The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(34)

When they arrived at the cenote he pointed at it. “There you have it, gentlemen. This is the cenote Báalam.”

“Very nice,” Eduardo said and didn’t mean a word of it, that was clear enough. Both gentlemen stood a good distance from the water hole, as if they were afraid they might tumble in.

“Will you swim immediately?”

“Swim with you here, sir?”

“Why not?” Montgomery asked. “You wouldn’t be shy, would you? The lady will turn her head away, as I’m sure that was the original plan.”

Eduardo tipped his chin up but didn’t say anything. Montgomery shrugged. “Well, if you won’t, then I’ll take a dip,” he said and took off his hat, then his shirt. He was back to wearing the simple cotton shirt without a collar he always had on. No sense in trying to look like a damn dandy; no silk cravats, no silliness.

He removed his boots and saw Carlota turn her face away from him, blushing. He kept the white trousers on and walked down the stones, to the water, jumping in with gusto. The cenote was exquisitely cool, and normally he would have kept on swimming for a while, head thrown back and eyes closed, but after a few minutes Montgomery walked back up to the spot where his companions remained, his trousers sodden. He put on his boots again and slung the shirt over his back.

“Gentlemen, you really should take a dip,” he proclaimed.

“We would if we were alone,” Eduardo replied. His hand was pressed against the trunk of a tree, and his eyes were sharp. “Seeing as we have company, it would be rude to subject Miss Moreau to such a spectacle, as you have.”

“But Miss Moreau and I are old acquaintances!”

“Are you,” Eduardo said flatly.

“I can see you are indeed shy. Do not worry, Miss Moreau and I will let you be. I’m sure you can find your way to the house with ease, seeing as the path leads right back to Yaxaktun,” Montgomery said, and he made a motion with his fingers, indicating the way. He pressed a hand against the small of Carlota’s back and pushed her away from the gentlemen.

She moved quietly, without protest, but once they were at a good distance from the cenote, once they had passed the statue of the jaguar and only the birds in the trees could hear them speak, she planted herself in front of him, her hands balled into fists.

“How dare you, Montgomery!” she said

“What have I done? I walked the men to the cenote as we agreed, and now I’m walking you back home,” he said innocently.

“No, you didn’t. You humiliated them! What if they should be angry? What if they should tell my father? What if—”

“What if Eduardo Lizalde doesn’t feel like marrying you? I suppose your father will have to sell you to another man. Don’t worry, I think he’ll find a customer.”

She gritted her teeth and slapped him, which he had expected. Then her eyes filled with tears, which he hadn’t planned for, and she hurried away.

“Carlota!” he yelled and tried to follow, but the girl picked up her skirts and ran like the devil. He might have caught up with her, no matter her speedy flight, but then he thought better of it and stopped suddenly.

He’d let his shirt fall somewhere behind him, and he cursed as he turned around and walked back. He found it, dirt-smeared, in the middle of the path, and he put it on again.

The girl was nowhere in sight when he walked into the house, and he didn’t seek her out. Best he leave her alone, forever, if at all possible.





Chapter 11


    Carlota


Carlota loved everything about Yaxaktun, but most of all she loved her father. He was like the sun in the sky, lighting her days.

Yes, he could be stern and demanding at times. Nevertheless, she recalled all the evenings, many years before, when she had been small and he hadn’t yet developed a treatment for her. She remembered how he smoothed her sweaty hair from her face, offered water, placed another pillow beneath her head. Lost in a haze of pain, there had been her father at her side, every night, promising he would make it better.

And he had. He’d kept his promise. As much as she had despised that feeling of helplessness, of being weak and left at the mercy of others, she had been grateful for his affection.

Carlota loved her father, loved to please him.

When she walked into the sitting room, Eduardo went toward her and deposited a kiss on her knuckles, and she grew flustered. When he suggested they dance together she could hardly reply.

She feared she’d take a wrong step, that they’d find her silly, and her first thought was to refuse him. But her father wanted her to socialize with the gentlemen, and Carlota forced her lips into a smile.

Eduardo gently held her hand and showed her the correct steps. “You’re graceful,” he said. “I wouldn’t have guessed you’ve never danced before.”

“It’s kind of you to say so. I’m afraid I’ll step on your toes,” she replied, her voice so low she had to repeat herself and he had to lean down close to hear her.

“No danger of that. Why didn’t your father send you to study in the city?”

“I was sick when I was a girl. I spent many hours in bed each day. I didn’t mind being in my room, though. It gave me a chance to read.”

Her voice was still a whisper. Her smile did not move; it was painted on.