The Sting of a Storme, page 23
Hiccup!
Using the rest of her strength, Fanny slammed her bound fists into Miss Newton’s stomach. Then she kicked out as hard as she could and caught her abductor in a knee cap. She wished her heel left a mark, for it had certainly thrown the woman off balance.
She hoped William could use that tiny advantage.
Chapter Nineteen
Dear God.
William’s heart plummeted into his stomach when the thin line of blood marred the pale ivory skin of Francesca’s abdomen, but the darling girl provided him with the opening he’d sorely needed. Quickly, he darted forward, and off to one side, away from Fanny. “Enough!” His roar echoed through the frozen room. “This ends now, Miss Newton.” Above all, he had to protect the woman he loved.
No more delays despite the aching stab wounds he’d received. Already, blood had lightly seeped through the cravat he’d wound around his thigh.
“Ah, you finally wish to engage with me, Inspector? I can’t wait to match wits with you, for I’ve certainly kept you guessing these last couple of weeks.” The woman’s madness had sunk into the purr she’d put into her voice. “Or are you only trying to save this worthless excuse of a woman?”
Hiccup!
Hurt jumped into Francesca’s eyes. He could almost see her self-confidence lower as the madwoman continued to taunt, but despite that, those hiccups were endearing. It would kill him to never hear them again.
“She is worth twelve of you.” He needed a weapon, but his pistol was too far away to reach before Miss Newton did something drastic. “However, if you wish to show me that you’re more worthy, I invite you to try.” William spread open his arms and took a step forward. At that point, he didn’t care how many knives she had hidden on her person. His patience had snapped the moment her knife had cut Fanny’s skin. “Come at me. If you can best me in a fight, perhaps you’ll impress me.”
“William, no!” Hiccup. “She’s insane!” Francesca’s frantic cry cut through his remaining reserves. He had to ignore her for the time being, for she was a distraction.
“To get to Francesca, you’ll need to take me down first.” I’ll die before I allow that to happen. Though his pulse roared through his ears, he gestured for her to get on with it. Sooner or later, Chief Inspector Pryce would make an appearance with other agents, and they could put down the threat. Until then, he needed to stall.
“Well, that is easily done. I’ve already wounded you.” Miss Newson batted her eyelashes in some sort of bizarre flirting ritual. As if he could ever find her attractive. “You’ve lost blood. Hardly a formidable adversary, and I know you won’t hurt me.” As expected, she came away from Francesca’s location, and he breathed a tiny sigh of relief.
“Perhaps I harbor a few secrets.” He kept his gaze on that wicked blade of hers.
“That’s what makes you so intriguing.” She lunged and slashed out with the knife. The tip caught at the front of his jacket, severing a button from the fabric. “Just imagine what everyone will say when I finally land you.” Miss Newton thrust again. The blade sliced straight down through his jacket and waistcoat. The pieces gaped open. Only the thin lawn of his shirt separated him from the bite of her knife.
Wild laughter came from Francesca as William advanced, and the madwoman retreated. “William has more integrity in his little finger than you have in your whole body. He’d never lower himself to be with a woman like you.” The chain binding her clanked while she maneuvered herself around to follow their fight.
“Nothing you can say will hurt me, Miss Bancroft. I long ago made peace with who I am. Perhaps you should too.” As if she were fluent in fencing techniques, Miss Newton lunged and thrust, and with each movement she made, it was William who retreated.
The tip of her knife caught his left forearm and left a jagged gash in the fabric, all the way down to his skin. Her next volley nicked his chin, and the warm trickle of blood irritated him. “You must know this won’t end well for you. I’ve been around blades since in leading strings.”
“It won’t end well for you if you continue to fight me.” The woman wasn’t even winded, and as the light of madness gleamed in her eyes, William’s hope of besting her in a fight grew slim. Her strength came from insanity. She wouldn’t give up easily.
