Page 90 of Cruel Shame

My heart surged with hope. If Lady Liddell was acting, then it meant she was doing it for the benefit of an audience. An audience who wasn’t part of the plot to engineer my death.

Footsteps tumbled in behind her, and Elizabeth stumbled into the room. She stared at me with bulging eyes. “Mother?”

“Father Neapolitan,” Lady Liddell screeched. “How dare you violate a student.”

“Mother,” Elizabeth whispered, her gaze fixed on mine.

From the way her face paled and her lips trembled, seeing me up here like this was a shock. Elizabeth tried to speak to me on Friday, but I had walked away from her and disappeared into the academy, leaving her surrounded by a crowd of girls. Was this what she wanted to tell me? That her mother was planning yet another way for me to die?

Despite everything, Elizabeth didn’t seem like a cold-hearted murderer. She probably got suspicious of her mother sneaking out wearing that tracksuit and decided to follow her.

“Call the police,” I said to Elizabeth.

She fumbled in her pocket and tapped an icon on her phone.

“No!” Father Neapolitan pointed the gun at Elizabeth, who hid the handset behind her back.

“Thomas.” Lady Liddell rushed to place herself between her daughter and the gun. “Don’t do—”

The gun went off. Lady Liddell fell to the ground, clutching herself around the middle. Elizabeth skittered back and screamed, dropping the handset.

I clapped both hands over my mouth to muffle a gasp.

“Bloody bitch,” he snarled. “You just tried to frame things so you’d look innocent to your precious daughter and the police.”

“Father Neapolitan.” Elizabeth backed toward the window with both palms raised. “Please put down the gun.”

My gaze dropped to the smartphone, which had fallen face-down into the shadows. Light glowed around its edges, which I hoped meant that Elizabeth had succeeded in making the call and the person on the other line was listening.

“Thomas, please calm down.” Lady Liddell raised her gloved hands. “This is all a misunderstanding. We can tell everyone Miss Hancock lured you up here with the promise of illicit sex.”

The priest swung his gun toward the older woman. “Don’t think I’ll forget you just tried to drop me in the shit.”

I swallowed several times in quick succession, my breathing slowing back to normal. One would think at a time like this—naked and with ropes tied around my neck and wrists and ankles, that I’d be at the very edge of my panic. This was the most hopeful I’d felt since the needle slipped into my neck.

Crazy old Father Neapolitan had finally seen the treacherous hag beneath the silicone, I had a knife, and Elizabeth had managed to reach someone with her phone.

For the next twenty minutes, Father Neapolitan ranted at Lady Liddell about every slight he had suffered since she had married the archbishop. When the woman tried to defend herself, he shot at the window behind Elizabeth and showered her with broken glass.

My gaze darted to the door, but I didn’t dare tempt his wrath and become a moving target. I also didn’t want to stick him with the knife, in case Lady Liddell turned things around and framed me for the gunshot to her leg. Right now, the crazy priest didn’t notice me. I wrapped my arms around my chest, trying to stay warm, while Father Neapolitan paced the chapel and built himself into a frenzy of rage.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the attic into gloom, a spotlight shone from behind Elizabeth like a halo, making her scream for her Uncle Cameron.

“Thomas Neapolitan,” said an amplified voice. “This is Police Scotland. Put down your gun and release your hostages.”

“You did this.” Father Neapolitan pointed the gun back at Elizabeth. “You called the police.”

Hope mingled with terror, causing the butterflies in my stomach to riot. Cornered criminals were always the worst. Father Neapolitan might decide to murder all three of us before turning the gun on himself.

A dark figure emerged at the doorway. I drew in a sharp breath between my nostrils, clenched my teeth, and turned my head away.

I could keep quiet and let them arrest him. Father Neapolitan knew enough secrets about the Liddells to make them drop the charges against him for the shooting. At worst, they would pay for a good defense and he’d go somewhere else where he could attack other girls.

This was the man who raped and stalked Mother. If it wasn’t for him tearing her down with lies and accusations and attacks, she would never have turned to the archbishop for help, and never have been raped again.

I couldn’t let him get away with that. Nor could I let him get away with what he tried to do to me.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled out a trick from the kindergarten playbook: When the teacher is looking, rile up the enemy to get them into trouble.