The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(99)
“Then, sir? What does my uncle propose?”
Ritter and Maquet whispered to each other. It was obvious the Moreaus’ lawyer had thought to shortchange her, but Carlota had not budged, and now a true offer must be made.
“My client will honor Dr. Moreau’s commitments. He will not contest the testament, and he offers to grant you the annuity you’ve requested, to ensure that you are well taken care of. However, he makes one stipulation.”
“What is that?”
“That you may not style yourself as Carlota Moreau. You cannot bear the doctor’s surname, nor should you ever claim any relation to his family, nor seek friendship or contact of any sort with them. The Moreaus are a proud lot. They cannot affirm a link with a bastard child.”
Carlota let out a crystalline laugh that seemed to startle the lawyers. “Mr. Maquet,” she said, “the terms appear to me agreeable.”
Afterward they signed the proper documents and shook hands. With the stroke of a pen Carlota was thus anointed with a small fortune and stricken of her surname.
“You do not mind?” Lupe asked her later, when they were back in the house and they sat in Carlota’s room, as Carlota undid the tangles in her hair and readied for sleep.
“I don’t. For I feel this way I may choose who I wish to be,” Carlota said. “I’ve only ever been ‘the doctor’s daughter,’ but I feel as if I may now be someone else and chart my path.”
“But it’s your family’s name.”
“He was my father. But that is not my family.”
In the mirror she saw a grin spreading on Lupe’s furry face, but still Lupe scoffed, as if making fun of her.
The next day, Carlota went to church. The prettiest spot in Mérida, to her eyes, was a small square with a marble fountain and flower beds and elegant iron seats. This plaza was located not far from the cathedral, which she didn’t like because it was massive and she missed her small chapel with the painting of Eve. In this cathedral she felt adrift, just as she felt lost in the city.
Now that she had the means to put her plan in motion, she yearned to find a small plot of land, hidden from others, where all of them might live together. Not just the three of them, but all the hybrids. She did not know what had become of the others, but she hoped they were well and safe. So far, despite multiple discreet inquiries, no rumors had come from the eastern or southern portion of the peninsula of animals that moved like men. The men from Vista Hermosa who had fled the confrontation with the hybrids had either wisely kept their mouths shut, could not give credence to what they had seen, or the stories they had whispered had gone unheard.
Dr. Moreau had helped himself. Carlota wished to help others. In the eastern shores there’d be people who would need medical care. She might fund a clinic and also keep their house, where all the hybrids might live together safe and sound. It could be tucked away in a little town. It could work.
She lit a candle for her father and bent her head, saying a prayer for him. She asked God to guard his soul. For herself, she did not beg for clemency. The terrible deed she’d done, the death she’d claimed, she’d carry that inside and face her judgment one day. Perhaps God would understand.
On the way out, she dipped her fingers in the font with holy water. The sky was clear, and she sat in the small square with the marble fountain, watching the pigeons as they searched for crumbs, and she smiled.
When Carlota reached the house she noticed a calesa with a driver waiting outside, and when she walked in she saw Montgomery was standing in the courtyard with one hand in his pocket and a single piece of luggage by his side. The rest must have already been loaded onto the vehicle.
He was dressed in travel clothes, with a new straw hat on his head.
“You’re leaving?” she asked, rather surprised.
“We agreed I would, if the money came in. You want me to find the others, do you not? And I know British Honduras well.”
“Well, yes, but I didn’t think you’d go so soon.”
“I’m feeling better,” he said, giving his ribs a pat. “Besides, I don’t want the trail growing any colder.”
“That’s all good and well, but I suspect you do not intend to return,” she said, looking at him with reproachful eyes.
He shook his head with something that was not quite a sigh. “I’ll find the others and I will make sure they find you in turn.”
“Now I almost wish I was going with you, if this is the case and you wish to so easily abandon us.”
“I ought to travel alone. I know the territory, I can move quickly, and besides—”
“Besides, you wouldn’t want me with you.” He gave her no answer, which irritated her. “Why must you leave? Truly?”
“Because I am restless. I’ve done things that have not been right and ignored the correct path, and I need to think long and hard about that.”
“You won’t be absolved of your sins on a dusty road,” she said, yet even as she spoke she knew that although absolution was not to be found so simply, God might be glimpsed there. She knew Montgomery did not believe in God and her father had preached a different God, but the God that lived in every stone and every flower and every beast of the jungle was real.
Perhaps he did require this. To go forth and find the true face of God. She had once glimpsed a God of joy in between the orchids and the vines of Yaxaktun. To this God she prayed.