The riders came through the pouring rain with all the force of a train engine. Montgomery and Balthazar had silently slipped into their hidden positions on either side of the entryway into the courtyard, with two rifles each and knives strapped to their chests. From where I stood on the front stairs, letting the rain pummel me, I could just make out the brim of Montgomery’s hat. A glance at the windows overhead revealed the tips of rifles at the ready—Carlyle and McKenna and Lily and Moira, ready to follow my orders as they’d once followed Elizabeth’s.
I stood alone on the steps as the riders formed a half circle in the courtyard. Five riders, then ten, then twenty, filled the space with steaming horses and rain-slick jackets. I held my head high. The night of the bonfire, Elizabeth had looked so regal and confident. I hoped to summon some of her courage.
The horses stamped in the flooded gravel. The water came up past their hooves, even to their knees in the deeper puddles. Four of the riders held oil-wrapped torches that cast light over the riders’ faces and uniforms. Half wore dark blue police slickers, though judging by their unshaven beards and slouched posture, I doubted that a single one of them was an actual officer. The rest of Radcliffe’s men didn’t even bother with disguises: hulking men with thick beards and worn leather jackets splattered with mud.
Mercenaries for hire, all of them.
One rider came forward through the flooded courtyard, as the others parted to let him pass. He held no torch, but I didn’t need one to recognize him. That ramrod-straight back. The eyes so light blue they were almost white. Dark hair the same color as Lucy’s.
John Radcliffe.
He seemed taller than I remembered. To me he’d always been a financier, the type who huddled over ledgers and accounts in an office, and I’d hardly cast him a second look when Lucy and I had been friends. Now, he sat atop his horse as though he commanded the night itself. My confidence wavered for a moment. I glanced toward the barn, praying Lucy was tucked safely away with the little girls. At least she was spared having to face her own father.
“Miss Moreau.” His voice was deep and just a little bit weary. “I’ve gone to great expense to find you.”
I squeezed my fists together. “Elizabeth von Stein is dead. Ballentyne belongs to me now, and I haven’t given permission for you or your men to enter my lands. Leave now and we won’t shoot you.”
I pointed to the row of rifles in the upper windows aimed in their direction.
A brief ripple of uncertainty ran through the other riders, making the horses snort and paw at the gravel, but Radcliffe didn’t flinch. “I don’t care if you’re mistress of this estate or a maid cleaning my boots. You can see my men are armed as well. We can avoid bloodshed, but that’s up to you.” He adjusted his horse’s reins. “Now, where is Lucy?”
I blinked. Of all the demands I had expected him to make, this hadn’t been one of them. I’d told Lucy myself that he was only using her affection to learn my location. Had I been wrong? Was I simply looking at a banker from Belgrave Square who just wanted his daughter back?
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a wire snaking down the southern wall, hidden in the shadows. It came from the window of Elizabeth’s laboratory, where a few shadowy hands were lowering it as quickly as possible. There was a flash of green satin, and then a dark-skinned face looking down.
Jack Serra and his troupe, holding up their part of the plan.
I swallowed, trying to regain my confidence. “You forfeited your right to be a father to her when you joined the King’s Club. You knew what they were planning, whether you’ve since renounced them or not. Now, tell me why you’ve come or get off my land.”
A murmur ran through his men, and Radcliffe eyed me closely. “I’ve already told you, Miss Moreau. I came for my daughter. You made her doubt her own family, put her life at risk, and have her imprisoned here. I’ve come to take her home.”
My confidence vanished. Had I truly been so wrong, all along? Across the courtyard I tried to meet Montgomery’s eyes, but he was hidden in the shadows. I was alone. And uncertain. A drowned cat standing in the rain.
“All this is about Lucy?” I stammered. “Twenty armed men?”
Radcliffe raised an eyebrow. “Why did you think I would come, if not for her?”
I swallowed. “We killed Isambard Lessing and Dr. Hastings and Inspector Newcastle. They were friends of yours.”
A silence ran through the courtyard as a strange look flickered over Radcliffe’s face. To my shock, he let out a deep laugh. “Revenge? You think that’s why I’ve spent so much time to discover your location? Miss Moreau, you are prone to dramatics. I knew Newcastle a few weeks, nothing more. Lessing was a thief. Dr. Hastings, a cad. Why would I care about the deaths of worthless men?”
My heart pounded harder. I’d been so wrong.
From the far end of the courtyard, I saw a flicker of movement. Balthazar, stepping slightly out of the shadows. He tapped his nose twice slowly. I stared at him, until I remembered our conversation from earlier. Balthazar’s keen nose could smell if a man was lying by the odor of his sweat. One tap for truth. Two taps for a lie.