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‘I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Henry,’ I said.
The accusation was heavy in my voice, and though the ladies didn’t seem to notice it, Edward did. His eyes searched mine, pleading for forgiveness. How could I forgive him for placing Lucy in danger? For making me care about him when everything had been a lie? For murder?
Edward stood and began to pace as though he needed to stretch his legs, but I recognized that nervous agitation. The Beast was there, lurking just below the surface. ‘Yes, I wondered when we might meet each other,’ he said quietly. ‘From what Lucy has said, we seem to have some interests in common.’
Lucy clapped her hands. ‘Oh yes, I forgot to tell you! Henry was interested in something about chemistry … that was it, wasn’t it? I told him you were much better at science than any boy I know.’
Edward’s haunted eyes stayed on me. They said everything his voice couldn’t. He hated his dark other half – the Beast – and the terrible things it led him to do. Even now, his eyes pleaded with me for help.
I couldn’t bear this, having tea with a murderer. All I could think about was the bodies in the morgue. Four people no longer breathed because of him. He’d killed people I cared about, like Alice. Innocent people. And yet, wasn’t I as good as a murderer myself? Father might still be alive if I hadn’t opened that door to his laboratory for Jaguar.
I clutched the sofa’s arm, rubbing my thumb against the rough upholstery seam to stay connected to the present.
Outside, the sun was past its zenith.
‘I should go,’ I choked. Lucy and her aunt looked at me, surprised. ‘I didn’t tell the professor when I’d be home.’
‘No, you don’t,’ Lucy said. ‘You’re not running off without even touching your tea. If the professor is in need of you, I’m certain this is the first place he’ll look. Oh my, Juliet, do you feel all right? You’ve gone pale.’
Aunt Edith said something droll about her own constitution and Lucy answered back smartly, and they started arguing again.
‘Drink some tea, Miss Moreau,’ Edward said quietly. ‘You’ll soon feel better.’
I tried to pick up the delicate cup, but it was like my hands were paws, my fingers too thick. It trembled so badly, I had to set it down.
Edward leaned on the back of the chair opposite me, his dark hair falling over his forehead. ‘Have you seen the hedge maze in the garden, Miss Moreau? There’s a wonderful view from the window.’ His eyes flickered toward the sun-drenched windowpanes. It was a good ten paces from where Lucy and her aunt argued – well out of earshot. He wanted to speak in private. When I hesitated, he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘Please, Juliet.’
There was such tightly controlled desperation in his words that I set down my tea and glanced at Lucy. They were talking of the grand Christmas tree that would soon be delivered in preparation for the masquerade. I stood and walked to the window with unsteady steps, Edward right behind me. It was a beautiful winter’s day outside, the hedges evergreen, not a cloud in the sky.
I kept my voice at a whisper. ‘If you dare to hurt Lucy—’
‘I won’t,’ he said quickly, matching my hushed tone. ‘I would never hurt her. I have some measure of control over—’
‘Henry!’ Lucy called behind us. ‘Henry, come tell Aunt Edith how we met that day in the rain. She wants to hear, and you know I’ve no patience for storytelling.’
His smile to her was artificial, though not unkind. ‘One moment, darling.’
When his eyes returned to mine, the false smile had vanished. ‘I swear to you I mean Lucy no harm. I wouldn’t ever let myself be around her if I thought the Beast might get free. I have a small measure of control over him; not enough to prevent the transformations, nor the crimes he commits, but I can delay them.’
I studied the deep crease in his forehead. I’d spent weeks with Edward at sea and on Father’s island, ignorant of his darker nature, and he had never hurt me, always managing to curb his other half’s cravings until he could release the Beast on some other poor victim. Perhaps he did have some measure of control over his transformations, but all I could picture was the cadaver room full of bodies.
‘How did you escape the island? I thought you were dead.’
‘The Beast is stronger than you think.’ His eyes were hooded, his body tense. ‘I’m trying to cure myself. I’m close.’
Here was the Edward I knew, the young man whose eyes were like a mirror to my own. ‘What kind of cure?’ I whispered, rubbing my own knuckles, which were already beginning to ache.
‘I just need to identify one missing ingredient in the serum. I need a little more time.’
‘You should have come to me sooner.’
