She went to her room for an umbrella and headed outside. She couldn’t see Sterling anymore, so she presumed he’d gone down to the stockade, where she knew she wasn’t allowed. The rain fell hard on the ground and bounced up, soaking her hem. She closed her eyes and tried to think like Nell. Where would she be hiding?
Tilly opened her eyes. Her shoes were filling with water. She squelched down through the garden, searching under every hedge, up every tree. The wind rose up in a squall and turned her umbrella inside out, so she discarded it, surrendering to the heavy rain. She certainly wasn’t anywhere in the garden. The white uniforms had disappeared from the fields now, blue uniforms replacing them. Tilly headed down the path and through the graveyard, around towards the mangroves to help search there.
As the path ran out and she crossed the long, muddy strip that led down to the water, the chief warder, Mr. Donaghy, was briefing a party of men. He saw Tilly and said, “You should really go inside, Miss Lejeune.”
“I can’t just be inside doing nothing. Please, let me help.”
He smiled kindly. “You can accompany me, then. You will get muddy.”
“I’m already muddy.”
The men went off in different directions, and she followed Mr. Donaghy, whose sturdy boots were much more suited to this task, into the saltwater forest. The mangrove trees were dank, their roots shooting up like pointed stones through the stinking mud that sucked at her feet as she picked her way along beside Mr. Donaghy. The trees crowded close together, and would be a wonderful place to hide if the mud wasn’t so thick and sour-smelling. Tilly couldn’t imagine Nell being happy to hide out here, especially not in the rain.
“Is there nowhere on the island where there is shelter?” she asked Mr. Donaghy, rain streaming down her face.
“No.”
“No cave or overhanging rocks?”
“No, Miss Lejeune. We know every hiding place on this island. She’s probably out in the open somewhere.”
She trudged after him. Was Nell really silly enough to put her father through all this, to put all the prison staff through all this, only days after they had pursued an escapee? In the rain, too? Tilly began to worry: what if something else had happened to Nell? Sterling had feared it straightaway, she could tell. What if he was right to fear it? If she was injured or kidnapped or worse . . .
“Nell!” she began to call. “Nell!”
Mr. Donaghy looked at her, curiously. They weren’t used to calling out for prisoners who escaped. But then he seemed to decide it was a good strategy. “Nell!” he shouted. “Nell, where are you?”
•
Freezing, wet, and muddy, Tilly returned home late in the afternoon. She was weak and tired, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t found Nell. In her bedroom, she peeled off her wet clothes and dried herself off. Her fingertips were white and waterlogged. She found dry clothes in her wardrobe and dressed, then sat on the bed to think.
Had Nell run or was she taken?
What reason did she have to run? Guiltily, she thought of Sterling making love to her last night. Had they been too loud? Had Nell overheard and run off, angry with them both? No, it had been late when they’d finally felt safe enough to creep to Sterling’s bedroom, and Nell wouldn’t have known what to make of anything she heard in any case.
Then she remembered. Nell had spoken to Hettie that afternoon, and then in the evening she had been quiet, subdued. Had Hettie said something to her? Or had Nell, perhaps, said something to Hettie?
Tilly climbed to her feet. She would have to tell Sterling . . . but then, what would happen? Would somebody go and question Hettie and find out that Tilly had been asking about her crime? Sterling had so much on his mind already.
She could always go to the stockade herself. Tilly shivered at the thought. But she became more and more certain that Hettie knew why Nell had run, and perhaps even where she might have run to.
Tilly went down the hall to Sterling’s office. Of course he wasn’t there. He was somewhere on the island, looking for Nell. She moved out onto the verandah and looked down, over the treetops towards the forbidding buildings of the stockade. Dark stone, iron bars, grim and silent in the heavy rain. Would they even let her in to see Hettie?
Today they might. If she could hold her nerve.
She pulled her spine up straight and walked down the stairs. The rain had eased to a miserable drizzle, but black clouds on the horizon threatened more to come. She picked her way down the dirt road, which had turned to rutted mud, and then took the side road that led to the stockade. She had never walked this way before. She had no idea where to go to get in, but she remembered Sterling saying the female prisoners were at the far southern end of the building, so she headed in that direction.
