Father stepped onto the portico from the large building, rubbing his hands. “I’ve put the kettle on,” he said, his eyes traveling from my dirty dress to Montgomery’s bare feet to Edward’s seawater-soaked clothes. He frowned. “Good Lord. You’re all disgusting. Good thing we’ve no neighbors. The tea can wait. Montgomery, be so good as to show Juliet to her room while I have a bath prepared.”
Father frowned at Edward. “Prince, I’m afraid there’s only the one spare room. Perhaps we can make a place for you in the storage shed. Hitherto, it has been used to store feed for the horses.”
“I’m sure it will do fine,” Edward said, but his knuckles clenched white as bone behind his back.
Father stared at the muddy hem of my skirt. “I need to look over the shipment while there’s still some daylight. That should give you a few hours to make yourself presentable, Juliet, and then we can talk civilly.” He waved Edward toward the main building. “Come inside, Prince. It will take a few minutes to ready your room, and I’ve a question or two for you if you’re to stay here.”
I threw Edward a nervous look, but his face was calm. For a boy used to a privileged life, he was surprisingly brave. I wondered what he’d told himself to get through those long, desperate days on the dinghy. Then I remembered the photograph, with that tingle of curiosity, and wondered again what he was running from.
“This way,” Montgomery said. I tore my eyes from Edward and followed Montgomery through the portico. The boots hung over his shoulder dripped water onto the stone floor as he led me toward one of the apartments. A few scrawny chickens huddled in the top of the henhouse to stay dry. As we passed the garden, Montgomery darted into the rain to gather a few pea pods. He handed one to me.
The sweet, earthy taste was paradise after weeks of dried meat and tinny canned vegetables. I pointed to the chickens. “I wouldn’t mind one of those for supper.”
“They’re only for eggs,” he said. “We don’t eat meat here.”
“That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “Not fish nor flesh. That’s the rule.”
“Another of Father’s commandments?” I couldn’t keep the edge from my voice.
He stopped outside the door of one of the smaller apartments. His handsome face was tense with exhaustion, and I felt a stab of guilt that I’d taken a hard tone. It wasn’t Montgomery’s fault. He’d saved Edward a second time, even against Father’s wishes.
“The doctor’s peculiar about his diet,” Montgomery said. “Doesn’t want them to develop a taste for meat.”
“Them? The natives, you mean?”
But he’d already turned to the door. It had a strange knob: a smooth, straight cylinder and a hook latch with holes for the fingers. The keyhole had been soldered closed.
“Isn’t there a key?” I asked.
“No need. Only the main gate is locked.” He tugged on the latch a few times with his middle finger. “The interior doors have a safeguard. Only five-fingers can open them.”
“Five-fingers?”
“Sorry. I mean, it’s a special mechanism. It keeps wild animals from getting in but lets those of us in the compound come and go as we please.”
“Even into my room?”
He grinned briefly and pushed open the door. “You haven’t anything to fear from us, Juliet.”
I followed him inside. The room was large and airy, with a wooden bed and a table and chair. A screen fashioned from a bit of old netting split the room into a bedroom and a dressing area with a dusty mirror. I crossed the room to a barred window that framed the fading sun, muted now behind rain clouds, as it sank below the rolling treetops toward the dark horizon. Far below, I could see the three hulking islanders coming up the road with trunks slung across their backs.
I was alone with Montgomery and the unsettling images of the islanders’ twisting limbs. Mother’s voice whispered in my ear that drawing attention to the deformities would be impolite, but my curiosity wouldn’t be silenced. I turned away from the window.
“What’s wrong with the natives?” I whispered.
Montgomery tugged on the window bars, testing them, eyes flickering to the figures on the road. The pistol was gone from his belt but not from my mind. What was out there? Tigers? Wolves? We’d sailed across the Pacific with a panther that Montgomery had treated like a harmless kitten. If a panther didn’t frighten him, what outside my window did?
“What do you mean?” he asked.
Wasn’t it obvious? “The deformities. Are they some sort of product of an isolated development?”
“To be sure,” he muttered. Instead of meeting my eyes, he tapped his bare foot against a dusty old trunk in the corner. “Anyway, take a look at this.”
He was avoiding my questions again. Hiding things.
I knelt by the trunk anyway. He lifted the lid. Inside, folded and pressed, was a stack of ladies’ dresses. I ran my hand over the soft fabric. Silk. Tulle. These were expensive pieces, a few years out of fashion, in good condition except for faintly yellowing lace at the cuffs. I sorted through the first few dresses. Below were an assortment of things: undergarments, a shawl, a wide-brimmed hat with a pink ribbon.
“They belonged to your mother,” Montgomery said.