“It isn’t. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. He looks human, and he does have a human side that’s kind and generous, but he has a much darker side, too. There were murders on the island, hearts torn from bodies. . . .”
My hands clenched together. I couldn’t find the words to continue, but I could tell from Lucy’s face that I didn’t need to.
“It’s Henry, isn’t it?” she whispered. “Or rather Edward. He’s the Wolf of Whitechapel.” Her eyes locked to mine, wanting me to say it wasn’t true.
But I couldn’t tell her any more lies.
I wrung my hands. “I told him to stay away from you—that’s why he sent you that letter. I didn’t want him anywhere near you, in case he couldn’t control his transformation and put you in danger. I’m sorry, Lucy. I was only looking out for your safety.” Guilt pulsed like a broken rib in my side. I wasn’t being entirely honest with her—I’d also shared a bed with him.
Her chin tipped in a small nod, an indication that she’d heard me. She chewed on a fingernail. “What are we going to do?”
A peal of laughter floated up the stairs as the front door slammed to let in more guests. I took a deep breath, and then pushed off the bed and grabbed her green dress. “We’re going to get dressed and go downstairs before we’re missed. I want you to stay close to Inspector Newcastle all night. He’s always armed, so you’ll be safe with him. There’s a chance Edward might show up . . . if you see him, promise me you won’t talk to him.”
She bit her lip. “But if Henry—I mean Edward—is wrapped up in all this too, couldn’t he help us?”
The hopeful look in her eye told me her feelings for him hadn’t dimmed despite the terrible truths I’d told her. I leaned forward, grabbing her arm. “Lucy, I said he’s dangerous. You haven’t seen him transform like I have. His muscles grow, his tendons pop. His eyes go dark and slitted like an animal’s, and he has claws ready to spring from between his fingers.”
“Stop!”
She covered her face with her hands. I realized that I was holding my hand like a gnarled claw in front of her face, ready to claw her like Edward had so recently done to me. Tears were coming down her face. She really did care about him. Was it my place to trample her affection? I had a responsibility to protect her from Edward; and yet if I found a cure and the Beast was gone, I supposed Edward wouldn’t be a threat to her safety anymore. I’d have no reason to object to them courting.
So why did my heart falter and my anger stir just thinking about the two of them together?
As she cried softly into her hands, I sat back on the dresser chair, trying to understand my own feelings. Was it because of what happened between us the previous night?
That was a mistake, I told myself. Nothing more.
“He’s too dangerous, Lucy,” I said at last. “I know you care about him, but his dark half is gaining more power, and I don’t even trust being around him myself. That’s the reason I’ve told you all of this. To warn you.”
“Even knowing the terrible things he’s done, I can’t bear to think of him alone out there. Being hunted down like an animal. No one to turn to . . .” She leaned into her hands, sobbing gently.
From the hallway outside, the grandfather clock chimed again. Lucy looked toward the door. “Dash it all, the party’s starting,” she said, drying her eyes. “They’ll expect us. Come on—help me into my dress. Hurry.”
We picked up the green silk dress and pulled it over her head, as I hurried to do up the buttons on the back, and then I dressed in my own. I had to turn my back on her while I adjusted the dropped neckline over my shoulder so it hid the Beast’s scratches from sight.
“I don’t see how it’s helping him to leave him alone,” she continued. “Surely he’d be able to control himself better if he had a proper shelter, and food, and medicine. . . .” She went to the mirror and started pinning up her hair with quick, well-practiced moves.
“He can take care of himself, I promise. The best thing you can do to help Edward is to show me those letters. What floor is your father’s study on?”
“Oh Juliet, surely not now, with everyone arriving!”
“Your father will be distracted. We might not have another chance soon.”
She bit her lip, then went to the table and grabbed our masks. She shoved a handful of pins at me and said, “All right, but fix your hair, for the love of god; you look like some sort of savage with your hair down.”
She twisted the key in the lock and peeked out. The hallway was quiet, with the only sounds coming from the party starting downstairs. I fumbled to twist my hair up in the pins as we darted across the hall. The shoes pinched my feet, but there was nothing I could do about that now. We climbed down the narrow servants’ stairs quiet as mice in our elegant ball gowns, until they opened to a long hallway lined with doors. Lucy tiptoed to one and pressed her ear to it, then twisted the doorknob.
Mr. Radcliffe’s study was everything my father’s wasn’t. Father had been meticulous in his organization, so his desk was always cleared at the end of each day, save a single container for fountain pens and a ream of fresh paper for note taking. In contrast, Mr. Radcliffe’s study was covered in a mess of crumpled papers in all manner of disorder, as well as boxes and deliveries stacked on the floor and in the single chair. Gilded framed portraits hung on the walls, the illustrious Radcliffe ancestors, no doubt.