He was my father, and yet he wasn’t. The face was the same, as was his stiff posture, but his once carefully groomed dark hair flew wild and gray like a swarm of wasps about his head. What unnerved me most was the peculiar way he calmly stared back at me, unflinching, as if he’d known I was coming.
As if he’d been waiting for me.
Eleven
I DUCKED BEHIND THE bulwarks where I couldn’t be seen. Edward dropped beside me. I tried to calm the sudden rush of blood to my head. I don’t know what instinct drove me to hide after I’d come so far to find my father. I just had to get away from those watching eyes. I was imagining things, I told myself. He couldn’t have known I was coming. A girl in a white dress was an odd sight on any ship, worth a curious look.
Edward frowned. “Your father, I assume.”
I rubbed my tired eyes and nodded. Paranoia had crept into that part of my brain usually reserved for reason. “Yes. I suppose I didn’t give him much of a greeting.”
He gave me a hand to pull me to my feet, and now I felt silly for my reaction. “It’s natural to be nervous.” Instead of letting go, though, he pulled me closer. “And I still think it’s odd for a gentleman to live out here alone. Be careful, Miss Moreau. I don’t want you to be hurt.”
I pulled my hand back defensively, wiping it on my dress. “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
Montgomery had given me a similar warning. They might think me helpless, but they had no idea that for a poor girl on her own, the streets of London were filled with far more dangers than a tropical island.
I glanced at Edward. “And please call me Juliet. I’m not a lady.”
“Drop anchor!” the captain bellowed. I braced myself as the anchor found bottom with a lurch. The launches were so full they could only take one passenger at a time, so Montgomery went first with the rabbits, claiming he needed to oversee the unloading from the dock, though I think he really wanted a chance to warn Father about Edward and me and to spare us Father’s unpredictable first reaction.
Father hated surprises. That much I remembered.
My lace collar itched as we watched Montgomery’s launch fight against the tide to reach the dock. One of the hulking men lifted the rabbit hutch as easily as a flake of hay. Father helped Montgomery out, giving him a friendly slap on the back. Montgomery was gesturing toward the ship, and Father spun the parasol lazily. Suddenly it stopped. I again had that feeling that, even at such a distance, he could peer deep into my mind.
Then it was my turn to go ashore. Because I was small, they decided I could squeeze in on Balthasar’s trip. A sailor with a twitching eye leaned in as he helped me into the launch. “Good luck,” he said.
Once in the water, it took Balthasar half the time it had taken Montgomery to row ashore. I wiped my sweating palms on my skirt, wishing they would stop shaking. I told myself it was the deficiency. Even with the daily injections, I still sometimes felt weak.
We reached the solid reality of the dock. Father stood there, silent, in his crisp linen suit. I couldn’t bring myself to look up from my feet and meet his gaze.
Balthasar clambered out and helped me onto the dock with a meaty hand. Even on firm land, I felt dizzy. Montgomery leaned in with a hand on my shoulder to whisper something quick and urgent, but sharp footsteps interrupted us.
Father.
He used the folded parasol as a cane, tapping the end slowly and deliberately against the weathered boards. Thick eyebrows hooded his dark, penetrating eyes. A few days’ beard clung to his jaw, as it used to when his work so consumed him that he didn’t emerge from the laboratory for days. He was gaunt, as though all the excess muscle and fat from his youth had been spent and what remained was only the hardened core.
“Get your paws off my daughter, boy.” He poked the parasol’s end at Montgomery’s chest. His mouth pursed. “Your hands are dirty.”
My gut clenched, worried. Montgomery held his hands up, stepping back. But then he grinned. Father laughed. It was a joke, I realized. My stomach unknotted. Father was smiling. Laughing. The tension in the air broke like a dam. My lungs exhaled a lifetime’s worth of worry, and I rushed into his arms.
He stiffened briefly but then wrapped an arm around my back. “Juliet. Daughter.”
I buried my face in his suit and breathed in his scent. Apricot preserves and faint traces of formaldehyde, just as I remembered. The flood of memories almost choked me. Having a father again after so many years left me shaken.
He held me at arm’s length, searching my face. Looking for the little girl he left behind, perhaps. His eyes had that calculating look that had so unnerved his students, but to me it was just his way.
I’d missed it.
“Look at you,” he said. “You should be looking for a husband, not some wrinkled old man.”
My head spun. I’d imagined meeting him again so many times that it was hard to believe it was happening. I’d come all this way to find out which man he was—the madman or the misunderstood genius—but already I could see that it wouldn’t be so simple. This was a living person, not some theory I’d decided to test. Had I really thought I could just show up and ask if the rumors had been true? I could barely form words to speak at all.
“I had to come,” I stuttered. The dock, the waves, the hulking men—they were all spinning. “I thought you were dead.”
“Hell hasn’t claimed me yet,” he said. He took my chin, tilting my head to both sides. “You look like your mother, but you must take after me in spirit. Montgomery said you practically held a knife to his throat to come here.”
“She’s persistent, for sure,” Montgomery said lightly.
Father pointed the parasol at the jungle wilderness. “You won’t find many of the comforts of London here.”
I almost laughed. Dr. Hastings’s wandering hands were hardly a comfort. I wondered if I should tell him that my other options had been fleeing London or standing outside the Blue Boar Inn in a stained dress.
But none of that mattered now. “I don’t need comforts,” I said, meaning it.
He nodded, considering this. I bit the inside of my cheek to ground myself. He was alive. I wasn’t alone anymore. I twisted my fists in my skirt’s soft cotton, not sure how to deal with the tangled feelings pushing around inside me.
Father squeezed my shoulder. “This isn’t a holiday retreat, you understand. We grow our own food. See to our own safety. It’s not a place for young ladies.” He pursed his lips. “But we’ll find some use for you.”