He started to object, but voices came from the other side of the wall and I pulled him closer, resting a finger over my lips. We waited until the voices passed. I finished the last button and removed my blouse, setting it over the chair. My fingers trembled. I told myself it was a medical examination, not some secret tryst. But I’d never taken my clothes off in front of a man before. And Montgomery wasn’t just some nameless doctor in a cold examining room.
“It’s an old-fashioned corset. You’ll have to help me with the laces,” I said, turning around. I gripped the back of the chair to keep steady.
“Juliet—”
“Please. I need to know.”
He tugged at the laces with the ungraceful hands of a man. At last they loosened. I dragged the chemise’s wide collar down over one shoulder. I kept my arms folded, holding the corset against my chest.
“Just look,” I whispered, feeling exposed. His hand brushed the hair off my back, sending shivers along either side of the scar. I hugged the corset tighter. Bit my lip. Worries drove me mad. Mother lied. I am some creature, a cat, or a wolf, or . . .
He withdrew his hands. I pulled up my chemise, feeling the warmth rise to my cheeks. He loosely retied the laces of my corset. I smoothed a hand over the whalebone ribbing, waiting.
“Well?” I asked.
“You’re crazy,” he answered. His face broke with the traces of a smile. “It’s just as he said. A spinal deformity fixed by surgery.”
My eyelids sank with relief. “Are you sure?”
“Beyond doubt.” He wet his parched lips. “I know you, Juliet. You’re no monster.”
I studied him closely. The sand still clung to his ear, and I reached up on impulse and brushed it off. His heartbeat sped at my touch. I wanted to believe him. But even if he was right, I knew that one didn’t have to be a creation to be a monster. My own family history proved that.
For a few moments he stood a breath away. His fingers found my wrist and traced along the edge of my arm. He cleared his throat and looked ready to say something, but then he shook his head.
“Good night, Juliet.” He left slowly, as if he had to pry himself away before he did something improper. A growing part of me wished he’d stayed.
Twenty-eight
FATHER AND MONTGOMERY LEFT at dawn the next day. The set-in clouds threatened a tropical storm, but Father was convinced the murderer was Ajax and must be hunted down and brought to justice, despite the weather.
The clouds broke and heavy rain stretched into the afternoon, driving the rest of us indoors. Edward kept to his room with complaints of a headache, a throwback to his time in the dinghy. I spent the day helping Alice hang laundry to dry under the portico’s covered eaves. She was quiet, but that suited me.
We heard the horses stamping outside in late afternoon. Alice brushed the hair out of her face with a soapy hand. “They’ve returned.”
Puck opened the gate. Steam rose off the horses’ bodies. The riders looked like dark, unearthly creatures, covered in mud and black duster coats. They dismounted and crossed through the beating rain to the laboratory. Montgomery glanced at me from under the hood of his oilskin a flash of blue eyes and wet hair and unanswered questions.
Alice and I silently returned to the laundry, though we were both on edge. We were halfway through when the laboratory door slammed open. I dropped the basket of wooden clothespins. Heavy footsteps echoed over the stone flags as I bent to pick them up. Two muddy boots stopped next to the last clothespin.
My father.
I had nothing to say to him. He was an old man with weathered skin and graying hair and dark impulses he couldn’t contain. Not a father.
“You should leave that work to the servants,” he said, raising his voice over the rain. Alice kept her head down as she wrung out a sheet. “Play the piano if you’ve nothing to do. Something proper for a young lady. Where’s that blasted Prince? Can’t he take you for a walk? Show you the view or some such nonsense?”
“Stop trying to push us together,” I hissed, wishing Alice wasn’t overhearing. “Edward can make his own decisions, as can I.”
Father raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? I’m not so sure.” A bolt of lightning lit the sky as he continued to his apartment above the salon. I rested the basket on the side of the laundry bin, biting back words. He was a fool if he still thought he could tell me what to do.
After we finished the laundry, I went to the salon, curious if Edward was up and feeling better. But it was empty save Puck, laying out dinnerware. The piano had been freshly polished, but I crossed to the bookshelves instead. I admired the beautiful green binding of the Shakespeare collection, each book stamped on the spine with gold emblems. One volume was missing, though I didn’t recall which one. I couldn’t imagine one of the beasts reading Shakespeare.
I ran my hand along the uneven shelf and thought of Montgomery, hammering it together years ago when he’d still been a boy. Father demanded perfection, but he’d still kept these shelves, crooked as they were. For as much as he ordered Montgomery about, I suspected he loved him in his own warped way. He’d always wanted a son. Lord knew he never cared about his daughter.
I pulled out the brandy stopper and sloshed a healthy dose into a cut-crystal glass. I drank the spicy-sweet liquid in several gulps. My throat burned. Puck stared at me, the silverware forgotten.
“What? Want to try some?” I asked, tipping the bottle toward him. He scowled as he hurried to finish laying out the place settings.
I took the bottle to the window, studying the falling rain outside. The warm smell of supper began to fill the room, drawing in Montgomery and Father, both scrubbed clean but looking grim.