Fanny thought the woman would fight, but she did as William asked with a saccharine sweet smile on her face.
The tension in William’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “If you come with me willingly, the charges against you might go easier.” It was a lie and everyone in the room knew it. “My carriage is waiting right outside,” he continued in a tone no doubt designed to soothe as he took a step closer. “We’ll have a nice chat on the way.”
“Oh, I’ll come with you willingly enough, but not to Whitehall.” Miss Newton wasn’t nearly done with her torture. With the twist of a sleeve, she had a smaller, thinner blade in her fingers. “Do not try to trick me. I’m not an idiot!” Her screech echoed off the walls. With a flick of the wrist, she sent the knife flying. It embedded itself into William’s left calf, and since he was still in evening attire, he hadn’t worn boots that would have protected him.
“Bloody hell.” Immediately, he dropped to a knee and removed the blade, tossing it aside. “If you’re trying to lure me to your side, this is not the way.”
“You’re already on my side, Inspector, merely by coming tonight. I knew you would with the right bait. Now I want you just a tiny bit incapacitated, so I can take care of you later, show you how much I love you as I care for your wounds.” She wiped her hands upon her yellow skirting as if she’d done nothing wrong. Then, with a little push, she set Fanny swinging and laughed when she scrambled to find purchase again with her toes. “Would you like to hear my story?”
Fanny gasped for breath and then hiccupped in turn. She couldn’t help it. The woman was completely deranged. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me!” Miss Newton flicked another small blade from her sleeve. She slashed at Fanny’s gown, and the slight sting of the tip glanced along her skin from sternum to naval. Then she trained her eyes on William, who remained kneeling on the floor, his muscles tensed. “Those women were in my way.”
“How do you figure?” He slowly stood. Pain flashed over his face, gone with his next blink, and Fanny hoped his injury wasn’t deep or severe.
“Those silly, simpering fools.” Miss Newton shrugged. She circled Fanny as she talked. “Women who were born and bred within the ton. They thought themselves better than me.”
“They essentially were. Even you have to admit that,” Fanny said, not to further anger the murderess, but to state the facts. Even if she drew her last breaths, she wanted to know the truth. “You’re the daughter of a butcher even though your father inherited a title and everything that goes with it, but fine clothes and invitations can’t remove that taint, that stink, can it?”
“Shut up!” She spun Fanny around to face her. A bit of spittle clung to her bottom lip. “I’m not talking to you.” She struck out with the thin blade, leaving a scratch along Fanny’s clavicles. “You’re one of them; an obstacle.”
When Fanny whimpered from the sharp pain, William growled. He came a step forward.
“Stop!” Miss Newton threw the blade. It arced in the air, the weak candlelight glimmering off it, until it found purchase in William’s right shoulder, sinking in an inch or so through his clothing. “If you approach any closer, poor Miss Bancroft will die now instead of later.”
“Damn and blast.” He plucked the small knife from his coat, and when he would have hurled it back, Miss Newton produced another one from her sleeve.
“Drop it. I’m not done talking, and if you move again while I’m telling you my story, I have no problems flaying my bait.” Her eyes glittered with more than madness. She’d sunk too far into her alternate world.
The urge to retch climbed the back of Fanny’s throat, quelling any more hiccups. If she were honest with herself, there was no end to this situation, and not one that would end happily. William’s hands were metaphorically tied, and because of his feelings for her, he wouldn’t make a move that would capture or kill the murderess. “William, please,” Fanny whispered as she attempted to turn herself about and meet his gaze. “Forget the distractions and do what you must. It’s the only way.”
“Do not talk to him. He’s mine now.” Miss Newton gave her a more vigorous shove that set Fanny to swinging and lifting her toes off the floor. When she gasped for breath, even choked at the harsh pull of the chain and the cold links that bit into her neck, the killer merely laughed.
“Francesca!” William darted forward, but Miss Newton flung a third blade that caught him in his left thigh. With a curse, he fell to one knee.
“I had to fight twice as hard to move through the ton, but I did it.”
Terror flowed through every vein Fanny possessed, but eventually, she was able to stabilize herself, balance on her toes, which let her suck in much needed air into her lungs. She shot a quick glance to William. The newest wound had drawn more blood than the others. It came away on his glove. A wave of hot anger welled into Fanny’s chest that this woman temporarily held the upper hand. “Fight through the pain, William,” she managed to gasp.
Miss Newton’s eyes had taken on a faraway look as she wandered about the chilly room. “I made myself into the image that men seemed to want. They were drawn to my red hair, and I became whatever they could desire.” An angry frown twisted her lips while William removed his cravat and wrapped it around his thigh, tying it off tight to stem the flow of blood. “But ton men are fickle. They can’t make up their minds. Always searching for a better option. A prettier girl. An heiress.”
“Except, you fell in love with Lord Coxhill,” William inserted around clenched teeth. “And apparently lost your damn mind.”
“I didn’t lose anything!” Miss Newton produced yet another thin blade from her other sleeve. “I merely found clarity.” She threw the knife, and Fanny gasped, for this one had force behind it.
William dodged the weapon. It clattered harmlessly against the far wall.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed.
“I wanted him, thought he’d be a good husband, hoped he might be the calming influence I needed to hold the madness at bay, so I did what I could to ensure I was the only woman available to him.”
Fanny shook her head. “You killed three women, all because they’d danced or talked to him.” It wasn’t a question. “Because they stood in your way.” As horrific as the story was, the desperation behind it tugged at her chest. This woman knew she’d needed help but hadn’t the first clue how to obtain it, and it had further twisted her mind.
“Of course I did. I even made certain to show up at one of the dump sites and cried crocodile tears to throw suspicion off me and put it on Lord Wainwright.”
“Ah, so then the initial M on the victims meant your name—Miriam?” William asked. He winced as he gained his feet.
“No. It was clearly meant to mean mine. Lord Coxhill was mine, but those women kept flirting with him anyway.”