“You haven’t involved Lucy in this, have you?” I asked.
“It isn’t I who involved her, Miss Moreau, but you. I would never have put Lucy in any sort of danger.”
“You can’t expect me to believe you actually care about her.” A man like him, so deceptive, was not the type to care about anything.
But he frowned in a sincere way. “I care about her a great deal. I’m in a business where I hear lies all day, Miss Moreau. You’ve no idea how I admire a young woman who says what she truly thinks, even if more often than not it’s to express her poor opinion of me. It only makes me love her all the more. If she suffers because of all this, it’s on your hands.”
“I had to warn her. Her own father is wrapped up in this.”
“Miss Moreau, the entire King’s Club is wrapped up in this.” He smiled, teeth glinting in the shadows. “But you already suspected that, didn’t you? When I heard you were back in London, I was curious to meet you. After we received word from Claggan that your father had died, all our hopes fell on you. I guessed you’d be clever. I’m delighted to find it’s true.”
He settled back into the seat and took out a pipe and tobacco from his breast pocket, which he packed delicately, as though we’d all the time in the world.
“You saw the laboratory, didn’t you?” His exhale of pipe smoke filled the carriage. “The night guard caught a glimpse of a girl in the hallways. I found footprints the next day that were decidedly dainty for any of our members.”
I considered lying. I considered not saying anything. I considered many things, including lunging for his throat. But in the end, my curiosity got the best of me.
“Yes, I saw it.”
“I’m terribly interested to know how it compares to your father’s laboratory, since you are one of the few people to have seen it.”
“Father kept his things tidier.”
He laughed at this, deep and rich. “Clever. You’re a rare woman, Miss Moreau.” The carriage jostled again as we returned to smooth pavement. He took another long, thoughtful puff on his pipe. “I was a student of his, you know. Forensics. He took me under his wing, but never extended an invitation for anything social. He was a difficult man to get to know.”
“Did you hire someone to kill the professor?” I interrupted. “Or was it one of your own?”
He reclined further into the plump cushions, moving easily as the carriage swayed from side to side, more than content to let my question go unanswered. “A pity, to be certain, but the professor was an old man. His death was necessary; we knew you were sheltering Moreau’s creation, and we thought the only way to flush him out was for you to turn on him—if, for example, you thought he’d murdered someone close to you.”
“Yet your ruse didn’t work, and now you’ve blood on your hands.”
“Another necessary evil, I’m afraid.”
“You have no idea what will happen if you bring those creatures in the water tanks to life,” I said. “You’ve seen what the Wolf can do. You think you will be able to control them, but you won’t. They’ll destroy this city.”
When he only flicked the ashes of his pipe onto the carriage floor, the terrible truth suddenly dawned on me, all their plans for New Year’s Day and the paupers’ ball in Parliament Square.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” I whispered. “You intend to wreak havoc throughout the city. But why? For what possible purpose?”
“This isn’t about creating chaos, Miss Moreau. It’s about building something. Your father might have been a madman, but I assure you, I am quite sane. I’ve always seen the practical uses for your father’s research, and I’m not alone.”
“The French Ministry of Defense, you mean,” I spat. “They’re going to use them as biological weapons, aren’t they?”
He shrugged. “Weaponry is one possible application for Moreau’s research, yes, and certainly what the French government is most interested in. This isn’t limited to the French, though. We have an American research hospital that wants the technology for experimental procedures on baboon-kidney transplants. And a Dutch weaponry development company who wants to give its soldiers greater eyesight and hearing with animal biological grafting. They’ve even discussed using it for communications—talking dogs that can sneak behind enemy lines, though that seems a bit fantastical to me. We even have a private individual in Germany, a baron, dying of heart failure. He’s willing to pay half his fortune if we can prove pig-heart transplants are possible. Your father’s science will revolutionize the world, Miss Moreau.”
“You expect me to believe the King’s Club is building monsters and murdering people out of altruism? So an old man can get a fresh heart?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Believe what you like. We aren’t interested in the final ramifications, only in developing the mechanisms to make it possible. What the world chooses to do with the technology is its own business. Our plan is merely to perfect Moreau’s science and then do what we do best: profit off of it.” He took another long drag from his pipe and let the smoke cloud between us. “Unfortunately, our potential buyers are skeptical. We need to demonstrate the technology’s efficacy, starting with France.”
“The paupers’ ball,” I said. “You’re going to let the beasts loose in a crowded square—” I did some calculations quickly. “Hundreds of people might die! Just so you can prove your point to some buyers? How are you going to explain it to the newspapers? You can hardly tell them what you’ve done.”