Megan Shepherd - The Madman’s Daughter

Lucy jumped up, her face suddenly white. She pressed her cheek against mine, hard. ‘Write to me, won’t you?’ She was breathless. ‘Let me know where you’ve gone? I’ll try to send money. I’ll try to visit, wherever you are.’

Mrs Radcliffe was so close I could see the clench of her jaw, and I pushed Lucy away. ‘Go. Now. I’ll write. I promise.’

Lucy dashed across the lawn to stop her mother. I grabbed the carpetbag and hurried the other way, dragging its weight along the length of the Thames. Lucy’s mother said something biting, but I swallowed hard and didn’t look back.

I kept walking, past the bridge and Temple Bar, where the archway used to stand. I crossed Cable Street to the main thoroughfare, to an inn with a swinging sign above the door. I pushed my way in, past the crowded dining room, and climbed to the second floor. I knocked. Then I pounded. The mirror beside the door reflected my wild desperation.

I should have told Lucy she couldn’t visit. Where I was going, she couldn’t come. It was a bit farther than Bedford.

Montgomery opened the door, clearly surprised. ‘Miss Moreau. What are you doing here?’

The carpetbag fell at his feet. My heart was racing.

‘I’m coming with you,’ I said.

Early the next day, our carriage rumbled south of town to the Isle of Dogs. I pushed aside the gauzy curtain. Outside, the massive hull of a cargo steamer rose toward the sky, dwarfing the fleet of barges that clustered around the dock. Everywhere men swarmed like insects, hawking services or bearing trunks twice their size.

Beside me, Montgomery compared a handful of banknotes against a small ledger, erasing and redoing sums with a frown. I wondered if he thought me a burden.

He looked up, as if sensing my question. The carriage lurched, and the ledger slid from his lap. We both reached for it, our hands grazing. I pulled back.

‘It’s not too late to change your mind,’ he said.

I shook my head and concentrated on the ships outside. I’d made my decision. We had argued all day and night since I had shown up at his door. He’d flatly refused at first. He said the voyage was long, with a rough crew, and the island was no place for a lady. I told him I certainly wasn’t a lady, thanks to my father’s abandonment, and it was either the island or the streets. Or worse, prison. I didn’t tell Montgomery my other motive, the one deep within my rib cage that beat in time with my heart: The world knew my father as a villain. I knew him as a thin man in a tweed suit who carried me on his shoulders during the Royal Guard’s parades. I needed to know which man my father was – the monster, or the misunderstood genius.

In the end, Montgomery conceded only when I dragged him to the window and pointed out the prostitute my age. He said nothing of how Father would receive me on the island, and I didn’t press.

‘Is our ship like any of those?’ I nodded toward the magnificent four-masted cruisers lined up in port.

Montgomery barely glanced at them before giving a hint of a smile. ‘I’m afraid not.’

‘It’s an older ship?’

‘Most likely. The reputable ships turn us away. They don’t like Balthazar’s appearance. Nor our destination.’

Outside, the relative order of Union Docks gave way to a more run-down part of the wharf. I covered my nose against the smell of rotting fish. Here, the docks were crammed with rusted parts and torn netting. There were no women – even the prostitutes stuck to the better end of the quay.

As we came around the bend, Montgomery pointed to a hulking two-masted brigantine docked alone at the Isle of Dogs. ‘There,’ he said. ‘The Curitiba .’ I frowned. It looked far too old and neglected to sail more than halfway across the Pacific. A windy storm might blow holes straight through it.

The driver stopped the carriage and we paid him a few coins. He seemed glad to leave us.

‘There’s Balthazar,’ I said, shading my eyes. He sat by the gangway on a steamer trunk that looked more like a child’s toy chest next to his size. A rabble of dirty sailors threw him uncertain glances as they dawdled around the rest of the cargo; rough as they looked, even they gave Balthazar a wide berth. A skeletal older man with a grizzly beard stumbled down the gangway in a mildewing black jacket that looked robbed from the dead. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Balthazar and went the other way.

‘Is that our crew?’ I asked Montgomery hesitantly.

‘Afraid so.’

‘They look a shady bunch. Good thing Balthazar could knock them flat if they tried anything.’ I watched as Balthazar hoisted the trunk and carried it onto the ship.

‘He’s not a fighter. But luckily for us, they don’t know that.’ From the rigid outline of the muscles beneath his shirt, I realized Montgomery probably could have knocked them all flat, too. He was no longer the gentle-natured little boy who caught kitchen mice and placed them outside to save them from the cat’s sharp teeth.

He took my carpetbag. ‘Come on. Lady or not, I’m going to lock you in your cabin. I don’t trust this lot.’

I followed closely. My head spun as we crossed the gangway to the deck. A short walk, but a scary one. The ship’s odd swaying made my legs quake. There were a handful of men on deck, though I hesitated to call them sailors. Pirates might have been more accurate. Montgomery pulled me out of the way of two men loading a trunk.

‘You’ll get used to the rocking in a few days,’ he said, leading me toward the quarterdeck. My mind whirled at his easy confidence. He carried himself almost as surely as the sailors, though he was far younger than most.

A monstrous barking tore through the air, and I nearly leapt into his arms. A pair of cages stood on the deck, containing three snarling bloodhounds and one matted sheepdog who barely lifted its head, a web of drool dangling from its jowls.

‘Quiet,’ Montgomery called to the dogs, and then turned to me. ‘Stay here. I’ll find the captain.’ He wove around the cargo toward the rear of the ship.

The dogs had stopped barking at his order. I was surprised to find more cages beyond them. A panther, black fur matted with filth, flattened its ears and hissed from between the bars. And beside it was a small sloth that opened one sleepy eye and shut it again. And others. A monkey. Rabbits. A capybara – an enormous rodent I’d only read about.

I stepped closer, brushing my fingers against the monkey’s cage, both incredulous and uneasy at the same time. A movement caught my eye as Balthazar poked his head up from the hold. He hurried toward me.

‘Stay away from the cages, miss,’ he said in his coarse English. ‘It isn’t safe.’ A tarpaulin had slid off the sloth’s cage, and Balthazar replaced it with great care. ‘It doesn’t like the sun,’ he explained, patting the cage gently.

‘These are for my father, aren’t they?’ I asked. My uneasiness grew. ‘For his research.’

Balthazar scratched his ear. Folded his mouth tight. Didn’t answer.

I told myself there were plenty of legitimate reasons a scientist might want live specimens. It didn’t mean, necessarily, that the animals were intended for vivisection. I caught sight of Montgomery coming back toward me, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask him. I wasn’t sure I was ready to learn what types of boundaries my father might have crossed out there in the dark, silent sea.

‘Come meet the captain,’ Montgomery called, waving me aft, where the grizzly-bearded man waited for us at the hold. The man swayed slightly. The cloying stench of alcohol hovered around him like yellow London fog.

I climbed around the cages and cargo, my steps uneasy on the swaying deck.