“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 mending clothes.”
“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 skein.
“In fact, Montgomery told Balthazar he’d like to teach him to read. Can you imagine, miss? Balthazar 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.