“Sugar.”

She pushed the pot of sugar in front of him. He added two heaping spoonfuls and stirred it. Ruby, beside him, asked, “May I have some?”

“Ye already had your tea,” Hazel said. “How about a piece of cake?”

Ruby nodded.

“Our mint is strong, Mr. Buck,” Maeve said. “Better with lots of sugar. There’s nothing nicer than sweet tea, is there?”

Buck added two more spoonfuls. He took a sip, then drank noisily. Sliced off another hunk of currant cake and ate it in gulps.

“Can I play with my dollhouse?” Ruby asked.

“She’s not leavin’,” Buck said.

“It’s only in the next room,” Hazel said.

“I want her where I can see her.”

Ruby shifted restlessly. “I’m tired of sitting here.”

“I know,” Hazel said. “Our friend will be leaving soon.”

Buck leaned back in his chair. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” He lifted the knife in the air, ran a finger along the blade as if examining its sharpness.

Hazel looked at him, at his thin sandy hair and sunburnt lips, the tail of the red-and-black mermaid on his forearm disappearing into his sleeve.

Buck rubbed his eye with a finger and blinked a few times. “Ye got some meat? Long as it’s not kangaroo.” He grunted a laugh. “Too gamey for my taste.”

Maeve took the cured ham from the larder and he carved off two large slabs and ate them with his fingers. That’s right, Hazel thought, quench your thirst with salt.

He gulped a second cup of tea and asked for a third. When she handed it to him, he drained it and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “I was thinking,” he said to Hazel, “we might finish what we started on the ship.”

She watched a bead of perspiration roll down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. “Ye were thinking that, were ye?”

He wagged his head toward the front of the house. Sweat dappled his upper lip. “One of them rooms would do fine.”

She watched him closely. He took a deep breath, then another. He rubbed the hair back from his scalp, and then, with curiosity, glanced at his hand. It was shiny wet. He stared, opening his eyes wide as if to allow in more light.

“The thing is, it’s too late for that, Mr. Buck.”

“What?” He took a gulp of air. “What in the . . .” He stood up fast, knocking over his chair. His legs buckled and he sagged against the table. “Don’t move,” he barked, holding the knife out like a sword.

“Mama?” Ruby looked up. “What’s wrong with the man?”

“He’s feeling poorly.”

Ruby nodded. It wasn’t unusual to see people in the house who felt poorly.

Turning to Maeve, Hazel said, “Take her out.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Buck shouted, choking oddly on the words.

“I don’t want to leave you alone with him,” Maeve said to Hazel. “He still has the knife.”

“Look at him. He can barely stand.” Hazel stepped closer to Buck. When she reached over and touched his wrist, he swung the blade at her wildly. Then he grimaced and sank sloppily onto a chair. The knife slid from his hand and clattered on the floor.