“You expect me to believe the King’s Club is building monsters and murdering people out of altruism? So an old man can get a fresh heart?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Believe what you like. We aren’t interested in the final ramifications, only in developing the mechanisms to make it possible. What the world chooses to do with the technology is its own business. Our plan is merely to perfect Moreau’s science and then do what we do best: profit off it.” He took another long draught from his pipe and let the smoke cloud between us. “Unfortunately, our potential buyers are skeptical. We need to demonstrate the technology’s efficacy.”
“The paupers’ ball,” I said. “You’re going to let the beasts loose in a crowded square—” I did some calculations quickly. “Hundreds of people might die! Just so you can prove your point to some buyers? How are you going to explain it to the newspapers? You can hardly tell them what you’ve done.”
He took another puff calmly. “Haven’t you heard of the wild dog epidemic? Rumor is it’s been such a harsh winter that they’re coming into the city at night by the pack, looking for scraps or whatever they can sink their teeth into.”
I stared at him speechlessly. Wild dogs? Would the public believe such a ridiculous story? But the King’s Club controlled the London Times, among many other businesses, and Newcastle had influence over the police. They could publish whatever story they wanted.
“Montgomery found the shipping crates,” I said, almost to myself as I thought through their plan. “You’ll let the beasts loose on New Year’s Day, let the blood flow for your awful demonstration, and then ship them to France.”
He gave a casual shrug. “As I said, France is only the first. We’ve already started planning a second demonstration for the Dutch weaponry company. That one’s more difficult. Involves human test subjects. Lessing’s coordinating the planning stages, since he oversees the orphanage. All those children with no one to care what happens to them, you know.”
I dug my fingers harder into the plush seat, squeezing my eyes closed. Elizabeth had guessed that Lessing wasn’t truly a historian, and she’d been right.
“You’re going to murder children,” I said.
“No, no. We aren’t totally heartless. They won’t be killed, unless something goes wrong. In fact, I imagine those orphans will love having sharper hearing and better eyesight. The scars will heal, in time.”
For a moment the carriage rumbled as we each silently assessed the other. He didn’t look like the monster he was. He had the easy air of someone used to getting his way, but there was nothing of the dandy about him, as I’d first thought. Beneath the metal vest the sleeves of his cream-colored shirt showed hard lines of the muscles that took discipline to develop. And his eyes—as they searched me, looking for clues as well—had a fire to them.
“I arrested you tonight so that we might speak as equals,” he said.
“Equals? A teenaged girl and Scotland Yard’s finest detective?”
“We in the King’s Club are modern thinkers. A woman could gain great power in our midst. The daughter of Henri Moreau would be highly respected. I’ll even get rid of that fool Dr. Hastings for you. There aren’t many places that can offer you all that.”
I studied the lines of his face carefully. His mouth didn’t twitch. Hand didn’t scratch his nose. He was telling the truth—or at least one aspect of the truth.
He continued, “If you wish to influence our decisions regarding the future of your father’s research, then join us. We would listen to what you have to say. And in turn, we might be able to convince you of some of the positive implications of your father’s work. Don’t be so quick to judge without first considering all the information. We’ve convinced many doubting men of the validity of what we’re trying to accomplish.”
He was quite serious. A Scotland Yard inspector offering me an official role in determining the fate of my father’s research, amid the most powerful men in the greatest country in the world.
I couldn’t deny there was something appealing about the offer. Women were relegated to the bedroom or the tea salon in this city. No positions of power, authority, influence. Elizabeth’s fate told me that. A clever woman like her, interested in medicine, had been forced to live at the edges of the world to rule her own life.
But Newcastle was a fool if he thought I might ever be able to see the positive ramifications of Father’s work. I knew the results of Father’s work all too well, chained in the root cellar of the professor’s house.
“The devil take you and your offer,” I said.
His left eyebrow arched. “I must ask you to reconsider. The future of scientific achievement hangs in the balance.”
The carriage hit another rut and we both jostled. One thing I was certain of: his words might be polite, but they were still a threat. Side with him or face a prison cell.
“My answer is the same,” I said.
Newcastle rubbed his chin, considering my words. “I’m afraid I can’t take no for an answer. All your talents would be lost behind bars, talents that are very useful to us. We’re a partnership, you see; each of us has a role. The members of Parliament keep the government in support of our businesses. Men like Radcliffe fund operations and provide discreet transportation for our products. Arthur Kenney tailors the newspaper headlines to read just the way we want them to read.”
“And your role in all of this?”
“To control the police force, of course. To hunt down Moreau’s creation under the guise of an investigation for a mass murderer.” He took one final puff of his pipe. “And some of the more distasteful tasks, I’m afraid. I’m the newest member—it was part of initiation.”
“What was?”
He set his pipe down. “Murdering your guardian.”
I cried out, lunging for his pipe with the intention to bash it through his nose into his brain. But he’d anticipated that, and held me back against the soft velvet seat.
“I admire your bravery, but I will need you to reconsider. I would hate to kill such a pretty young thing. Lucy would be inconsolable.”
