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.”
I nodded. He was being rational. Still, I tried not to show my disappointment that his thoughts immediately turned to how I could be of use.
The splash of oars sounded behind us. The launch had returned with Edward. Suddenly I was forgotten. Father’s eyes narrowed. His knuckles were white on the parasol’s delicate handle. He looked at Edward with the intense stare of a surgeon.
Edward climbed out, brushing off his trousers. His gaze held steady on my father, as if he sensed the battle he was about to face. Maybe I hadn’t taken Montgomery seriously enough when he’d said Father didn’t allow strangers. The way Father looked at Edward wasn’t just suspicion—it was an unsettling, intense dislike that made me hesitate.
“Father, this is Edward Prince,” I said. “He was a castaway. I told him he would be welcome here until a ship can take him home. He’s been ill. Montgomery saved his life.”
Father’s eyes shifted to Montgomery and back to Edward. “Can’t speak for yourself, eh, boy? Prince, was it?”
Edward stood tall. “I was a passenger on the Viola before the hull breached. I ended up on the Curitiba by chance.”
“Chance? Is that so? And why should I let you set foot on my island?”
I threw Montgomery a look. This was beyond mere inhospitality. Isolation had driven Father to paranoia, I realized. Maybe worse. A seed of doubt planted itself deep in my brain.
“I’d be grateful if I could wait here until a ship comes,” Edward said, slowly. “I’ll be no trouble, I assure you.”
Father’s eyes glowed like embers. Like a storm, the tension in the air returned, crackling like lightning. “Well, Mr. Prince, I’m afraid you’re wrong. You’d be nothing but trouble, you see.” And he jabbed the parasol at Edward’s chest.
Edward stumbled back, losing his footing, and fell into the churning harbor with a splash that drenched my white dress.
TWELVE
“EDWARD!” I STUMBLED FORWARD, but it was too late. I collapsed, wincing as my knees slammed into the hard dock. My fingers curled around the warped boards as I watched him sputter to the surface.
“Take my hand!” I reached as far as I dared, but the distance was too great. Edward slapped at the water uselessly, trying to pull himself up through the unsolid waves. He opened his mouth to shout, but I never heard what he said. He slipped under the surface.
My fingernails dug half-moon trenches into the rotten wood. The dark shape that was Edward hovered just under the glassy surface, like an apparition. I kept thinking I had seen it wrong. It had been an accident. And yet I’d seen Father push him.
I pressed my palms against the dock and stumbled to my feet. Father calmly adjusted the rumpled cuffs of his shirt. “Have you lost your mind?” I shouted. “He’s not well. He’ll drown!”
Edward surfaced again, sputtering as he breached the water, only to sink again. Father watched as patiently as if he were waiting for a frog to die in a chloroform-filled jar. A wave of anger rolled up my throat.
Beside him, Montgomery’s face was slack and uncertain.
“You can swim,” I said to him. A desperate request, and he looked at me with hesitation. I understood then. He didn’t want to cross Father, not even to save Edward. Here, he wasn’t the strong, capable man I’d seen on the ship. He was just a boy.