The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(98)
It had taken Lupe and Carlota a great deal of effort to bury Aj Kaab and áayin and also to drag the men who had perished inside the house to a pyre where they watched the bodies go up in flames. Whatever remained after that, they had sunk into the bottom of the lagoon, where skulls and bits of bones might mix with ancient roots.
These tasks had been completed in haste and without the assistance of Montgomery, who was forced to lie in bed after Carlota attended to him. Fortunately, Lupe’s constitution was strong, her wounds minor, and the women managed the task without aid. Not long after the corpses were disposed of, men from Vista Hermosa had come, intent on seeing about the whereabouts of the Lizaldes. One of the men who arrived was a physician who tended to the injured mayordomo, though he declared that Moreau’s daughter had done a good job patching up Montgomery.
Carlota assured their visitors that there had been few patients staying with them because of previous rebel incursions in the vicinity of their home, which had scared most of the people away, and also due to their precarious funding situation. In fact, she told them that Hernando Lizalde had been thinking of closing down the farm for fear of the Indian rebels. Now, after Montgomery had ridden back home bloodied and severely injured, the patients had departed and only Carlota, Montgomery, and a servant remained.
If there were other questions, Carlota deflected them, and the men hesitated to upset a lady in mourning. Besides, they were more worried about the whereabouts of the Lizaldes than the gaps in a young woman’s tale.
With everyone panicked and attempting to follow the trail of the missing Lizaldes, Carlota had been able to gather her father’s notes and his most important possessions and arrange to have them shipped to Mérida. The three of them quickly departed—in the end, the stretcher had been used to move Montgomery—afterward alleging that they were too afraid to remain in the area. In Mérida they rented the house and sought Moreau’s lawyer.
After a few weeks of Ritter pushing the authorities to make a declaration about the situation, they had finally obtained a death certificate for the doctor. But now that this business was achieved, there remained other matters to be sorted—mainly Moreau’s testament and bank account. They had, for now, been subsisting on Ritter’s generosity and the promise of future profit. She intended to repay the lawyer and settle this affair once and for all.
“Thank you for the sincere condolences, sir,” Carlota said, her voice soft and low.
“My client, émile Moreau, has been very much stricken by this matter,” Maquet said. “He was not close to his brother, but it is a strange and sudden passing. Though, at the same time, he admits he half expected something like this, Dr. Moreau having chosen dangerous activities and distant locations for his work. What he did not expect, however, was this testament and the addition of a daughter.”
“The addition, sir?”
“Your father never wrote to his brother telling him about you.”
Carlota nodded. “But as you say, they were not close.”
Ritter let out an irritated sigh. “Mr. Maquet, I thought we had established that although no baptismal record was ever drawn, Miss Moreau is the doctor’s natural daughter. I met the girl when she was a child, and Mr. Laughton here has signed a notarized document stating that he, too, has known of Miss Moreau’s existence, having worked for her family for the past six years.”
“Be that as it may, you must understand how troublesome this is for my client. A daughter is one thing, but a natural daughter is another. Would he be expected to take her to France with him, to dwell with his family? He has never met her, never received a single letter even hinting at her existence.”
“I cannot say why Dr. Moreau never chose to introduce Miss Moreau to her uncle. But she remains his niece.”
“And yet a natural daughter. And yet dreadfully young. She is not yet twenty-one and the kind of support she is requesting…for a woman, it is a great fortune.”
“Come now, sir, Miss Moreau is a lady. You can’t expect her to live like a street urchin,” Ritter said. “Her father certainly didn’t expect her to go around the city begging for her supper.”
“Who should oversee money matters for her when she possesses no male kin, nor a husband? You must understand how this might concern my client. A young lady might spend it all on frivolous pursuits; she might buy herself too many dresses and shoes.”
Carlota did not flinch or react to his words; her hands were clasped lightly. “I wish to open a sanatorium for the poor. There are many people in need, and I might be of assistance.”
“That is pious of you,” Maquet said. “But once again, how might a girl manage such a thing?”
“My father’s testament is valid, sir,” Carlota said, turning her eyes toward the man and speaking calmly. “And though I may not have full control of my father’s estate until I turn twenty-one, I have been assured that Mr. Ritter may help oversee my affairs until such a time comes, which should be a matter of a few months. If the Moreaus should seek to interfere with my father’s wishes, I will have no choice but to take my fight to the proper authorities. In France, if need be.”
“In France?” Maquet replied, frowning.
“I have no aversion to arranging a visit with my uncle, should he wish to discuss the matter in person.”
“That wouldn’t be necessary,” Maquet said quickly, and she imagined by his tone that the last thing émile Moreau wished to do was to meet his brother’s bastard daughter, something that she had already gathered thanks to the letters and telegrams that had made their way into Ritter’s hands.