I dug my nails into his fine velvet seat, ripping the fabric. “You’re as mad as my father was!”
“I’m determined. There’s a difference.”
With a panicked whinny from one of the horses, the carriage jerked to a sudden halt.
I heard a scuffle outside, followed by a quick yell from the driver. The cab jolted, then rocked back and forth, the lantern flickered wildly. Newcastle was thrown against the opposite bench.
The door flew open.
“Balthazar!” I cried as his hulking figure filled the doorway. Newcastle’s eyes went wide at the sight of him. That pause was all I needed for Balthazar to haul me, still wrapped in Newcastle’s coat, out of the carriage. My bare feet touched frozen pavement, where Sharkey yipped with his tail wagging. Newcastle reached after me, but Balthazar caught his arm and wrenched him from the carriage, knocking his head cleanly against the door. The inspector slumped to the pavement next to the equally unconscious driver.
Balthazar pointed a meaty finger to Sharkey. “He followed you, then came back to the house. Montgomery didn’t understand what he wanted, but I did.”
“He led you to us.”
“Yes,” Balthazar said, bending down to pat the little bug-eyed dog. “Good dog.”
“Indeed. I owe you both my thanks, but now we must run,” I said. “I’ve a place in Shoreditch that Newcastle doesn’t know about. Will you take me there?”
Balthazar picked me up in Newcastle’s thick coat, since I could hardly walk the frozen streets barefoot, and, with Sharkey trotting alongside us, carried me through the snow.
THIRTY-SEVEN
I HADN’T RETURNED TO my attic chamber since the night I warned Edward about the King’s Club. Once there, I sent Balthazar back with Sharkey to tell Montgomery what had happened. I was left alone in the quiet room, only my memories for company. I used to long for solitude like this.
Wi
thout Edward or me here to care for them, the roses had wilted, filling the room with an earthy scent of sweet decay. The threadbare quilt was pooled on the dusty floor, and I knelt to shake it out and draw it around my frozen shoulders, then crawled into the bed still dressed in my shift, where for once I slept a dreamless sleep.
It couldn’t have been more than an hour or two before a frantic knock woke me with a jolt. I was terrified until I heard Montgomery’s voice. I threw open the door, and he pulled me into his arms.
“Balthazar told me what happened,” he said. “I came immediately, and Balthazar, too. He’s going to sleep on the landing downstairs, keeping guard.” His cheek nuzzled my own. “I’ll murder that bastard Newcastle myself.”
I pulled him inside and closed the door. “It won’t do any good. He isn’t working alone. If you killed him, you’d have half the police force in London after you.” I sat on the bed again, amid the traces of lingering warmth.
“Newcastle will likely send more officers to arrest you,” Montgomery said. “Elizabeth has a plan to set it up so it appears you’ve fled. We’ll sneak you back into the professor’s house once it gets light.”
“And Edward?”
“He was unconscious when I left. Exhausted from the transformations.”
His eyes fell to the bed. With the sheets twisted in knots, it was all I could do not to think about that passionate night Edward and I had spent together. From the way Montgomery’s hand balled into a fist, it seemed he was thinking the same.
“How long was he staying here?” he asked.
I fumbled with the corners of the quilt. “A week or two. It was before the masquerade.” Before you. “He had better control of himself then.” My fingers drifted to my shoulder, where the scratches had all but faded.
“I’d rather not think about that. Or about him.” He sat on the bed, rubbing my shoulders through the quilt. “All I want is to be with you.” He drew my hand to his lips and kissed the silver ring, sending my heart pounding.
It struck me that he and I would be alone the rest of the night, a time when anything could happen. We were engaged, after all. I knew that proper young ladies didn’t sit in bed with brooding young men, even those they were engaged to, yet I had long ago stopped caring about society’s opinion regarding my chastity.
I stood and went to the door, needing a moment to breathe, and double-checked the lock. I lingered there, resting my forehead against the door as I tried to get my trembling nerves under control.
When I turned around, Montgomery was bent over to unlace his heavy boots. His strong hands worked fast. His blond hair had strayed from its tie and fell over his eyes. By the time he finished and looked up at me through those fair strands, I was helpless.
I had made love to Edward in a rush and now regretted it. I didn’t want the same to happen with Montgomery.
Blast regret, I thought.
I would have stumbled across the room to him if he hadn’t stood first and dragged me back to the bed. My lips found his as I shrugged the quilt to the floor.
“Take off this shift,” he whispered. “It smells of Newcastle’s tobacco.”
My hands fluttered to the lace tie. Was I supposed to act a certain way? Try to entice him? From the look of it, he didn’t need any enticement. He looked ready to tear my shift off himself if my hands moved any slower.
I paused. As much as I wanted him, it still felt wrong like this. Too sudden. This was no desperate act of loneliness, not like before.
“Montgomery, I think…” But my words faded, breathless.