‘I didn’t dare involve you. I’ve gone to great lengths to avoid direct contact with you, afraid the Beast might learn some information he could use later to harm you. I’ve settled for slips of news from Lucy. She cares about you a great deal. She speaks of you often.’ His throat tightened. ‘It didn’t mean that I didn’t want to see you. In fact, I wanted to see you quite badly.’
The look in his eyes gave me pause. Nothing of the Beast’s glowing yellow eyes lurked there now, though what I saw frightened me nearly as much.
Desire.
I looked away, wishing my cheeks weren’t turning warm. It seemed Edward’s infatuation with me hadn’t lessened with the passing months.
‘Meet me somewhere,’ I said, quick and low. ‘You must tell me what is going on.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t dare. Not until I’m cured.’
‘I don’t care what you want! People are dying, Edward.’ I darted a glance at Lucy and dropped my voice lower. ‘And we both know exactly who is responsible. I’m already involved, don’t you see? I was involved since the day the sailors pulled you out of the ocean and onto the Curitiba. You must agree to meet me and tell me everything. If you don’t, I’ll expose you. Lucy’s other suitor is the detective leading the investigation of the Wolf of Whitechapel. I can have him here in minutes.’
My heart pounded. I knew, on some deep level, that it was madness even to be talking to Edward. I also knew that, madness or not, Edward’s and my fates were tied together. I was the one threatening to expose him now, but our roles could so easily be reversed.
He took out his gold pocket watch and flipped it open and shut in indecision. At last he closed it and said, ‘Where?’
We needed someplace public enough so that I would be safe alone with him, yet private enough to speak intimately. My mind went back to the island, he and I behind the waterfall, sharing secrets and even a stolen kiss.
‘The Royal Botanical Gardens at Kensington,’ I whispered. ‘The greenhouse. We’ll each leave separately and meet there within an hour.’
He nodded.
The grandfather clock in the study chimed. Aunt Edith stood up and brushed the crumbs off her skirt, missing half of them. ‘Two o’clock already. I’ve got a dinner tonight at the club I must get ready for. Henry, dear, it’s been a pleasure. Won’t you walk me out?’
Edward’s eyes met mine. We were accomplices in this lie now, for better or worse. ‘I’ll be saying good-bye then, Lucy. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Moreau.’
I hesitated a breath, just long enough to remember his false name.
‘And you, Mr Jakyll.’
10
The parlor door remained open behind them, leaving only the sound of the ticking hallway clock. Henry Jakyll. Edward Prince. One and the same.
‘I’m glad she’s left,’ Lucy said, coming to stand next to me at the window. ‘I think Aunt Edith only ever comes to tea to chastise me for all the things I’ve done wrong.’ She hunted in the fruit bowl on the side table and selected a grape. ‘What did you think of Henry?’ she asked slyly, popping the grape into her mouth. ‘He’s just awful, isn’t he? Didn’t I tell you?’
‘Yes, awful,’ I said carefully, glancing out the window to try to catch a glimpse of him as he left. ‘Not your type at all. Inspector Newcastle is more attractive anyway, don’t you think?’
She frowned, but at that moment I glimpsed Edward and Lucy’s aunt stepping out of the house below, where he helped her into a cabriolet and then started down the street at a fast pace, heading to the botanical gardens for our rendezvous. I looked at the sky, where the sun was already casting shadows. Maybe two hours before sunset. Damn these short winter days. I’d certainly not be able to meet Edward and still have time to rush back home for dinner at the professor’s. He’d be beside himself with worry when I didn’t show up.
Lucy plucked another grape, eyeing me strangely. She changed her mind and set it back down in the bowl. ‘The truth is, and I know this must sound absurd coming from me, but I actually think I might admire him. Not much, of course. Only a tiny bit. Perhaps it’s just stuffy in here.’
I shot her a look. I couldn’t imagine anything that chilled my blood more than the idea of Lucy enamored of a boy with a monstrous other half who had already killed four people in London – for me. I clutched her hand suddenly. ‘He seems a bore to me. I think you should forget him. Really. Now I must go, Lucy. I’m so sorry.’
Her eyes went wide. ‘You’ve only just arrived. I thought we might be able to talk, here, while we’re alone. Didn’t you want to speak to me privately?’ She leaned in, her voice dropping. ‘I have things to tell you, too. I’m not certain Papa’s been fair in his business dealings, and when I mentioned it to Mother, she didn’t seem to care.’
