Mariel (11 page)

“You said nothing wrong, child,” Phipps assured Rosie quickly. “It is Lady Mariel. Sometimes she is very sad. When she is like that, I think you can help best by giving her a big hug and by not asking any questions.” She absently patted the curls escaping from the uneven braids. Again she sighed and shook herself to break free from the tentacles of the past. “Now, shall we see what you have to wear to supper tonight?”

With the door to her own rooms closed, Mariel groped for a chair and dropped into it. She hid her face in her hands, and she began to cry as she had not been able to do in many years. Such open words laid bare the wounds which would not heal. She had thought having Rosie here might help, but already it seemed the child would only make things worse.

Although she had tried to tell herself there was nothing she could have done to change what happened the night Lorraine died, guilt continued to plague her. She should have guessed what would occur and worked to alter it. In retrospect, all the signs of the disaster had been firmly in place weeks before that night.

Her hands pressed against her ears as she heard the childish screams in her own younger voice. Other sounds of destruction and death ricocheted through her head. She could not close them out, for they came from within the treasury of her memories.

“Oh, Lorraine, why did you have to say that to him?” she moaned. “Why did you have to teach that rhyme to me?”

As in the past, there was no answer for any of her heartfelt questions. Only when the last burning tear coursed along her cheek did she raise her head. The shadows crossing the room told her it was nearly time for the evening meal. A surge of present-day guilt washed over her. She had brought Rosie to the Cloister, then abandoned her to Phipps's care. Hurrying to get ready for the evening meal, she vowed that would not happen again.

When she knocked on the door of the neighboring room, Phipps answered it. Mariel nodded to her whispered question. She was all right, at least until the next time the horror oozed from the secured vault in her head. She put it from her mind as Rosie ran to her, chattering about the treasures she had found in the toy box. Mariel let the little girl's joy fill the emptiness in her. She drew the child onto her lap as she laughed with her.

“So you like this room?” she asked, although Rosie's glowing face spoke of her happiness.

“I love it, Lady Mariel!”

“Why don't you call me Mariel?”

Rosie gasped. “Mariel? You want me to call you Mariel?”

“Only if you want.” Mariel smiled with a shyness she was unaccustomed to feeling. “Maybe later, if everything works well for us, you can call me something else, but for now I thought you might want to call me Mariel.”

“Yes.” Her head bobbed so hard it appeared as if it might bounce off at any moment. “Yes, M-Mariel!”

Placing Rosie on the floor, Mariel rose and offered her hand. “Shall we go and explore some other parts of the Cloister? I know you will want to know where the kitchen is. When I was your age, I liked to ‘help' there. That way I got to sample everything while it was cooking.”

Rosie giggled as they walked out of the room hand in hand. She had already decided that she wanted to stay with Lady Mariel. No, she corrected herself mentally, simply Mariel. She vowed to try not to bring the sorrowful expression to her friend again.

Each room they visited Rosie enjoyed more than the previous one. As Mariel expected, she was welcomed royally by Mrs. Puhle. The woman, who always had a sweet for any child who came to the kitchen door, could not hide her delight with having a youngster to spoil again.

Mariel was laughing at Rosie's impressions of the house as they entered the solarium. Of all the rooms on the ground floor, this was Mariel's favorite. Built three steps up from the hallway, the room offered a special haven in the big house. Not that it was cozy. Its ceiling, fifteen feet from the floor, was crisscrossed with heavy beams. A circular iron chandelier accented the ornate metalwork on the arched tops of the tall windows.

Rosie ran to peer out. She squealed with excitement as she pointed to the gardens and the strip of light at the horizon, gray against the dark sky. No child of the shire could be unaware of the sea. Its rhythms controlled the life of the land by bringing storms and balmy breezes.

For a moment, time telescoped for Mariel. She saw another little girl running carefree through this room, intent on discovering what mischief the new day would bring. That youngster, with black pigtails flapping against her back, had not learned yet of the sorrow waiting for her in the near future. Then, she had known only the joy of childhood. Rosie brought that happiness back to her.

