Mariel (20 page)

The hours passed too quickly as they visited with friends they met among the wagons and watched the entertainment. Music created a constant undertone for all conversation. The smoke of outdoor fires was filled with the tantalizing scents of exotic foods. The circus members had thought of many ways of making a profit from the local people.

When they passed the fortune-teller's wagon, Rosie asked if they could go in. Ian told them to go ahead. He would go to get a cool drink. He laughed as he explained, “It would not do for my parishioners to see their minister seeking advice of the future from such a source.”

Taking Rosie by the hand, Mariel went to the open door. Inside this wagon, set slightly away from the others, a solitary woman sat. She smiled and waved for them to come in and close the door.

A quiet settled on the cool interior as the bustle of the fair was closed out of the room. The walls had been painted midnight blue. Wispy cloth draped the corners of the ceiling to soften the angles of the room. A single chair faced the woman.

Her face was painted as garishly as the wagons. Black kohl lined her eyes, drawing them out like an Egyptian's. Brilliant red slashed across her lips and made her face seem even more pale. A black veil edged with gold coins covered her dark hair. Her gown was shot with threads of the same color. Wide sleeves dropped back to reveal her slender arms.

“Sit. Let me open the door of the future for you. I can pull back the curtains of time and let you peek at what will be.” She smiled as Rosie stepped forward shyly. “Come, child. Offer me your palm, and I will tell you what will be.”

Rosie climbed onto the chair and leaned across the wide table. She giggled as the fortune-teller traced the lines of her palm with her long fingernail. “That tickles!” she said.

The woman smiled indulgently. She enjoyed telling fortunes for children, who did not react with disbelief to her knowledge. After prophesying a long life and a fine family, she watched as the child scampered down from the velvet covered chair.

“And now you, Lady Mariel?”

Mariel started, but did not demand to know how this woman could know her. Any woman who dared to speak so assuredly of the future must be a good judge of human nature and very observant. Almost anyone could have overheard her conversations with the others reveling in the circus. When she came here with Rosie, the fortune-teller would have been told immediately.

“No, thank you. I have no interest in having my palm read.” She dropped a coin on the table and turned to take Rosie's hand.

“My lady, let me read the tarot cards for you.”

“Tarot cards?”

The fortune-teller bobbed her head so hard that the coins sewn to her veil flapped against her forehead. She drew a pack of the oversized cards from beneath the table. “Come. Sit. For few do I do this. Most are satisfied with learning the truth written in their skin. Let me read them for you.”

Mariel hesitated. Her uncle had told her about having his fortune told with tarot cards while on the continent. Although he admitted little of it had come true, he had spoken of the incident fondly. Fascinating was his exact word.

“All right,” she said with sudden enthusiasm. “Rosie, Ian is waiting outside. Tell him I will be with you in a minute.”

“May I have an ice?”

“A small one! You have had too many sweets already.”

The little girl raced out of the narrow wagon and down the ladder steps. Her chatter faded as the door closed. Clutching the handle of her parasol, Mariel leaned forward to hear the words intoned by the seer.

“I will shuffle the cards. Think of your life. When you think the cards are right for you, tell me.”

Unable to wait for long, Mariel said almost immediately, “Now.”

In an obscure pattern, the woman laid the cards on the table. She started by placing a single card on the table. Putting one over it, she stated, “This card covers you.” She continued, “This one crosses you. This one is over you. This beneath. This behind you. This ahead of you.”

Mariel's eyes followed her lovely hands as she dealt the cards. When the fortune-teller put the rest of the pack on the table, she looked at the woman expectantly. Uncle Wilford was right. It was fun to imagine a door could be opened to reveal the future. She scanned the cards, wondering if any would speak of what waited for her and Ian.

The silence grew long in the wagon. Suddenly the woman scooped up the cards and began to shuffle them again. In a tight voice, she mumbled, “I made an error.”

“An error?”

“Let us try again, my lady. Tell me when the cards are right for you.”

