Cruel Shame
Page 23
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 would 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.
“Ugh, nobody wants to see your wrinkled micropenis.”
“What?” Father Neapolitan spun around and pointed the pistol on me.
With one crack of the gun, the marksman shot him through the chest, and Father Neapolitan fell face-first on the attic floor.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Eighteen Months later.
Both sides of the chapel were crammed full of people, and the speakers played background music fit for a summer wedding. I stood before the double doors with Mr. Burgh, my pulse fluttering in my throat. This was the first time I’d returned to Templar in months, and the place still stirred insane memories.
Mr. Burgh squeezed my hand. “Are you alright? If you need to stay outside for a bit longer—”
“Everything’s fine.” I leaned into his side and smiled up into his twinkling, blue eyes.
No matter how much shit the Liddells put me through, I had no regrets about coming to Templar. Staying in Richley would have meant missing out on having a grandfather and missing out on three chances for love.
Mr. Burgh cleared his throat. “Ready?”
My mind drifted back to that terrible afternoon. Immediately after the shotgun went off, the marksman tried to blame me for his shooting of Father Neapolitan. Without my taunting, the mad priest might never have gotten shot, but no girl in the history of bitchdom ever got arrested for telling a guy he had a small dick.
Besides, Father Neapolitan had already shot Lady Liddell in the gut, abducted and stripped me naked, plus Elizabeth had called the 999, and the operator had automatically recorded the call. The police had traced the call to Elizabeth’s number, and Cameron Liddell worked out Father Neapolitan’s location from the rant.
Moments after I walked out from that disastrous lunch with Gideon’s parents, Gideon and Lachlan left the hotel and saw Father Neapolitan emerge from the trees and snatch me away. By the time they reached the trees, my abductor had already bundled me in a car and sped off.
With so many eye witnesses and the remnants of an animal tranquilizer in my blood, Father Neapolitan couldn’t use the defense that I’d lured him to the attic for bondage sex.
As the music changed to Vivaldi’s Spring, I smoothed down my silk dress and pulled back my shoulders. “Ready.”
Mr. Burgh and I walked down an aisle covered in a burgundy carpet. I stared straight ahead at the chapel’s new priest, Reverend Maclean, a petite woman with gray hair and kind, green eyes.
My throat dried. This was also my first time back in a church. The shitstorm that blew through Scotland following Father Neapolitan’s arrest uncovered the Liddells’ every dirty secret, including their attempts to defame Mr. Burgh to cover up for my claim to their fortune.
While Father Neapolitan was recovering from surgery, a junior police officer got caught replacing his drip with pentobarbital. Detective Inspector Cromar made the arrest and uncovered Cameron Liddell’s plot to have the priest assassinated.
Father Neapolitan survived to be jailed for abduction and sexual assault. He also served as an important witness during the trials of the archbishop and Lady Liddell. Mother refused to have her day in court, but seeing the bastards come to justice helped open her eyes to the injustice she suffered with Billy Hancock. She walked out on him after the last of the trials and was now doing well in rehab.
The judges didn’t even need her witness statements to find the archbishop guilty. DNA tests, Mother’s birth certificate, and his phony marriage certificate and her subsequent arrest proved his guilt. He’d not only had unlawful sex with an underaged girl but perverted the course of justice by giving her an heirloom that he later declared stolen. The scandal nearly destroyed the Church of Scotland.
As we reached Reverend Maclean, I turned to the second row, where Orlando, Maxwell, and Kendrick sat with Gideon and Lachlan behind the row of teachers. I flashed them a smile to let them know I was fine to return to the place of my abduction.
Vivaldi’s Spring died down, and the organist played the wedding march. Everyone turned to the double doors.
Mrs. Campbell wore a knee-length, champagne-silk dress that accentuated her hourglass figure with a lace, bolero jacket. She held a bouquet of white orchids with white roses and calla lilies, adorned with waxy, green leaves. For once, her dark hair fell loose over her shoulders, softening her stern features, and the entire ensemble was set off with some pearl heirlooms she borrowed from the Templar collection.
With the archbishop jailed for rape, Lady Liddell locked away for abduction and two counts of attempted murder, and Cameron Liddell also behind bars for conspiracy to murder and perversion of the course of justice, there was very little resistance to my claim of their fortune.
We waited until I turned eighteen and for the court to find the former archbishop guilty of rape to approach Macdonald and Macdonald Solicitors, who couldn’t deny that I was the true heir the Liddell lairdship.
Mr. Burgh sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Well done on the dress. It’s just as beautiful as the bride.”
“Miss Martin also helped,” I murmured.
The deputy headmistress walked down the aisle with her son, a red-haired man in his late-thirties, who worked in the Scottish Charity Register. After Orlando’s grandfather won the lawsuit against the academy, Mrs. Campbell’s son helped convert it into a charitable trust, making both Mr. Burgh and Mrs. Campbell the trustees.
A long breath heaved from my lungs. The only person missing from this picture was Elizabeth. After discovering that she wasn’t a Liddell, she dropped out of the academy and moved out of the Liddell mansion. I returned her betting slip, but she refused to accept it. We cashed it in and placed it in a high-interest account for her.
I supposed we could have handed it to the police because she’d bought it with the proceeds of crime, but the girl had lost everything—her parents, her identity, and her fortune.
Mrs. Campbell reached the end of the aisle, and I took my seat with the knights.
Two Septembers ago, I’d just been released from juvenile detention and had nowhere to go. Now, I was an heiress to a fortune, owned a fairytale castle, had three spectacular boyfriends, and a place at the London College of Fashion.
As far as happy ever afters went, this one was better than Cinderella’s.
END
From Sofia Daniel
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