Sitting on an oak chair upholstered in the pale green of the Foxbridge crest, Mariel watched as Rosie skipped from window to window. When the child turned to her, she held out her arms. Rosie hesitated for a brief second, then, with a smile, threw herself into Mariel's embrace.

“Can we go for a walk? Can we go and see the gardens?”

“Not tonight, but soon,” Mariel promised. “It is nearly time for dinner. We do not want to be out when Reverend Beckwith-Carter arrives.”

The child's face froze into distress. “The minister? He is coming here? Why?”

Mariel smiled. “I invited Reverend Beckwith-Carter to join us, Rosie. He is eager to meet you.”

“Will I have to listen to him preach about the orphans' obligations?”

“What? Oh, that would have been Reverend Tanner!” Mariel patted the child's hand as she grimaced with her own recollections of Ian's pompous predecessor. “Reverend Beckwith-Carter is nothing like that old bore.”

“Don't believe her. I am much worse,” came an amused voice from behind them.

As Mariel stood, Rosie could not miss how her guardian's eyes glistened with an emotion she did not recognize. She looked from one adult to the other as Mariel greeted the minister pleasantly. Some unseen thread held them together in a sweet caress, although they did not touch.

“Ian, I did not hear you come in.”

“I know I'm early. I wanted a chance to talk with your friend before we sit down at the table.” He pulled his eyes from the beautiful woman to look at the scrawny child in the too large dress. Offering his hand, he said, “Hello, Miss Varney.”

She dipped in a quick curtsy to avoid shaking his hand. She did not want Mariel to tell Mrs. Parnell that Rosie Varney had no manners. A mumbled, “Hello, Reverend Beckwith-Carter,” was barely audible.

“Reverend Beckwith-Carter?” he repeated with a laugh. “Why don't you call me Ian, as Mariel does?”

With a scowl, she realized this man would demand some of the precious time she had with Mariel. Rosie knew too well that this magic might not last forever. She did not want to share the few days she might have at the Cloister. Clasping her hands behind her back, she eyed Reverend Beckwith-Carter suspiciously. She knew what ministers were like. They treated you nicely, then warned you about the need to be grateful to anyone who might give you clothes filled with rips and holes. Every bite she had eaten she must be thankful came from someone more fortunate than she. She did not want to be reminded that Mariel might only be doing her Christian duty. She longed to think her friend welcomed her to Foxbridge Cloister simply because she might care for Rosamunde Varney.

“Mrs. Parnell told me to be polite, Reverend Beckwith-Carter,” Rosie said pointedly.

Ian glanced over her head to see Mariel's amused grin. The youngster made her opinions very clear. In this way, she and Mariel should get along well. When she put her hands on the child's shoulders, he listened without comment.

Mariel turned Rosie to face her. “Mrs. Parnell is correct, Rosie. You should always be polite. Now Ian is asking you to be his friend and call him by his given name. I think it would be most ungracious to refuse such a kindness, don't you?”

“Yes,” she said grudgingly. She did not want to lose Mariel's love. Vowing not to call the man anything, she nodded her head. She just wanted him gone.

Knowing that to push the issue might cause permanent damage, Ian spoke of the news from the countryside. He had been making calls all day and had much to share. When he motioned for the others to sit, he saw Rosie stay close to Mariel. He understood the child's need to cement her relationship with the woman she adored. He would not intrude tonight, although he longed to sit next to Mariel and hold her slender fingers in his.

This was one thing he had not mentioned to her when they discussed bringing the youngster to Foxbridge Cloister. Not only would Rosie complicate Mariel's many activities, but she would make it difficult for her guardian to have any time alone with him.

Both sets of blue eyes brightened with enthusiasm when he mentioned the rumor of a band of Gypsies bringing their circus close to the shire. Whether their meandering journey would enter Foxbridge, no one knew. The thought of such entertainment suggested new and strange delights.

“Let us know as soon as you learn if they are coming here,” urged Mariel. “We would love to go, wouldn't we, Rosie?”

“Oh, yes!” Her smile dimmed as she looked at the man in the seat across from them. She wondered if he would be included in the invitation as well.

