The Madman's Daughter (The Madman's Daughter 1)

I traced the wood grain on the rail. Would Father consider me a stranger? No, of course not. I was his only family, the little girl who used to crawl onto his lap with a dusty volume and beg him to read theories of how birds were once great, lumbering lizards. But then why had he never once sent a letter? Why did I have to learn he was alive from a bloodstained diagram at a late-night vivisection?

“He’s my father,” I said. “He’ll listen to me. He’ll understand it’s safer for Edward to stay on the island. It’s just until the next ship comes.”

“It crosses his wishes, Juliet.”

I leaned against the rail, studying his worn clothes, his scuffed boots. “You keep saying you’re no longer his servant, but you don’t act like it. You can think for yourself, you know.”

Montgomery’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t argue. I knew I’d hurt him, but I didn’t know how to take it back, because it was true. He strode away, bristling. The sudden solitude made the thoughts in my head louder. I wanted to go back to that moment when Montgomery and I stood on the deck, hands interlaced, as he told me he’d thought about me often. But a shift had occurred, slight but significant enough that things weren’t exactly the same between us. I leaned on the rail and measured the moonlit distance between me and the island.

THE NEXT MORNING, I was packed before dawn, though maddeningly, because of the tides, we couldn’t dock for hours. While I waited, I dressed in new white summer clothes that I’d bought with Lucy’s money before we left. The startling clean whiteness hurt my eyes. The rest of my things—my medication, the worn books, even an old hard-bristled brush of Mrs. Bell’s—I tucked away in the carpetbag. I left out Father’s copy of Longman’s Anatomical Reference, flipping anxiously through the black-and-white drawings. The book of a scientist. A madman, too, perhaps.

Either way, I was about to find out.

When I climbed above deck, I was distracted by a flurry of activity. The mizzen boom was rigged to load the cargo and cages. A handful of sailors dragged the panther’s cage toward a hook bigger than my head. But what stole my attention was the mountainous green island looming off the port side, big as a kingdom, with a column of wispy gray smoke coming from its highest point. After weeks of water as vast as the known world, the island seemed unreal. A soft line of sand touched the sea, edged by a cluster of palms waving in the breeze. The palms gave way to a wild tangle of jungle, packed as tight as stitching with vines and the canopies of trees I couldn’t identify. I wondered what lay under that green curtain, waiting for me.

Edward watched the island as well from the forecastle deck, until he caught sight of me. He touched his forehead, an old-fashioned gesture one used when greeting a lady. I’d have to dissuade him of that notion someday.

He came down the steps, wincing slightly from his bruises. “Montgomery said I may come to the island until the next supply ship passes,” he said. “I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

Surprised, I stood a little straighter. Montgomery had changed his mind—my jab about acting like a servant must have struck a sensitive nerve. As guilty as I felt, I couldn’t help but smile that he’d finally made his own decision. “Are you going to come, then?”

“If my choices are between spending more time with Captain Claggan or with you, it’s an easy decision.” He brushed a dark strand of hair back from his face, not taking his eyes off the ocean. My stomach tightened at the compliment, unexpectedly. I wasn’t used to getting compliments from gentlemen. I picked lightly at my dry lips, realizing this meant I’d be spending a lot more time with Edward Prince. Scarred, clever, sea-mad Edward Prince. Who was surprisingly bad at backgammon.

His fingers drummed on the rail. “Montgomery didn’t seem entirely happy about it, though.”

I cleared my throat. “He’s worried what my father will think. He shouldn’t; he’s not a servant anymore.”

“A servant?” Edward interrupted. His hand fell away from his face.

“Montgomery was our scullery maid’s son. He used to work in the stables. Didn’t he tell you?”

“I was under the impression that you were traveling together. . . . Sharing a cabin . . .” His eyes slid to me, asking a question without asking.

There was no breeze to cool my burning face. “He’s my escort,” I said quickly. “That’s all.” I would have liked to have said more to prove otherwise, but the evidence was against me. We had spent the night in the same room, more than once. And I couldn’t pretend the idea had never crossed my mind.

“Well, I’m not sorry to hear that. I’m glad you’re not spoken for.” He paused. “I like getting to know you, Miss Moreau.”

I kept silent, watching the island, though inside I was a mess of confusion. I wondered if I should acknowledge his comment. He was probably a perfectly nice young man. But I’d seen too much of what men were capable of to trust a stranger. And there was something unsettling about him. He had even said himself that he was running from something he’d done. It must have been serious if he had to flee England. I glanced at him askance, wondering what the wealthy son of a general had to run from.

Edward matched my silence, too reserved to say what else was really on his mind. But then again, so was I.

The Curitiba drifted toward a natural inlet that opened like a yawning mouth. From the farthest point, a narrow dock extended toward us, beyond the breakers, longer than any dock I’d seen. Waves washed over it, threatening to swallow the whole structure. At the edge, next to a bobbing launch, stood a small party of figures. They began to take shape as the Curitiba drifted closer.

There were three men as large as brutes, larger even than Balthasar. They had the same odd hunch to their shoulders as Balthasar, and their heads seemed set too low on their necks. I wondered what had made all the natives so disfigured. It was as though God had started here before he made man.

One of the hunched men shuffled to the edge of the dock and crouched on his haunches like a beast. As he moved away, I saw another man behind him, this one of regular size, with a straight back and spindly limbs. He wore a white linen suit and shoes so polished the sunlight reflecting off them made me squint. A parasol shaded his face from the sun and my eyes, but my heart would recognize him anywhere.

As I stared, the parasol slid back and the man’s eyes met mine.

I gasped.