I touched her shoulder gently. “McKenna, I know everyone is mourning Elizabeth and Hensley, but there’s something else I must discuss with the staff. As soon as Carlyle and the girls have finished their morning chores, have them meet me in the library. Send someone to the lower field to fetch Jack Serra’s carnival troupe as well. They arrived late last night and are camped there.”
Her eyes went wide for an instant, but she nodded, drying her hands on her apron. I went upstairs to the attic, where I found Lucy coming out the door. She closed it gently.
“Did you tell Edward that your father is on his way?” I said.
She nodded. “Yes, and about the deaths last night. He’s feeling much stronger. He can help us.”
“I’m gathering the staff later this morning—be ready to bring him downstairs, but wait for my signal.”
A few hours later, I paused just outside the open library doorway. I could hear the somber voices of the girls inside, gathered and awaiting me. One of them was still sobbing over the tragedy. Pity twisted at my heart. They were my responsibility now. I had never wanted to be a mother, and yet now I had six young girls and Lily and Moira, all of them looking to me for guidance.
I leaned against the doorway, trying to steady my breath.
A gentle hand brushed my back.
Montgomery was dressed in the dark work trousers and faded shirt that he had worn so often on the island. My heart pounded to see him like this, so wild, looking just like he had when I’d first fallen in love with him.
“McKenna told me you’d gathered everyone,” he said. “I assume you’re going to tell them about Radcliffe. Have you decided what to do?”
I nodded. Part of me wanted to tell Montgomery about Edward in private, but I forced myself to wait. He might try to convince me not to tell the others, but we needed Edward too much. I couldn’t afford to have Montgomery contradict me.
I clutched his arm on impulse. “Whatever happens, please trust me,” I said. “If I’ve ever kept secrets from you, it’s because I had no choice. Marrying you was the best thing I’ve ever done.”
He leaned in and placed a kiss on the center of my forehead. “I would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked. They will, too.”
We entered the library and all eyes turned to me. Lily and Moira sat on opposite sofas, each with a girl in her lap, and the rest of the girls sat cross-legged on the rug, corralled in by McKenna and Carlyle. Jack Serra and a handful of his troupe hung about in the back, blending into the shadows. The girls’ faces were splotchy from crying, but their round eyes found mine almost beseechingly, and I realized how desperate they were for a leader.
“Listen to Miss Juliet, girls,” McKenna prodded gently. “She’s your mistress now.”
“Is this about a funeral for the mistress and Master Hensley?” Lily asked, hugging the girl in her lap.
“No,” I stammered, and then touched Jack’s charm beneath my dress, centering myself. “There will be a funeral, but not today. I encourage you all to find time to say your own prayers of farewell to them both; I know how much they meant to you, and when we are able to, we will commemorate this tragedy with all the respect they deserve.”
The little girls just stared with wide eyes, but Moira and Lily exchanged a troubled glance with McKenna.
I looked at Montgomery, and he gave me a slight nod of encouragement.
“I’m afraid Ballentyne is facing a new danger,” I said. “A gentleman by the name of John Radcliffe is on his way here from London, as we speak. I have reason to believe he intends my friends and me harm, as well as anyone we are associated with.” I motioned to the carnival troupe in the back. “Jack Serra and his men have been spying on him. They’ve reported that he has plans to attack this household. We believe he’s seeking retribution for the deaths of several of his associates. It’s true that we’re responsible for those deaths, but we didn’t have a choice. They intended to release deadly creatures in a public square that would have killed hundreds of people.” I paused long enough to take a deep breath. “Our best option is to fight him off. We’ll have to strengthen the defenses and gather as many weapons as we can. I won’t ask anyone to stay; I don’t want to put anyone in harm’s way, and we shall hide the younger girls in the barn just as we did with the Beast. Lucy shall stay with them. This man, Radcliffe, is her father. It will be better this way, so she won’t have to face him.”
An image flashed in my head. I pictured the red door to my own father’s island laboratory, the doorknob under my hand, Jaguar slinking along the shadows ready to tear him apart if I would only twist that knob.
Through the crowd, my eyes met Jack Serra’s. No, I would not force Lucy to make the same impossible choices I had.
“Just this one man, mistress?” Moira said. “How can a single man harm Ballentyne?”
“He has two dozen men with him,” Jack answered from the rear of the room. “And horses and weaponry. It’s a small private army.”
The girls were quiet. One of them let out another sob and it pierced my heart, so soon after the tragedy of having lost Elizabeth.
“Two dozen men?” Carlyle grunted. “They’ll slaughter us.”
“Not if we’re strategic,” Montgomery countered. “If you chose to stay, we can station those of you who know how to fire a rifle on the higher floors to give you an advantage. You’ll be protected by the windowsills.”
“Assuming we’ll help,” Carlyle said, and McKenna shot him a look.
“I can only speak for myself,” she said. “I’m an old woman, and I’ve sworn my life to Ballentyne, as have most of us. I’ll stay and do what I can, but without the little girls that only leaves seven of us, counting Lily and Moira, and your friend Mr. Balthazar. Those aren’t well-matched numbers, mistress.”