Mariel saw her jealousy and wondered what she could do to convince Rosie there was no reason to feel this way. Sitting here would not help. Rising, she said, “I was giving Rosie a tour of the Cloister, Ian. Would you like to join us? I was about to show her the portrait gallery. You might be interested in that.”

When he politely offered her his arm, a small whirlwind stepped between them and grasped Mariel's hand. He tried to keep the frown from his lips, but failed. She drew Rosie to the other side and placed her fingers on Ian's arm as if there had been no interruption.

“How wonderful!” she said with too much warmth as she sought to cover the unease in the room. “To have both of my friends here with me. Shall we go?”

By the time they reached the door leading to the long, narrow gallery, Rosie had recovered her good spirits. She chattered nonstop about everything she saw. Mariel answered her questions as quickly as they were posed and with a patience that startled Ian. The sharpness she presented to others was muted when she spoke to the child.

Rosie ran ahead to turn on the gaslights. Ian took the opportunity to ask, “How is it going?”

“Better than I expected,” she said with a sigh. “I imagine it will be easier when we become accustomed to each other. She likes her room and has charmed the staff. I am sorry she is being so cold to you. That is not like Rosie.”

He smiled. “She is averse to sharing you. I understand how she feels.” He drew his arm away so he could take her hand. Easily he turned her to face him. “My dear Mariel, I understand all too well.”

“I thought you would. You have learned—”

With his finger on her lips, he silenced her. “This has nothing to do with my work, my dear. These words are directly from the heart. I find myself wanting to spend more time with you, not less, and not time I must share with that cute youngster.”

“Ian, I did not know,” she whispered. She swallowed harshly as she realized how stupid she sounded. Her trite words covered the truth. She had known his desire to have her to himself. He took advantage of every opportunity that presented itself for them to steal a few minutes alone. As she did. Daring to open her heart slightly to him, she asked, “Why haven't you said something?”

“I am.” He picked up her fingers and pressed them to his lips. His keen eyes did not miss the softening of her face as she breathed a sigh of delight at the touch of his mouth against her skin. Without releasing her hand, he added, “I would like another chance to be alone with you soon.”

Flustered by the strong emotion in his words, she mumbled, “I am so busy with Rosie now. I don't know when—”

“You will find time soon.” He grinned, the desire in his eyes replaced by good humor. “Somehow you will find time. Mariel Wythe can do anything she is determined to do.”

With a laugh at the lopsided compliment, she said, “Next Saturday—not this one, but a week from this coming Saturday—shall we go on a picnic?”

“The three of us?”

“The two of us.” Her voice muted as she gazed up at him. “I cannot promise, for so much depends on Rosie. If she adjusts well to school and to the Cloister, I—”

An impatient young voice interrupted her. “Hurry, Mariel. I want to see the paintings.”

With a smile, Ian offered her his arm again. “Shall we?”

Rosie ran forward to take Mariel's hand as the adults entered the narrow gallery of the Cloister. Although the gaslights burned in their regularly spaced sconces, the room was dim with shadows. There were no windows to admit the starlight. The smell of a room too long unused assaulted their senses as their footsteps echoed along the long room.

Mariel watched as Ian paused before each of the portraits. The Wythe family had been living at Foxbridge Cloister since the early sixteenth century, so there were many pictures to enjoy. Proudly, she told him about the painter who did each portrait. She never grew blasé about the glories of her home.

“Your family certainly is an awe-inspiring group,” he said admiringly as Rosie raced ahead to look at the other pictures. “Your ancestors glare out of their portraits as if they intend to take on the world even now.”

She smiled. “The Wythes have been known to be assertive, even before this generation. Uncle Wilford told me many tales of the pranks he and my father perpetrated during their boyhood. They were twins. Twins have been in nearly every generation since the time the Lords Foxbridge took up residence at Foxbridge Cloister.”

“But not your generation?”

When she did not answer as she bent to speak to Rosie, Ian was sure she had not heard him. He repeated the question. This time, when she began to speak of something else, he suspected he had touched on another subject Mariel would not discuss. He wondered why she should be secretive about something so harmless, but did not continue to ask. If he truly wished to know, he could check the church records. All births in the parish were recorded there.