The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(39)

Montgomery walked over to where they stood. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice low.

“Having a drink. I assume you’ve had many yourself,” she replied.

He tossed his cigarette on the ground and stepped on the smoldering stub. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s late and your father will not like it.”

“I’m allowed to be here,” she said, impertinent, wanting to push him and see where it got her. It was childish, she thought, to behave like this, and yet he’d been childish, too; he’d been a cretin that morning.

“Let’s get you back to the house,” he said, taking the bottle away from her and handing it to Cachito.

“You want me to walk with you?” Cachito asked. “We need more aguardiente, I can fetch it.”

“I’ll bring it.”

“Montgomery, I can go. I don’t mind.”

“Don’t bother,” he said, without looking at Cachito.

He grabbed her by the arm and began marching her out the door, down the dirt path that led to the house. Tall grasses tickled her ankles. The humming of insects and the distant hooting of an owl punctuated the night.

The owl was a bad omen, and she ought to have been afraid of it and rushed quietly home, but instead she raised her voice.

“Lupe invited me! Let go!” she demanded.

“I don’t care if the pope himself invited you. Your father doesn’t want you drinking with the hybrids,” he said dryly.

“Why can you do it, then?”

“Because you and I are not the same.”

“How are we different?”

“Miss Moreau, you are my employer’s daughter.”

“Mr. Laughton, you don’t seem to care about that when it’s convenient for you,” she said, her words fast, practically speaking over him.

“What has gotten into you?”

His grip was good, but she freed herself of it and peered up triumphantly at Montgomery. “I should have tossed the aguardiente in your face, like Lupe said. No matter. You were rude to me today and I don’t see why I should obey you or make it easy or—”

“So you’ll be a nuisance to me now?”

“Maybe! Perhaps next time you won’t decide to ruin my life.”

In that instant she honestly did think he’d ruined it all, that nothing would ever amount to much again. The food would lose its taste, the sun wouldn’t rise in the morning. Her father would hate her, and no man would ever love her.

“For God’s sake, you are giving me a headache,” he said with a sigh and grabbed her arm again.

“You have a headache because you are drunk, you slob,” she whispered.

He looked as if she’d really tossed the aguardiente in his face. No, worse. He looked somber, and he was standing close to her and smelled of the drink he’d been imbibing and the cigarettes he’d smoked.

She wondered what he’d do now, whether he’d insist on accompanying her or he’d turn back. Or he might be angry and they might bicker more. But something in his face made Carlota recall once or twice before, when she’d caught him looking at her and he’d quickly raised his eyes and fixed them on a point far beyond her. This time he didn’t do that and kept looking at her.

“Sir! Let go of the lady!” Eduardo ordered.

They both turned their heads to discover the Lizaldes a few paces from them. Montgomery sighed. “Gentlemen, what are you doing sneaking around Yaxaktun at night?”

“I could ask the same question,” Eduardo replied. “The lady looks distressed.”

“I’m escorting Miss Moreau back to her room. Now, if you’ll excuse us—”

Eduardo stepped forward, blocking Montgomery’s path. “I want to know what you are up to,” he said.

She opened her mouth to explain. Not the truth, of course. She meant to weave a pretty lie. But Montgomery spoke faster. “It’s none of your business,” he said, his voice a challenge.

Inevitably Eduardo responded to this challenge, straightening his coat.

“My father owns this place,” Eduardo replied. “It is mine.”

Montgomery had let go of her, and his fingers were curling into a fist. His face hardened, and she thought, No, he wouldn’t dare. But then he had been drinking all evening, and he didn’t look somber now. He looked furious. Before she had a chance to say anything he was stepping forward and throwing a punch.

He hit Eduardo in the face, and Eduardo yelped and stumbled back two paces looking so shocked you would have thought no man had ever dared to punch him before. Maybe no one had. Gentlemen fought duels.

But Montgomery was no gentleman, her father said.

Montgomery quickly went at Eduardo again, and this time Eduardo reacted, blocking him and hitting back. Isidro, not content to watch from the sidelines, jumped into the fray and also attacked. Montgomery, faced with two furious opponents, did not seem rattled.

“Gentlemen, no! Montgomery, don’t!” she yelled. “Stop!”

Carlota thought Montgomery might obey her, because his eyes fell on her and he lowered his hands, looking almost mollified. Then Eduardo came from the side and hit Montgomery on the head with such vicious abandon she knew he had definitely been in fights.

Montgomery seemed stunned: he staggered, a hand pressed against his ear, and he winced, bending down as if he was about to retch. Isidro took the opportunity to kick Montgomery, and the blow threw him off balance. He fell, one hand still cupping his ear.