A separate entrance stood outside the southern wing. A small yard, perhaps an exercise yard, was enclosed in iron bars. The yard was nothing but scant grass and mud. No wonder Hettie loved the garden so much. Beside the yard was an arched wooden door in a stone wall. She wondered if she was supposed to knock, but then tried the latch and found it opened on a small wood-paneled room that smelled of lye soap and lemon. A young turnkey with carroty hair sat in a chair there, legs spread wide, his finger firmly jammed in his ear, giving it a thorough clean.
He saw her and dropped his hand, jumped to his feet. “You’re not supposed to be here, ma’am.”
“Superintendent Holt sent me. I have to speak to prisoner 135.”
“I haven’t seen any orders.”
“Of course you haven’t. He’s searching the whole island for his daughter. I’m Eleanor’s governess, and the superintendent and I have good reason to believe 135 may be able to help us find Nell. I simply need to speak to her for a few minutes.”
He hesitated, then said, “Wait here.” He lifted a large loop of keys off his hip and unlocked a door behind him, disappeared through it. The sound of the locks going back into place. She waited. The rain intensified again, deafening on the tin roof. The
clouds had blocked out any light coming through the windows, turning the little anteroom into premature nighttime. Five minutes passed, another five, then Tilly heard the door unlock again, and the red-haired turnkey was back with an older, balder man.
“You say the superintendent sent you?” he asked brusquely.
“Yes.” She met his eyes, didn’t blink.
“He hasn’t sent any word.”
“As I said to your colleague, that’s because he is otherwise occupied. And the longer you hold off letting me speak to 135, the longer young Nell is going to be outside in the elements.”
The older man shook his head. “I don’t threaten, ma’am. I follow orders. I haven’t had any orders.”
Tilly steeled herself. Her plan was falling apart. “I saw Hettie speaking to the girl yesterday. She may have some clue. You must let me speak to her. This is what Sterling wants me to do.”
He raised his eyebrows at her use of the superintendent’s first name, but to her surprise, he didn’t throw her out. “Well, then. I expect the paperwork is on the way and I wouldn’t want to hold up the search for the girl. Follow me.”
“Thank you,” Tilly said, managing not to gasp in surprise.
“I reckon we all want to see the lass found safely,” he said in a gruff voice.
The old turnkey unlocked the door and led Tilly into an office with two desks and a wooden cabinet. Everything was remarkably neat and clean. Beside the wooden cabinet was a door with a square, barred window in it. He unlocked this door too, and it opened on a dim stone corridor, with a series of doors placed close together. He walked up to the first one and unlocked it, pulled it open, and said to the person within, “Miss Lejeune is here to talk to you.” Then he stood aside, and gestured Tilly through, while he waited in the hall.
Tilly could barely fit in the tiny room. Hettie sat on a hammock bed, opposite another hammock bed with another woman—a Chinese woman with gray hair at her temples—lying in it. A tiny washstand stood in the corner, a wooden bucket beneath it. A small, barred window, up very high, let in the only light and a few spits of rain. Despite the cooler weather outside, the cell was close and humid. Tilly imagined that on those very hot summer days, it would be unbearable in here. How on earth did they sleep?
“Hello,” Tilly said.
“What is it?” Hettie asked, puzzled.
Tilly moved in close so the other prisoner couldn’t hear, but Hettie said, “Don’t worry, she hardly speaks a word of English.”
“Nell’s gone missing.”
Hettie’s eyebrows shot up. “So that’s why we’re locked down?”
“We think . . . we hope she’s run away. It’s very bad weather out there today, and we are desperate to find her safe and well.”
“Why are you speaking to me, then?”
“Because I saw her yesterday, talking to you. I wondered if she said anything, or if you said anything . . . I wonder if you have any clue you can give us. Think very hard. What did you speak of?”
Hettie shook her head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. She showed me her drawings. She told me you said she hadn’t taken her time with them. I said she should always take her time with things that matter, and how I did exactly that in the garden . . .” She frowned, trying to recall every detail of the conversation. “She asked if we could grow some daisies. She said she’s grown fond of daisies. I said I’d see what I could do . . . Honestly, Miss Lejeune, that’s all.”
