Montgomery’s fingers curled into the folds of my dress, protectively. My lips fell open but he placed a finger against them. I pressed farther into the barn wall, wishing I could disappear into it.
Montgomery pulled his hair back. He stepped out of the stall, blocking me from Father’s view. “Duke stumbled on the ride today. I thought he might have a sprain.” I detected an edge to his voice. After all, their earlier argument wasn’t the sort of spat that would blow over easily.
“Get him saddled,” Father snapped. “And Duchess as well. Ajax has killed again. That striped fellow, Lear. The beasts are rattled. It’s time to put an end to this, storm or not.”
I kept a hand pressed to my mouth, afraid to make the slightest sound. Father couldn’t find me here. I wouldn’t put it past him to kill Montgomery.
Montgomery met my eyes briefly before closing the stall gate behind him. I heard the sound of his footsteps on the stone floor.
“Balthasar is gathering the men,” Father said. “Prince will come with us. He may be a fool, but at least he can hold a gun.”
“And Juliet?”
“She’ll stay with Alice. This was a fortress once. Nothing can get through these walls.”
I heard the sound of jangling bridles in the tack room. And then Father’s voice, lower.
“And don’t think I’ve forgotten your insolence tonight. The minute Ajax is dead, you and I will have words.”
I heard the creak of the door’s hinges as Father left. A moment later, Montgomery unlatched the stall gate.
“He’s gone to the salon. Quick, hurry to your room.”
“Be careful,” I said.
He pressed his lips to my forehead tenderly, flooding me with warmth. “Be safe, Juliet.”
I slipped out of the barn, dodging every shadow for fear of the dark, and dashed back to my apartment. I pulled off my skirt and blouse and slipped into my nightdress. The last light faded over the sea as an overwhelming feeling of darkness grew in my heart. Whatever lay in that jungle, Montgomery and Edward were going to face it.
Alice knocked at my door. She looked terrified. “Miss? Have you heard?”
“Yes.” I wanted to crumble in the corner with my face in my hands. It would be so easy to give in to the fear. But fear was written on Alice’s face too. I took her hands, forcing back my own terror. “Don’t worry, Alice. We’ll be safe.”
“They’ve all gone. We’re alone.”
“I know.” I squeezed her hand, trying not to let my own worry show. “I know.”
Thirty
FORMALITIES DISAPPEARED IN THE face of fear. It didn’t matter that Alice was a servant and I the master’s daughter. We climbed onto my bed, huddling together like sisters frightened by a howling storm outside. Alice’s eyes were wide and haunted. Maybe she was worried for Montgomery’s safety. Or for the islanders’. Or for our own. Either way, there’d be no sleep for us that night.
I remembered that Montgomery had mentioned a needlepoint kit in my mother’s trunk. I got up and dug it out and untangled the colored threads. We needed something to keep our hands busy.
“What’s this, miss?”
I found a few tarnished needles. “You’ve never seen needlepoint?”
She shook her head.
“How I envy you.” I unfolded a worn pattern of a blue bunny rabbit. She knew the basics of sewing, so she picked it up quickly, though her hands trembled with each lightning crack outside. I plucked at my own pattern—a milk goat—though my thoughts rustled in the wind like the leaves outside. My lips still tasted Montgomery’s salty kisses. I could barely think of the murders or our escape or even feel a pang of guilt that I’d rebuffed Edward’s advance but kissed Montgomery so willingly.
I pricked my finger with the needle. My distracted stitches had made the goat look more like a horned devil. Alice’s needlepoint had drifted off course, too, as her eyes were fixed on the dark window.
“Pay attention,” I said, hiding my own botched stitching under my skirt. “You have to concentrate.” She looked at her work blankly. Her big eyes crinkled with worry. “It’s all right for a first try,” I added.
“I’m sure it isn’t nearly as fine as yours, miss.”
I tucked mine farther under my skirt. “Why were you never taught needlepoint? Every girl I know has calluses thick as pennies on her fingers.”
“I’ve no use for something so fine. Just the basics of sewing. Patches and hems.”
“Did your mother teach you to sew?”
Her face darkened. She turned her head, hiding the harelip. “No, miss. I never knew my mother.”
Her voice was barely audible. She suddenly concentrated raptly on the stitches. It wasn’t normal, a young girl alone on a godforsaken island, under the care of a madman. “Then who brought you to the island?”
“No one. I’ve lived here as long as I can remember.”
“But you must have parents. How did they come to be here?”
“They came with the doctor.” Her voice dissolved to a whisper. Lightning cracked outside. The needle trembled as she pushed it through the fabric. I was beginning to understand. Her parents had been the Anglican missionaries who came over on the same ship as my father. Meaning she was the sole survivor of whatever tragedy had destroyed them.
No wonder she didn’t want to talk about it.
“So who taught you to sew?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light. It wasn’t successful. The wind howled outside. Something fell against the roof—a branch maybe. We both jumped.
“Montgomery did, miss.”
The blood rushed to my cheeks at the thought of him. I cocked my head. “I’d hardly expect him to know his way around a needle and thread.”
