The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(18)

“Same as always,” Lupe said, her tone as caustic as quicklime.

“Can you fetch her?”

“She won’t come with me if I go. She takes forever when I ask,” Lupe said. “You want her, you better yell at her.”

Montgomery sighed and marched out of the house. He did not understand what the trouble brewing between Lupe and Carlota was, but lately they had made it a habit to constantly bicker. He had been close to his sister, there had been no fights between them, so such tiffs struck him as odd. But Carlota and Lupe were not sisters. Perhaps it was as simple as that.

There he was thinking of Elizabeth again, and he walked faster, hoping to reach the cenote quickly and quickly walk back. It was idleness that plagued his brain; once he was busy with the chores of the day his melancholy ought to subside.

The cenote where Carlota liked to swim was called Báalam because near the path that led to it there stood a solitary, white stone carved in the shape of a jaguar-man. The cenote was small, or at least the part visible from above ground constituted a modest circle of blue-green water dappled by sunlight that was easily accessible by climbing down a few rocks. It was a delight to sink into this pool of water when the sun was high in the sky.

Carlota wasn’t swimming in there that day. She lay stretched out on the ground in her linen tea gown with an arm draped over her eyes and a fan—the indispensable trinket of any well-bred Mexican lady—resting by her side. In any large city a wealthy woman would have never ventured out of her house dressed like this. She would have needed layers of silk and a fashionable bustle, a fancy hat, and gloves, but the doctor’s daughter could do as she pleased because it was Yaxaktun.

He didn’t doubt one day soon her father would cart her off to Mérida in one of her finer outfits to find her a proper husband. She was now twenty and therefore of an age for courting. At eighteen, his sister had been married.

He didn’t yell, as Lupe had suggested. No need for that. “Carlota, get up. It’s time to head back.”

When his shadow fell over her, she lazily lifted her arm and blinked, fixing her remarkable honey-colored eyes on him. Her lips twisted into a sly pout.

“I’ve hardly been here a minute,” she said. She had a lush voice, like velvet and pearls and the flutter of her fan, and her hair was the blackest of black. It tumbled free down her shoulders that day.

Yes, her father would have no trouble finding her a husband. Beauty like this was sure to draw the eye.

“Dr. Moreau will be needing you soon.”

“You have dark shadows under your eyes, Montgomery. When you drink, it shows. You’re better looking when you don’t,” Carlota said. She was blunt, yet charming. For all the fluttering of her fan, she didn’t know the way of soirees and salons, nor the language of flowers.

“It’s a good thing I’m not vain, then,” he said, his voice cool.

“I don’t want to depart. Lupe was cruel to me this morning and I don’t wish to return to the house until she’s happy again, and she won’t be that until later in the afternoon.”

“I don’t care if she pounces on you and scratches your face. It’s Friday. You’ll have your injection and then you’ll help your father give the hybrids their medication,” he said, his voice still cooler than the blue-green waters of the cenote next to which they stood.

“No,” she said, pouting again, but when he stretched out his hand, she took it and stood up.

They began the walk back, following the narrow trail. They passed the white carving of the jaguar, and Carlota stopped to look at it. He drummed his fingers against his thigh.

“Tell me again about England and how cold it is. Tell me what snow feels like on your skin.”

“Why would you want to hear about snow?”

“I want to know everything there is. Like my father.”

Your father is a madman imagining such a thing is possible, he thought. But so was Montgomery for staying in this place for so long. Six years, gone in a blink. He always told himself he’d save his money and take off the next year, but the compound interest on his debt was ridiculous. Lizalde sent him a little money once in a while, as if to show he was magnanimous. Montgomery drank whatever salary he had drawn when in town, gambled the rest.

“You can’t know everything,” he said as they began walking again.

“You can if you talk to enough people and you read enough books,” she replied, sounding sure of herself.

“No, you can’t. Certain things you must experience in person.”

“You’re annoying today! And you sound like Lupe! Were you gossiping together?”

“No. Why are the two of you fighting?”

She sighed, those beautiful eyes glancing up at him, the thick lashes as sharp as daggers. “She wants to leave. She says she wants to see what’s outside Yaxaktun. She wants to see Progreso and Mérida and other places. It’s ridiculous.”

“Why?”

“She couldn’t, how would she have her medication? And why would anyone want to leave Yaxaktun?”

“Not everyone can see the world solely through books like you do. Others seek more excitement.”

“You think me dull?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yaxaktun is perfect. It is better than any other place in the world.”