Mariel (8 page)

The thickness of the close air of the building swirled over them as he opened the door. She paused as she stepped into the foyer. When he lit a candle from the box on a nearby stand, she smiled uneasily. More than Phipps's warning, this place forced her to recall proprieties. She held her hands clenched in front of her as he picked up the leather-bound book he needed.

“One other thing,” he murmured as he walked into the sanctuary.

She followed, for she did not want to be alone with her uneasy thoughts. Her hands ran along the backs of the pews until she reached the foremost one on the right side of the aisle. Unlike the others, this pew had a door secured with a lock. So often she had come with her uncle to sit here and try to remain quiet through the sermon. If Reverend Tanner had written ones like the lesson Ian had let her read, he might have held her attention.

“It is always empty,” came a gentle reprimand in a velvet, dark voice.

Mariel turned to see Ian had returned to stand directly behind her. His strong, masculine allure could not be ignored even in the church. She fought her hands which wanted to raise to caress the uncompromising lines of his face. To touch him would be wrong. Her fingers clenched onto the door as she faced him.

“It is reserved for the Wythes,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“Ian, don't start lecturing me, too!”

“Too?” He put his hands on her shoulders to halt her as she was ready to walk back up the aisle. “Mariel, what is wrong?”

She shrugged his hands off her. “Nothing. I just don't like having people telling me what I should or should not do. If you want us to keep from quarreling each time we meet, you must remember that.”

His laugh resounded off the high ceiling of the church, startling her. “I doubt if you will allow me to forget.” He sobered as he said, “I have heard talk that the fire at the Cloister was not accidental.”

Her eyes in the candlelight showed her shock at his sudden alteration in the course of the conversation. Inanely, she said, “That is always said after a fire.”

“But?”

“I don't know, Ian.” Tears of sorrow at the loss of part of her beloved home glittered brightly as she flung out her hands. “Why would anyone want to destroy the Cloister?”

“Do you have any enemies?”

She laughed coldly. “You were at the meeting tonight!”

“Those are adversaries, not enemies. There is a difference.” He refused to let her escape from his hands as they grasped her shoulders again. “Mariel, if it is true that the fire was intentionally set, you must contact the constable. There may be a madman in the Cloister. Who knows what such a person would do next?”

Terror wiped all other emotions from her face. Ian stared at her in disbelief. He had seen Mariel sparkling with happiness and fiery-eyed with rage, but not totally incapacitated like this, quivering in fear. When he asked her to tell him what was wrong, she did not move. Not knowing what else to do, he drew her into his arms.

As her face pressed to his chest, she blindly sought for comfort. Her arms went around him as she buried her eyes against his waistcoat. She did not cry as the unforgotten screams soared through her memory. In the past, she cried, but she learned that nothing could soothe the pain and the impotence, which raced over her when this bolted door in her mind chanced to open.

Ian's broad hands clasped her face and raised it to meet his concerned eyes. She saw a small portion of the pain she felt mirrored in them. The shivers ceased racing through her as she let his silent compassion flow over her. He did not need to speak. She was sure he had no idea what to say. Just knowing that he cared was enough, and more than enough.

“Mariel?”

“I am fine,” she whispered. As she spoke, she knew the words were the truth. The horror had been submerged again to allow her to pretend it had never existed. “I think I will go home now.”

He released her as she stepped away. Juggling the book, the candle, and his cane, he called after her, “Do you want me to drive to the Cloister with you?”

“No, but thank you.” She turned to look at him. “You still have not accepted my invitation to dinner. Tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night will be fine.”

A sad smile could not erase the shadows of the more horrible emotions that had overwhelmed her.

“At least we did not part snarling at one another tonight, Ian. I will see you tomorrow.”

Leaning his cane against the pews, he listened to the sound of her footfalls and the closing of the heavy door at the back of the church. What he had said had hurt her, but he could not understand why. When she discussed the damage at the Cloister previously, she had expressed rage against whatever whim of fate had destroyed her beloved home. This reaction was so different. It showed him he had learned too little about her.

