McKenna raised an eyebrow but muttered something to one of the younger girls, who scampered off to fetch a pail. The rest of them, wiping their eyes, hurried away with fearful energy. After a few minutes, only Montgomery and I remained.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered. “Elizabeth was their leader. The staff obeyed her. She knew everything about this house and how to run it and keep it safe. I can’t do it on my own.”
“You’re not on your own,” he said.
I paced, feeling the warning swell of panic as the truth of this situation crashed down upon me. “They loved her. They would do anything for her. She gave them hands, Montgomery. Hands and feet and eyes and organs. What can I give them?”
“They didn’t love her because she was a brilliant surgeon. They loved her because she was kind and generous and strong.” He came forward, rubbing my arms. “Just like you are. She made you her heir for a reason, Juliet. She trusted you, and so will they.”
“Trusted me?” I said. “She shouldn’t have. I’ll only make a mess of everything, like I did before.”
“That’s not true.” I leaned into him, closing my eyes, wishing we weren’t standing in their very ashes. The weight of this burden placed on my shoulders was crushing. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to be the heir of Ballentyne, and now I was its mistress.
A metal clang came from the door, and when I looked up, a pail rested there with a brush, but the girl had left. I drew a little of Elizabeth’s spirit into my lungs, picked up the pail, and knelt in the ashes. Montgomery joined me. Together, we spent the morning erasing all evidence that Elizabeth and Hensley had ever existed. We carried the ashes outside, where we cast them to the wind. We’d have to have a funeral soon—the staff would want to say their good-byes. But I couldn’t bear to go through a proper ceremony just yet. Not so soon after the professor’s death. Not after Edward’s.
Not after my father’s.
From the edge of the moors, beneath the midday sun, Ballentyne looked like one of the ancient castles of legends. It was a sanctuary, not just for me but for the girls, who had all come seeking Elizabeth’s healing skills. If more came, would I take up her scalpel and continue her work?
I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Montgomery. Secrets had caused this tragedy: Elizabeth keeping the rats secret from Hensley. Me keeping Edward secret from Montgomery. We were married now, and I was tired of secrets.
“There’s something I must tell you. It’s part of the reason Hensley was so upset. It’s about Edward, and something I’ve done—”
“Hold on.” His attention was focused on the tree-lined road cutting through the moors. “Someone’s coming.”
My head jerked toward the road. A single rider on a thin old horse emerged from the trees, approaching the manor slowly. Alarm overcame me. A stranger, now? Was it a girl seeking healing—or one of Radcliffe’s spies?
“Come on,” I said, resolving to tell him about Edward as soon as I could, as we hurried toward the stranger. He wore a heavy cloak that obscured his face. He stopped the horse as we ran down the road.
Montgomery flexed his hands. I realized we had no pistols, no knives. Whoever he was, he’d arrived at the moment we were at our most vulnerable.
“Show yourself,” Montgomery ordered.
The man slowly pulled his hood back. I tensed my hands as well, ready to fight if necessary, or run back to the manor to sound the alarm. But as soon as I saw his dark skin and darker eyes, I relaxed.
“Jack Serra,” I said. “I was afraid you were one of Radcliffe’s men.” As relieved as I was to see a familiar face, worry stirred. Elizabeth had sent Jack to spy on Radcliffe and report back. What if he’d come to tell us that Radcliffe had discovered our location?
Montgomery was strangely tense at my side, staring with uneasiness at Jack Serra, and I remembered that they’d never met when the carnival troupe had come before.
“It’s all right,” I said. “He’s the spy Elizabeth sent to London. A friend.”
“I know damn well who he is.” Montgomery’s expression shifted to one of complete distrust. I wrapped my arms across my chest, feeling suddenly very cold, and took a step away from Jack. Had I been wrong to trust him? Had I made a terrible mistake in telling him so much about us all?
Jack Serra’s face hitched back in a cryptic smile. “Montgomery. Hello.”
Montgomery didn’t blink. “What are you doing here, Ajax?”
THIRTY-THREE
AJAX?
The name conjured the image of Father’s island. The last time I’d seen Ajax—Jaguar, he’d called himself then—he was nearly regressed into a jungle cat, walking on all fours, covered in thick yellow and black fur, unable to speak.
Jack Serra was Ajax—one of my father’s creations?