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“You don’t have to tell me,” Montgomery said, turning me around to finish doing up the buttons of my dress. “I recall quite well what it felt like to be a servant.” He spun me back around, and in the cramped room we were only inches apart. His hands lingered on my waist. “I remember wishing desperately that you would look at me. Speak to me.”

I swallowed, suddenly very aware of his proximity. There had been a distance between us ever since the King’s Club massacre, a tension that ate away at my insides like hunger. But beneath it all, I still loved him fiercely. “I did speak to you.”

“Only because you were lonely for a playmate. Or to ask me to make a fire in your bedroom hearth.”

I slid my arms around his neck, looking him fully in the eye. “Well, I see you now,” I said softly. “I’d like to spend the rest of my life looking at you. And from now on, I’ll make the fires.”

He kissed me. It was quick, before anyone might walk in, and it made me believe that somehow we’d work out all our differences. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Be careful tonight, Juliet.”

“You, too.”

I opened the closet door and we snuck back into the kitchen. Maids were carrying rows of identical serving trays, and I picked one up. Montgomery joined a group of male attendants preparing to serve the wine. We gave each other one last look before the doors opened and we filed into the dining hall.

After the blazing lights of the kitchen, I wasn’t prepared for the abrupt shift to dim candle lighting, quiet music from a string quartet, and the soft chatter of the upper classes. For a moment I felt torn between the various stations in life I had held—I’d been born into this world of wealth only to have it torn away and been left as a maid.

To be honest, I wasn’t certain which I preferred.

I glanced at the line of male attendants across the room. Montgomery was taller than the others by a few inches, and his long hair stood out even swept back, but I doubted any of the diners noticed since they were so caught up in their own trivialities.

The girl at my rear jostled me, and I realized I was staring. I followed behind the two girls ladling soup into china bowls and set down a dinner roll with silver tongs. I kept my head down so my hair would partially hide my face, but tried my hardest to search the room for familiar faces. The man or men searching for me had to be in this room somewhere.

My group of serving girls moved to the next table, where Montgomery was serving wine counterclockwise to us. I caught his eye as we passed.

“See anything?” I whispered.

“Not yet. Check the empty seats—they’ll have saved a seat for Valentina.”

I nodded and we continued serving in opposite directions. I had no idea who I was looking for. What if it was a family member of Dr. Hastings, furious at me for killing the man? Or someone who knew I was related to the Wolf of Whitechapel’s killing spree across London?

I was so lost in my thoughts that I bumped into the maid in front of me and accidentally dropped my roll. I gasped as it landed in the lap of a black-haired young gentleman. The other maids froze.

“Terribly sorry, sir,” I stammered, and reached down with my tongs to pick up the roll.

He gave me a disgusted look, shaking out his napkin angrily. “I thought the Stonewall had a higher standard for quality,” he said, and the rest of his dinner party laughed.

It was then that I noticed the empty seat at his table. I went stiff.

Across the table, a man was staring directly at me. An older man with white hair and pale blue eyes. A man I’d thought about only in passing ever since leaving London.

Mr. John Radcliffe, financial banker for the King’s Club, and my father’s former colleague.

Lucy’s father.

SEVENTEEN

I DROPPED THE BASKET of rolls. The other girls shrieked as I pushed past them, running for the door back into the kitchen. I looked frantically for Montgomery. In the commotion, he was heading back to the kitchen, too.

I burst through the door, found Montgomery, and pulled him into the closet.

“The man pursuing us,” I gasped. “It’s Radcliffe. I thought he was just a banker, easy swayed by the others. That article he wrote for the newspaper claimed he’d repented his connections with the King’s Club.”

“He must have written that article hoping that we’d see it,” Montgomery said, “and that it would throw us off his track. It worked, didn’t it? Whatever he’s planning, we’ve underestimated him. We’ve got to get out of here.”

I peeked into the kitchen, which was especially hectic after the incident.

“There’s no sign of Radcliffe yet,” I whispered. “We don’t know if he’s alone or has a team of men with him. He could have men already stationed at each of the doors.”

Montgomery studied the chaos in the kitchen. “He hasn’t sounded any kind of alarm, or announced that there’s fugitives loose in the building, so he must want to keep it quiet.”

“Why is he after us? Is this is all about Lucy? He said in the article how sick with worry he and her mother were.”

Montgomery raised an eyebrow. “How many times did your own father manipulate your love for him to get what he wanted? I’d wager whatever he wants, he’s only using Lucy to get it. Look—the back door!” It was wide open for more vegetable vendors to carry their wares in. “I say we make a run for it. Get back to Balthazar in the carriage and try to lose Radcliffe that way.”

“God, I hope this works,” I said, and took a deep breath.

“Now!” he whispered.

We shoved open the closet door, running as fast as we could through the kitchen, trying not to knock over the cooks at the oven or the men carrying crates of vegetables. There were yells of surprise—if Radcliffe didn’t know where we’d hidden before, he certainly would now.

Montgomery and I burst through the back door into the frigid night air, as commotion from the kitchen came behind us. “This way!” Montgomery called, and I ran after him. I tore off my apron, letting it fly behind me.

At the same time, a police alarm cranked to life down the street.

“So much for not sounding the alarm,” I muttered.

The sound of footsteps came behind us but I didn’t dare look back, not once, as we ran through the inn’s gardens and the maze of alleyways behind the fine shops. My eyes watered in the freezing air. At last we rounded a corner, where Balthazar waited with the carriage ahead.