The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(43)

They quieted down. Montgomery walked into the room, closer to the trio, and spoke in a low voice. “Moreau is cash strapped. He wants these men to continue financing Yaxaktun, but I don’t trust them. We need to stand together, not tear each other apart.”

“What if we do tear each other apart? We cannot keep living like this. Dr. Moreau holds us by our throats. Without his secret formula, without a way to medicate ourselves, we cannot go anywhere.”

“Do you really wish to leave?” Carlota asked Lupe.

“Yes. How many ways must I say it?”

“I could ask my father for the formula. Perhaps he might give it to me. But that would mean…” the girl said, her voice faltering.

“He’d never do that,” Lupe muttered bitterly.

“He might,” Montgomery said. “Perhaps Carlota could convince him. But you won’t get anywhere talking about Juan Cumux in their company.”

Lupe frowned. Eventually she nodded. “We’ll keep quiet. But you need to help us.” Lupe looked at Montgomery, then at Carlota. “Both of you. Come on, Cachito, you should rest.”

Cachito stood up, and he leaned on Lupe, walking slowly. Carlota began stuffing her supplies back into the black medical bag.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t be putting ideas in their head,” she whispered.

“Sweetheart, they already have those ideas in their head and they’ve had them for a while. This cannot go on forever, and your damn father himself has indicated—”

“Do not insult him. My father is trying to save us,” she said vehemently as she snapped the medical bag closed.

“Your father is trying to follow a desperate plan that will never work. He’s trying to save himself.”

She drew a harsh breath, and her hands rested atop the bag. “I suppose you want to leave us, too.”

“I should have decamped long ago. Maybe I could lead Lupe and Cachito and the others somewhere safe.”

“You think yourself Moses?”

Your father thinks himself God, he thought. But he didn’t want to antagonize her further. Unthinkingly he had walked in close to Carlota and now stood but a couple of paces before her and she was looking up at him, her wide eyes filled with what were not tears but which might well be in a minute or two.

She stretched out a hand to touch his own, her thumb brushing the scar that began below his wrist, where the jaguar had mauled him, and a shiver ran straight down his spine.

“I don’t want anything to change,” she said.

“It’s inevitable.”

She lifted her hand and placed it atop the bag, her nails digging into the leather and her lips pressed tight. How he wished to coax that hand back upon his skin. Nothing more than that single touch; her fingers laced tight with his own would be bliss.

His left arm lay useless against his side, his hand gripping his hat. He grasped the hat with both hands and stepped back from her. Damn coward, he thought. In every way possible you’re a coward.





Chapter 13


    Carlota


Her father spent the day with the Lizaldes, explaining his experiments or simply trying to soothe their fears or both, she did not know. But he did send word through Ramona that they were to have a grand dinner and the hybrids would wait on them. He wanted it to be a demonstration, to show his creations were trustworthy.

The preparations for such an event would normally have thrilled Carlota, but she was subdued. She went to the kitchen, thinking to assist with a few chores. Despite needing the work, she was distracted, and Ramona chided her.

“Carlota, you’re adding the sugar too quickly. The meringue won’t fluff,” the woman said. Her father loved meringues, even though they made them differently in France. She’d thought to whip up a treat and was failing.

“Sorry,” Carlota muttered.

“Girl, what’s wrong?” Ramona asked, tilting Carlota’s chin up.

Carlota did not know what to say. Everything seemed wrong. Her stomach was aching and she wanted to speak to her father, but he was busy. And though perhaps it might have helped if she talked to Ramona and Lupe, laying clear her murky worries, she could not think what to say.

“Her mind’s on that young mister,” Lupe said.

“It’s not,” Carlota replied quickly.

“What else would you think about except yourself and your suitors? Not about us, you wouldn’t. You haven’t asked how Cachito is doing today. He spent the night in pain, you know? We could all hear him.”

“I didn’t hit him.”

“No, your father did. For the sake of those clowns you are trying to impress.”

Lupe stared at her, and Carlota looked away. There was the taste of bile in her mouth. She winced.

Ramona shook her head. “Carlota, you should ready yourself. Your father wants you to look nice.”

Carlota nodded. She went to her room and splashed water on her face. Then she ran her hands over the dresses hanging in the great armoire. There was one that she’d seldom worn and which her father had bought her the previous year. All her dresses were made by a seamstress in Mérida who had been provided with her measurements. Montgomery hauled the garments back to Yaxaktun along with supplies and items they needed for the household.