Page 88 of Cruel Shame

Father Neapolitan’s outraged scream made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. If he was at the anger stage of a ball-busting, it wouldn’t be long before the pain faded enough for him to get his revenge.

Lady Liddell raised her pistol and shot it into the ceiling, willing the air with the blast of gunfire and a shower of dust and splinters.

Cold shock barreled through my gut, and my heart stuttered with palpitations of terror. Every ounce of concentration coalesced toward the gun now pointing at my face.

“I won’t ask you again,” she shrieked through the ringing of my ears. “Get back into that room or I will shoot you through the eyes.”

On trembling legs, I took one step up the stairs, followed by another. Sweat gathered on my skin and soaked into the stolen coat tucked under my arm. This was worse than the situation last Saturday with Myra. At least then, there was an academy-full of people who could walk in on us. Here, isolated at the end of the Liddell estate, there was no one except for the two people who both despised me and wanted me dead.

It took an eternity for me to scale those few steps. After the second, my body wouldn’t cooperate. Lady Liddell must have engineered my abduction the way she’d engineered my shooting. How many sexual assaults had she covered up for Father Neapolitan over the years? For her husband? I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d helped cover up murders, too. And I would be the latest of their victims.

The door behind me opened, and a rough hand grabbed the ropes around my neck and hauled me into the attic.

“You’ll pay for this, whore,” Father Neapolitan snarled.

“Thomas,” Lady Liddell hissed. “What the hell are you doing?”

Father Neapolitan stepped away. “You told me to bring the girl here. Here she is.”

“Did you touch her?” she asked.

“Not yet—”

“How will you explain it to the police when they find your DNA on her body?”

Terror shuddered through my insides. She really did mean for me to die. I stepped to the side, trying not to make it obvious that I was looking at the door, but Father Neapolitan tightened his grip on the ropes around my neck.

The man sighed and bowed his head. “Right. I didn’t think.”

Lady Liddell ranted that he’d once again ruined another plan. My gaze darted around the room for another possible escape. I only found the door leading down the stairs and the arched window I’d seen before.

The chapel was only a one-story building, but its main room had double-height ceilings, making this level approximately three-stories high. That glass in the arched window was probably breakable, and I might survive a jump. Even if they dragged me back up the stairs and ended my life, there’d be enough blood spatters both in and outside the chapel for the police to notice when someone reported me missing.

My heart plummeted, as did my dwindling hope for survival. I was already thinking about leaving a forensic trail for the police to avenge my death. Cameron Liddell would probably suppress my murder investigation the way he seemed to do with anything related his family’s wrongdoings.

I shook off the outrage and focused on the coat beneath my arm. There was a flick knife in one pocket and something as heavy as a gun in the other. My fingers slid around the wool fabric, searching for an opening. As they slid through a pocket of satin, they closed around the plastic casing of a phone. I pulled out my hand and searched for the next pocket. Most people protected their handsets with a passcode, and I needed the knife more.

“Put her clothes back on and follow the plan.” Lady Liddell’s sharp voice sliced through my despair.

“I threw them into the incinerator to get rid of the evidence,” Father Neapolitan mumbled.

She growled. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

My fingers continued to search for the second pocket. I needed more time. I needed to get them to argue. Turning to Father Neapolitan, I said, “Ask her.”

“Ask me what?” the older woman snapped.

“Elizabeth got the results from the DNA samples she sent for paternity testing,” I said. “You took my DNA when I was born and you know Thomas Liddell isn’t my father.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Don’t be preposterous.”

“Am I her father?” asked Father Neapolitan.

Lady Liddell’s eyes darted from him to me, and uncertainty flickered over her stretched face. Who knows what bullshit she fed him over the years, but as the moments progressed, it was obvious that she hadn’t shared the secret of what the archbishop had done to Mother.

“Why are you even listening to this girl’s attempts to create discord? She’s just like her mother, whose treachery ruined you for other women.”

My nostrils flared. Father Neapolitan was ruined before he’d even met Mother. None of that would matter if I didn’t find that bloody knife. After more frantic fumbling, my fingers slipped through another satin pocket and closed around the knife.