Although Mariel felt a twinge of uneasiness, she simply watched the slender hands competently reorganize the large cards. With less enthusiasm, she stated, “I think, now.”

The fortune-teller smiled. “Forgive me, my lady. Sometimes the cards make no sense. I thought you would be wanting to get an accurate reading. Shall we?” She repeated the patter in the identical, singsong voice she had used the first time.

Different cards sat in the center of the table, but none of the odd pictures made any sense to Mariel. The obscure symbols belonged to another time and place. When they were arranged, she waited for the woman to speak.

With a cry, the veiled woman swept the cards from the table. Mariel ducked instinctively as several flew toward her. “What is wrong?”

“Go, my lady! I will not read for you today!” Her voice rose in undisguised terror. When Mariel stared at her in astonishment, she repeated more shrilly, “Go! Go away!”

Before Mariel could rise, the thick curtain behind the fortune-teller was shoved aside. A huge man stepped around it. She gasped as she recognized him as the one staring at her while she watched the performing bear. Fear froze her voice in her throat. Stumbling to her feet, she groped for the door.

A huge hand on her arm halted her. In a voice as broad as his size, the man spoke to the fortune-teller in a language Mariel did not comprehend. When the seer answered, waving her hands in open distress, he looked at the woman standing next to him.

“Lady Mariel Wythe?” he asked.

“Yes, that's my name.”

“Nadia will not read the cards for you today.”

She tried to pull her arm out of his painful grip, but he refused to release her. “I understand,” she said when she saw he wanted a response.

“Do you?”

The threat inherent in his words sent icy fear burning through her middle. She had no idea what he meant or why the fortune-teller refused to read the cards after being so anxious to tell her future. None of this made sense. All she wanted was to be done with these crazy Gypsies and return to the Cloister.

“You are a pretty woman,” he continued when she did not answer. “Do you have intelligence to match your beauty?”

“Raoul!”

He glared at the woman removing her veil. Spitting a command at her, he smiled as she lowered her eyes in a submissive attitude. Mariel looked from one face to the other and could not guess what was being said between them.

A knock on the wagon door broke the frozen tableau. Muted by the thick wood, she could hear Ian's voice, calling to ask if she was still within. She looked at the twisted mouth of the man holding her. He bent toward her, and she cowered away.

“If you want to know the truth in the cards, come back here tonight. Raoul will explain them to you.”

“I don't want to know. Good day, sir.”

He laughed at her icy manners. “Go, then, my lady. When the darkness falls on you, you will be sorry you did not listen to me.”

“Raoul!” cried the fortune-teller again. “Do not speak of that. The cards must be unreadable today.” She glanced with a desperate apology to Mariel. “Sometimes they do not speak clearly to me.”

The man snapped, “What she means is that she is too squeamish to reveal the truth of the tragedy awaiting you, my lady.”

Suddenly, Mariel laughed. She eased herself away from the man and reached for the door latch. All of this heated talk about what was no more than a joke—she did not want to waste her time with it. The man's last threat was only half spoken as she shut the door behind her. When she saw Ian waiting at the base of the steps, she held out her hand to him.

“So, Mariel, what great mysteries have been solved for you?” His smile faded when she did not tease him in the same light tone.

“She decided not to read the cards for me.” She added, “Can we go home, Ian? I think we have had enough of this carnival today.”

His eyes swept her face and saw the unhappiness there. Something had happened in the small wagon to upset her. Tales of the future would not have bothered her. She was too prosaic for such flights of bizarre fantasy.

Rosie barely protested leaving. With her half-melted ice in one hand and her precious flower in the other, she was ready to go home. Before the sounds of the circus disappeared in the distance and the lights were swallowed by the twilight, she fell asleep against Mariel. The flavored water melted stickily on her skirt, but her fingers remained tightly around the blossom.

Mariel stared into the thickening darkness. She wished they had not gone into the fortune-teller's wagon. It tainted the memories she would have of this day. Just the suggestion of evil made her uneasy.

