“We think he was just trying to clear his name and cast off any suspicion about his true intentions,” Montgomery said.
“His true intentions?” Her face had gone quite white.
“Retaliation, we think. For killing his colleagues.”
“But what about the part where he said he and Mother were worried about me? Couldn’t that be why he’s after us, to find me?”
“I don’t think so,” I said softly. “I can’t imagine it was anything other than a ruse to draw you out and lead him to us. I’m sorry. I know what it feels like. My father used my affections for him as well.”
Lucy hugged her arms over her bloody dress as though she refused to believe it. “So they don’t care about me at all?” She dragged a hand through her wild hair and started for the hall in a daze, choking out a sob. I went after her, but Montgomery shook his head.
“Give her some time. It’s a lot to take in.”
Elizabeth reached for the clinking bottle of gin, hands shaking slightly, pouring herself a glass. “The poor girl.” She took a sip, closing her eyes, leaning one hand against the wooden bookshelves. “And I still can’t believe Valentina would turn on you like that. I thought I knew her better. We shall have to hold a funeral for her, regardless. For the Beast as well, I suppose, even if he was a monster.”
“No,” I said. “We’ll mourn Edward’s passing, not the Beast’s. It was Edward we all cared about, particularly Lucy. You saw how distraught she was just now. . . .” I paused, head cocked toward the door where Lucy had disappeared. She had been upset over the news of her father’s pursuit, yes, but she hadn’t actually said a word about Edward. It felt strange, given how in love with Edward she had been, that she wasn’t mourning his death more.
An itch tickled behind my left ear, the start of an idea. Or rather, a suspicion.
Lucy had wanted Edward dead all along so we could cure him through reanimation. She’d admitted to unfastening the chains and attempting to slit his throat while he was sleeping. That was all before the Beast’s wild rampage of course, but the fact was, she had achieved what she’d set out to do.
Edward was dead—just as she’d wanted.
Was it possible that she still held on to some desire to bring him back?
I shook myself out of such dark thoughts. No, of course Lucy wouldn’t be thinking of such extreme possibilities. Why was I even thinking of them?
“As far as Radcliffe goes,” Elizabeth said, “I know a bit about him, and he isn’t a man who gives up easily. My guess is that he’ll only expand his search now with renewed vigor. We should send someone to look into what he’s planning and make sure he doesn’t discover our location.” She glanced out the window, toward the south fields where we’d held the Twelfth Night bonfire. “I suggest we send Jack Serra. He has a talent for slipping in and out of the shadows. His troupe left a few days ago, but they can’t be further than Galspie. Carlyle can send him a message.”
Montgomery frowned. “Jack Serra?”
“He’s one of the carnival performers,” Elizabeth explained. “You must not have met him at the bonfire. Troupes like his are always on the move this time of year. He’ll be able to enter London unnoticed to spy on Radcliffe.”
Montgomery and I exchanged a glance, and he nodded. “Then send him, with our thanks.”
Elizabeth stood. “I should check on Hensley. For the love of God, take a bath, both of you. Get a meal, and then a good night’s sleep.” She opened the door, then paused. “I am sorry about Edward.” She cleared her throat. “And I know this sounds a bit petty right now, but the dressmaker in Quick sent several pairs of shoes for you to try on, Juliet, to go with the dress she’s making. I’ll have them brought to you tomorrow.”
She left, and I squeezed my eyes shut.
A wedding, and a funeral, and my best friend’s father scouring the country to hunt us down for vengeance.
“I thought life at Ballentyne would be simple,” I said.
Montgomery came over and pressed a kiss against my temple. “It will be. But not yet.”
TWENTY-TWO
OVER THE NEXT FEW days, a despondency fell over the house. The servants were used to strange experimentations—they bore the scars of Elizabeth’s surgery themselves—but nothing could have prepared them for the Beast. I tried to explain that two souls had shared his body, one evil and one kind, but they hadn’t known Edward like I had.
Montgomery avoided dealing with Edward’s death by throwing himself into work: the pony trap strut had broken on our ride back from Inverness, and he pounded away at it with hammers and nails until his hands bled. Lucy also went about her work as though his death hadn’t affected her, nannying the younger girls and helping Balthazar with his reading. I watched her closely for signs of mourning, but saw none, and it only made me more uneasy.
We held a small funeral service in the cellar chapel. McKenna came out of kindness, wearing her thick rubber galoshes, hovering in the doorway like she was afraid her presence might disturb us. We formed a loose circle around the shrouded body. Elizabeth had performed small repairs on the cadaver to make it presentable: stitched up wounds, replaced the heart in his chest cavity. Lucy picked at her fingernails. I would have expected her to be hysterical, but her eyes weren’t even red.
Balthazar drew something from his vest pocket and set it on Edward’s shrouded chest. A paper flower, clumsily made, but sweet and childlike.
“That’s lovely,” I said.
“The carnival folk taught me how to make it.”
I looked back at the paper flower in surprise. Leave it to Balthazar to make friends with drunken transients and shysters. McKenna produced a Bible and Balthazar offered to recite some passages, thumbing through the delicate pages with big graceless fingers but reading with a study voice.
“‘Help us find peace in the knowledge of your loving mercy,’” he read, finger tracing the words. “‘Give us light to guide us out of our darkness.’”
What’s wrong with the darkness? the Beast’s voice echoed in my head. Without darkness, there is no light. Without me, there’s no Edward. Without your father, there’s no you.
A shiver ran through me.
After the funeral, I paced the house restlessly until everyone had gone to bed, and then knocked on Montgomery’s door. He was in bed, reading by the light of a candle, but one look at my face and he closed the book.