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

I jerked out of his grasp. “Then maybe I don’t belong here either!”

My chest rose and fell quickly with troubled breath. I ached to rip off the corset. The starched lace collar of the white dress scratched at my neck, and I cursed myself for being such a fool that I ever wanted to impress a man I barely knew, father or not.

The sound of wood striking wood made us all turn. A sailor was back in the launch with more trunks. The second launch followed with the caged panther, which hissed and let out a high-pitched, eerie growl.

Father picked up the parasol. He opened it, observed the shredded and soiled white lace, and then folded it back carefully. The three hulking islanders approached in their odd, lumbering gait and secured the launches. Their startlingly fair eyes threw nervous glances at my father, their master. I could barely stand to look at them. Balthasar’s deformities were unfortunate, but these brutes were the things of nightmares.

Father turned to Edward. “Mr. Prince, is it?” His lips pursed. “It seems my daughter has an interest in your welfare. As I have an interest in hers, I suppose you may stay with us.” He pointed the tip of the parasol at the waves. “Though I would advise you to learn to swim.”

He muttered a command to the islanders, and then smoothed his wild gray hair. “Come, Juliet. Balthasar will stay and see to the unloading.” He extended his hand to me.

I stared at Father’s waiting palm. It was surprisingly small, with a pink glow and soft, delicate curves. It was the hand of a gentleman, unused to wielding any tool larger than a surgeon’s scalpel.

I hesitated, still unsure of what I’d seen.

His lips twitched in that calculating way of his that made my own feel dry. Then he laughed. “You thought I’d really hurt the boy.” He clapped his hands together. “Juliet, you’ll have to forgive me. I am aware my sense of humor veers toward the black. I only wanted to put the fear of God in him, to show him who runs this island.” He tilted his head at Edward, whose head was bowed, shoulders slumped as he wiped the seawater off his face. “You see, it worked.”

I glanced at Montgomery, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. He was suddenly a servant again in front of my father. He finished unlacing his boots and kicked them off. Water seeped out and dripped through the wooden slats of the dock.

Dark clouds began forming overhead. Tension cracked in the air like lightning. Father’s hand still waited for mine. His black eyes drew me to him like an anchor to sea. I placed my hand in his, cautiously. His fingers closed around mine with surprising strength.

“Come along, Prince,” he called. “Or are we going to have to drag you?”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Montgomery help Edward to his feet. Edward took a few shaky steps, waving Montgomery away. Montgomery picked up the rabbit hutch by its crossbeams, and they followed us down the dock.

Father placed my hand in the crook of his elbow, like a gentleman. We walked toward the waiting wagon as casually as a couple strolling down the Strand. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought we were just a father and daughter enjoying a warm breeze on a sunny day. But my head was swimming. It was all I could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

My head throbbed as if my skullcap was fitted too tight. I stumbled as the end of the dock gave way to sand. The beach stretched the length of the cove, fringed with palms just like in a tropical painting, except for the heavy thunderclouds overhead that cast shadows in the dark places between the trees. The wagon waited, hitched to a huge draft horse with golden hair falling in its eyes. The islanders had already loaded two steamer trunks and some bundles into the back.

“After you, my dear,” Father said. He opened the wagon gate. Edward and I climbed in, and Montgomery loaded the hutch behind us. He started to say something, but Father interrupted. “We haven’t all day, Montgomery.”

Montgomery straightened. He brushed his hair out of his face with one hand, and the hutch slipped. I jumped up to catch a corner before it tumbled out of the wagon.

“Careful,” Father said. “If one of those rabbits gets loose, it’ll mean hell for us.”

The muscles in Montgomery’s neck flexed. He slammed the gate closed.

I sat back down on a trunk next to Edward. Sand caked his feet and trousers up to his knees. I tried to think of something to say, but words couldn’t make up for Father’s actions. Edward’s face was blank, but his hands were shaking slightly. God, if he’d been suffering from sea madness before, this certainly wouldn’t make him any saner.

“Maybe you can go back,” I whispered. “Captain Claggan might still take you to Australia.”

His eyes slid to mine. “I don’t want to go back.”

A question formed on my lips, but Edward looked away. Folded his arms, tight. I pushed away the voices that wondered if it had anything to do with what he’d said on the ship—that he was glad I wasn’t spoken for.

Montgomery climbed into the driver’s seat. Father drew a pistol from his jacket and passed it to him. My throat tightened at the sudden gleam of metal. Montgomery casually tucked it into his belt as though this was their daily routine. But why would they need pistols?

Montgomery took the reins. We moved forward in jerks until the wheels found solid ground and then rumbled over uneven earth and vegetation. I watched the Curitiba looming off the coast. I had a sudden urge to jump off the wagon and swim back to it. But I hadn’t ever learned to swim. And I hated Captain Claggan and his stinking ship. But at least I knew what to expect from it, which was more than I could say for the island. I dared a glance at my father. I had so many questions, but they had all tumbled in an unsettling direction when he’d pushed Edward.

Presently, we picked up speed as the path became more substantial, and the jungle soon swallowed up the beach. Entering the jungle was like going into a cold pantry—the temperature dropped and the canopy blocked out all but dappled late-afternoon sunlight. The broad leaves of unnamed plants formed a tunnel around us, slapping the sides of the jerking wagon and making us duck every few seconds.

“This is a biological outpost,” Father said over his shoulder, as though we were all suddenly old friends. “Montgomery and I have spent years cataloging every specimen on the island. Extraordinary diversity.” I glanced at Edward, wondering what thoughts must be going through his mind, but he’d retreated somewhere within himself.

The wagon hit a rut and I bounced off the trunk, catching myself before I collided with the hutch of rabbits. I came nose to nose with a dirty white rabbit, which reminded me far too much of another rabbit, worlds away now, in an operating theater in London.