‘Blast, I’m sorry, I really can’t stay to hear about it right now. I’m a terrible friend, I know, but I really must go.’ I paused in the doorway. ‘Oh, and I forgot to tell you – Inspector Newcastle is going to propose. I thought you should know. And I really don’t think he’s that terrible; perhaps you should give him a chance.’
I squeezed her hand and hurried from the room and down the stairs, waving to Clara as I ran out into the street.
Guilt gripped me for leaving her so suddenly, but part of this was for Lucy. I could hardly explain that her suitor – who she actually fancied – had a murderous other side to him, and it was either cure him, kill him, or have her end up dead.
A chill was settling into the shadows of buildings as late afternoon approached. I turned toward the sun in the west, in the direction of the Royal Botanical Gardens, where palm trees stood like ghosts within the captive heat of the greenhouse.
A thousand places to kill. A million reasons not to trust.
I started running toward Kensington.
My feet ached by the time I arrived. The tired-looking ticket collector glanced at his pocket watch.
‘Palm House closes at sunset, the gardens at six. You have but a few hours.’
‘That’s all right,’ I said breathlessly, shoving my coins at him. I dashed through the gardens to the bridge that stretched across the frozen lake. From there, I could see the greenhouse, where rays of light caught on the thousands of glass panels.
I felt as though I’d crossed some invisible boundary and was no longer in London. Gone were the city crowds, the smoke and the soot, the noise of carriages and yelling street vendors.
I took a deep breath and pushed open the Palm House’s ironwork door. A flood of warmth escaped the crack, filling my lungs with steam as I entered the domed central atrium.
I slid out of my coat and left it hanging over a branch, then fumbled to open the top buttons of my dress. Sweat was already forming on my inner layers. Somewhere, the line between this world and another blurred.
I was back in the jungle.
The hiss of steam jets replaced the ocean tides. Machinery squealed like jungle birds. Steam filled my lungs with memories: Jaguar, with his flicking tail; the smell of burning refuse and unwashed animals in the islanders’ village; the salt in the breeze. In a strange way I missed the island terribly, heartsick for a place I’d hated and a father I’d wanted to die.
No – a father I’d helped murder.
‘Edward?’ I called as loud as I dared, uncertain if it was an enormous mistake to have come here.
A chain rattled overhead. Iron catwalks spanned the ceiling so visitors could walk among the treetops. A well-dressed figure now descended the spiral staircase. Edward. He stopped a few feet from me, as quiet as the steam at our feet.
‘Hello, Juliet.’
Being here, in this place so reminiscent of the island, I felt beastly things stir inside of me, taking me back to the island where we had learned to move through the trees quiet as animals, where he’d kissed me behind the waterfall. My pulse quickened, hungry for those things again despite my better sense.
He stepped forward, toying with his gold pocket watch, and I stepped back. ‘I told you, for the time being I’m still stronger than him. I can fight him if I feel him coming on. I’m not going to hurt you.’
‘What about that thief girl, and Annie, and the others? You were quick enough to kill them.’
‘I’m sorry for them, truly. When the Beast takes over, I lose myself to him.’
‘Why only kill people who have done wrong to me?’
A flicker of confusion passed over his features. ‘You’ll have to ask the Beast that question; he’s the one who chose them.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I said.
‘He seems to know my memories, but I only share pieces of his. The next day I find newspaper headlines about three slashes to the chest, and I assume he was responsible. I knew the solicitor was an acquaintance of yours, but not the others. I had assumed they were random.’
‘Hardly. Each one of them committed a crime against me.’
Edward’s face softened. ‘That explains it, then. I hadn’t realized why he was so intent on those particular kills. He’s trying to protect you, in his own way.’
‘Protect me? Why?’
He regarded me strangely for the space of a few breaths, while I wondered if I was crazy to be here and not to try to kill him on sight. He said, ‘Because he’s as much in love with you as I am.’
My lips parted, though no words came. I paced over a path between soft spring-green ferns, trying to process everything. Emotions had never come easy to me, and they now threaded themselves in knots I couldn’t possibly unravel. ‘Killing is a choice. Can’t he just stop?’
‘You wouldn’t ask that question if you understood how powerful he is. He’d like to kill everyone who crosses his path, but he’s tried to restrain himself and, I suppose, kill only those who sought to harm you.’ He paused. ‘I try to keep him contained – look.’
