Mariel (15 page)

Ian took the candle and held it over the chasm. “Down there?”

She nodded as she took a studied step back from the edge. Her eyes had begun to bother her again with their strange blurring. Normally heights did not bother her, but today she felt the need to be cautious. Trying to mask her disorientation, she spoke lightly.

“We Wythes have a long history of taking care of our enemies effectively.” She sat down with her back against the wall. The nausea in her stomach eased when she leaned her head on the stones behind her. Drawing her bare feet up, she watched as he peered into the bottomless hole. “Your family, too, if I remember the tale correctly. There was a Beckwith involved.”

“Really?” He walked over to where she sat and lowered himself to the stone floor of the tunnel. Resting his cane over his knees, he drew her closer. “Hero or villain?”

She laughed lightly. The sound sparkled along the tunnel. “What a question! I thought the background of pastors would prove to be without a blemish.” She leaned against his arm, which encircled her shoulders. After a moment of deep thought, she said softly, “I think it was a she, and I think she was a good person.” She paused, battling the lightness of her head to find the strength to speak. He did not hurry her. When she was able to talk again, her words came slower and slower. “To tell you the truth, I don't remember the story too well. Grandmother told it to me. It was about her grandparents. Too long ago to think about.”

Her eyes blinked several times as she looked up into his face. She rubbed them, but nothing cleared the fog in front of her. When Ian put his hand on her cheek, she tilted her head against his chest. She relaxed and let the world spin wildly around her. Resting here with Ian was heavenly. She did not want to move.

He regarded the top of her head placed so trustingly against him. With a yawn even wider than the ones earlier, he bent forward to kiss her hair, which smelled of the sun and salt. As he tried to raise his head, he felt as if weights had been placed on the back of his neck. Closing his eyes, he accepted the inevitable. He was asleep before another thought could form in his head.

Chapter Seven

Mariel felt the cold before anything else. As she fought to open her eyes, she shivered. More than the cold, she felt dampness. Water sprayed her face, and she forced her heavy eyelids open. Darkness, unbroken by any light, surrounded her. Memories of another black night, filled with horror, burst into her mind. Never-forgotten panic swelled through her.

“Help!” she screamed. “Uncle Wilford, help me! Help—”

“Hush, honey,” came a moan not far from her ear. Strong hands caught her flailing arms as she fought off a nonexistent tormenter.

The soft words broke the grip of terror. She whispered in a voice still thick with fear, “Ian? Is that you? What—where are we?”

Gentle fingers touched her face and turned it to where he must be in the ebony darkness. “The tunnel. Don't you remember? You brought me to show me the chasm.”

“I remember,” she answered as memory burst into her head. “What happened?”

His voice grew as chilled as the water as he stated, “That I have no answer to. The last thing I remember is being so tired I could not move.”

“I was dizzy.”

“There must have been something in what we ate. Someone wanted us to fall asleep out here.”

“But why? To ruin our reputations?” She laughed bitterly. “That could not hurt me. Everyone knows the crazy Wythes do as they wish. And you have not been here long enough to gather any enemies.”

He chuckled with more sincerity than he felt. “The wine may simply have been tainted. It weakened us until we slept it off.”

“But who would have done it? Mrs. Puhle packed the basket. It was never out of our sight.”

“It doesn't matter now.” He stood. “It's cold in here. Shall we go?”

“Where?” She did not move. When another pulse of the water splashed against her skirt, she added, “This is a tidal tunnel. Remember? The entrance must be filled with water if it is reaching us here. We won't be going anywhere until the tide goes down.” She reached up to touch his trousers. “Please sit down, Ian. That chasm is so close. We could fall in so easily in this dark.”

With a sigh, he did as she suggested. “We must have been asleep for quite a while. The candle has burned out, so this is the night tide.”

“Damn!” Giggling, she said, “Excuse me, Ian.”

“I've heard worse. What is wrong?”

“My favorite slippers and my new hat were on the blanket on the beach. By this time, some fish is enjoying them.” As he wrapped his arm around her, she laughed lightly. “Go ahead and tell me I shouldn't complain when we are alive.”

