Her Dark Curiosity (The Madman's Daughter 2)

I shook my head, thinking of the photograph hanging in the hallways of King’s College of Medical Research. “Your father and mine were old colleagues. They belonged to a professional association called the King’s Club.”

“I’ve heard Papa speak of it, but only vaguely. He isn’t an academic. Most of his business is in rail and shipping and investing. . . .”

I could see her mind spinning as she tried to draw the connections, but I already had. All the supplies, and ships, and fine china—I’d assumed Father had a secret bank account somewhere to pay for it all, even though at the time he disappeared, our debtors told us Father was nearly bankrupt.

“He was investing,” I said. “He was investing in my father’s research. Have you told anyone about those letters? The police?”

She laughed bitterly. “With Inspector Newcastle as my suitor? He’d never arrest the man he hoped would be his future father-in-law, and the letters alone don’t prove anything. I only thought them suspicious because of the large amounts of money sent overseas. Until you told me your story and I matched up the names and details, I didn’t realize your father was the one receiving the letters.”

Her hand fell on the green silk dress on the bed beside her. “If Papa was involved in the terrible things your father was doing, how do we know he isn’t doing them too? Taking animals and cutting them open, teaching them to speak, combining them with human blood . . .” She looked as though she’d aged a year in the last ten minutes.

“Does he have a laboratory?” I asked.

“No—he’s never shown an ounce of interest in science. But he’s often gone for business for days at a time. I don’t know where he goes or what he’s doing.”

Lucy stood, pacing, all of this information too much to handle. A knock came at the door, and then Molly’s soft voice.

“Miss Lucy? Did you need help with your hair?”

I opened the door a crack and told her we’d attend to our own hair. Guests would start arriving soon. We couldn’t stop the masquerade from happening. The partygoers would come, and Edward might arrive among them, masked and dangerous, and pleading again for my forgiveness.

I ran my fingers down the red silk dress hanging on the screen. Could I really put it on and attend the ball as though nothing was the matter? Everything was the matter. The very roof we were under sheltered my father’s colleague—and there was no telling what he intended to do with the information my father had sent him.

“I haven’t told you the worst part yet,” I whispered.

She stopped pacing. Her eyes were wide and scared, and I hated that I had to be the one to tell her.

“Henry Jakyll isn’t who you think he is,” I said.

Her forehead wrinkled. “Henry? What does he have to do with this?”

“He has everything to do with this.” My fingers twisted in the dress’s fabric. “His name isn’t Henry. It’s Edward Prince, and I’m well acquainted with him. We met on Father’s island, and he followed me back here.” My hand slipped on the smooth fabric and fell to my side. “He’s one of Father’s creations, Lucy.”

I’d expected her to cry out, or swoon. But she sank onto the edge of the bed, careless of the silk dress she was wrinkling by sitting on it, and looked as deathly ill as though she’d seen a ghost. “I don’t understand.”

“I told you how Father made the beast-men. He used surgery for most of them, resetting the joints of their bones and grafting new skin so that they looked very nearly human and could speak, though their mental faculties never progressed much further than a child’s. But he had another technique that didn’t involve surgery at all. He combined animal and human components through a chemical procedure that changed the animal flesh on a cellular level. The creature he created surpassed all the others, might as well have been an entirely new breed. It could think just as rationally as any man, could read, could feel the entire range of emotions. It looked perfectly human, unlike the others.” I paused, twisting my hands together nervously. “I didn’t even know myself at first that Edward was this creation—”

“Stop!” she cried. “Stop, what you’re saying is impossible.”

From outside I heard the jingle of sleigh bells as the first guests arrived. Time was growing short, and I bit my lip and twisted my hands harder.

“It isn’t. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. He looks human, and he does have a human side that’s kind and generous, but he has a much darker side, too. There were murders on the island, hearts torn from bodies. . . .”

My hands clenched together. I couldn’t find the words to continue, but I could tell from Lucy’s face that I didn’t need to.

“It’s Henry, isn’t it?” she whispered. “Or rather Edward. He’s the Wolf of Whitechapel.” Her eyes locked to mine, wanting me to say it wasn’t true.

But I couldn’t tell her any more lies.

I wrung my hands. “I told him to stay away from you—that’s why he sent you that letter. I didn’t want him anywhere near you, in case he couldn’t control his transformation and put you in danger. I’m sorry, Lucy. I was only looking out for your safety.” Guilt pulsed like a broken rib in my side. I wasn’t being entirely honest with her—I’d also shared a bed with him.

Her chin tipped in a small nod, an indication that she’d heard me. She chewed on a fingernail. “What are we going to do?”

A peal of laughter floated up the stairs as the front door slammed to let in more guests. I took a deep breath, and then pushed off the bed and grabbed her green dress. “We’re going to get dressed and go downstairs before we’re missed. I want you to stay close to Inspector Newcastle all night. He’s always armed, so you’ll be safe with him. There’s a chance Edward might show up . . . if you see him, promise me you won’t talk to him.”

She bit her lip. “But if Henry—I mean Edward—is wrapped up in all this too, couldn’t he help us?”

The hopeful look in her eye told me her feelings for him hadn’t dimmed despite the terrible truths I’d told her. I leaned forward, grabbing her arm. “Lucy, I said he’s dangerous. You haven’t seen him transform like I have. His muscles grow, his tendons pop. His eyes go dark and slitted like an animal’s, and he has claws ready to spring from between his fingers.”