A Cold Legacy (23 page)

W
E 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 from 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 had 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 reaffirm 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 crackled, strangely long and sustained. I frowned, turning toward the sound, and realized it wasn't thunder at all, but hoofbeats. I made out the light of a half dozen lanterns shining through the trees.

I squeezed Montgomery's 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's.

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 oil-wrapped torches that cast light over the riders' faces and uniforms. Half wore dark blue police slickers, though judging 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.

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, not living as 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.”

My hands shook like they belonged to some other body. I tried to reassure myself that his threats were hollow. Father's body would be too decomposed to reanimate, and yet the fear of it, unreasonable as it was, left me so terrified I could hardly find my voice.

“Turn them over and I'll leave peacefully,” he said. “Don't, and my men will kill every living thing on the property and tear through the manor until we find the journals ourselves. You're ruthless, Miss Moreau, and so am I. Don't test me.”

The tension crackled in the air. From the stone gates behind Radcliffe's men, Balthazar and Montgomery peeked
out with their rifles at the ready. Overhead, the servants would be poised to fire. I knew McKenna would be damned before she let the likes of Radcliffe seize the manor that gave them all sanctuary.

It would be a bloodbath—but sometimes blood was the price to pay.

I took a deep breath to give the order to fire. Just before I spoke, movement at the southern tower caught my gaze. A figure was climbing down the electric wire Jack Serra's men had lowered. Edward. I'd never seen him move so fast, even when he'd been the Beast.

I dared a glance back at Radcliffe; he hadn't noticed. A terrible moment of indecision overcame me. Did I let Edward risk it? Or did I give the order to fire?

The windmill spun faster and faster.

A low hum began, and the hair on the back of my neck started to rise. I jerked my head toward the tower window, where I could just make out Jack with his hand on the electrical switch. I couldn't have stopped him now, even if I'd wanted to.