Even though I was.
Lucy had gone white. “It was my father, wasn’t it? He told the police.”
“No, it wasn’t him.” I answered in a rush, relieved at least to put her worries to rest. I took out the article and handed it to her. “I found this newspaper article in Quick. He denounces his role in the King’s Club and talks about how sad he is you disappeared. He doesn’t blame us for what happened, at least not publicly.”
Lucy clutched at the newspaper. “He’s worried about me?” She sank into the chair, poring over every word of the article.
Elizabeth sighed. “Inspector Newcastle was the one who told the police, I’m afraid. He was taken to the hospital with fatal burns. He died within hours, but not before he recounted what had happened. You killed some very important men, Juliet. Someone associated with them is scouring the country for you, but it doesn’t matter. They won’t find you as long as you stay hidden here. The police don’t know the location of this manor, and don’t even know it’s in my family. It’s under the name of a distant cousin in Germany. It would take them years to go through the paperwork, and they wouldn’t even know to look for it.”
Elizabeth reached for a bottle of gin on the side table, pouring each of us a glass, but Lucy waved it away, and so did Montgomery. He stood, tucking the poster into his pocket. “I’m going to show this to Balthazar, but I’d prefer to keep it hidden from the rest of the staff. It’s best they don’t know our pasts.”
He strode out of the room.
Elizabeth drank the gin he’d left behind, and then Lucy’s, too. “I know it’s a terrible shock,” she said, “but I assure you that you’re quite safe here. It seems our more pressing concern is Mr. Prince’s health. McKenna told me he’s still alive, in and out of consciousness, which is a miracle itself. With the amount of arsenic he took, a normal man would be dead in days.”
“Yes, about Edward.” I exchanged a glance with Lucy and then dropped my voice. “There’s something rather pressing we must discuss. He had a moment of lucidity a few nights ago. He told Lucy and me that the Beast was caused by a disease in the brain and was curable if we could drain or transplant the diseased organ.” I knit my fingers as I explained the rest of what Edward had said and why we’d kept the information to ourselves.
“We thought with your advanced medical knowledge,” Lucy added, “there might be something you can do.” The light from the fire illuminated her desperation.
“I see.” Elizabeth was quiet, thinking, as the fire crackled and popped. Hensley crawled along the floor by Elizabeth’s feet, laying out bits of dried cheese for his rat. The rat tried to scurry away and Hensley grabbed it hard, hugging it to his chest, stroking it fiercely.
“Don’t run away,” he whispered. “It isn’t safe.”
Elizabeth murmured something in his ear about giving his pet some bread to calm it down, and Hensley relented and handed her the rat. She quickly slipped it into her pocket, which she buttoned closed, but I couldn’t help but notice the rat wasn’t moving. I dared not ask her about it now, though, with so much hanging in the balance for Edward.
Elizabeth let out a deep sigh.
“I can tell how hopeful you both are about this new development, but I’m afraid I shall have to be the bearer of bad news. Organ transplantations are possible, in some cases. I transplanted a liver, and I’ve heard of it done with lungs and kidneys, even a heart once—they kept the blood flowing during the procedure with artificial pumps. However, the brain is central to life. If the spinal column or cranial complex is severed or even badly damaged, death is immediate. There would be no way to perform a brain transplant on a living person. It’s a paradoxical situation, you see. The procedure might cure him, but he would have to be dead for us to perform it.”
The fire crackled more, as the hope slowly drained out of Lucy’s face. Her bottom lip started to tremble.
“I can make his days as pleasant and comfortable as possible,” Elizabeth said softly. “That’s all, I’m afraid. If he is to defeat the Beast, he will have to do it on his own.”
“But he isn’t strong enough on his own!” Lucy cried. She pushed off from the sofa, tears streaking down her face, and ran out of the room. I stood to go after her but stopped. What could I possibly say to her to make things better?
Elizabeth picked up a sleepy Hensley in her arms. It was hard to reconcile the two sides of her—I had always thought of her as a brilliant and cold surgeon, not unlike my father. Now I saw her as a mother, too.