The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(33)

She sat down at the piano and picked a simple melody. Her voice was clear and pleasant, despite the fact that she’d never been much of a musician. The gentlemen clapped politely, and after a couple of sweet, forgettable tunes Isidro volunteered to play.

Eduardo asked the girl to dance with him. Rather than reply with a touch of coquetry she looked frightened.

“I’m afraid I haven’t learned,” she admitted.

“It’s simple. For someone as pretty as you, simpler still,” Eduardo told her. “Don’t you think, Mr. Laughton, that a girl as pretty as Miss Moreau will always find her footing?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You wouldn’t know if she is pretty?”

Montgomery realized Eduardo had noticed the quick look he had thrown Carlota. Was Montgomery that transparent, or was Eduardo more perceptive than he’d thought? Maybe the young man simply wished to humiliate him in return for their confrontation the other day. It might be both things.

“Miss Moreau would no doubt appreciate compliments coming from your mouth rather than mine,” he said.

The girl did glance at Montgomery now, curious and confused.

“Come, come, Mr. Laughton. You wouldn’t be shy, would you? A lady always appreciates a compliment no matter who it comes from, and you must be an old acquaintance of hers. How long have you worked for her father, sir? Is it six or seven years? She must think of you as a kind uncle and no compliment would be taken poorly.”

Montgomery did not reply. Eduardo took this as a triumph for himself. He turned to Carlota. “Let me show you a couple of simple steps,” he said.

Carlota looked grateful for the change of topic and nodded bashfully. Despite her inexperience and uncertainty, the girl was graceful, swaying with him. She might never have danced before, but her body knew music and dexterity. She was lithe, supple, and he could imagine what glory it was like to hold her in one’s arms.

When she looked up at Eduardo, her face expressed all the banality of youth and feeling.

Montgomery stood there with his hands in his pockets, watching the couple and remembering the last time he’d danced with a girl. It had been Fanny; they’d gone to a party. He didn’t like parties, but she did, and he’d attended for her sake. The most popular quadrilles had French names: le tiroir, les lignes, le molinet, les lanciers. But the Viennese waltz was what Fanny danced best.

He remembered holding Fanny tight, his hand at her waist. He remembered her scintillant laugh, the garnet-colored dress she wore—satin and tulle, as soft as a butterfly’s wing—and most of all the delicate, volatile notes of Otto of Roses perfuming her neck. He wondered if Carlota had dabbed perfume on her wrists and the hollow of her throat, or whether hers was the scent of salt on skin.

Montgomery muttered an excuse and stepped out of the room. The others did not take notice of his departure.

It was Saturday the next day, and since Dr. Moreau’s usual religious service was canceled on account of their visitors, Montgomery took early to bed and let himself sleep in so he could avoid having to breakfast with the visitors. By the time he walked into the kitchen it was almost noon and Carlota was arguing with Ramona.

“There you are,” Ramona said, turning to him. “Mr. Laughton, I’ve been trying to talk sense into this mulish girl but she won’t listen. She wants to take those two men to the cenote by herself, and she shouldn’t.”

“They wish to go for a swim,” Carlota said.

She was dressed in a simpler dress than the one from the previous evening. It was white with a floral print and trimmed with green ribbon. It appeared light and cool and becoming.

“In my town a woman wouldn’t even be able to talk to a man before she married him, and here you are asking me to pack you food and let you go off with two of them.”

“You are being silly, Ramona. It’s a picnic.”

“Don’t worry, Ramona. I’ll escort the three of them.”

“I don’t need an escort,” Carlota replied quickly.

“You’re not leaving without one,” he said.

The girl looked peeved, but his tone had clearly indicated there would be no negotiation, and she was wise or proud enough to muffle any further complaints. “Forget the picnic, then. We will take them there without refreshments,” she said, her voice cool.

“Fine with me.”

She walked quick, almost running, until they reached the interior courtyard where the young men were chatting, then she slowed her steps and composed herself. As soon as the men saw Montgomery their merriment subsided.

“Good day, gentlemen. Miss Moreau told me you’d like to go for a swim,” he said, lifting his straw hat in greeting.

“Yes. She said there’s a pleasant cenote nearby and it’s dreadfully hot. We thought we’d cool down.” Eduardo smiled at him. “I don’t think we’ll need you to fetch the horses, from what she gave us to understand, we can walk it.”

“Walking would be fine, indeed. Let’s go, then,” Montgomery said cheerfully and began to walk without looking behind, though he could imagine the disappointment on their faces. It was not that he wished to play chaperone as much as he wished to irritate the men.

The conversation was patchy as they walked together, so he surmised he’d managed to sour their excursion as he’d planned. But he wasn’t done yet.