“Why didn't she read your fortune?” asked Ian as if she had been speaking her thoughts aloud. “Rosie said she was insistent about using the tarot cards.”

“It was strange,” she admitted, glad to speak her concerns aloud. “At first, the woman could not wait to do the cards. Then she refused, telling me she could not read them today.” She hesitated about adding more. Telling Ian about Raoul's half-spoken threats would do nothing but cause trouble.

He put his arm around her shoulders and leaned her head on his shoulder. “What a shame she would not read them for you. Who knows what fabulous things you might have in your future?”

“Ian, I thought you did not believe in such nonsense!”

“I don't.” He chuckled lightly so not to disturb the sleeping child. “I don't, but it is fun to imagine such was possible. It would have given you such a pleasant remembrance for the day.”

Suddenly she sat up. “Oh, no! I forgot to get Rosie's picture.”

He smiled. “No problem. We can get it after we take Rosie back to the Cloister. Miss Phipps can put her to bed. It will not take long.”

His words proved true. Miss Phipps bustled out of the house to collect the exhausted child. When she heard about their errand, she said, “I will tell Mrs. Puhle to hold supper for you. Come, child.”

“Miss Phipps, see my flower?” Mariel heard a sleepy little girl say as Ian urged the horse back toward the gate.

The road was nearly deserted. They passed a few vehicles on the way home from the circus, but for most of the trip only the night insects and an occasional owl accompanied them. Even when they reached the fairgrounds, the few lights gave the area an uninhabited appearance.

Before Ian alit from the carriage, the door of the closest wagon opened. A silhouette emerged to disappear momentarily in the night. Only when he was a few steps from them did they identify him as the man who had been taking the pictures. Grateful that he did not have to search for the man, Ian greeted him and told him their reason for returning.

The photographer nodded. “Of course, I remember the little girl. I was going to stop by Foxbridge Cloister in the morning to see if my lady had forgotten to pick up her picture. It is in my wagon. Reverend, if you wish to come with me …”

“Mariel, I will be right back.”

She smiled as she tightened her silk cape around her shoulders. “Do hurry. Phipps will be troublesome if I arrive home too late.”

With a grin at her mock compliance with her companion's edicts, he followed the one-eyed man toward his wagon. The moonlight had stripped the caravan of its flashy colors. All of the reds and golds blended into grays.

She leaned back against the raised top of the buggy. The excuse of coming here to the circus grounds again had allowed her the chance to be alone with Ian without tongues wagging too harshly. She smiled as she wondered what quiet, winding road he would choose to take them back to the Cloister. Certainly they would not go the most direct, shore route.

“My lady, I see you have decided to accept my invitation.”

In shock, she opened her eyes to see the impudent smile of the man the fortune-teller had called Raoul. She stared at him, unsure what to say. He leaned across the buggy so that his broad face was too close to hers. She tried to retreat, but he simply laughed. The motion set his golden earrings to bouncing.

“Come,” he ordered.

Finding her voice, Mariel stated haughtily, “I can assure you, sir, that I have no intention of going anywhere with you. As soon as Reverend Beckwith-Carter returns with my daughter's photograph, we are leaving.”

“He will not return quickly.”

“Nonsense! He just has to go to the wagon over there.” She pointed to the well-lit glow of the photographer's wagon. “He will be back any second now. I suggest, sir, you leave before you find yourself in trouble.”

“You are the one in trouble, Lady Mariel.” His broad hands spanned her waist easily as he lifted her from the buggy. As she opened her mouth to protest, he threatened, “Speak, and you will be sorry. Come, for Nadia will read for you now.”

Deciding that it would be easier to go through this charade, Mariel sullenly walked with him to the wagon set apart from the others. He opened the door at the top of the steps and bowed her into the tiny room.

The woman who had worn the veil in the afternoon was now dressed in a loose caftan. Without the cosmetics she wore for her work, she appeared far prettier and gentler. Her long fingers, now devoid of the garish rings, clutched the pack of tarot cards tightly.

“Lady Mariel,” she whispered as she pointed to the chair opposite her.