Read Online Fearless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 1): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series by Nicola Claire - Free Book Online
Authors: Nicola Claire
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too swiftly, my palms indeed full of sweat.
“Without shifting her, it is difficult to ascertain,” I explained. “But she has been sliced with a blade, repeatedly. And disembowelled.”
Blackmore whistled, taking his hat off his head and holding it in both hands at his front. He said a small prayer, and then repositioned the bowler. Kelly only stared at the woman. As if his attention alone was enough to discover her secrets. Her hair covered her face, so identification was impossible until we removed her from the alley. I did not want to think what her face would reveal.
Had she seen her attacker, as Margaret undoubtedly had?
“This does not go any further,” Kelly suddenly declared. “Do you hear me, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir,” came Blackmore’s immediate reply.
“We keep this from the papers,” Kelly went on. “We deal with only the most certain of men.” He turned to look at the sergeant. “Who do you trust in the constabulary?”
“Mackey, sir. Without a doubt.”
“Bring him in on this, but no others. Her body we’ll have shifted to Anna’s.”
My breath stilled at the ramifications. At the consequences of Inspector Kelly’s words. Why would he consider cutting Dr Drummond? Why was he keeping this from the Police Force?
“Half an hour, you say?” Kelly queried, his eyes now on me and not the victim.
“Not much more, if at all. The lower extremities still retain some warmth. I’ll know more once she’s back at my surgery.” I wanted to ask, to press for more.
Why now? Why this?
Why me?
It wasn’t anything I’d said or done; our argument earlier was indication that nothing had changed.
I looked back down at the body, realising belatedly that this was an escalation in crime from that of Margaret’s. Murder is murder. But there are degrees by which it can occur. This was a departure, a path not many take.
The Ripper is here .
I let a slow breath of air out, and searched the scene for something more. Sergeant Blackmore was on his way to organise a constable for assistance, no doubt a cart, as well, to take the body to Franklin Street. But the lack of blood concerned me. And the agitation in Inspector Kelly’s frame distracted even more.
“What is it?” I said, moving more of the woman’s clothing.
“I do not wish to leave you here, unprotected.”
He wanted to chase the killer. Search the dockyard, flush him out.
“He’s long gone, Inspector,” I offered, following the line of something in the woman’s pocket with my fingers. It was difficult to gain purchase from the precarious angle I was forced to maintain.
“Half an hour is not long. He could work nearby,” the inspector argued.
“You believe that?” I queried, wrapping the tips of my fingers around the prize.
I reached out with my free hand to steady myself, finding the inspector’s palm wrapping around it and holding tight. I glanced back at him, noting he leaned on his good leg, favouring his bad. But still stretched beyond comfortable to ensure I remained upright. I didn’t pass comment; he would not have invited such. Concentrating on my actions, I pulled the piece of paper free and then promptly fell backwards when the inspector tugged on my hand too forcefully. My body tumbled into his legs, causing him to offer a muted grunt in reply.
I scrambled to my feet, dusting myself down, and pretending I didn’t see him shift carefully. Favouring again that blasted leg. What had happened tonight to warrant such a recurrence of agony?
“The body was moved here,” I offered, wanting to get his mind off his ailments and onto the task at hand.
“How do you know?” he asked, bringing himself to full height again; having recovered most admirably. Or simply an expert at masking his pain.
“Not enough blood for the type of injuries sustained,” I explained, unfolding the paper in my hand while I nodded to the dirt, but not blood, stained walls. “None has pooled beneath her skirts, either, indicating she
“Without shifting her, it is difficult to ascertain,” I explained. “But she has been sliced with a blade, repeatedly. And disembowelled.”
Blackmore whistled, taking his hat off his head and holding it in both hands at his front. He said a small prayer, and then repositioned the bowler. Kelly only stared at the woman. As if his attention alone was enough to discover her secrets. Her hair covered her face, so identification was impossible until we removed her from the alley. I did not want to think what her face would reveal.
Had she seen her attacker, as Margaret undoubtedly had?
“This does not go any further,” Kelly suddenly declared. “Do you hear me, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir,” came Blackmore’s immediate reply.
“We keep this from the papers,” Kelly went on. “We deal with only the most certain of men.” He turned to look at the sergeant. “Who do you trust in the constabulary?”
“Mackey, sir. Without a doubt.”
“Bring him in on this, but no others. Her body we’ll have shifted to Anna’s.”
My breath stilled at the ramifications. At the consequences of Inspector Kelly’s words. Why would he consider cutting Dr Drummond? Why was he keeping this from the Police Force?
“Half an hour, you say?” Kelly queried, his eyes now on me and not the victim.
“Not much more, if at all. The lower extremities still retain some warmth. I’ll know more once she’s back at my surgery.” I wanted to ask, to press for more.
Why now? Why this?
Why me?
It wasn’t anything I’d said or done; our argument earlier was indication that nothing had changed.
I looked back down at the body, realising belatedly that this was an escalation in crime from that of Margaret’s. Murder is murder. But there are degrees by which it can occur. This was a departure, a path not many take.
The Ripper is here .
I let a slow breath of air out, and searched the scene for something more. Sergeant Blackmore was on his way to organise a constable for assistance, no doubt a cart, as well, to take the body to Franklin Street. But the lack of blood concerned me. And the agitation in Inspector Kelly’s frame distracted even more.
“What is it?” I said, moving more of the woman’s clothing.
“I do not wish to leave you here, unprotected.”
He wanted to chase the killer. Search the dockyard, flush him out.
“He’s long gone, Inspector,” I offered, following the line of something in the woman’s pocket with my fingers. It was difficult to gain purchase from the precarious angle I was forced to maintain.
“Half an hour is not long. He could work nearby,” the inspector argued.
“You believe that?” I queried, wrapping the tips of my fingers around the prize.
I reached out with my free hand to steady myself, finding the inspector’s palm wrapping around it and holding tight. I glanced back at him, noting he leaned on his good leg, favouring his bad. But still stretched beyond comfortable to ensure I remained upright. I didn’t pass comment; he would not have invited such. Concentrating on my actions, I pulled the piece of paper free and then promptly fell backwards when the inspector tugged on my hand too forcefully. My body tumbled into his legs, causing him to offer a muted grunt in reply.
I scrambled to my feet, dusting myself down, and pretending I didn’t see him shift carefully. Favouring again that blasted leg. What had happened tonight to warrant such a recurrence of agony?
“The body was moved here,” I offered, wanting to get his mind off his ailments and onto the task at hand.
“How do you know?” he asked, bringing himself to full height again; having recovered most admirably. Or simply an expert at masking his pain.
“Not enough blood for the type of injuries sustained,” I explained, unfolding the paper in my hand while I nodded to the dirt, but not blood, stained walls. “None has pooled beneath her skirts, either, indicating she
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