The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(44)
This gown in particular was something of a folly, the most ostentatious thing she owned. It was an evening dress, suitable for a party, but she did not attend parties. She’d seen something like it in a lady’s magazine and begged her father for it. It had a white skirt with pleated flounces of gauze and was trimmed all around with lace and swathed with an overskirt of blue satin. The décolleté bodice bared her shoulders daringly.
She worked slowly on her hair. When she looked in the mirror she felt as though there was an invisible crack in it, perhaps in her. That crack was slowly growing day after day, threatening to obliterate Carlota.
Twice she dropped the pins she was holding in one hand and had to take deep breaths before proceeding with the careful coiffing of her hair.
Eventually she marched into the dining room in the deep blue dress with its lovely accents of yellow. The tablecloth had been set, and upon it the silver candelabra glittered and the candles burned softly. Ramona or someone else had taken the trouble of cutting flowers and dropping them into a large crystal bowl filled with water. They would all fade by morning in the jungle’s heat, but for now they retained their lush colors.
“My dear, you look lovely,” her father said as she walked in, and then he leaned in closer to her, his voice low. “Be on your best behavior, we must charm them.”
Carlota nodded and smiled at the guests. The dinner party consisted of her father, Eduardo and Isidro, and, surprisingly, Montgomery. She supposed her father was trying to make a point by having him sit with them after the brawl. As for the food, it was not the dishes that caught the attention of their guests, but the appearance of those serving them. Lupe, Aj Kaab, Parda, and La Pinta took turns bringing in plates laden with meat or filling glasses with Burgundy wine. Lupe acted as if Carlota were not there, her head held high, and again Carlota had that feeling that something in her was broken and jagged.
“It’s remarkable the variety of shapes and looks that your hybrids take,” Eduardo said. “I cannot tell at times what specific animal they derive from. One looks like a type of cat, another like an odd wolf.”
La Pinta brushed crumbs off the corner of the table as Eduardo spoke, and Parda carefully set down a plate before her. Carlota thanked her in a whisper.
“As Mr. Darwin would point out, we are presented with endless forms most beautiful,” her father said. “Though I must admit mammals are the most adequate for my work. My experiments with reptiles were disappointing.
“But what I want you to do, gentlemen, is to consider the other possibilities I mentioned to you earlier. There are many medical miracles we could accomplish. My daughter, for example, would not be sitting with us today if it were not for the treatment I have developed for her. She’d be an invalid, confined to her rooms. But it is not about Carlota, that is not the sole possibility, no sir. A cure for blindness or the ability to give speech to those who are mute may be within our grasp one day.”
She watched a stray moth, which had managed to infiltrate the house, fly across the room and settle on the wall, like a small, quivering brown stain. When a dragonfly entered the home, it meant a visitor would be arriving soon. When a moth came in it could be a good or bad omen. If it was black it meant death. But the brown moth meant nothing.
“That is all well and good, but I don’t think my uncle is looking for a cure for blindness, is he?” Isidro asked. “He is paying you to give him workers. Yet the ones you have here must be terribly expensive. How much money has he thrown into this venture?”
“Research always has a price,” her father said dryly.
“I can see that. You don’t exactly live a life without luxuries,” Isidro replied, and he threw Carlota such a look that she imagined he must be trying to determine how many yards of satin had gone into the making of her dress. “The Indians in the eastern lands are spoiled. They must be punished, prudently, of course, or else they march around like heedless children. But can you guarantee your hybrids are any better? After all, I can attest to their temper.”
With those words Isidro held up his bandaged hand as proudly as a man might display a trophy.
“Cachito was scared,” Carlota said; her eyes were lowered and her voice was soft. So far she had maintained herself out of their discussion, mindful of her father and afraid she might make a mistake. “If someone you loved was in danger, you’d defend them.”
“But then, you think that creature loves Mr. Laughton?” Isidro asked, incredulous.
“Cachito is sweet. If you knew him better, you’d see—”
“I see you have a tender heart. People take advantage of those with tender hearts. At our haciendas, if we let them, the Indians would work one day and rest for five. You don’t have to take it from me, either, ask the local priest and he’ll tell you.”
“Yes. The priests claim their tariff, too,” Montgomery said. “And I wouldn’t trust them in these matters. I’ve seen them demand money to baptize a child that would soon die, and the parents selling anything they had to ensure their child would go to heaven. Does that sound right to you?”
“Are you an atheist, sir?”
“We are pious in this house,” her father said. “Mr. Laughton attends our services each week. My daughter knows the Bible by heart.”
“That is good. You are distant from civilization and close to those pagan wretches infecting the peninsula. I’d hate to think you’d absorbed their superstitions and turned your face away from God. Faith, Miss Moreau. One must have faith. That is what the Indians here lack. That is their flaw,” Isidro said with a satisfied smile and a tone of finality.