“Oh, he’s quite knowledgeable about everything,” she gushed. Her face lit up, the danger outside forgotten. I’d found a topic to take her mind off the murders, at least. I just wished it wasn’t so close to my own pounding heart. “He does all the carpentry and metalwork, and he treats us when we’re ill—he’s an extraordinary physician—and he even taught me to cook. Cooking and sewing are woman’s work, but Montgomery isn’t too proud. Not when there’s work to be done.”
The burning color in her cheeks made me uneasy. She was thirteen, maybe fourteen. The age when most girls can’t think of anything but first kisses and true love. She was infatuated with Montgomery. I could hardly blame her. But it felt wrong to just sit and listen to her gush about him, knowing he’d just had his lips all over me.
“Yes, he’s very talented,” I said.
“And you’ll never hear him complain. Even the villagers”—her voice dropped—“even they do as he says. They obey the doctor out of fear, if I may be so bold to say. But they listen to Montgomery because he’s kind to them.”
“Indeed.” I pulled too hard at a pink stitch and ripped the thread. A curse slipped out as I reached for another spool.
“In fact, Montgomery told Balthasar he’d like to teach him to read. Can you imagine, miss? Balthasar with a book in his hands? And Montgomery will do it. He always keeps his promises.”
“Does he?” I asked, focusing on threading my needle. The trees outside trembled and shook. Something scraped against the side of the building. I glanced at the window, but outside was only darkness and leaves shimmering in the moonlight. I wished she would talk about something else. Anything else. The feel of Montgomery’s hands lingered on my waist, so powerful that I thought it must be obvious with one look at my face. And yet she didn’t seem to suspect a thing.
“Oh yes. He promised to take me to London one day. I know he will. He’s told me all about it—the tall buildings and the people and the flower markets.” Her eyes were big and dreamlike.
The needle slipped from my fingers. I patted the duvet until I felt the stiff metal against my thumb. Why would he make such a promise? A man and an unwed girl couldn’t travel alone without rumors. I certainly knew that. It was one thing for him and me to travel together—I didn’t have anything to lose, not even a reputation. But Alice did.
So did he have some affection for her? Had he even considered marrying her? The thought made me blanch. But it was logical. Before I came, she was the only girl on the island. He certainly wasn’t the type to care about her harelip. And she was a sweet girl. The kind a man married. Not like me, a girl who’d just as soon scratch a man as cook for him.
Could I just be a passing fancy to him then? Something new, like the prostitute in Brisbane?
A loud thump at the window made me gasp. I’d been deep in my head. Alice trembled in fright, her needlework forgotten. Even Montgomery was forgotten.
“A coconut fell,” I said quickly. “The wind blows them down. I hear them occasionally.” I hoped she was too distracted to remember there were no palm trees anywhere near the compound.
She tore her eyes from the window to see if I was serious. I swallowed the fear creeping up my throat. There was no telling what was on the other side of those iron bars. Jaguar, perhaps. A pack of half-regressed islanders. If only the window had a screen or shutters to seal off that awful darkness.
Another thump sounded. We both jumped. And then a long scraping sound, as if something were running a knife against the side of the building. Alice’s small hand found mine and squeezed. My mind raced. I needed to devise an explanation to keep the fear from blooming in our hearts.
“The wind,” I muttered. It was a poor answer, and it didn’t soothe either of us. Her breath came in quick little gasps. Something tapped against the iron bars. Tap. Tap. Tap. As if the darkness were knocking.
Alice’s mouth fell open. I clapped my hand over it to keep her from screaming. She struggled but I wrapped an arm around her, holding her tight, like Montgomery did to calm the rabbits.
“Quickly. Get on the floor,” I whispered.
We tumbled off the bed, hiding behind the mattress, where anything outside couldn’t see.
“What’s out there?” she asked, squeezing my arm as though she was afraid I would leave her. No explanation came to my lips. It wasn’t the wind, that was for sure.
“Stay low. You’ll be fine.” I crawled across the floor to the dressing table. I pulled the rusty shears out of a drawer and hid them in the folds of my nightdress. Seeing them would only frighten her more.
My heart thumped painfully. Slowly, I pulled myself up and approached the window with careful steps. The wind whistled outside, a thousand malignant whispers.
The shears felt small but powerful in my hand. Heavy clouds blocked all traces of moonlight. Whatever was outside, it could be standing three feet away, face inches from the bars, and I wouldn’t know.
Lightning flashed. Fear shot up my throat, making me gasp. I had a quick glimpse of the valley. Shaking leaves. The stormy ocean beyond. No face, not unless I hadn’t seen right. The island played tricks on my eyes.
I stepped closer to the window. My face almost pressed against the bars. I held the shears to my chest, ready to strike.
Lightning flashed again. There was nothing out there but the island, erratic and tumultuous. Yet I felt watched.
“Hello?” I called. My voice was hoarse. “Is someone there?”
“Miss, don’t!”
I turned toward the bed. The tip of Alice’s head peeked above the mattress, her eyes wide and glassy.
“Get down!” I breathed. Her head disappeared faster than a blink. I tightened my grip on the shears. Maybe the traces of Father’s madness in me had its uses—if it made me able to chop a rabbit’s head off and maim Dr. Hastings, it made me able to fight whatever was lurking outside.
I turned back to the window and forced myself to do what I feared most. Grabbed the iron bars.