“Eight of us,” I said, shifting a nervous glance to Montgomery. “There are eight of us.”
His brow furrowed in confusion, and I went to the door.
“Lucy,” I called. “Bring him in.”
Two sets of footsteps sounded outside. She came in a bit shyly, dressed in a simple gown, and extended her hand toward the hallway.
“Come on,” she said softly.
Edward stepped into the library. His hair was freshly trimmed, the sallowness to his skin all but gone, and he was dressed in a charcoal suit that hid the slight bit of trouble he had walking.
“Hello,” he said quietly.
Montgomery leaped off the desk and drew his pistol, aiming at Edward’s head. The girls let out squeals of fear—the last they’d seen of him had been the Beast wearing Edward’s body like a disguise.
“Montgomery, stop!” I yelled, throwing myself between them. “I told you to trust me! That goes for all of you. I’m the mistress now, and I promise you this man is no danger. It looks like the monster who locked us in the cellar, but it isn’t. This man’s name is Edward Prince. He’s a good man. A friend of ours who was sick, but he’s better now. He died when Hensley killed the Beast, but we’ve brought him back, just like Hensley. He’s strong, and he can’t be easily killed. He can help us defeat Radcliffe.”
I took a deep breath. Montgomery’s pistol was still aimed in Edward’s direction. Even standing between them, I knew he could make the shot if he wanted to. I grabbed the barrel of the pistol and pointed it toward the ground.
“Montgomery, it’s Edward.”
He stared incredulously, the pistol still clenched tightly. “I don’t believe it,” he murmured.
Lucy took Edward’s hand in hers as a sign of solidarity, holding it tight, and he leaned into her slightly. McKenna cleared her throat and took a step forward.
“Mistress Juliet, with all due respect to your friend, Hensley wasn’t right in the head. What happened after your wedding only proved that. How can we be certain he won’t fly into a similar rage?”
“Hensley had a child’s mind,” I countered. “And it had deteriorated over four decades. Edward is as healthy as he was before he died, and he�
��s trustworthy. The Beast is gone.”
Montgomery slowly holstered his pistol, as if the shock had only just worn off him. He gave me a hard look. “Juliet. We need to talk. In private.”
He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the hall. Apprehension made my heart beat faster. This was the moment when I would find out which was stronger: the bonds of marriage or the betrayal of having kept such a secret. He didn’t stop until we were downstairs in the alcove by the grand fireplace, far from prying ears. His blue eyes searched mine. “Have you gone mad?”
I pulled away, feeling guilty and stung all at once. “He isn’t dangerous anymore. We cured him by cutting out the diseased portion of his brain that manifested as the Beast. The conditions in the cellar kept his body in pristine condition, so there hasn’t been any deterioration. I’ve monitored him carefully. The Beast is gone.”
“But he’ll deteriorate over time.”
“Then we’ll worry about that in forty or fifty years. Not today.”
Montgomery paced back and forth in front of the hearth, a bead of sweat dripping down his face. “How did you convince Elizabeth to do such a thing?”
“I didn’t convince her. She never knew. I did the procedure, with Lucy’s help, and Balthazar’s.”
He stared at me in shock. After everything we’d been through, he still didn’t understand the level of skill—and determination—I had.
“You brought him back?” He shook his head. “That’s impossible. And I refuse to believe that Balthazar helped you. He’d never approve of that sort of work, and he’d have told me right away.”
“You know how he is with authority; he’ll obey if he thinks you’re the law. I convinced him I had more authority in this house than you did, and that he could never tell you. Be mad at me if you must, but not him. He made me promise to tell you the truth after the wedding. And now I am.”
He paced harder, dragging a hand through his loose hair. I feared he’d stomp back upstairs and put a bullet in Edward’s head at any moment.
“We need Edward,” I reasoned. “Hensley was nearly indestructible, and I’m almost certain it’s the same with Edward. I know you don’t like the science I used, but it might save the life of everyone in this manor.” An idea latched into my brain like a fever. It started as a small ache but it spread rapidly, an infection taking over my every thought, until I felt my mind was on fire. “We could even create more like him. There are a dozen bodies in the cellar and more in the monastery’s cemetery. We could bring them all back. An army of indestructible men fighting on our side. Radcliffe wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Montgomery’s jaw tightened. For a flash, there was fear in his eyes. It was the same look he’d given me in London when I’d proposed bringing the water-tank creatures back to life.
He leaned in, the fire throwing shadows over his face. “Don’t even think such things, Juliet.”
I took a step away from him, pacing just out of his reach. “Why not? They’d be loyal to me, even more loyal than the servants are to Elizabeth. She only gave them back their hands or eyesight; I’d be giving them back their lives. It would be like the beast-men. Like Father. . . .”
Montgomery slammed his hand against the mantel loud enough to rattle the hanging portraits. “Your father?” Something dark crossed his face. “I thought you were done trying to be like your father. It’s your mother you should aspire toward. She never would have done such an ungodly thing. She wouldn’t have brought Edward back, and she certainly wouldn’t be talking about creating an undead army.”
