Chapter Eighteen
Fanny shook with fear, hardly wished to draw a breath, not while Miss Newton held the sharp edge of a butcher’s cleaver to her skin. To say nothing of the heavy, cold chain wrapped around her throat. The batty woman had already thrown that terrible lever twice. Once more would raise her toes off the ground… and she’d slowly strangle to death.
The urge to release a string of hiccups grew strong, but she tamped it down, hoping to remain as quiet as she could. Why wouldn’t William do anything? Belatedly, she realized he couldn’t shoot the madwoman without hurting her, yet terror kept the iciness in her blood.
“Tell me why you killed all those women,” he demanded as he slowly crept around them in a wide circle, his pistol trained and at the ready.
Miss Newton snorted. “And Lord Coxhill, remember.” She kept Fanny’s body between her and William as a shield.
His eyes glittered in the dim illumination. “I haven’t forgotten. You’ll pay for all.”
The blade eased off slightly, and Fanny sucked in a grateful breath. “At least tell us why you’ve become deranged.” She was afraid to speak loudly for fear that in doing so, the knife would cut her. Never in her life had she been treated thusly. The rope chafed against her wrists through the evening gloves. Her heartbeat raced in a frantic rhythm. There was no doubt that fear held her captive, but seeing William made it not quite as horrific despite the locale and her captor.
From behind her, Miss Newton huffed. “There’s nothing wrong with me, Miss Bancroft. It’s everyone else who has the problem, who can’t see how harmful their behavior is.”
“Yet you decided to kill a handful of people and are obviously not the least bit sorry for it.” As William moved, so did Miss Newton. She was careful to keep Fanny between them thanks to the chain that held her captive. “That’s a bit deranged.”
“Perhaps to you because you can’t understand what’s happened to me. You don’t understand what’s it’s been like, being alone, unwanted by a man.”
“Perhaps if you weren’t such a possessive, murderous cow you might have better luck,” Fanny shot off without a thought, which earned her a tight grin from William and a growl from her kidnapper.
“Your perception of me is flawed.” Again, she pressed the blade to Fanny’s throat. “Drop the pistol, Inspector Storme. If you care at all for Miss Bancroft, you’ll do as I say, and I might leave her be, for I grow weary of this game.”
“For killing?” he asked in a low voice that fairly rumbled with anger.
“For killing, for making messes I must clean up, for trying to teach people that playing with other’s emotions and hopes can be deadly.” She huffed when her order wasn’t directly followed. “I’m quite serious, Inspector. Drop the pistol.”
It was an impossible situation, and it needed to end. The only thing Fanny wanted in this moment was for Miss Newton to be felled like a sack of potatoes. “Don’t do it, William. She’s insane. Shoot. It matters not if I’m in the crossfire. At least you’ll stop her from killing again.” Her death would be a noble one, and she’d go on to her eternal reward knowing she’d given William another chance.
I love you so much.
“Such backbone in you all of a sudden,” Miss Newton said in a singsong voice. The arm she’d placed around Fanny’s middle tightened. She dug her fingers into her side until Fanny whimpered in pain. “No doubt the inspector gave you that. It’s endearing, to a point, but in the end, it won’t gain you anything but perhaps a less painful death.” With a laugh that bordered on madness, Miss Newton spun Fanny around until they faced each other. Loathing mixed in those brown eyes. What had she done to cause this woman to feel such hate for her? “But soon, he’ll be mine and neither of us will worry about you. Not ever again. You’ll be forgotten by everyone without ever having put your stamp onto history.”
“Like you?” William said. “Was that your hope then? To gain notice? To have London know who you are?”
“That wasn’t my end result, but those killings were a means to that.” Miss Newton shrugged. The madness in her face, the bizarre butchery, the knife to Fanny’s throat were all in direct contrast to the three of them in fine formal wear.
The urge to give into hysterical laughter filled Fanny’s chest, but she tamped the sound before it could escape. If she survived, she’d remember to write about this moment in the article.
Please God, let me have that chance.
“I said put down the pistol!” Again, she whipped Fanny around and pressed the blade to her neck. A sharp stab of pain let her know the cleaver had drawn blood. “Or I swear, I’ll spill Miss Bancroft’s guts while you watch. Besides, we both know you won’t harm a woman. It’s not in your nature. Had I been a man, you wouldn’t have hesitated to kill me as soon as you arrived.”
Was that true? He was noble and brave, certainly, but would he not take Miss Newton out? She was a serial killer even if she was a female. “William, don’t listen to her,” Fanny implored in a whisper as she locked gazes with him. Panic rose in her chest. Her throat was tight. Oh, he was angry as his namesake if the storms roiling in his eyes were any indication. And he was magnificent! “Stopping her is the most important thing. It’s what you’ve trained for.” She sucked in a breath. “It’s what your position demands.” Her voice broke and she uttered a weak hiccup. “It’s what you must do to end this.”
For long moments they stared at each other. Emotions she couldn’t read clouded his eyes. The slow trickle of blood on her neck nearly drove her out of her mind. She struggled with the rope that bound her wrists, but Miss Newton had done her work too well. To say nothing of the constant fight to keep her toes touching the floor, and the ones of the foot where the slipper was missing were near frozen.
Finally, William’s shoulders sagged. “You’re wrong. It’s not the most important thing,” he said in a quiet voice. “You are.” With his attention trained on Miss Newton, he lowered his pistol to the floor and then straightened.
“Now kick it away from you,” the madwoman instructed. “This maudlin display of yours won’t be tolerated again.”
“Fine.” He did as instructed. The pistol skittered over the floor toward one of the ice block walls. “Now take the blade from Miss Bancroft’s throat.”
“Only because you asked so nicely.”
A hiccup escaped Fanny’s throat when the blade was lowered. She shook from continued fear.
“Toss the cleaver over by my pistol.” Though authority rang in his voice, the tic in his left cheek beneath his eye gave away his unease.