A Cold Legacy (The Madman's Daughter 3)

“Do you hear that?” I asked.

“It sounds like Lucy.”

We hurried to find an exit to the passageways back into the house, and when we finally crawled out of the walls, covered in cobwebs, I heard Lucy frantically calling my name.

She rounded the corner, stopping short when she saw us.

“Juliet!” she cried. “There are lights on the road, coming fast.”

I looked at Montgomery in confusion. “But the road is still flooded. The rain hasn’t stopped.”

She swallowed. “They’ve found some way around the flooding. They’re nearly here.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

WE RACED OUTSIDE TO the courtyard, where Jack and his troupe were gathered with Balthazar. Lights were just visible through the trees.

Balthazar cocked his head, calculating the distance with his superior hearing. “They are two miles off. On horses and riding fast. Twenty riders.”

McKenna must have heard the commotion because she eased open the kitchen door. A few little girls peeked out behind her skirt. “I couldn’t help but overhear, Mistress. Should we take the girls to the barn?”

The little girls squealed with fear. My heart started pounding harder, imagining Radcliffe’s horses pawing the ground. Twenty men. Even with Jack and his troupe, could a handful of servants defend this place?

McKenna cleared her throat. “What will you have us do, Mistress?”

The word cut into me. Mistress. That was Elizabeth’s title, not mine. That was the title for a leader, for someone who understood strategy and risk and had a grasp on reason. Ever since Montgomery told me Moreau wasn’t my father, I didn’t even have a grasp on myself.

Jack Serra took a step forward. “You’ve proven yourself to me, pretty girl. Now prove yourself to them.”

I gave him an unsteady look, but his gaze didn’t waver. Maybe I wasn’t a monster like Father, but did that make me a leader?

“Lucy, take the little girls to the barn,” I said, stumbling over commands that felt foreign on my tongue. “Hide in the underground cellar, and no matter what happens or what you hear, stay there until morning.”

Lucy nodded and gathered the girls.

“Wait.” Edward took a step toward Lucy. They wouldn’t see each other again until the battle was over, I realized. Edward was needed here with us to defend the house, and Lucy was needed in the barn. He brushed her hair back gently, sweeping the line of her cheek with his thumb. “Be safe,” he said, then leaned in and whispered a few words I couldn’t make out. They weren’t meant for my ears, anyway.

Lucy covered her mouth with a hand, stifling emotion, and nodded to whatever he’d whispered. She placed a quick kiss on his cheek, aware of the little girls watching, then herded them through the rain toward the barn.

Lightning flashed in the distance.

I closed my eyes to grit my resolve. “I want everyone safely inside, except for Balthazar and Montgomery. You two will be posted on either side of the gate. Keep hidden and don’t show yourselves unless we need to surround them. McKenna, lead Lily and Moira to the upper windows and take up arms with Carlyle, but don’t shoot until I give the signal. I want to hear Radcliffe out first. If I can keep this attack from turning violent, I will.”

The servants nodded and hurried upstairs. The rain was coming harder now.

“Jack, I don’t want to put your men in any more danger than necessary, but I could use your help. We need people who are physically skilled to climb onto the roof and tear down the wire rigging. Edward knows the full plan—he can explain.”

Jack nodded solemnly. “We’ve performed acrobatics, at times. We shall be honored to do so again.”

Thunder cracked, strangely long and sustained. I frowned, turning toward the sound, and realized it wasn’t thunder at all, but hoofbeats. Through the trees, I made out the light of a half dozen lanterns.

Montgomery took my hand. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a Moreau or a Chastain or a James. I believe in you.”

I squeezed his hand, hard. “Everyone, get to your posts. They’re coming!”

The riders came through the pouring rain with all the force of a train engine. Montgomery and Balthazar had silently slipped into their hidden positions on either side of the entryway into the courtyard, with two rifles each and knives strapped to their chests. From where I stood on the front stairs, letting the rain pummel me, I could just make out the brim of Montgomery’s hat. A glance at the windows overhead revealed the tips of rifles at the ready—Carlyle and McKenna and Lily and Moira, ready to follow my orders as they’d once followed Elizabeth.

I stood alone on the steps as the riders formed a half circle in the courtyard. Five riders, then ten, then twenty, filled the space with steaming horses and rain-slick jackets. I held my head high. The night of the bonfire, Elizabeth had looked so regal and confident. I hoped to summon some of her courage.

The horses stamped in the flooded gravel. The water came up past their hooves, even to their knees in the deeper puddles. Four of the riders held torches that cast light over the riders’ faces and uniforms. Half wore dark blue police slickers, though by their unshaven beards and slouched posture, I doubted that a single one of them was an actual officer. The rest of Radcliffe’s men didn’t even bother with disguises: hulking men with thick beards and worn leather jackets splattered with mud.

Mercenaries for hire, all of them.

One rider came forward through the flooded courtyard, as the others parted to let him pass. He held no torch, but I didn’t need one to recognize him. That ramrod-straight back. The eyes so light blue they were almost white. Dark hair the same color as Lucy’s.

John Radcliffe.

He seemed taller than I remembered. To me he’d always been a financier, the type who huddled over ledgers and accounts in an office, and I’d hardly cast him a second look when Lucy and I had been friends. Now, he sat atop his horse as though he commanded the night itself. My confidence wavered for a moment. I glanced toward the barn, praying Lucy was tucked safely away with the little girls. At least she was spared having to face her own father.

“Miss Moreau.” His voice was deep and just a little bit weary. “I’ve gone to great expense to find you.”

I squeezed my fists together. “Elizabeth von Stein is dead. Ballentyne belongs to me now, and I haven’t given permission for you or your men to enter my lands. Leave now and we won’t shoot you.”

I pointed to the row of rifles in the upper windows aimed in their direction.