The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(77)

“How old were you, when your parents died?”

“I was a child when my mother passed away, and older than you when my father finally perished.”

“And did you mourn him? Even though he’d wronged you?”

“No. I didn’t wear black, I didn’t pray for him. I hoped he went to hell.”

“But you don’t believe in hell.”

“And yet I’d like to believe in hell.”

Her eyes were soft and dark and sad. She tilted her face up to the sky, and he thought of wrapping his arms around her, but he shoved his hands into his pockets and contemplated the patio stones.

“The house seems awfully large and lonely now, don’t you think? It seems haunted, although I’ve grown up here and never seen a ghost,” she whispered. “Ramona told us about a house in Villahermosa that is haunted. There’s a ghost that smells like rotten meat that moves through the rooms. I wonder if they’ll say this house is haunted one day.”

“Come, Carlota, we should head inside and I’ll watch over your father,” he said. He didn’t like it when she spoke like that.

“No, I’m fine. Don’t mind me, I’m simply tired.”

“The more reason to go to bed. Let me look after the doctor.”

“You can’t stay up all night. It would be worse, if they come in the morning and you’re exhausted, then what will we do?”

“I can still shoot even if I’ve slept only a couple of hours.”

“You must not mention that again,” she said, shaking her head. “Please, don’t receive them with weapons drawn.”

“Perhaps I ought to greet them with a warm embrace.”

“No, but let’s attempt to speak first, then draw weapons second. Please. You are too quick to anger, sometimes.”

“The same could be said about you.”

“Yes, and I do not like myself for it. If I hadn’t lost my temper when Eduardo’s father was in the sitting room, if I hadn’t leaped up like I did and scratched him…if I hadn’t done that, then maybe we could have resolved this simply.”

“You mean maybe he’d have let you marry?”

“If he hadn’t been so ill-disposed toward me…” Carlota said, wringing her hands together. “I ruined it, I did.”

“I must tell you something. They would not have allowed it. Isidro wrote to his uncle. I didn’t read the letter, but I delivered it to the mayordomo at Vista Hermosa, to be sent to Mérida. I didn’t read it, but I can imagine what it said because Isidro told me, before posting it, that he didn’t like you. That you were an unsuitable bride. I regret sending it, but I suspect it would have always been the same. They would have hated you.”

She gave him a deep, grave look, her large eyes fixed on his face. “You were the one who summoned him, then?”

“Isidro did, but I helped him,” he said in a choking voice, though he didn’t want to say it. But he must. He had wanted to tell her that morning when they stood together outside, before Cachito interrupted them. He didn’t think it fair to keep such secrets.

“Why would you do that? Do you despise me?”

“Carlota, I did it because I thought you’d be hurt. Because I was sure he’d be bad for you and he’d use you and cast you away. It was before you announced your engagement, before—”

“And maybe you were jealous,” she said sharply.

For a second he wished to swear that his intentions had been good and pure, that he had sought to protect Carlota, but looking at her it was impossible to deny the truth: he’d wanted to rid himself of the young man, and yes, he had been jealous and petty.

“I was,” he said. “And I’m sorry for that, too.”

“?‘Sorry’ is not enough. I should slap you,” she muttered, but she did not raise a hand against him. She sounded exhausted with grief. Instead, her fingers rested on his arm.

The gentle quietude of the house induced in them a torpor. He wanted not to speak to her but to simply bask in Carlota’s presence for a few minutes, and he felt that she, too, had little need for words at the moment. Maybe they’d fight later and she’d reproach him and that slap would land on his cheek.

There was knocking at the portón, and Montgomery immediately tensed, hand at his pistol.

“Montgomery, please,” she whispered, squeezing his arm. “Don’t shoot before we have a chance to speak.”

“I won’t shoot first,” he muttered. “But I’ll still need my rifle. Go, run fast for it.”

She looked uncertain, but nodded and rushed away. While the knocking continued, he slowly approached the door and opened the iron gate, then stood by the postigo. Carlota ran back to him, swift and looking scared, and handed him the rifle. He supposed neither pistol nor rifle could ensure their safety, but he felt a tad better with something more solid in his hands.

He drew a slow, determined breath. “Who goes there?” Montgomery asked.

“It’s Lupe,” a voice said.

He opened the door, and indeed it was Lupe, her clothes dusty from the road.





Chapter 25


    Carlota


Carlota made coffee and offered Lupe a cup. She also pulled out a loaf of bread Ramona had baked the day before, and they dipped pieces of crusty bread into their coffee while they sat at the kitchen table. Lupe unwound her rebozo from around her head and folded it, setting it next to her. Her closely set eyes observed Carlota carefully.