Perhaps he could use that to his advantage. Otherwise, he’d end this night cut to ribbons, bleeding out alongside Francesca. Could he harm a woman? The longer he stared at Miss Newton, the more he was convinced this person was no longer the woman she’d once been. She was a monster, killing a handful of people—that he knew of. There was no guarantee she hadn’t done a string of murders before that elsewhere.
Then the damned murderess danced close to Francesca once more. She struck out with the knife, slicing through the other side of Fanny’s gown. A thin line of blood welled up from the slash. “Eyes on me, Inspector, remember?”
Francesca whimpered. She tried to move away from the madwoman, but there was only so far the chain at her neck and her toes could gain her.
His heart lurched in time to his stomach. God, she didn’t deserve any of this. The only reason she was in this mess was because he’d shown an interest in her. He’d fallen in love with the shy society reporter with a knack for gritty journalism. And those feelings had landed them both into danger. “Leave her alone. I beg of you.”
“Oh, you’re begging now.” A note of victory threaded through Miss Newton’s voice. “I must say I like that. It will serve us well in the future.” She gave Francesca a hard shove, which set her swinging.
Icy fear shot down William’s spine and twisted through his gut when she gasped for breath and frantically fought for balance on her toes. He had to do something. Perhaps the better part of valor was to play the woman’s game. Holding up his hands, he let his shoulders droop. Damnation, but he hoped she would believe him. “Enough. You win, Miss Newton.”
“What?” The madwoman frowned. She narrowed her eyes on him.
“No!” The word sound dragged from Francesca’s tight throat followed by two hiccups. She struggled in an effort to keep him in her sightline. “William, don’t.” Tears welled in her arctic blue eyes, and he cursed himself for what he was about to do.
To keep her safe, he ignored her and kept his focus on Miss Newton. “You win. I’m willfully giving Miss Bancroft up, for I want you instead.” He heaved out a sigh even as Francesca’s cry nearly broke his heart. “It’s always been you, Miss Newton—Miriam. I just didn’t know it until I saw you at the ball tonight.”
“William, no!” Francesca’s wails battered his chest. “Why would you do this?”
“Ah, now that’s more like it.” The madwoman smiled, clearly mollified by the modification in narrative. “That changes everything, doesn’t it?” Yet she held the knife at the ready.
He glanced at Francesca. Every tear, each sob she uttered cut through his heart as if Miss Newton had stabbed him. Please, love, please understand this is only a bit of Drury Lane fiction. “Indeed.” Slowly, so he wouldn’t startle her, he took a step toward her then another, holding out a hand. By sheer willpower, it didn’t shake. “But we need to leave here immediately. You can either let Miss Bancroft go; I’m sure she won’t talk, or you can leave her here. Eventually, Bow Street agents will be along. You must know that.”
A shrewd twinkle lit Miss Newton’s eyes. “Yes, we’ll go away. Just you and I.” She ignored his outstretched hand. Instead, she ducked around Francesca, darted over to the hoist wheel, and threw the lever into the next position. “We’ll go away and leave her here—dead.” Immediately, the wheel turned with a horrible clacking noise and seemingly in slow motion, Francesca’s toes began lifting off the floor. The madwoman laughed when Fanny cried out in terror, but she made her way back to William’s position. “We’ll have such a good life together, Inspector. Far away from here.”
Hating himself but knowing this was the only way to end the standoff, William held out a hand. “Give me the knife, Miriam. I’ve waited so long for you to be mine.” With every passing second, pieces of his soul fell from his person, for Francesca choked and dangled from that damned chain. Her life was slipping away while he had to play this idiotic game with a murderess.
“So have I, ever since that day in front of Whitehall.” Miss Newton came to him. She put the handle of her knife into his palm and then threw her arms around his shoulders. There were stars in her eyes as she peered up at him. “I can’t wait to see how you’ll surprise me.”
