A Cold Legacy (The Madman's Daughter 3)

A brief ripple of uncertainty ran through the other riders, making the horses snort and paw at the gravel, but Radcliffe didn’t flinch. “I don’t care if you’re mistress of this estate or a maid cleaning my boots. You can see my men are armed as well. We can avoid bloodshed, but that’s up to you.” He adjusted his horse’s reins. “Now, where is Lucy?”

I blinked. Of all the demands I had expected him to make, this hadn’t been one of them. I’d told Lucy myself that he was only using her affection to learn my location. Had I been wrong? Was I simply looking at a banker from Belgrave Square who just wanted his daughter back?

From the corner of my eye, I noticed a wire snaking down the southern wall, hidden in the shadows. It came from the window of Elizabeth’s laboratory, where a few shadowy hands were lowering it as quickly as possible. There was a flash of green satin, and then a dark-skinned face looking down.

Jack Serra and his troupe, holding up their part of the plan.

I swallowed, trying to regain my confidence. “You forfeited your right to be a father to her when you joined the King’s Club. You knew what they were planning, whether you’ve since renounced them or not. Now, tell me why you’ve come or get off my land.”

A murmur ran through his men, and Radcliffe eyed me closely. “I’ve already told you, Miss Moreau. I came for my daughter. You made her doubt her own family, put her life at risk, and have her imprisoned here. I’ve come to take her home.”

My confidence vanished. Had I truly been so wrong, all along? Across the courtyard I tried to meet Montgomery’s eyes, but he was hidden in the shadows. I was alone. And uncertain. A drowned cat standing in the rain.

“All this is about Lucy?” I stammered. “Twenty armed men?”

Radcliffe raised an eyebrow. “Why did you think I would come, if not for her?”

I swallowed. “We killed Isambard Lessing and Dr. Hastings and Inspector Newcastle. They were friends of yours.”

A silence ran through the courtyard as a strange look flickered over Radcliffe’s face. To my shock, he let out a deep laugh. “Revenge? You think that’s why I’ve spent so much time to discover your location? Miss Moreau, you are prone to dramatics. I knew Newcastle a few weeks, nothing more. Lessing was a thief. Dr. Hastings a cad. Why would I care about the deaths of worthless men?”

My heart pounded harder. I’d been so wrong.

From the far end of the courtyard, I saw a flicker of movement. Balthazar, stepping slightly out of the shadows. He tapped his nose twice slowly. I stared at him, until I remembered our conversation from earlier. Balthazar’s keen nose could smell if a man was lying by the odor of his sweat. One tap for truth. Two taps for a lie.

Radcliffe was lying.

Fury swelled in me, along with determination. He wasn’t going to make a fool of me, not again. “You’ve missed your calling,” I said. “You should have been an actor, not a banker. I can’t imagine that a truly dedicated father would show up at the house that gave his daughter shelter with twenty heavily armed mercenaries and threaten her best friend. I was there for Lucy when you weren’t. She was terrified of you when she learned what you were involved with. She hates you. Now tell me why you’ve really come, or we can end this in bloodshed right now.”

For a moment, his face betrayed nothing. Those fair blue eyes seemed as icy as the rest of him. Then, slowly, he signaled his men to lower their arms.

“I wasn’t lying, not entirely. I do want Lucy back. She belongs with her family, in London’s high society, not an outcast up here in the wastelands. But yes, there is another reason I have come. It is a business arrangement that I want, and you see, I won’t take no for an answer. They are here to see to that.” He signaled to his men.

“What do you want?” I demanded.

“The only thing of value in that house, besides my daughter. Victor Frankenstein’s journals. Don’t look so shocked—I’ve known about them for years. Your father was the one who told me about them, in fact. He and Professor von Stein used to be friends. We were all students at the time. He borrowed from Frankenstein’s ideas to create his own science. You were his inspiration, Miss Moreau, but Victor Frankenstein’s research was the source of his skill.” He held out a hand, looking like his patience was growing thin. “Now, hand over the journals and release Lucy back to me, and my men won’t slaughter everyone in this house.”

I stood straighter. “Lucy isn’t going anywhere, and whatever my father told you about Victor Frankenstein’s science, he lied. There are no journals. They were long ago destroyed.”

He scratched his chin. “Miss Moreau, I’ve come too far to be lied to now. I have been laying plans to get my hands on those journals for the past ten years. I’m very aware that they exist. In fact, they are the reason I joined the King’s Club and pushed for them to seek out your father’s research. I knew eventually it would lead to the greatest research of all, the research your father based his own work on—Perpetual Anatomy.”

His confidence made my own waver. He wasn’t delighting in this, wasn’t relishing my fear. He simply wanted something and would stop at nothing. That terrified me most of all.

“Didn’t you ever wonder who within the King’s Club was devising these complicated plans? It certainly wasn’t Hastings, or that ambitious Inspector Newcastle. It was me whispering in their ears. I planned on hiring mercenaries to murder them as soon as we had our hands on your father’s research, but I didn’t have to. You did my dirty work for me.”

Images flashed in my head of that night in the King’s Club’s smoking room: clawed-out eyes, dead bodies dripping blood. My throat was so dry I could scarcely breathe. “Why is this so important to you? You aren’t a scientist.”

He gave a mirthless laugh. “Must you really ask an aging man why he seeks immortality? Though my interests are not purely personal. A vast number of people could benefit from a second chance at life. I believe your father’s carcass is still buried on that island of his, come to think of it. We made a pact, you know. If one of us were to die, the other would obtain Frankenstein’s science and reverse the situation. I’m quite certain that the great Henri Moreau and I could make a fortune off this research. A fortune I shall use to give Lucy every advantage, as she is entitled to. Now tell me which of us is more interested in her happiness.”