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

“Your father wants us matched,” he stated. As if I needed reminding.

“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t talk about that.”

“We have to talk about it! We’ve all been dancing around it. . . .”

“Fine, then.” I balled the cloth in my fist. “Why don’t we talk about why you killed Antigonus then? I must have missed when you and my father became so close that you decided it was all right to kill to defend him.”

The tic in his jaw pulsed slightly. For a moment his face seemed undecided as he tilted it slightly toward the door. He brushed at his chin as if he could sweep away the tic. “I wasn’t thinking. I saw the blade in Antigonus’s hand, and it was just instinct. It wasn’t your father I was trying to defend, Juliet. I swore to protect you. To be honest, your father could be sliced through the chest tomorrow, and I wouldn’t blink.” He paused. “I’m sorry. That was heartless.”

I shook my head. I didn’t like what the island was doing to us, making Edward a killer and me so unhinged. I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter that Edward had killed one of them so easily. It wasn’t in cold blood. It was defense.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “We need to focus on leaving.” I wrapped the cloth around the gash on his shoulder, glad that at least I could fix one thing. But what was one bandage going to do against the madness out there? I had an overwhelming feeling that the island wanted to sink its thorns into us, to bind us to this place.

“Even if we left,” I said, fighting to keep an even tone, “even with water and food, how could a ship possibly find us? One tiny dinghy might as well be a piece of driftwood!”

I jerked my head toward the sea, angry at myself for being weak. I should have been stronger. Edward wrapped an arm around my back. I buried my face in the soft bandage on his shoulder.

“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” I asked bitterly.

He held me so tight I could hardly breathe. But I wanted tighter still. “Not here. I swear it.”

THAT EVENING, THE CHIME of bells mixed with jungle birdsongs. I found the wagon in the courtyard with all the men gathered. The gate had been hastily repaired with scrap wood from the barn. Boards from the same source formed a simple wooden box the length of a small person.

“Let’s be done with it then,” Father said. He took a lantern. Balthasar and Puck slid the coffin into the wagon bed.

I pulled a shawl around my blouse. “Where are you taking her?” I asked.

Montgomery paused with his hand on Duke’s harness. The rifle was slung over his chest. A pistol glinted at his side. “We’ve got to burn the body,” he said. He swung into the driver’s seat.

My stomach turned. “But you dug graves for the others.”

“That was before. They’ll dig her up now. The regression gives them a better sense of smell.”

Balthasar held his hand out to help me into the wagon. I shook my head, remembering the buzzing flies and bloody canvas wrap. I’d rather walk than ride with another dead body.

At a click from Montgomery, Duke heaved at the wagon. We followed its deep tracks into the jungle. Father’s small lantern was our one light in the darkness. I matched my steps to Edward’s. A rifle hung over his shoulder, too. One of the new ones from London. I raised my eyebrows.

He jerked his head toward my father. “Apparently killing a man makes me trustworthy enough to get one of the good rifles.”

We walked for some time. The only sounds came from the jungle and the squeak of Duke’s harness. I heard the sea before I saw it. The dirt path turned to sand under our feet, and then suddenly we were there, bathed in moonlight, beside the churning tide. Montgomery stopped the wagon. Balthasar and Puck took out armfuls of wood and started down the dock.

Father nodded toward the dark horizon. “We’ll burn her at sea.”

The breeze carried the distant sound of the firewood tumbling against wood. I swallowed. He was going to burn her in the launch. I threw a look to Edward—the launch was the only way off the island.

“Montgomery, get the casket,” Father said.

Montgomery slid the casket halfway out, and Edward took the other end. Father and I followed the wooden box down the beach. Sand gave way to boards that echoed our footsteps. Montgomery climbed onto the launch and settled the box on top of the wood piled in the bottom. His palm rested for a moment on the flat face of the casket before he climbed back onto the dock.

At Father’s nod, Puck scattered straw over the launch. Father took an oilcan, but Balthasar shuffled forward with something square and black clutched in his hands. A nervous whine came from deep in his throat.

“What do you want?” Father barked.

Balthasar held up a thin, worn volume. A gold cross imprinted on the cover reflected the moonlight. Father made no move to take the Bible.

“Where did you get that vile thing?” Father asked.

“Left behind by the missionaries,” Montgomery said softly. “He’s become fond of the prayers.”

Father shook his head. “Sorry, my fellow. I wouldn’t say a prayer over the body of my own sinful mother.”

Balthasar whined again, lower. Father uncorked the oilcan, but Montgomery grabbed his wrist. “Stop.” He jerked his chin toward Balthasar. “Let them say a goddamn prayer for her.”

“Prayer. Christianity.” Father snorted. “Fairy tales.” He poured the thick, pungent liquid over the casket.

The muscles in Montgomery’s throat contracted. He had given life to Alice. Taught her to speak, to read, to sew. He cared about her as a girl, not some scientific experiment.

He cares about all of them.

The realization was a strange one. It was illogical to be so attached to walking experiments, and yet I was beginning to understand it. Before Crusoe died, Montgomery had treated the dog more like a friend than a ratcatcher. The other servants teased him for caring so much about an animal. But they weren’t just animals to Montgomery. They had hearts and brains. Maybe even souls.

“‘To everything there is a season,’” Edward quoted, breaking the silence. My father bristled at the verse but let it stand. “‘And a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die.’”

Montgomery nodded, a silent thanks.

Father lit a straw and threw it onto the launch. It took to flame immediately. The flickers of orange and red ate away at Alice’s coffin. The boards cracked and splintered. I watched as long as I could. The smell was unmistakable. I covered my mouth with the shawl.