“Me either.” With one eye on Francesca with his heart in his throat and every beat of his pulse crying out her name, he embraced Miss Newton, went so far as to press his lips to hers, but in that second when she surrendered to him, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of knife and then plunged the blade deep into her chest, shoving it through her ribcage until it had gone to the hilt. He hoped the knife had at least hit a lung or even her heart. A swift death was the only fitting end for her.
Miss Newton’s cry of surprise and rage blended with Francesca’s struggles to breathe. Time was of the essence, and he didn’t much care what happened to Miss Newton now. Blood dribbled from her mouth while her eyes reflected shock. He released his hold on her, and as she slipped to the floor, William loped across the room to the wheel. Using the crank on one side, he hurriedly reversed the chain’s direction until Fanny’s feet were firmly on the floor.
“Francesca!” He ran to her just as her knees gave out and she slumped, the chain around her neck going taut once more. Her face was red, almost purple, and her eyes were closed. “Please don’t leave me.” William caught her into his arms and easily lifted her chain off the meat hook. Soaked in Miss Newton’s blood and out of his mind with worry for Francesca, he sank to the floor as she gasped for breath.
Quickly, he removed the chain from about her neck. It fell to the concrete with a jarring jangle. Ignoring her bound wrists for the moment, he cradled her in his lap. “Please talk to me. Let me know you’ll be all right.” As long as she continued to breathe there was a chance she’d survive.
Her head lolled against his shoulder. Already, ugly purple bruises were forming on the ivory skin of her neck. The slash marks between her clavicle bones oozed blood as did the longer stab wounds at her side and abdomen. His nostrils were filled with the metallic scent of the evidence of violence. And still he watched her face for any signs of movement—of life.
“Francesca, please.” William pressed his lips to her forehead. His arms shook. His heart trembled. “Open your eyes and look at me. The danger is over. Miss Newton is dead.” Or at least on her way to dying. He darted a glance to the body on the floor not ten feet away. The madwoman had fallen on her side; the knife he’d stabbed her with remained lodged in her chest. A pool of dark red blood grew wider beneath her.
Yes, she was most certainly dead. Thank God. Her reign of terror was over. The outstanding cases were closed.
Not knowing what else to do, William gently untied the rope from around Francesca’s wrists. He massaged her hands to encourage a return of circulation. Finally, he kept vigil, listening to her too-shallow rasping, watched the slight rise and fall of her chest. Moisture welled in his eyes. Had he lost her when he’d only just found her? Tears fell to his cheeks. A few dropped upon her gown; the once-pretty shades of blue he would always associate with her. An ache radiated around his heart, beyond any pain he’d ever known before.
“Don’t die on me,” he whispered and gently brushed the escaped locks of chestnut hair from her face. The one mother of pearl comb clung heroically to those tresses. “I love you, Francesca. I need you in my life, now and forever. And I should have told you sooner…”
He didn’t know how long he sat with her limp form in his lap, his arms around her as his tears freely fell, but eventually, her color returned to normal, if paler than usual. Her eyelids fluttered. She stirred ever so slightly against his shoulder. Then, those beautiful eyes opened, and it was as if the heavens poured their light upon him.
“William…” His name in her voice was small, strained, but never had he heard a more wonderful sound. She focused on his face. “You’re bleeding.” Then she lifted a hand to his chin. Blood came away on her glove, and her hand flopped back down.
“In quite a few places, darling.” Oh, he wanted to shout his joy from the rooftops of London, but instead he opted to hold her close. “As are you.”
“There is pain. So much.” The whispered words pulled at his heart. She pressed a hand to her throat. “Hurts to talk.”
No doubt it did. That maniac had attempted to strangle her a few times. “Then don’t. Just listen. All right?” When she nodded, he took a handful of her gown and pressed it against the stab wound on her abdomen. At her hiss of pain, he tsked his tongue. “The danger is over. Miss Newton is dead. She can’t hurt anyone ever again.”
Francesca kept her gaze glued to his face. “Nearly killed me.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “Terrified.” No longer did she hiccup. Perhaps being nearly hung had banished them.
