Mariel (31 page)

Like the furniture in her room, and like Foxbridge Cloister itself, Mariel had taken Phipps for granted. She wondered suddenly when her companion had last taken the week of vacation due to her each year, or even a single day, to do something she wished.

“Can I convince you to stay?” Mariel asked in a much more tranquil voice. “All these years you have been waiting to teach me what I need to know of life. I think I may be getting ready to learn.”

“Of course I will stay.” Phipps hugged her quickly before releasing her. Such shows of emotion were not easy for the gray haired woman. “Foxbridge Cloister is my home, and you, Lady Mariel, are my career. It appears I may be successful yet.”

“Thank you.”

“Nonsense.” In her normal voice, she ordered, “Get in bed, and I will bring you a tray. Rosie may eat with you here, if you wish.”

“Of course. That would be wonderful.” A smile warmed Mariel's face.

Listening to the receding sound of Phipps's forceful steps, Mariel obeyed her commands. A sense of peace settled over her. Ian had presented her with a challenge. She would accept. Soon she would be calling on him at the parsonage in the village.

The next morning, Mariel awoke more determined than ever to become independent. She waited with barely concealed impatience while Rosie and Phipps came to entertain her. Dr. Sawyer also visited to check on her, as he did frequently. Pleased with her progress, he did not stay long.

Phipps remained all morning while Rosie ran in and out with her normal exuberant spirits. Mariel did not want to be read to, or to speak of the latest news in the shire and the world. And until she was more sure of herself, she decided no one must know what she planned. When her visitors left to have luncheon in the breakfast room, she knew she had her chance.

It was simpler today to find her way along the stairs. She brought the cane with her that Rosie had found and returned to her. Her hatred of the ivory-capped stick had not lessened, but she would use it if it would help.

Sliding her hand along the wall of the back hall, she found the huge door. Her fingers made short work of the lock. She squeezed through and closed the door behind her. If someone found it unlatched, she hoped they would not follow her.

The reek of the long-extinguished fire remained in the hallway of the old Cloister. It brought images of a more recent fire, but with a shiver, she forced them from her mind. She did not like to remember that the explosion of the automobile might be the last thing she would ever see.

Mariel gritted her teeth as she tightened her grip on the cane. If she could manage to find her way through the maze of the ruined Cloister, she would be able to manage anywhere. She took a step forward. Instantly, she stubbed her toe on a fallen timber. With a moan of pain, she put out her hand to find the wall.

This was not the way. There must be some secret to walking without careening into everything. She had done it all her life without paying attention to what she was doing. Surely she could do it now.

Sliding the cane in front of her, she swept it along the floor to determine where the fallen timber ended. She smiled as her fingers finally understood the clues from the slender shaft. The large wooden beam crossed only half of the open corridor. If she stepped to the left, she could bypass it.

Exultation burst from her lips as she moved forward cautiously. It vanished as she tripped over something she had not noted on the floor. She fought back tears as she felt the dampness of blood on her knees. The cinders and fallen stones were as sharp as jagged slivers of glass.

She forced herself to her feet. Angry determination had replaced her longing to traverse this maze. She wanted to prove to everyone that she could do what she once had found simple. No more pitying ladies were going to call at the parsonage and the Cloister and call her a poor lamb. She was no one's “lamb.” She was Lady Mariel Wythe. It was time everyone relearned that.

Again she let the cane move from side to side, this time near her feet. As cluttered as this ruined building was, she must take it inch by inch. Closing her eyes, she allowed her feet to follow the path suggested by the cane. She concentrated on her task as she tried to recall the habits honed by twenty-six years.

She would do this. She would. The litany became the rhythm of her feet. She did not know how long it would take, but once she could traverse this jumbled mess without falling, she would know she could show Ian he was right. It would not hurt her to admit she was wrong when she ended up the winner.

