Mexican Gothic(48)

Virgil filled his glass, swirling the liquid in it, staring at its contents, before approaching her and taking a place on the same settee she occupied. His leg brushed against hers when he sat down.

“Catalina once told me you were a very strong-willed creature, but I didn’t quite understand how strong-willed until now,” he said, setting the drink down on an oblong side table. “Your cousin is a bit of a weakling, isn’t she? But you have a certain mettle in your bones.”

He spoke so blithely it made her gasp. He talked as if this were a game. As if she were not sick with worry. “Have a little respect,” she said.

“I think it’s another person who should be showing respect. This is my home.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry at all.”

She could not read the expression in his eyes. Perhaps it was contempt. “I am sorry! But I was trying to help Catalina.”

“You have a funny way of showing it. How dare you constantly upset my wife?”

“What do you mean I constantly upset her? She is glad to have me around, she told me so.”

“You bring strangers to look at her and then you bring her poison.”

“For God’s sake,” she said and stood up.

He immediately grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her down. It was her bandaged wrist, and it hurt when he touched her; the skin burned for a second and she winced. He tugged at her sleeve, revealing the bandage, and smirked.

“Let go.”

“Dr. Camarillo’s work, perhaps? Just like the tincture? Was it him?”

“Don’t touch me,” she ordered.

But he did not release her; instead he leaned forward. He clasped her arm tight. She thought Howard looked like an insect and Florence was an insectivorous plant. But Virgil Doyle, he was a carnivore, high up the food chain.

“Florence is right. You deserve to be slapped and taught a few lessons,” he muttered.

“If anyone is slapped in this room, I assure you, it won’t be me.”

He threw his head back and laughed a loud, savage laugh, and he reached blindly for his drink. A few dark drops of liquor spilled on the side table as he lifted the glass. The sound of his voice practically made her jump. At least he had released her.

“You’re mad,” she said, rubbing her wrist.

“Mad with worry, yes,” he replied, downing the wine. Rather than placing the glass on the table again, he carelessly tossed it on the floor. It did not shatter, but rolled across the carpet. But what if it had shattered? It was his glass. His to break if he wanted. Like everything else in this house.

“Do you think you are the only person who cares what happens to Catalina?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the glass. “I imagine you do.

When Catalina wrote to your family, did you think, ‘ah, at last we can pry her away from that troublesome man’? And right now you must think ‘I knew he was bad.’ Your father certainly didn’t like me for a groom.

“When the mine was open, he would have been glad to see Catalina married to me. Back then I would have been worthy. He wouldn’t have thought me inconsequential. It must still irk him, and you, to know Catalina picked me. Well, I’m no two-bit fortune hunter, I’m a Doyle. It would be good of you to remember that.”

“I don’t know why you bring all this up.”

“Because you believe I am so inadequate that you had to go and medicate Catalina. You thought the care I give her is so atrocious that you must sneak behind my back and pour garbage into her mouth.

Did you think we wouldn’t notice? We know everything that goes on in this house.”

“She asked for this medicine. I told your aunt and the doctor already, I didn’t realize this would happen.”

“No, you don’t know very much, and yet you act as if you know everything, don’t you? You’re a spoiled brat and you’ve hurt my wife,” he said with a brutal finality.

He stood up and picked up the glass, setting it upon the fireplace mantel. She felt twin flames inside her heart, anger and shame. She hated the way he was talking to her, hated this entire conversation.

And yet had she not done a foolish thing? Hadn’t she earned a reprimand? She did not know how to reply and felt tears pooling in her eyes again as she recalled poor Catalina’s face.

He must have noticed her turmoil or else he was simply done berating her, because his voice wavered a little. “You almost made me a widower tonight, Noemí. You will forgive me if I don’t feel very gracious at this time. I should head to bed. It’s been a long day.”

He did look tired, frankly exhausted. His blue eyes were very bright, with the brightness of a sudden fever. It made her feel even worse about the whole mess.

“I must ask you to leave Catalina’s medical care to Dr. Cummins and never bring any other tonics or remedies into this house. Are you listening to me?”

“I am,” she replied.

“Will you follow this simple directive?”

She clenched her hands. “I will,” she said, and she felt very much like a child.

He took a step closer to her, carefully looking at her, as though trying to discern a lie, but there was none. She spoke in earnest, and yet he brushed close to her, like a scientist who must analyze and jot down every detail of an organism, taking in her face, her pursed lips.