Her Dark Curiosity (The Madman’s Daughter #2)(56)
Author: Megan Shepherd

I met Montgomery in the hallway, where he motioned for me to follow him into my bedroom and close the door.

“What did you discover?” I asked.

The heavy set to his features told me whatever he’d found wasn’t good. He glanced toward the door and said, “Crates.”

“Crates?”

“Railroad shipping crates. You recall that we overheard the King’s Men mention Rochefort, the French ambassador, at the masquerade? I followed his carriage to Southhampton train station, where he met with Radcliffe and three station masters about constructing several dozen crates reinforced with steel beams. For automobile parts, they said, on a shipment to the French Ministry of Defense that Rochefort was negotiating for one week after New Year’s Day.”

I frowned. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“They were drilling air holes in the crates, Juliet.”

The realization hit me hard enough that I sank against the wall. “They’re going to ship the creatures,” I whispered, since the words were too terrible to voice aloud. “They’re going to make the creatures and ship them to France—to the Ministry of Defense. . . .”

Montgomery nodded gravely. “All they need is Edward.”

“We have to find him first,” I said, fumbling in my satchel for the journal. “I showed the flower to Mrs. Narayan. I know where he’s been getting the Plumeria—the Royal Botanical greenhouse; it’s the only place with the right climate. The professor used to take me to flower shows there on the weekends; the Beast must have followed me, and it reminded him of the island. It’ll be closed now for Christmas week. The perfect place for Edward to hide out.”

Church bells chimed, and I looked through the window to see the snow had started, soft flakes that fell over the holly branches, as a governess on the sidewalk struggled to get her three charges to stop catching them on their tongues.

“I’ll go tonight,” Montgomery said. “Balthazar and I.”

“He’ll never come if he knows you’re there. We need some sort of enticement, while you stake him out from afar.”

“What do you propose, a raw hunk of meat?” Montgomery asked wryly.

“Not meat.” I hesitated. “Me.”

Montgomery shook his head forcefully. “Absolutely not. You sound like Radcliffe, proposing to use yourself as bait.”

“You know it’s our best chance,” I said. “We know he’s been following me. We know he wants me; and there, where it’s so much like the island, he won’t be able to resist.”

“But there’s no guarantee Edward will show up as himself. There’s a good chance he’ll have transformed into the Beast.”

“Then we’ll be ready for either.”

Montgomery paced, considering this, but shook his head. “He’ll sense it’s a trap. He’ll smell Balthazar and me there.”

“Not if you stand downwind, outside the glass. You can see right through the walls. I’ll leave a door propped open, so you can rush in and capture him.” For an instant I felt as though I were giving him order in the same way Father used to, as though he were still a servant.

It’s not like with Father, I thought. He and I are partners in this.

“And take him where?” Montgomery asked.

“Here. There’s a stone cellar in the basement that is quite soundproof.”

“What do we tell Elizabeth?”

“Whatever we must. It doesn’t matter nearly as much as capturing Edward before they do. She’s a strong woman. She’ll be able to handle it.”

“I still don’t like it,” Montgomery said.

I rubbed the delicate bones on the back of my hand, which had started to grind together on their own accord. It was a terrible time for my illness to be setting in, so soon after the last bout, which had laid me out for three days. “We don’t have any other choices.”

Montgomery paced, back and forth, and at last gave a curse. “When?”

I swallowed. “Tonight.”

TWENTY-NINE

AT NIGHT, THE ROYAL Botanical greenhouse had lost its splendor. Sunlight no longer reflected off the thousands of glass panes. No glow of a lantern came from within. It was a fragile castle of shadows and frost, and it was the last place in the world I wanted to be.

I scaled the fence with my skirt hitched around my waist, as Montgomery and Balthazar circled the garden in the carriage to climb over from the opposite side. The row of stone gargoyles glowed white in the moonlight, sentry to the secrets within, as I raced through the gardens and pulled open the heavy door.

The warmth eased the stiffness from my joints. Boilers churned beneath my feet, pumping steam that obscured palms into dark lurking shapes. I heard nothing but the rustle of leaves, the babbling of the stream. I slid out the knife as sweat dripped down my temple.

The spiral staircase to the catwalk looked skeletal at night, a twisting iron hand reaching to the domed ceiling. I gripped the railing and started up the stairs, which swayed as I moved, and climbed onto the high catwalk that allowed me to see the entire greenhouse at once.

It was even warmer here, where the heat had risen. This high, I could look through the glass roof to see the lights of London. Somewhere out there Lucy dined with her parents, trying to hide the fact that she knew her father was a conspirator. Elizabeth slept soundly, unaware we’d snuck out of the house. Thousands of people who didn’t deserve to die did thousands of normal things.

I kept walking until a splash of white far below caught my eye, and I paused. It was a grotto, tucked behind a spray of ground palms, hidden from view among the pathways.

I gripped the catwalk railing and peered closer. The grotto was blanketed with little white flowers—Plumeria selva.

I ran back down the spiral stairs, footsteps echoing in the cavernous glass room. I hurried along the stone paths and pushed through the colorful sprays of birds-of-paradise until the grotto opened before me. My breath caught.

I was standing in the middle of a bed of Plumeria selva, the source of all of the blood-tinged flowers that had been the murder’s grisly calling card.

I had found the den of the Beast.

A twig snapped behind me. When I turned, Edward stood amid the palms.

THE EDWARD I KNEW was gone—slipping away like a fallen leaf taken by the babbling brook. But neither was the man in front of me the snarling monster who had clawed my shoulder. His eyes were cast with a yellowish tint, the hair on his arms darker. He was trapped somewhere between man and Beast, just as I was caught in my illness’s icy grip.