That was something he intended to remedy soon. He never wanted to view such naked terror on her face again.

Chapter Four

Mariel smiled as Walter emerged from the shadows of the barn, wiping his blackened hands on an oily cloth. Her nose wrinkled as she smelled the heavy scent of machinery. A gasp of dismay emerged from her lips when she saw pieces of the automobile scattered on the floor.

“What happened to it?”

“Nothing, Lady Mariel.” His eyes roved along the machine affectionately. “I am adjusting the chains, which drive it. If they aren't oiled regularly, they could bind and break. That might leave you stranded again.”

“I didn't know.” Again she was awed by his innate knowledge for dealing with the vehicle. She never had been interested in mechanical things. While other children took apart their toys to see how they worked, she had been busy reading and creating a world within her imagination.

“I hope you didn't want to use it today.”

She shook her head. “It deserves a day of rest. I have been scurrying all over the countryside the past week. I will take the buggy.”

Instantly his face fell. As if she had reprimanded him, youthful sorrow wiped the years from him. In a small voice, he apologized, “Lady Mariel, if I had known you wanted it today, I wouldn't have—”

“Nonsense,” she stated with too much enthusiasm. Walter must learn Foxbridge Cloister was not a place where reprimands were dealt out on the slightest whim. Mariel loved her home and wanted the others who lived here to be as happy. “You know what the automobile needs and when it needs it. I must defer to your judgment. It's no problem to take the buggy.” She grinned playfully. “Have fun with all your chains and whatever.”

He nodded as she went out the door. Walking to the wide opening, he continued to wipe his hands over and over while he watched her crossing the courtyard. She paused to chat with one of the other workers. The light sound of her always-charming laughter drifted on the spring breeze. Turning back to his chore, he tried not to think of the dark times the sound recalled. He wanted only to think of his task here at Foxbridge Cloister.

Mariel sang to the tempo of the horse's hoofbeats on the hard road. When she missed one note badly, she grimaced and was glad no one else had heard her. Music was her secret joy, but she shared it with no others. Once it had been different, but that was long ago. Occasionally she would play the pianoforte for Uncle Wilford when he was home, but since he left, nearly a year ago, she had had no interest in touching the spinet in the drawing room.

The hills became softer and more frequent as she drove inland. Only near the cliffs were the ridges uncompromising. These mounds wore their spring brown of overturned earth ripe for planting. Stone walls wound uneven paths to the horizon. Everything smelled of the fresh rebirth of spring.

Raising her hand high to match the crescendo of the note she sang, she smiled. This was her favorite time of year. With the promise of summer yet to come bringing its many activities, and the bane of the cold weather banished for many months, she could revel in the wealth of color returning to the fields.

She slowed the carriage as she drew even with a wall higher than the ones dividing the farm plots. She paused at the gate as she waited for it to be opened. A plaque riveted to the stones did not draw her eyes. She had seen the words too often. She knew “The Ladies' Aid Society of Foxbridge Orphanage” was banished far from the village so as not to bother the others of the shire. Few wanted to remember the parentless children living in the compound.

“Good afternoon,” she called gaily to the gatekeeper. Like most working at the orphanage, he had been raised here.

He waved to her before reclosing the gate. Once some of the children had run away. Since then, the iron bars had to be secured each time someone entered or left. That precaution troubled her. She could not imagine being caged for any reason.

Mariel stopped the carriage before a huge house, which needed painting. On its ornate scrollwork on the porch, and along the eaves, hung tatters of loose paint. Empty windows on the upper levels contrasted with the ones on the ground floor. There the glass was decorated with many examples of childish artwork. Spring flowers made of colored paper marched in a row along the windows overlooking the broad veranda.

Knocking on the door, she waited for the familiar sound of sharp heels striking the floor. Before the door opened, small arms wrapped around her waist. She laughed as she turned in the embrace and patted unruly blond hair.