I threw up my hands. “Maybe I’m not like her! You’ve been trying to steer my future toward her, but I can’t help what I am. It’s always been inevitable, don’t you see? Father’s inheritance is stronger. I’ve never had a choice, not really. It’s in my blood. I can’t fight who I am.”
“You don’t even know who you are!”
His hand dug into the wooden mantel above the fire so hard that his knuckles went white. I froze, surprised by his words. He stopped, too. Regret crossed his face and he turned away, but not before I saw panic there, too.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
I could tell by the set of his mouth that he was about to dismiss his words as nonsense fueled by anger. But then he looked at me—really looked at me—and something broke in his face. “It’s never going to stop, is it?” he said more to himself than to me. “You think you’re fated to be like him. You think it’s genetics and prophecy both.” He cursed softly under his breath.
Worry started to pull at me. “Montgomery . . .”
“I never wanted to tell you this, Juliet. I’ve tried so hard to protect you from the truth.”
I forgot about Radcliffe, and the servants, and my plans to reanimate an army of dead, as a thousand little claws of fear dug into me. It felt just like that terrible day on the island when I had opened Father’s files and found my own name written there, among his other creations all named after Shakespearean characters: Balthazar, Ajax, Cymbeline, Juliet.
Ask him about your father’s laboratory files on the island, the Beast had said. About the ones you didn’t see.
I shook my head a little too hard. “If you’re trying to say I’m one of Father’s creations, I don’t believe it. He gave me a few organs from a deer, that’s all. I’m human.”
Montgomery’s face softened. “I know that.” His voice was so gentle that I knew that whatever he would say next was going to break my heart. “You’re right—you aren’t one of his creations. You were born to your mother, just as he said. The only difference is . . .” He swallowed, slow and reluctantly. “He isn’t your father.”
The flames in the fireplace stopped. The drafts ruffling the tapestries froze. The entire world ceased in its orbit for the space of just a few words.
“What did you say?” I whispered.
THIRTY-FIVE
“HENRI MOREAU ISN’T YOUR father,” Montgomery said, more emphatically. “I’ve known it since we were little. He kept the paper records locked away, even on the island. He told me himself once, after you’d tried to sneak into his laboratory on Belgrave Square. That’s why he never wanted to teach you his research, Juliet—not because you were female, but because you weren’t his.”
I pressed a hand to my head. “That’s impossible.”
“He raised you as his own. He could have left you and your mother, but he didn’t.”
I leaned against the wall with the feeling that my blood was moving in fits and starts through my veins. Moreau blood. It had always been his blood in my veins, guiding me, leading me. Hadn’t it?
“I don’t understand,” I stammered.
“Your mother had an affair.” His words came like a crash of thunder. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but your mother wasn’t the pious woman you thought she was. She had affairs since long before you were born, many with the same men she later went on to be a mistress to—”
“No!” I slapped my hands over my ears. It was difficult enough to process that my father wasn’t really my father, but that my mother wasn’t the pious woman I remembered? “That’s not true. You’re the one who keeps reminding me what a good woman she was!”
His open hands pleaded with me. “Your father didn’t want you to know the truth. He was afraid you’d turn out like her, so he lied about the type of woman she was, and I did the same, but he changed his mind after you’d arrived on the island. He thought you were old enough to know the truth, so he wrote you a letter I was to give you on the return voyage back to London. He kept the letter in a file in a locked section of his laboratory along with other records that proved your mother’s transgressions.”
The burned letter.
“The Beast saw you,” I said. “He told me you set fire to a letter meant for me, along with secret files you were trying to keep hidden. I didn’t know if I could believe him or not, but he wasn’t lying, was he?”
Montgomery looked very pale. “No. He wasn’t lying.”
“I didn’t want you to know,” he said. “I thought if you believed your mother was good, then you might want to be like her and less like your father. All this obsession over being like him, inheriting his madness . . . I wanted you to think there was another option. Even if that other option was a lie.” He clenched his jaw. “I grew up without a father. It’s terrible not knowing a thing about who you come from. I didn’t want you to suffer the same way.”
“It’s worse to believe the wrong man is one’s father!”
He looked down at his hands. “Is it? I don’t know anymore. Now I see I shouldn’t have lied to you, but it frightened me when you kept insisting you had no choice but to be like Henri Moreau, when you weren’t even his child.”
I stared at him. The day was getting late. Upstairs the staff was waiting for us, Edward was reacquainting himself with life, and I couldn’t bear to think about anything other than my parents.
“Then who is my father?” I asked.
Montgomery blinked, like the question had never occurred to him. I continued, “You said there were files on my mother’s transgressions. You must have read them. It must have said who my true father is, before you burned it all.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t read the files. There was talk once about a French diplomat who died years ago. Whoever he was, it doesn’t matter. No one of consequence.”
I stared at him, feeling like a glass left too long on a burner, heating and glowing and so very, very close to the point of smoldering.
He had destroyed any chance I had of knowing my true parentage.
A Cold Legacy Page 23