His wiry fingers went to his shirt cuff. I couldn’t help but notice how his knuckles were swollen and knobby, so like my own when a bout of illness was coming on. He unbuttoned his cuff and rolled back his sleeve over his forearm, revealing dark bruises.
I gasped. The bruises ranged from dark blue to purple to a yellowing gray, a rainbow of pain. I could barely tear my eyes off their strange beauty when he reached for his shirt buttons. ‘I chain myself if I feel him coming out, but sometimes I’m not fast enough, or he breaks the lock.’ He opened his shirt to reveal his bare chest. Welts and bruises slashed his skin. I traced them with my eyes, entranced.
I swallowed. ‘Edward …’
He pulled his shirt back on and rolled down the sleeves. ‘I’m showing you because I want you to understand the lengths I’ll go to in order to cure myself. I don’t want to hurt anyone else, you least of all. I was as surprised as you were when you walked into Lucy’s parlor today. I knew you two were very close, but if I had known you were coming by, I’d never have gone.’
‘What are you doing with her?’ I asked. ‘You shouldn’t ever have introduced yourself to her. And now she’s practically ready to run away with you – what kind of madness is this?’
‘An act, nothing more,’ he said, taking an uncertain step toward me. ‘She’s a fine young woman, but I’m only posing as her suitor to get closer to her father. Juliet, I couldn’t ever love anyone besides—’
‘Stop,’ I said, throwing up a hand. ‘Please, Edward, don’t talk like that.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Why do you want to get close to Mr Radcliffe?’
He ran a hand through his hair. ‘It’s part of the plan to cure myself. I have letters that I took from your father’s laboratory before it burned. They contain correspondence with a former colleague of his, going back years to when he was first banished. All that time on the island, he maintained contact with someone, trading the secrets to his work in exchange for funding and supplies.’
His words gave me pause. All those years when I’d thought Father dead, he was corresponding with someone back in London? I sank against the rough bark of a palm tree to steady myself. I’d once asked Father why he never wrote to me. He’d alluded to the fact that there was a warrant on him, and letters would have alerted the police to his whereabouts. And yet it seemed he hadn’t hesitated to write to colleagues when it suited him.
I started to put everything together. ‘The letters were to Mr Radcliffe? Lucy’s father was his correspondent? But he isn’t a scientist. Their money came from rail, and now he’s doing something with the automobile industry, shipping engines all over Europe—’
Edward was quick to shake his head. ‘I don’t know for sure if it’s him. The letters aren’t signed; whoever his colleague was, Moreau wished to keep it secret. The correspondent called himself a King’s Man, nothing more. So I’ve been investigating all the members of the King’s Club, starting with those closest to your father, such as Radcliffe. He’s a hard man to get close to.’
‘The King’s Club is wrapped up in this?’ My mind ticked back to the grainy old photograph hanging in the hallways of King’s College. Father’s young face had seemed so hopeful then, brimming with ambition. I tried to remember the other faces. Hastings had been there, and Isambard Lessing … the rest of the names bled together in my head.
‘So you used Lucy. Never mind that you would only end up breaking her heart, assuming you didn’t first rip it out of her chest.’ I knew my words were laced with acid, but he didn’t flinch. ‘Did you at least discover anything about her father?’
He shook his head. ‘Not yet. There are a dozen King’s Men who fit the profile.’ A shadow passed through the golden flecks in his eyes. ‘Including your guardian.’
My hand fell away from my collar. The professor? Words raced up my throat, ready to deny it, but they never made it to my lips. Doubts started to pull them back down – the professor had been in the photograph, standing right next to my father, of all places – but I gritted my teeth and ignored my doubts. ‘The professor was the one who turned Father in. He’d never support his work.’
But Edward didn’t answer, and my blood went cold. Only the day before yesterday the professor had told me about how he’d met Father in the King’s Club. He’d prodded me for information, asked me to talk about my time on the island. I thought he’d just been concerned …
I shook my head fiercely. ‘No, I don’t believe it. It’s someone else. But it doesn’t matter – whoever Father’s secret colleague is, you can’t contact him. It’s too dangerous.’
‘I haven’t a choice. If he knows Moreau’s work, he might know how to cure me.’
