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 a needle and thread.”
“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 spool.
“In fact, Montgomery told Balthasar he’d like to teach him to read. Can you imagine, miss? Balthasar 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.
“A coconut fell,” I said quickly. “The wind blows them down. I hear them occasionally.” I hoped she was too distracted to remember there were no palm trees anywhere near the compound.
She tore her eyes from the window to see if I was serious. I swallowed the fear creeping up my throat. There was no telling what was on the other side of those iron bars. Jaguar, perhaps. A pack of half-regressed islanders. If only the window had a screen or shutters to seal off that awful darkness.
Another thump sounded. We both jumped. And then a long scraping sound, as if something were running a knife against the side of the building. Alice’s small hand found mine and squeezed. My mind raced. I needed to devise an explanation to keep the fear from blooming in our hearts.
“The wind,” I muttered. It was a poor answer, and it didn’t soothe either of us. Her breath came in quick little gasps. Something tapped against the iron bars. Tap. Tap. Tap. As if the darkness were knocking.
Alice’s mouth fell open. I clapped my hand over it to keep her from screaming. She struggled but I wrapped an arm around her, holding her tight, like Montgomery did to calm the rabbits.
“Quickly. Get on the floor,” I whispered.
We tumbled off the bed, hiding behind the mattress, where anything outside couldn’t see.
“What’s out there?” she asked, squeezing my arm as though she was afraid I would leave her. No explanation came to my lips. It wasn’t the wind, that was for sure.
“Stay low. You’ll be fine.” I crawled across the floor to the dressing table. I pulled the rusty shears out of a drawer and hid them in the folds of my nightdress. Seeing them would only frighten her more.
My heart thumped painfully. Slowly, I pulled myself up and approached the window with careful steps. The wind whistled outside, a thousand malignant whispers.
The shears felt small but powerful in my hand. Heavy clouds blocked all traces of moonlight. Whatever was outside, it could be standing three feet away, face inches from the bars, and I wouldn’t know.
Lightning flashed. Fear shot up my throat, making me gasp. I had a quick glimpse of the valley. Shaking leaves. The stormy ocean beyond. No face, not unless I hadn’t seen right. The island played tricks on my eyes.