We reached the solid reality of the dock. Father stood there, silent, in his crisp linen suit. I couldn’t bring myself to look up from my feet and meet his gaze.
Balthasar clambered out and helped me onto the dock with a meaty hand. Even on firm land, I felt dizzy. Montgomery leaned in with a hand on my shoulder to whisper something quick and urgent, but sharp footsteps interrupted us.
Father.
He used the folded parasol as a cane, tapping the end slowly and deliberately against the weathered boards. Thick eyebrows hooded his dark, penetrating eyes. A few days’ beard clung to his jaw, as it used to when his work so consumed him that he didn’t emerge from the laboratory for days. He was gaunt, as though all the excess muscle and fat from his youth had been spent and what remained was only the hardened core.
“Get your paws off my daughter, boy.” He poked the parasol’s end at Montgomery’s chest. His mouth pursed. “Your hands are dirty.”
My gut clenched, worried. Montgomery held his hands up, stepping back. But then he grinned. Father laughed. It was a joke, I realized. My stomach unknotted. Father was smiling. Laughing. The tension in the air broke like a dam. My lungs exhaled a lifetime’s worth of worry, and I rushed into his arms.
He stiffened briefly but then wrapped an arm around my back. “Juliet. Daughter.”
I buried my face in his suit and breathed in his scent. Apricot preserves and faint traces of formaldehyde, just as I remembered. The flood of memories almost choked me. Having a father again after so many years left me shaken.
He held me at arm’s length, searching my face. Looking for the little girl he left behind, perhaps. His eyes had that calculating look that had so unnerved his students, but to me it was just his way.
I’d missed it.
“Look at you,” he said. “You should be looking for a husband, not some wrinkled old man.”
My head spun. I’d imagined meeting him again so many times that it was hard to believe it was happening. I’d come all this way to find out which man he was—the madman or the misunderstood genius—but already I could see that it wouldn’t be so simple. This was a living person, not some theory I’d decided to test. Had I really thought I could just show up and ask if the rumors had been true? I could barely form words to speak at all.
“I had to come,” I stuttered. The dock, the waves, the hulking men—they were all spinning. “I thought you were dead.”
“Hell hasn’t claimed me yet,” he said. He took my chin, tilting my head to both sides. “You look like your mother, but you must take after me in spirit. Montgomery said you practically held a knife to his throat to come here.”
“She’s persistent, for sure,” Montgomery said lightly.
Father pointed the parasol at the jungle wilderness. “You won’t find many of the comforts of London here.”
I almost laughed. Dr. Hastings’s wandering hands were hardly a comfort. I wondered if I should tell him that my other options had been fleeing London or standing outside the Blue Boar Inn in a stained dress.
But none of that mattered now. “I don’t need comforts,” I said, meaning it.
He nodded, considering this. I bit the inside of my cheek to ground myself. He was alive. I wasn’t alone anymore. I twisted my fists in my skirt’s soft cotton, not sure how to deal with the tangled feelings pushing around inside me.
Father squeezed my shoulder. “This isn’t a holiday retreat, you understand. We grow our own food. See to our own safety. It’s not a place for young ladies.” He pursed his lips. “But we’ll find some use for you.”
I nodded. He was being rational. Still, I tried not to show my disappointment that his thoughts immediately turned to how I could be of use.
The splash of oars sounded behind us. The launch had returned with Edward. Suddenly I was forgotten. Father’s eyes narrowed. His knuckles were white on the parasol’s delicate handle. He looked at Edward with the intense stare of a surgeon.
Edward climbed out, brushing off his trousers. His gaze held steady on my father, as if he sensed the battle he was about to face. Maybe I hadn’t taken Montgomery seriously enough when he said Father didn’t allow strangers. The way Father looked at Edward wasn’t just suspicion—it was an unsettling, intense dislike that made me hesitate.
“Father, this is Edward Prince,” I said. “He was a castaway. I told him he would be welcome here until a ship can take him home. He’s been ill. Montgomery saved his life.”
Father’s eyes shifted to Montgomery and back to Edward. “Can’t speak for yourself, eh, boy? Prince, was it?”
Edward stood tall. “I was a passenger on the Viola before the hull breached. I ended up on the Curitiba by chance.”
“Chance? Is that so? And why should I let you set foot on my island?”
I threw Montgomery a look. This was beyond mere inhospitality. Isolation had driven Father to paranoia, I realized. Maybe worse. A seed of doubt planted itself deep in my brain.
“I’d be grateful if I could wait here until a ship comes,” Edward said, slowly. “I’ll be no trouble, I assure you.”
Father’s eyes glowed like embers. Like a storm, the tension in the air returned, crackling like lightning. “Well, Mr. Prince, I’m afraid you’re wrong. You’d be nothing but trouble, you see.” And he jabbed the parasol at Edward’s chest.
Edward stumbled back, losing his footing, and fell into the churning harbor with a splash that drenched my white dress.