Mexican Gothic(66)

Noemí held up her other hand, thinking that perhaps she’d mistaken which hand she’d injured. Nothing there either. She flexed her fingers and hurried to the sitting room, her steps loud as she walked. She thought she heard Virgil chuckle, but she wasn’t sure.

She wasn’t sure of anything at all.





19





N


oemí packed her suitcases slowly, feeling traitorous and second-guessing herself. Yes. No. Perhaps it would be best to remain. She truly did not wish to leave Catalina alone. But she’d said she was going to town, and it was vital that she clear her head. She decided she wouldn’t quite return to Mexico City. Instead she would journey to Pachuca, where she’d write to her father and find a good doctor willing to accompany her back to High Place. The Doyles would be reluctant to allow this, but it was better than nothing.

Emboldened, with a plan of attack, she finished her packing and headed to dinner. Because it was her last night at High Place and because she didn’t wish to seem haggard or defeated, she decided to wear a party dress. It was a buff-colored embroidered tulle dress with metallic gold accents, a yellow acetate bow at the waist, and a perfectly boned bodice. Not as full a skirt as she normally liked to wear, but very flattering and perfectly adequate for a dinner.

Obviously the Doyles had the same thought, treating this as an important, almost celebratory moment. The tablecloth of white damask was laid out, as were the silver candelabra, and a multitude of candles had been lit. In preparation for Noemí’s departure they had lifted the ban on conversation, though this evening she might have enjoyed the silence. Her nerves were still much too raw from the strange hallucination she’d experienced. Even now Noemí wondered what had caused the bizarre episode.

She was getting a headache. Noemí blamed the wine. It was strong and yet very sweet; it lingered on the palate.

The poor company did not make matters any better. She must pretend cordiality for a little bit more, but her patience had been stretched to its limits. Virgil Doyle was a bully and Florence wasn’t any better.

She glanced in Francis’s direction. By her side sat the member of the Doyle family she appreciated. Poor Francis. He looked rather miserable that evening. She wondered if he’d drive her to town the next morning. She hoped so. It might give them time to speak in private. Could she trust him to take care of Catalina for her? She must ask for his help.

Francis eyed her back, a fleeting look. His lips parted to whisper a word before Virgil’s loud voice hushed him. “We’ll venture upstairs after supper, of course.”

Noemí raised her head. She looked at Virgil. “I’m sorry?”

“I said my father expects us to all pay him a visit after supper. To say his goodbyes to you. You won’t mind a short trip to his room, will you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving without saying goodbye,” she replied.

“And yet you most eloquently wished to walk your way to town a few hours ago,” Virgil said. The words had a mordant little twist.

If she liked Francis, then she had decided she could not stomach Virgil. He was hard and unpleasant, and beneath that veneer of wretched civility she knew he could be beastly. Most of all she loathed the way he was looking at her now, which he’d done before, a chilling little smirk on his lips and his eyes fixed on her with a rawness that made her want to cover her face.

In the dream, in the bathtub, she’d felt much the same. Yet there had also been another feeling running all through her. It was pleasurable, but in a terrible way, like when she’d had a cavity and kept pressing her tongue against it.

A panting, ferocious, and sickly lust.

It was a wicked thought to have at the dinner table, with him sitting across from her, and she looked down at her plate. This was a man who could know secrets, who could divine unarticulated desires.

She must not look at him.

A long silence stretched between them as the maid walked in and began taking away the dishes.

“You might have trouble getting into town come morning,”

Florence said once more wine had been poured and dessert was set before them. “The roads will be terrible.”

“Yes, all these floods.” Noemí nodded. “That is how you lost the mine?”

“Ages ago,” Florence replied, waving a hand in the air. “Virgil was a baby.”

Virgil nodded. “It was waterlogged. Anyway, it’s not like it was being worked on. With the Revolution going on, you couldn’t get nearly enough workers here. They’d all be fighting for one side or the other. You need a constant influx of workers at a mine like this.”

“I suppose it was impossible to get people back after the Revolution ended? Had they all gone away?” Noemí asked.

“Yes, and besides, we had no way to hire new crews, and my father was ill for a long time, so he couldn’t oversee the work. Of course, that’ll change soon.”

“How so?”

“Catalina hasn’t mentioned it? It is our intention to open up the mine again.”

“But it’s been closed for a very long time. I thought your finances were strained,” Noemí protested.

“Catalina has decided to invest in it.”

“You didn’t mention that before.”