His fingers stroked her face. “Why do you expect me to be a saint? I am a man like any other, simply trying to do my best to help this world. In that, I am no different from you with your community work. Do not try to imbue me with such wondrous qualities all the time. I have my faults.”

“I know.”

“You can be very vexing!” he snapped, but he was smiling.

“That I know, too.”

Her laughter faded as she leaned against him again. Whatever had been wrong with their food or drink remained to ache in her stomach. She did not want to be sick in front of Ian, so she fought the distress.

The hours passed slowly as they waited for the water to ebb along the tunnel. In the dampness, they pressed close together to keep warm. They spoke infrequently, but the silence was not uncomfortable. They had passed the point where they must not allow the conversation to falter. It was enough simply to sit quietly and listen to the whisper of the water slipping across the stones.

Whenever the water failed to reach them, they moved closer to the entrance of the tunnel. Ian used his cane to test the depths ahead of them, but no amount of impatience hurried the ebbing of the waves.

The first hint of the end of their vigil was the sparse glitter of moonlight peeking through the top of the crevice. Mariel cheered when she pointed it out to him. Although the light vanished almost immediately, to reappear with the motion of the sea, it meant that soon the water would lower enough for them to escape.

Ian drew her to him and tasted the smile on her lips. He teased, “Are you so happy to be done with our picnic, my dear?”

“It will be memorable.”

“Because of this escapade?”

Her fingers rose to the wilted collar of his shirt. She could feel the layer of salt on the material as her hands clasped behind his neck. Softly she said, “You know I cannot forget this, but it is what we shared on the beach I will remember first when I think of this day.”

“That part we will have to repeat soon.” He lifted her matted hair aside so he could outline the half-shell shape of her ear with his tongue.

Mariel leaned against the wall as her knees threatened to fail her. When he stepped closer, she put her fingers on the back of his head to steer his mouth through the darkness to hers. At her eager gasp of joy, he pressed her tighter between him and the unbending wall. In the soaked dress, every inch of her slender form could be felt through the layers of clinging material.

They parted with a laugh as they were splashed by a wave higher than the others. With his hand on her cheek, he brought her face toward him. In the dim light filtering into the cave, he whispered, “We shall do this again soon.”

“Yes, we—” A shiver raced along her, and she smiled. “But not in this cold water.”

He joined in with her amusement, although he would have preferred to continue kissing her. That she had not complained once about the bone-chilling cold did not surprise him. He guessed the layers of skirts and petticoats she wore would be heavy and uncomfortable hanging from her waist. His own clothes had lost any semblance of their original shape.

Releasing her, he stepped forward cautiously to test the depth of the water. Within a few paces, he paused and called, “I think we can get out now, Mariel. Here!” He extended his hand to her. “Let's try.”

“Good!” She started to raise her skirts in an automatic motion to keep them from the water. Laughing at herself, she dropped them back into the waves. She could see Ian stood up to his knees in the cold blackness. It might be deeper before they reached the exit.

Her grip tightened on his hand as the motion of the water buffeted them. The undertow threatened to pull her feet out from beneath her. More than once, she clutched desperately to Ian as they reeled toward the moonlight. The pressure increased near the crevice.

Ian paused as he measured the tempo of the water. Warning Mariel to move when he gave the signal, he watched for when they would have the least resistance as they attempted to follow the water through the hole.

“Now!”

Mariel did not release his hand as they surged forward on the flow of the ebbing wave. That they were too slow she learned as an incoming one slapped her in the face and against the stones. She swallowed her moan of pain with a bitter dose of salt water. Ignoring her shoulder which had struck the wall, she continued toward the beach.

When they emerged from the waist-high water swirling through the entrance of the tunnel, she was spun into Ian's arms. His victorious exultation was silenced as he kissed her joyously. He started to speak, but they heard shouts far down the beach.

