“A man came by today,” she said, surprising me, somehow sensing that I was there. “A historian by the name of Isambard Lessing.”
I came in and sat on the brocade sofa opposite her. “Was he after your family’s journals again?” I asked.
Her head cocked as she regarded me strangely. “Journals?”
“He came to visit the professor several weeks ago, asking about the heirlooms and things.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Is that what the professor told you? No, my dear, that’s not what Lessing was after at all. He was asking about you. I told him nothing, of course. Any interest an old man like him would have in a young girl can’t be good.”
I swallowed, uncertain what to make of this information. “What did he ask, exactly?”
“He wished to speak to you. Some nonsense about a trust the college had established in your father’s name . . . not a word of it true, I’m sure. I can smell a liar. I don’t even think history is his true profession.” Her forehead wrinkled in worry. “You must be careful, Juliet.”
The professor had lied to me, then. Lessing had come asking questions about me—on King’s Club’s orders, no doubt—and the professor had argued with him and then made up some story about heirlooms so I wouldn’t worry. One more thing the professor had done to improve my life, perhaps even save it, that I’d never be able to thank him for.
“Elizabeth—” I started, wanting to offer my condolences, but she cut me off.
“The funeral will be Thursday at Saint Paul’s. That’s where his grave plot is. He was well loved in this city; it’ll be a grand affair.” She wiped a thin hand over her face. “I wish I didn’t have to attend. I know that sounds terrible, but all those people, all offering their condolences when they hardly knew him. . . I don’t know how I’ll get through it.”
From the corner of my eye I saw ghosts of movement in the doorway, and looked up to find Montgomery returned from his errand. His face was deeply lined.
I gave Elizabeth’s hand a good squeeze, and then kissed her on the cheek just as tenderly as she’d kissed me the night before. “You won’t be alone. I’ll be with you.”
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.”