or so, just to make sure it’s too late for you to get help.”
She rose from her seat and started toward Sarah, but Sarah held out the cup for her to see.
“I didn’t drink it.”
“What?” she asked stupidly, looking down at the nearly full cup.
“I didn’t drink it. I only pretended, because it tasted so bad. I’m not going to die.”
She blinked, momentarily at a loss. “But you
Instinctively, Sarah threw up her arm and sent the cup flying, the deadly liquid spilling out in an arc and falling harmlessly to the floor. The cup bounced silently onto the carpet.
Mrs. Spratt-Williams gave a strangled cry and lunged for Sarah. Sarah jumped to her feet and caught the older woman by the shoulders, shoving her away.
“What are you doing?” Sarah cried into the woman’s angry face. She peered into her eyes, and that’s when she realized that Mrs. Spratt-Williams was no longer in her right mind.
Her eyes blazed with an unnatural fury as she cast about for a weapon. She grabbed the teapot by the handle and flung it. Tea streamed from the spout, falling to the carpet with a dull thudding sound, but the pot flew harmlessly past as Sarah dodged. It smashed to the floor, at last making the kind of noise that would cause the servants to come running.
“Stop it!” Sarah screamed, but Mrs. Spratt-Williams was beyond reason.
Her wild eyes saw the fireplace tools, and she raced toward them with Sarah at her heels. She yanked the brass poker out of the stand, toppling it with a violent crash, and spun around to face her adversary. She raised the poker over her head, but Sarah rushed in and grabbed her hands where they clutched the handle.
Locked together, face to face, she could feel the other woman’s hot breath on her face and see the madness shining in her eyes. Mrs. Spratt-Williams clenched her teeth in the silent, desperate standoff as each woman strained against the strength of the other. Some part of Sarah’s mind registered pounding and raised voices, but she couldn’t wait for help. She gathered her strength, and with a roar, she threw her weight against her adversary, sending them both crashing to the floor.
The poker went flying, and Mrs. Spratt-Williams cried out—in pain or anguish, Sarah could only guess. Tangled in the weight of her skirts, Sarah kicked her feet in a frantic effort to free them while Mrs. Spratt-Williams thrashed and bucked beneath her.
“Stop it!” Sarah cried again, but her adversary was past reason.
Sarah’s hat had slid down, almost covering her eyes, and Mrs. Spratt-Williams grabbed for it, finding the hatpin and jerking it free before Sarah could guess her intent. Sarah caught her wrist as she thrust with it, stopping her just before the lethal tip plunged into her eye.
With a roar of fury, Sarah pulled her knees under her and slammed Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s hand into the floor. In a frantic flurry, she captured her other wrist and held it down, pulling herself up so she was straddling her adversary, with both of her hands pinned to the floor. At that moment, the parlor door burst open, and Frank Malloy shouted her name.
Sarah looked over her shoulder, glaring at him under the cockeyed brim of her hat. “It’s about time you got here.”
“What in God’s name is going on?” he thundered, scrambling over to where she was perched on top of Mrs. Spratt-Williams.
“She was trying to kill me.”
Malloy glared down at the woman and all the fight drained out of her. Sarah felt her go limp except for her heaving chest as she struggled for air.
The maid had followed Malloy into the room, and now she was weeping hysterically at the sight of her mistress being manhandled.
“Help Mrs. Brandt up,” he told her sharply, startling her into action.
She took Sarah’s arm and helped her up. Sarah managed to catch her hat before it fell completely off. Malloy reached down and hauled Mrs. Spratt-Williams unceremoniously to her feet, holding on to her arm in case she tried to flee.
“Killing Mrs. Brandt won’t help you,” he nearly shouted, speaking right into her face as Sarah had seen him do to intimidate people. “I know everything you did and why, and so does Van Orner and Miss Yingling.”
She cringed, wrapping her arms around herself as if for protection.
Malloy looked at Sarah. “Are you all right? Did you eat or drink anything?”
“No. I think she poisoned the tea, but I didn’t drink it.”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams straightened abruptly, lifting her chin in a pathetic effort at outrage. “That’s preposterous! How dare you accuse me of something like that!”
“Amy’s dead,” Malloy said.
Sarah gasped. “How on earth . . . ?”
“Mrs. Spratt-Williams gave her some medicine she said would help Amy’s milk dry up faster,” Malloy said. “She drank it this morning, and now she’s dead.”
“How can you possibly think I killed her?” Mrs. Spratt-Williams asked. “It was that woman, Mrs. Walker. She did it!”
“Mrs. Walker?” Sarah echoed, totally confused.
But Malloy apparently understood. He just stared at Mrs. Spratt-Williams for a long moment, considering her. Then he said, “How did you know that Amy was with Mrs. Walker when she died?”
She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Her eyes were terrible.
“Dear heaven,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “You killed Mrs. Van Orner, who was your only friend in the world, and then you killed Amy, and you were going to kill me. Who was next? Miss Yingling? She knew about you, too.”
“No one would have believed her over me. I would have said she was the one who changed the names. They’d never take the word of a prostitute over a respectable woman.”
She was right, of course. “How were you going to explain my death, though?”
“I was going to wait until you started to get groggy, then turn you out into the street. I would tell them you had some sherry and weren’t yourself. Bad things happen in the streets to women who are intoxicated.”
Malloy released her arm as if he could no longer stand to touch her.
“Abigail, I’m feeling faint,” Mrs. Spratt-Williams said to the maid. “Could you get me some salts?”
The maid, whose hysteria had turned to shock, nodded and fled the room.
Sarah took a breath, realizing she felt a little faint herself and sank down into a chair. For just a moment, Malloy glanced at her. In that one second of inattention, Mrs. Spratt-Williams grabbed up her skirts and ran from the room.
Malloy cursed and started after her, but she pulled the door shut behind her, costing him precious seconds. He threw the door open and bolted out after her, racing to the stairs and down, to catch her before she reached the front door.
Sarah was right behind him, and she happened to glance up as Malloy ran down and saw Mrs. Spratt- Williams’s figure disappearing down the upstairs hall.
“She’s gone upstairs!” she called to Malloy and ran after her.
Just as she reached the top of the stairs, she heard a door slam.
The maid came running up the stairs, clutching a vial of smelling salts in one hand.
“Which one is her room?” Sarah asked the girl as Malloy came bounding up the stairs behind them, taking them two at a time.
The maid pointed at one of the closed doors.
Sarah strode over and tried the handle, but it was locked. “Mrs. Spratt-Williams,” she called through the door. “It’s no use trying to hide.”
“Get out of the way,” Malloy gasped. “I’ll kick it down.”
“No!” the maid cried. “Please wait! I’ll get the key!”
She scurried away, leaving Sarah and Malloy staring at the locked door.
“Are you sure you didn’t eat or drink anything?” he asked again.
“I’m positive, except for a sip of the tea. It tasted awful, so I just pretended to drink it, figuring she’d never