“I know. And it’s because of me you’re here at all.” He’d known better than to let a woman into his life, to involve himself personally—to fall in love—but it had happened. “It’s dangerous for you to be with me.”
“No.” She gasped out the word. No doubt her vocal cords had been taxed. “I knew the risks. We’re partners.” The whisper tugged at his soul, called all the pieces back together again despite his fear. “Knew you would come.”
“I tried my best. And I retrieved your grandmother’s comb.”
Her eyelids flickered. “Thank you.”
“I’d do anything for you.” He touched one of the bruises on her neck, frowning when she uttered an anemic whimper. “What I said to Miss Newton…” The lie pressed upon his heart. “None of it was true. I only said it so she’d let down her guard, so I could finally have an advantage…”
“Shh.” Again, she lifted her hand and held it against the side of his cheek. “I suspected that.” Her labored breathing caused his heart to squeeze with fear. Would she survive? “You solved the cases.”
“No, you solved them. After you were taken, I delved through your notes from the crime scenes. The answers were there, and without your help, I never would have found you in time.” Panic from the situation crashed with worry within his chest. “Never let anyone tell you that who you are isn’t wonderful.”
“William…” Tears spilled onto her cheeks.
He lifted a hand and placed it against hers, pressing it tighter to his cheek. “I love you, Francesca. Please don’t leave me now that I’ve realized how much I need you in my life.”
Pleasure lit her eyes. “I won’t.” She sagged against his chest. “So tired.”
Concern pulsed through his veins. If she slept, would she awaken later, or would she slip into a coma? “I’ll get you home as soon as I can. Your parents are worried.” Even as he spoke, the sound of frantic shouting filled the front room of the butcher’s shop.
A faint smile curved her lips. Her hand fell back to the side. “Love you…”
“I know.” As a contingent from Bow Street burst into the frozen room, he leaned over her and pressed his lips to hers. “We’ll talk later.” Then he plunged a hand into the interior pocket of his jacket and retrieved her slipper. “You’ll need this, not that I’ll let you walk out of here.”
“Like a prince.” She gave him a tiny giggle before her head nodded and she went unconscious.
“Good God, Inspector Storme, it’s a wonder you’re alive.” Chief Inspector Pryce looked about the room with his hands planted on his hips. Agents gathered inside and two of them made way for the coroner. “Are you wounded?”
“Oh, yes. No doubt I’ll need the services of a surgeon, as will Miss Bancroft.” Quickly and in a soft voice, he gave his superior an account of what had occurred since he’d arrived at the butcher shop. “Miss Newton confessed to the killings. She showed no remorse. All because she was husband hunting and had a vicious jealous streak.”
“London grows more bizarre with each passing year.” The chief inspector glanced at Miss Newton’s dead body. “You’re going to have nightmares.”
“When do I not?” Nothing mattered except seeing to Francesca’s care. “Help me with her, please. My carriage is outside. She needs a doctor immediately. I’m not certain she’ll survive being nearly strangled three times.”
“Indeed.” He bent and took Francesca into his arms. “I wasn’t thrilled when you brought along a woman to help your investigations, but she’s more than proved herself. Has pluck, this one.” The man met William’s eye as he struggled to his feet with a groan of pain. “I hope you’ll invite me to the wedding.”
He hadn’t thought that far ahead, but he grinned as the idea took root in his mind. “Don’t rush my fences for me, Pryce. I haven’t yet asked her.”
“You’re well-suited.” The chief inspector led the way from the back room. “I think you’ll be good for each other.”
Every step was agony, thanks to the wounds in his leg. “Perhaps.” William’s hand shook as they gained the street and he swung open the carriage door. “However, I’ll ask your permission now. I’d like to secure her assistance on future cases. Once she’s fully healed, of course.”
“And after your wedding trip?” Amusement threaded through his voice. “Yes, I rather like having a member of the press representing Bow Street and willing to paint us in a favorable light for a change.”