He circled my hips with his hands and pulled me onto the bed. I thought of all the things we should say to one another—asking permission to touch here or there, crawling under the sheet for modesty’s sake, discuss the lengths we intended to take this. But as soon as his lips were on mine, those thoughts vanished. Words? I could barely think. All I could do was feel, and each one of my senses was so flooded that I doubted I could even manage that for much longer.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he whispered, surprising me. “We can wait until we are properly wed. I won’t rush you. But I don’t want to be away from you, Juliet, not now. Please.”
I wasn’t certain if I was relieved or not. Part of me longed to feel him; another part of me felt it was best to wait. As we kissed in my old wooden bed, I thought of how society said intimacy was supposed to be gentle, and quiet, and tender. There was nothing tender about the way Montgomery had his lips all over mine.
And yet he was true to his word; and so was I. I fell asleep in his arms, still dressed in my shift and he in his trousers, and for those few hours it didn’t matter that I was being hunted by Scotland Yard; it didn’t matter that my fate was as uncertain as Edward’s; it didn’t matter that I was parentless once more.
Montgomery and I had each other, and our love could survive anything.
WHEN I WOKE IN the morning, Montgomery was already packing my collection of scientific equipment into a crate to take back with us. “We should be able to sneak back into the professor’s now,” he said. “Balthazar’s waiting outside.”
I untangled my limbs from the old quilt and dressed slowly in a gown I’d left behind here, taking my time to notice all the little details of my attic I’d taken for granted: how the window let in warm rays of light, and how the woodstove looked like a squat old gnome.
“I’ll never return here, I imagine,” I said.
I let my fingers run over the bedpost, worn though it was, and trail along the cabinet where I’d stored the mint tea that had warmed my bones after many a long night’s walk to get here. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend nothing had changed: Sharkey curled by the warm stove, pot of water ready to boil for tea, the old chair waiting for me.
The professor had given me everything a girl could desire—a sea of pillows, forests of silver candlesticks, mountains of books. So why did my heart clench at the thought of leaving this broken-down little room?
I glanced over my shoulder at Montgomery, who knew nothing of the war raging in my heart. He had told me that these odd tendencies were a symptom of my illness. Once I was cured, no longer would I have such strange sentiments.
I went to the worktable, where Montgomery tucked my canisters of phosphorous salts into the crate. My finger ran along the spine of Father’s journal.
“That was your father’s,” Montgomery said in surprise.
The book found its way into my palm. I flipped open the cover carefully, tracing my hand down the worn paper. “I found it on the dinghy, among the other supplies. I assumed you’d put it there.”
“If I did, it was by mistake. I was in such a rush to pack that night. May I see it?”
I surrendered it to him hesitantly. He handled it more roughly than I had, flipping through the pages haphazardly.
“Half of it doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “He used a personal shorthand I could never decipher.”
“Yes, I recall. Although it wasn’t shorthand; it was a code he’d developed. Blast if I could ever figure it out.”
“If we could decipher it, it might say something about a cure for Edward.” I paused. “Or for me.”
The idea seemed to energize him. He flipped through pages of nonsensical letters and numbers strung together, smiling almost fondly. “Your father used to curse like the devil when he was writing in code. Rambling on about church and religion. He would curse the books in order. ‘Goddamn Psalms! Blasted Proverbs! Cursed Ecclesiastes!’” He shook his head and closed the book, then stowed it in the crate and started to pack my burners.
I frowned and picked back up the book. “I don’t recall Father being religious in the slightest. I can’t imagine he would even spare a few words to curse it.”
“He was insane, Juliet. Don’t try to find logic in him.”
But the words nagged at me. I flipped open the journal to the coded letters and numbers, imagining Father writing them, thinking of the books of the Bible. His interest hadn’t been of
a religious nature, so what use did he have for it?
A thought ruffled my mind like wind through dried leaves. “My god,” I said, as my heart began to thump. “That’s it. The Bible! He used a Bible cipher based on the books in the Bible because it’s the one volume every King’s Man would have in his home.”
“A Bible cipher?”
“Yes—look at these letters and numbers. They’re code for chapters and verses.”
Montgomery squinted at the writing in Father’s journal. “You may be right, but without a written key we’d have no place to start. It would take us ages to go through the books one by one and try to determine where he began.”
“What would a key look like?”
“A grid of some fashion. A chart with the sixty-six books of the Bible and the corresponding—”
He stopped when he saw the look on my face.
“Lucy,” I murmured. “Lucy’s seen it. She read all the letters Father sent to Radcliffe, and she mentioned references to the books of the Bible. Father must have put his key in his letters.” I couldn’t hide my thrill at the prospect of decoding Father’s secret journal pages.
“We can hardly just walk up to her front door,” Montgomery said. “Newcastle knows we’re on to him, and he’ll have alerted the rest of the King’s Club.”
“Then we’ll have to be a little more creative,” I said, and peered through the window at the clock on Saint Paul’s Church spire, which told me it was nearly ten in the morning. Balthazar was sitting on an old stone wall on the street below, tossing crumbs from his iced bun to the pigeons. I glanced at Montgomery. “How fast can we get to Grosvenor Square?”
Her Dark Curiosity Page 26