“Hello, Rosie,” Mariel said happily. “I thought you would be taking a nap now.”

The child grinned, showing the gap-toothed smile of a five-year-old. “Snuck away, I did. Nurse's busy cleaning up the mess Donny made. He ate too much. I thought I'd see if you were calling today.”

Mariel knelt to bring her eyes even with the petite child's. Rosie was a beautiful child, growing lank out of her toddler form. Like many of the orphans here, she had lost her parents to sickness and alcoholism. Her older brother and sister lived with relatives who could use them to labor on their farms. Rosie was unwanted by everyone. When she was old enough, she would be taught a trade and apprenticed to someone willing to take a chance on an orphan.

“Rosie, go back with the other children!” came a gentle admonition from behind Mariel.

The little girl dipped in a quick curtsy, blew a dirty faced kiss to Mariel, and scurried away like a pert chipmunk racing through the grass. From across the courtyard, they heard the relieved sound of the housemother's voice as she discovered the return of the “lost” child.

“Lady Mariel, you spoil that youngster.”

“It isn't difficult.” She brushed the wrinkles from her gown as she stood. When she met the smile on the moon face of the director of the orphanage, she grinned.

Mrs. Parnell, for all her commanding presence, was nearly as short as her young charges, but rounder than three of them together. She had a lap meant for holding children and a soft voice that could comfort them in the middle of a nightmare. She loved her job, and the children adored her.

“I didn't expect to see you today. Do you want to come in for tea?”

Mariel shook her head. “No, for I have other errands to run. I just wanted to let you know that I have approached the school board about ordering new books for the village children. If they do agree to purchase them, I will make sure the old ones are brought out here for your use. I wish it could be more, but the orphanage board refused to consider such an extravagance as buying books for the children.”

“We will be very pleased with any books you can bring us from the village. The ones we have are in such sorry condition that anything will be an improvement.” She clasped Mariel's hands between her pudgy ones. “Thank you, Lady Mariel, for all you have done for us.”

With a sigh, she repeated, “I wish it could be more.”

Mrs. Parnell started to speak, then changed her mind. “Good day, Lady Mariel.”

“Good day, Mrs. Parnell. I'll let you know as soon as the board has made its decision.”

Mariel stepped down the uneven stairs and began to walk along the brick sidewalk, which clinked with her footsteps as if it was made of metal. When she heard her named called, she turned. “Did you forget something, Mrs. Parnell?”

The orphanage director's usual smile had fled from her face. Quietly, she said, “Let us speak in my office.”

Although she was instantly curious why the woman's voice sounded strained and why she insisted they meet inside, Mariel went back to the porch. She smiled uneasily at Mrs. Parnell, who held the door for her.

Their shoes sounded hollow along the long hall. The scent of cleaning fluid hung in the air. The hall was dim with the small amounts of light filtering past the closed pocket-doors of the formal front rooms. Ostrich feathers decorated a huge decanter near the base of the stairs, which stretched up into the darkness.

Mrs. Parnell motioned toward a chair in her office, which was crowded with paperwork, bags of donated clothes for the children, and everything that could not find a place elsewhere in the main building. She sat at her desk and moved aside two mountainous piles of folders to enable her to see Lady Mariel. For a long moment, she did not say anything.

Mariel did not hurry her. She could tell the orphanage director was composing her thoughts. That they never had difficulty speaking in the past added to her concern about what bothered Mrs. Parnell.

Slowly the gray haired woman opened a folder before her. Without looking up, she said, “I know you have a special interest in Rosie.”

“She's an adorable child.”

“But is she special to you?”

“I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean.” Mariel removed her gloves and draped them on the arm of the chair. She clasped her hands in her lap to maintain her pose of serenity. It was one of the few tricks she had learned gratefully from Phipps. “You know I care for her dearly. Is there some problem?”

Mrs. Parnell cleared her throat while she folded and refolded the edge of the page in front of her. “May I be blunt, my lady?”