hue upon everything.”

“You don’t understand the importance of caution, Mrs Poynton,” I tried.

“Are we not cautious?” she growled. “Do we not protest in groups? Attend meetings in the light of day? How much more would you have us do, Miss Cassidy? Not put our signatures to petitions for fear the ink would poison or the paper would cut or the pen would stab through our hearts? Your fears are the imaginings of an overwrought physician. You work too hard. You need to take a break.”

I needed nothing of the sort; she was grandstanding.

“Margaret was attending a protest rally, in the light of broad day,” I pointed out.

“A mere unfortunate coincidence. Her death was a matter of convenience and nothing more.”

“How can you say that, when you know nothing of the police report?”

“And you do? Have they let you back in their sanctified surgery? Have you won another victory for our cause?”

I shook my head, frustrated at her stubborn reluctance to countenance the possibility of danger. Bitterness at her use of my greatest weakness against me left a sour taste upon my tongue.

“We cannot ignore the fact that Margaret was harmed whilst in the position of a Suffragette,” I explained carefully. If I wasn’t careful, I was likely to shout. “Perhaps a coincidence…”

“There, you admit it yourself!”

“…but I think not.”

“You think too much, Anna Cassidy. Leave the thinking to your surgery and the planning of our movement to me.”

“Mrs Poynton,” I insisted. “Just warn the women, please.”

“No, Anna. That’s enough. You’ll have them frightened into their homes, doors barred, and our rallies deserted.”

“Perhaps we should consider cutting back on our protests,” I tried.

“Absolutely not. And I’ll not have you putting such palaver into any of these girls’ heads. We must keep marching forward. We must not give up now. Not with the elections so close at hand.”

It was useless. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t talk to Wilhelmina and Helen, at the very least. Perhaps a few others I knew I could trust.

“Are we done here?” Ethel Poynton enquired.

I nodded my head, receiving one last warning glare from the woman, and then she brushed past me and returned to her sycophants.

I stood still for a moment longer, staring at the wooden floor and uttering a silent prayer. When I looked up, my eyes scanned the room for Mina and in the process noted how doomed my attempts here were. Wilhelmina and Helen stood off to the side, thankfully. But every other Suffragette I could have considered warning, outside of Ethel’s purview, was too deeply entrenched in Mrs Poynton’s circle. Not one other woman stood apart from the group that doggedly surrounded our leader.

She ruled this movement. I had to be grateful for her energy and determination, the verve she exhibited that so often inspired the rest. But sometimes Ethel Poynton was our weakest link; the thorn in our side that slowly bled.

For a second, I considered telling them everything. For a second, I contemplated going against Inspector Kelly’s orders. But my father had been most persistent in this matter.
Think of the greater good,
he’d said.
Save one or save them all.
Panic would cause more damage than not. I had to hope that Ethel was right; we did take precautions. And I had to hope those precautions would be enough.

But as I crossed the hall to Wilhelmina and Helen, I couldn’t help thinking that those precautions had not helped Margaret. And as for Mary, what the devil had she been doing in Mechanics Bay?

And even if my assessment had been correct, and she had been moved there, where had she been prior? At home? On the main street buying her groceries? Doing absolutely nothing related to the Suffragettes?

Was there a connection? Or was this just my mind trying to make a link between two things that were not? I prayed Inspector Kelly was better at determining that answer than I was. I prayed that he’d uncover the murderer before the day was out.

“That looked rather heated, cousin,” Wilhelmina said softly, offering me a cup of hot tea and a biscuit from a nearby table. Perhaps the true reason for their being so far from the rabble.

“When is it not with our dear Mrs Poynton?” Helen enquired.

“Darling Helen,” I said, sipping my tea. “I thank you for not thinking that of me.”

“I may think it, Anna, but dare I say it?” she jested.

Mina giggled prettily, making a weight lift off my shoulders. To see her laughing so soon after news of Margaret’s demise was a relief. An indication, at the very least, that her head was still above water. I wanted to keep it that way. I’d do anything to keep it that way.

So I chose my next words with much care, directing them to Mina’s friend and not her. One point of separation was sometimes all that was required.

“There is a darkness to some people, Helen. As much as we like to see the good in all around us, we must take heed that there are some evils we cannot simply see. Hiding in shadows. Or hiding in plain sight. Be it what would, I will endeavour, for now, to take greater care. As should we all, I believe.”

“With Mrs Poynton?” Mina asked, her words somewhat confused.

“No, Mina dearest,” Helen replied on my behalf. “In life, you goose.”

Mina looked across the small space separating us, her eyes deep pools of rich chocolate brown. She smiled, after a short moment, and then dipped her head down to sip her tea. She didn’t look up again before Mrs Poynton called us to order some minutes later, and we were forced to move closer to hear her address. When she did, she looked years older.

Sometimes I forgot how astute my tender hearted cousin could be.

“The first order of business,” Ethel announced. “Is what exactly are we to do about delivering the petition to the mayor’s office. Any thoughts?”

“Won’t Mr Entrican be performing another speech?” Maisey Kendrick offered.

“His speech is rescheduled for Friday. Still too many days away to serve our purposes,” Ethel replied curtly.

“What about the mayor?” another voice asked; I couldn’t determine who, sitting at the rear of the gathering as I was.

“He has made his wishes quite clear on the matter,” Louise Goodwin grumbled.

“No,” Ethel agreed. “He’d as soon see the petition out with the refuse.”

“Thrown in the Ligar along with all the other filth,” someone else added.

“Burned at the stake more like,” another suggested.

“I am known to Mr Entrican,” I said, raising my voice above the now frequently muttered submissions. “Perhaps he would grant me audience.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what my reason for gaining access to his offices would be, but I couldn’t help thinking our introductions this morning were fortuitous. Keeping the need for further protests at a minimum seemed an especially wise idea right now. So offering myself up as messenger to the mayor’s office was a small sacrifice to pay to keep my fellow Suffragettes safe in the scheme of things.

“You are acquainted?” Ethel asked.

“We are introduced, yes,” I offered.

“He would see you?” she pressed.

Safety first, I thought. “I am quite certain.”

I felt Mina’s eyes on me. Shifted as she was in her seat at my side. Incredulity washed off her in waves of disbelief. I had failed to mention my meeting the deputy mayor this morning. Along with more nefarious things.

“A personal consultation with the deputy mayor is one thing,” Ethel announced. “But what greater benefit would it accomplish for the movement?”

“Newspapers,” I said suddenly. Not wanting the opportunity to keep the Suffragettes safe pass. If Mrs Poynton did not go for this, then a rally would be the next thing on the cards.

“Newspapers?” she queried, looking as though she may have thought I’d lost my mind.

“We alert the newspapers,” I said in a more controlled voice. “Have an article printed in the daily, announcing the mayor’s office awarded the Suffragettes a personal audience. The impact such a statement would make would surely carry more weight than a repeated attempt at a protest rally.”