“You brought him back?” He shook his head. “That’s impossible. And I refuse to believe that Balthazar helped you. He’d never approve of that sort of work, and he’d have told me right away.”
“You know how he is with authority; he’ll obey if he thinks you’re the law. I convinced him I had more authority in this house than you did, and that he could never tell you. Be mad at me if you must, but not him. He made me promise to tell you the truth after the wedding. And now I am.”
He paced harder, dragging a hand through his loose hair. I feared he’d stomp back upstairs and put a bullet in Edward’s head at any moment.
“We need Edward,” I reasoned. “Hensley was nearly indestructible, and I’m almost certain it’s the same with Edward. I know you don’t like the science I used, but it might save the life of everyone in this manor.” An idea latched into my brain like a fever. It started as a small ache but it spread rapidly, an infection taking over my every thought, until I felt my mind was on fire. “We could even create more like him. There are a dozen bodies in the cellar and more in the monastery’s cemetery. We could bring them all back. An army of indestructible men fighting on our side. Radcliffe wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Montgomery’s jaw tightened. For a flash, there was fear in his eyes. It was the same look he’d given me in London when I’d proposed bringing the water-tank creatures back to life.
He leaned in, the fire throwing shadows over his face. “Don’t even think such things, Juliet.”
I took a step away from him, pacing just out of his reach. “Why not? They’d be loyal to me, even more loyal than the servants are to Elizabeth. She only gave them back their hands or eyesight; I’d be giving them back their lives. It would be like the beast-men. Like Father. . . .”
Montgomery slammed his hand against the mantel loud enough to rattle the hanging portraits. “Your father?” Something dark crossed his face. “I thought you were done trying to be like your father. It’s your mother you should aspire toward. She never would have done such an ungodly thing. She wouldn’t have brought Edward back, and she certainly wouldn’t be talking about creating an undead army.”
I threw up my hands. “Maybe I’m not like her! You’ve been trying to steer my future toward her, but I can’t help what I am. It’s always been inevitable, don’t you see? Father’s inheritance is stronger. I’ve never had a choice, not really. It’s in my blood. I can’t fight who I am.”
“You don’t even know who you are!”
His hand dug into the wooden mantel above the fire so hard that his knuckles went white. I froze, surprised by his words. He stopped, too. Regret crossed his face and he turned away, but not before I saw panic there, too.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
I could tell by the set of his mouth that he was about to dismiss his words as nonsense fueled by anger. But then he looked at me—really looked at me—and something broke in his face. “It’s never going to stop, is it?” he said more to himself than to me. “You think you’re fated to be like him. You think it’s genetics and prophecy both.” He cursed softly under his breath.
Worry started to pull at me. “Montgomery . . .”
“I never wanted to tell you this, Juliet. I’ve tried so hard to protect you from the truth.”
I forgot about Radcliffe, and the servants, and my plans to reanimate an army of dead, as a thousand little claws of fear dug into me. It felt just like that terrible day on the island when I had opened Father’s files and found my own name written there, among his other creations all named after Shakespearean characters: Balthazar, Ajax, Cymbeline, Juliet.
Ask him about your father’s laboratory files on the island, the Beast had said. About the ones you didn’t see.
I shook my head a little too hard. “If you’re trying to say I’m one of Father’s creations, I don’t believe it. He gave me a few organs from a deer, that’s all. I’m human.”
Montgomery’s face softened. “I know that.” His voice was so gentle that I knew that whatever he would say next was going to break my heart. “You’re right—you aren’t one of his creations. You were born to your mother, just as he said. The only difference is . . .” He swallowed, slow and reluctantly. “He isn’t your father.”
The flames in the fireplace stopped. The drafts ruffling the tapestries froze. The entire world ceased in its orbit for the space of just a few words.
“What did you say?” I whispered.
THIRTY-FIVE
“HENRI MOREAU ISN’T YOUR father,” Montgomery said, more emphatically. “I’ve known it since we were little. He kept the paper records locked away, even on the island. He told me himself once, after you’d tried to sneak into his laboratory on Belgrave Square. That’s why he never wanted to teach you his research, Juliet—not because you were female, but because you weren’t his.”
I pressed a hand to my head. “That’s impossible.”