“Do you know where Justine is?” I could barely stand to be in here at all. Not when I needed to finish my most horrible task. “I have not told her yet. I have to tell her. She was not in her room last night.”

He frowned. The maid came in to see if I wanted food. I could not imagine wanting anything for my body, ever again.

“Check Justine’s room,” Judge Frankenstein ordered. “See if she has returned.”

The maid curtseyed and left. I wanted to ask Judge Frankenstein if there had been any news. If they had found the charnel house man. But I was certain if anything had happened, he would have mentioned it by now. He would not have been sitting alone at this table.

“Damned girl has been listening to everything,” he said, frowning at the door the maid left through. “I should dismiss her. Who knows what tales she will take back to town. Meanwhile, my boy—my baby—” His shoulders shook, and he dropped his face back into his hands.

Though I had long considered him my foe, I saw now only a man who had lost too much over his years. He had already buried the baby born between Victor and Ernest, and his own wife. Now he would have to add to the family plot, when doubtless he had expected his would be the next stone marker.

“Judge Frankenstein, I—”

“Call me Uncle.” He lifted his face and wiped his eyes. “Please. I have so little left. My hopes are all on you now.”

“Uncle,” I said, the word strange and false on my tongue, “May I—”

“My God!” The maid ran back in, breathing fast, her eyes wide with some twisted combination of panic and elation. “Merciful God in heaven, I have discovered the murderer!”

Judge Frankenstein frowned, but when she did not back down, he stood and followed her out of the room. I trailed them, my own heart racing. Had the charnel house man returned for more prizes? When she stopped outside Justine’s room, though, I froze in panic and dread. Had he murdered Justine? Was he in there with her now?

“Here,” the maid said, rushing inside. Justine, her hems covered with mud and her coat still on, was sprawled across the bed. I wilted with relief, but also with confusion at her state and why the maid had brought us here. I felt her forehead. She had a mild fever, and her hair was damp.

“Look!” the maid pointed in triumph.

Next to Justine on the bed was the glittering gold accusation of guilt.

My necklace.

—

“How can you believe this? It is absurd!” I was holding Justine’s arm, engaged in a tug-of-war with the constable. He kept his eyes on the floor.

“Please, Mademoiselle, she needs to be taken in.”

Justine was crying. “I do not understand. Elizabeth, what is happening? What are they saying about my William?”