I frowned and picked back up the book. “I don’t recall Father being religious in the slightest. I can’t imagine he would even spare a few words to curse it.”
“He was insane, Juliet.”
But the words nagged at me. I flipped open the journal to the coded letters and numbers, imagining Father writing them, thinking of the books of the Bible. His interest hadn’t been of a religious nature, so what use did he have for it?
A thought ruffled my mind like wind through dried leaves. “My god,” I said, as my heart began to thump. “That’s it. The Bible! He used a Bible cipher based on the books in the Bible because it’s the one volume every King’s Man would have in their home.”
“A Bible cipher?”
“Yes—look at these letters and numbers. They’re code for chapters and verses.”
Montgomery squinted at the writing in Father’s journal. “You may be right, but without a codex we’d have no place to start. It would take us ages to go through the books one by one and try to determine where he began.”
“What would a codex look like?”
“A grid of some fashion. A chart with the sixty-six books of the Bible and the corresponding—”
He stopped when he saw the look on my face.
“Lucy,” I murmured. “Lucy’s seen it. She read all the letters Father sent to Radcliffe, and she mentioned references to the books of the Bible. Father must have put his codex in his letters.” I couldn’t hide my thrill at the prospect of decoding Father’s secret journal pages.
“We can hardly just walk up to her front door,” Montgomery said. “Newcastle knows we’re onto him, and he’ll have alerted the rest of the King’s Club.”
“Then we’ll have to be a little more creative,” I said, and peered through the window at Saint Paul’s Church spire, which told me it was nearly ten in the morning. Balthazar was sitting on an old stone wall on the street below, tossing crumbs from his iced bun to the pigeons. I glanced at Montgomery. “How fast can we get to Grosvenor Square?”
THIRTY-EIGHT
ONCE MONTGOMERY AND I finished packing everything we needed for the serums, I locked the attic and left a note to my landlady that I wouldn’t return, then let my fingers run one last time over the rough wood door. Downstairs, we gathered Balthazar and hailed a cabriolet to take us to Grosvenor Square, one of the wealthier neighborhoods north of the Strand. I had the driver let us off by an ancient church’s ivy-covered archway, where we could hide unnoticed.
I leaned close to Montgomery. “Lucy takes lessons three mornings a week at the Académie de Musique across the street. She finishes at half past ten and takes a carriage home from Lincoln Park. She’ll have to pass this way. I was thinking Balthazar could help. . . .”
Montgomery’s eyes went wide. “You mean to abduct her?”
“He’s very gentle. I know from experience.” I straightened and spoke louder. “Balthazar, we’re picking up a friend of mine. You remember Lucy Radcliffe, don’t you? I want to surprise her, so I’m going to need you to bring her here without making a sound. Can you do that and be very gentle?”
His head nodded enthusiastically.
We waited a few moments longer until a young woman in a hunting-green cloak with long dark curls emerged from the academy, violin case in hand.
“There she is,” I said to Balthazar.
“Yes, miss.” He faded into the shadows with surprising stealth. For a few moments Montgomery and I waited, watching from the ancient archway. Lucy sauntered along the sidewalk toward Lincoln Park, hardly suspecting a man was lying in wait for her behind the bushes.
I heard a muffled cry, followed by a rustling of branches. Montgomery and I darted to the far side of the churchyard just as they emerged from the snowy boughs. Balthazar’s fist pressed hard around her mouth, which she tore at with her fingernails. Her eyes were wide until she caught sight of me.
I waved Balthazar away. “That’s good work. You can let her go now.”
He stepped back and she gulped air, making angry little hisses. “Juliet, are you behind this abduction? My god—bravo, I suppose. I didn’t think you had it in you.” Her face fell. “I’ve been worried about you since the professor’s death. Such a tragedy . . .”
The mention of his death brought up a lump in my throat. “Thank you, truly. I’m sorry for abducting you like this, but I didn’t dare come to your house, and I needed to make certain no one was following you.” I bit my lip, dreading to tell her the rest. “I went to give my statement to Inspector Newcastle. I found a letter from the King’s Club in his office.”
Her lips parted. “The King’s Club? In John’s office?”
“I take it you didn’t know he was a member.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “Of course I didn’t!”
“It gets worse. I found the professor’s spectacles in his desk, too.” I took a deep breath. “Edward didn’t kill the professor—Newcastle did, and framed Edward for it.”
Her face went even whiter. She slumped against the wall in shock. “Good lord, are you certain?”
“He admitted as much to me.”
“I always thought him strange—but a murderer? I suppose if my own father could be wrapped up in this, anyone could be.” Her jaw tightened, not pitying herself for a moment. “Did you abduct me to warn me of this?”
“Only in part. We have Father’s journal, which might help develop us a cure for Edward, but it’s written in code. The codex is hidden in the letters he sent your father. We need you to steal the letters.”
I glanced at Balthazar, who was sitting calmly on the crooked back steps of the church, nudging a sluggish moth with his big forefinger toward a sugar cube he’d taken from his vest pocket.
“Papa’s out of town for the rest of the week,” she said. “And Mother hasn’t gotten out of bed since the attack at the masquerade. Have your man flag us down a carriage, and I’ll have the letters for you in a half hour.”
LUCY WAS TRUE TO her word. We hadn’t waited in the cabriolet more than twenty minutes before she reappeared at her front door, walking briskly with a leather satchel tucked under one arm. As soon as she was safely in the carriage and Montgomery signaled to the driver to go, she let out a deep sigh and tossed the satchel to me.
“I daresay I’m not cut out for all this,” she said. “It’s one thing to sneak about when it’s for a gentlemen’s kiss, but letters from a madman, and my father caught up in all of it . . . and that bloody brain is still in the hatbox!”