Chapter Fourteen

Mariel waved aside Walter's half-spoken suggestion that he walk her to the door. This was something she had to do herself. For far longer than she had anticipated, she had practiced just for this moment. Yesterday she had traversed the old Cloister without a mishap. Visiting Ian at the parsonage was her reward. She tried to still the rapid beating of her heart. It had been more than a fortnight since he had left. She hoped it was only stubbornness that had kept him away. The thought of working this hard and discovering he truly did not want to see her again brought a pang of fear.

Placing the cane in front of her, she found the steps to the rectory's front door. Her fingers grasped the railing with the ease of her memory's eye. She was discovering that if she let her body relax, she could do far more than when she struggled to be perfect.

Confidently, she lifted the doorknocker and rapped it lightly against the brass circle on the door. Although she fought to keep herself outwardly serene, her gloved hands tightened on the head of the cane. Everything depended on her reception.

The scent of freshly baking bread billowed over her. A soft gasp of surprise came from the other side of the door. With a smile, Mariel said, “Good day, Mrs. Reed. Is Ian home?”

“Y-y-yes, Lady Mariel. Come in.” Hastily she asked, “Do you need help?”

“I am fine.” Her feet found their way up the last stair and onto the smooth wooden floor, which she knew gleamed with Mrs. Reed's loving care. Reaching up, she pulled the pins from her hat. “If you would call Ian—”

“Mariel!”

She whirled to face him. The aroma of his cologne and the strong soap he used delighted her. A feeling of love coursed through her as she raised her arms to him. Her hat fell to the floor when he drew her into his arms. With her arms around his neck, she pressed her face to his broad chest and savored his closeness.

In a shaky voice, she said, “I decided to be the proper lady and allow my carriage to bring me on my calls today, Ian. Remember? You told me I was to call on you before you would come back to the Cloister.”

“I remember,” he replied, choked by what she had fought to accomplish. The days of waiting to see if she would do as she must had been hell for him. Too often, he found himself at the window, watching for the Foxbridge Cloister carriage. As the weeks passed, he wondered if she understood he wanted only to help her. The words he could not speak he tried to communicate with the loving caress of his hands along her slender back.

“I thought if you weren't too busy, I would practice my conversational techniques on you before I visit Mr. Gratton. I must become current on what was discussed at the school board meeting if I am to attend next week.” She laughed with a return of her malicious humor. “That is, if they haven't closed the school and burned all the books while I have been absent from the meeting.”

“You can't attend next week.”

Her brow furrowed as she stepped back from him. “And why not? Weren't you the one urging me to stop hiding behind the walls of the Cloister? I am continuing with my life, and you say I shouldn't?”

Ian chuckled as he tweaked her nose. When she glared at him, her lips a straight line, he laughed again. “Honey, I didn't say you shouldn't attend the meeting. I said you will not be able to go. I will let Dr. Sawyer explain.”

“Dr. Sawyer? He is here?”

He caught her head between his loving hands as she turned first one way and then the other. “In my study. Mrs. Reed, another cup please.”

“Yes, Reverend.” The satin of her gown whispered as she moved swiftly toward the kitchen.

He placed Mariel's hand on his arm, but she drew it away. “Like this will be easier,” she stated firmly. She put her fingers in his hand in the method she guessed would make walking the easiest.

Ian could not contain his smile as he led her to his study. He was unsure how she would manage in the crowded room. She maneuvered with easy self-confidence. What he had started to teach her, she had been practicing. He glanced at the doctor and grinned as he saw the surprise in Dr. Sawyer's eyes.

“You don't have to look so satisfied,” said Mariel, flashing a grin at the man behind her.

“How—?”

She laughed lightly. “Ian, I do not need my eyes to know exactly how you react.” Her brow wrinkled with concentration before she turned and held out her hand.

“Good day, Dr. Sawyer.”

“Don't tell me. The smell of my pipe.”