Tilly hung her head, sighing. “Nothing else?”
“Nothing. Only . . .”
Tilly lifted her head again. “Only what?”
“The girl always knows things she shouldn’t. For instance, last year, she came out to wish me happy birthday. How did she know it was my birthday? She must have looked at a document somewhere, something she shouldn’t be looking at. Perhaps she’s seen or heard something she doesn’t understand and it’s set her off.”
“Oh,” said Tilly, realization sweeping over her. She had been so busy feeling guilty about her developing romance with Sterling, that she had forgotten the conversation they had conducted the previous night about Nell and boarding school. Nell must have eavesdropped, then run away in an angry fit. Perhaps run away to punish her father for even considering it.
And thinking of schools and teachers made Tilly suspect she knew where Nell was too.
“Thank you, Hettie,” she said. “Thank you. You’ve been more help that you can imagine.”
She turned, nearly knocked over the old turnkey leaving.
“Off in a hurry?”
“I need to find Sterling.”
He unlocked the door for her. “He was with the search party that went down to the southern cane fields.”
“Thank you!”
Finally, she was free of the grim stockade, only to emerge under a leaden sky to deepening rain. She raced along the muddy road, hard fat raindrops driving against her, until she reached the edge of the cane fields. The cane was hip height, laid out in neat rows with paths between them. She plunged in, looking left and right for somebody who could lead her to Sterling.
“Sterling!” she called. “Sterling!”
A man in blue with a bushy gray beard caught her as she was about to plow into him. “Miss Lejeune?”
“I need to find the superintendent. I think I know where Nell might be.”
“This way.” He hurried further into the cane field, and soon they happened upon Sterling, soaked to his skin, calling for Nell with a hoarse voice.
“Sterling!” she shouted over the rain. “Come with me!”
“You’ve found her?” He trudged through the field towards her.
“I hope so. Do you have the key to the chapel?”
“I have the key to everything. I don’t have my daughter.”
“Then come.”
Sodden and hopeful, they found their way out of the cane field and began the walk down to the chapel. He was clearly exhausted, still recovering from terrible injuries and lack of sleep, so she tried not to hurry ahead. She was desperate for her hunch to be right, that Nell was where she believed she was.
“I know why she ran,” Tilly told him. “She must have overheard us talking about sending her to boarding school.”
“I hope that’s all she overheard,” he said, mouth set in a hard line. “Why are we going to the chapel? We’ve already checked there.”
“She once told me about a secret ladder, up onto the roof. How she and another child had hidden up there from their teacher.”
“Secret ladder?”
“In the ceiling.”
He shook his head. “I hope you’re right. I hope this isn’t some silly story she made up.” He redoubled his speed and Tilly noticed he was wincing every time he put a foot down. The rain was unrelenting now, blurring her vision. But a few minutes later, they were inside the chapel, dripping on the wooden floor.
A chair pulled up near the end of the chapel, where Jesus mournfully hung on his cross, gave away the location of the secret ladder.
“Will you look at that?” he breathed, gazing upwards at the hatch. “I thought I knew every inch of this island.”
He was already climbing onto the chair, reaching upwards and slipping his finger through the ring in the hatch. He pulled it and the hatch opened, and a ladder slid open, narrowly missing his head.
“Nell?” he called.
Tilly stood underneath him and he wriggled through the hatch and disappeared. She followed him up and found herself in the dark space between ceiling and roof, crawling on her hands and knees. Ahead of her, Sterling crawled too, until he found an iron door that opened onto rainy daylight. By the time Tilly made it onto the flat walkway above the eaves, she could already see Sterling crouching next to Nell. The girl stood very still, her body grasped in the circle of her arms, staring out to sea. Pangur Ban had been set on the brickwork in front of her, with his face also turned to the bay. He was as impassive as ever.
“Nell!” Tilly exclaimed.
Nell didn’t respond. Tilly hurried over to join them.
Sterling was berating her. “You foolish child! Do you not know you have sent all my staff on a wild-goose chase? They are exhausted.
I
am exhausted. Last night you wouldn’t let me reach for the gravy myself, but today you forced me to tramp around cane fields in pain and fear.”