Lanterns glowed on the strand like giant fireflies. When Ian bellowed in the tone he reserved for Sundays, the movement of the lights froze. Exclamations rolled along the water to reach them. Almost instantly they were surrounded by the townspeople who had been searching for them.

At first no one asked what had happened. Warm blankets were placed over their wet clothes. Mariel was swept away from Ian as helpful hands drew her toward the path up the cliff. She peered over her shoulder, but could not see which one he was among the press of the crowd on the strand.

Then everyone around her began pelting her with questions. Kept busy responding, she was able to forget her aching shoulder and her feet sliced by the rocks in the cave. Gentle hands lifted her into a carriage she recognized as one from Foxbridge Cloister. She only had to time to identify the driver as Walter Collins before the door closed and the carriage lurched into motion.

She peered out of the window as they turned in the direction of the Cloister. Another buggy waited for Ian among the scattered vehicles on the marsh grass. Nowhere did she see her automobile. She wanted to ask about it, but realized someone would have mentioned it if there had been trouble. She suspected it had been driven back to the Cloister.

Leaning back against the lush cushions of the carriage, she sighed. Phipps was sure to be outraged, even though their adventure had been accidental. She wondered what Rosie would be thinking. As vehement as the child had been about her not going with Ian, trouble was guaranteed. If only Rosie would relent …

Mariel sighed again. After today, nothing could be the same for her and Ian. The first kiss by the path had forced her to face what she had been fleeing for a month. She could easily love this man she had despised on first meeting. His gentleness, which covered the steely strength he fought to subdue, fascinated her. On the beach, she could dream of happiness. Back among the rest of the world, she wondered if it could be as she wished.

The harsh light of flares penetrated the windows of the carriage as it stopped by the front stairs. Dodsley swung open the carriage door before it had halted completely.

“Lady Mariel!” he cried. Over his shoulder, he shouted, “She is here! Unhurt.”

“Almost,” she answered with a grimace, as he helped her to the ground. She could not stifle a moan when he took her left arm to help her up the stairs. “My shoulder,” she whispered. “I bumped it.”

Moving his hand to her other arm, he assisted her up the steps. He shouted orders for Walter to bring Dr. Sawyer from the village. When she mumbled that the doctor was not necessary, he hushed her with uncharacteristic sternness.

He did not allow her to pause in the foyer, but led her directly up the staircase, which must have lengthened while she was away from the Cloister. She feared they would never reach the top. When the butler spoke to someone, she forced her eyes to leave the floor to meet Phipps.

The reprimand she expected was left unspoken. The older woman quietly urged Dodsley to take Lady Mariel into her rooms without waking Rosie. He assisted her to a chair and watched as she lowered herself into it gingerly.

“I have sent for the doctor, Amanda.”

“Thank you,” Phipps said without taking her eyes from the disheveled woman. “And the reverend?”

Dodsley started. “I didn't think to ask. I can go—”

“He is fine.” The two glanced at Lady Mariel who was cradling her left arm in her right hand. “We were caught in a tidal cave by the high waves. We simply had to wait for the water to come down.”

The gray-haired woman's lips tightened in anger, but she spoke to the butler. “I am sure they will bring him here. The guest room is available for Reverend Beckwith-Carter's use.”

“Yes, Amanda. I will see to it.”

“Try to keep everyone hushed, so the child can sleep.” Her glare riveted on Mariel as she continued, “She had a great deal of difficulty going to sleep tonight, worried as she was. I hope she can rest enough so she does not take ill.”

Dodsley left to do as requested while Phipps went to run water in the tub. Mariel forced herself to her feet to follow. She saw her companion bent over the Dutch tiles, which decorated the claw-footed tub. Dropping the damp blanket on the Grecian vase styled water closet, she began undoing the hooks on the back of her dress. Involuntarily, she gasped as she stretched her aching shoulder.

“Here,” stated Phipps in her most no-nonsense voice, “let me help you with that.” As Mariel turned compliantly, she continued, “You know better than allowing the tides to catch you off-guard, Lady Mariel. There will be much talk about this.”