“And the alcohol you use to clean your surgical instruments. I am continually amazed at how much more I can perceive with my other senses.” She sat on the edge of the settee. “I remember lying in an empty field with Lorraine and Georgie when we were children. We would close our eyes and discover what we could guess of the world around us. That is how we learned the sweet smell of the honeysuckle drifting on the breeze and how the sun made the air shimmer on our skin.”

Ian said nothing as he sat next to her. Mariel seldom mentioned her sister or her cousin and never so easily. Her hand slid over his, and she smiled as she added, “You need not think I am as mad as Georgie was. There are things I
like
to remember about those years.”

While Mrs. Reed bustled into the crowded room and poured a cup of tea for Lady Mariel, they spoke of gossip from about the countryside. While on his calls, Dr. Sawyer always learned all the latest news in the cottages sprinkled across the rolling hills.

His voice changed nearly imperceptibly as he said, “Mariel, I came to tell Reverend Beckwith-Carter that I finally received an answer from my colleague in London.”

“And?” She took a sip of tea to hide her nervous anticipation.

“He will be able to see you next week. Tuesday is the day he said would be most convenient.”

Carefully, she replaced the bone china cup on its saucer. She put them on the marble-topped table next to her. With her hands shaking so badly, she did not trust them not to drop Ian's best dishes. A strong arm slipped along her back and Ian's hand rested on her shoulder. She knew he would feel her quaking. It was no use to pretend. Each of them knew how important this trip was. Dr. Sawyer admitted there was nothing more he could do for her.

Trying to keep her voice buoyant, she smiled. “Now I understand why you said I would be unable to attend the school-board meeting next week, Ian.” In a more serious tone, she asked, “Do you think the trip will be worthwhile, doctor?”

“I don't know.” The honesty he had shown her throughout her recuperation remained in his voice. “I wish I could promise you Dr. Gillette will work a miracle for you, Mariel, but that is impossible. You wouldn't believe me, even if I did.”

“I'd like to believe you.”

He chuckled. Taking a deep draught on his pipe, he glanced from one young face to the other. Secretly, he wondered who would find it harder to deal with the news if it was not favorable. The reverend could not hide his hopes of finding a cure for Lady Mariel's affliction. At the same time, it appeared the young woman was beginning to accept her handicap.

It pleased him to hear her speaking of returning to her duties in the community. When she had retired to the ancient house behind its high walls, a spark of light had vanished in the shire. Many disagreed with Lady Mariel, many she denounced loudly as incompetents and incapable of a modern thought, but those were the words of respected rivals who harbored a secret admiration of each other. What the residents of the shire had learned in the past month was that they needed their lady to spur them on with her odd ideas. If they did not accept them, at least, her strange notions inspired them to conceive less eccentric plans of their own.

That Lady Mariel appeared here today prepared to tackle the world with the fervor she had lost during her recovery told the doctor she also had been taught a lesson. Her life was in serving others, not herself. If she had been born in a different class, she might have chosen to be a teacher or a nurse. Instead, as the heir to Foxbridge Cloister, she used her influence to bring change to this backward area.

Seeing the others were waiting for him to speak, he pushed aside his thoughts and told them all he could of his friend Lester Gillette. He explained the type of examination the other doctor would perform, adding more than once that this might have changed, for new knowledge continually was augmenting the field of medicine.

“You are going?” he asked quietly.

“Of course!” cried Mariel. “This chance I cannot let pass by. Besides, I would love to go to London. It has been years since I went there with Uncle Wilford.” She asked more quietly, “Ian?”

Mimicking her enthusiasm, he said, “Of course, I am coming! I cannot pass up this chance to go home and visit my family.” He squeezed her shoulders as he regarded her shining face. “I would not miss this for anything at all, Mariel.”

“Neither would I!”

The reek of sunshine on cinders smacked Mariel in the face as she stepped from the carriage. A playful breeze tugged on the brim of her hat, floating the veiling across her face. She checked it quickly to be sure the pins would hold it in place.

When Ian took her hand, she let him lead the way toward the platform. “Eight steps,” he murmured with the ease of the habit they had developed during the whirlwind preparations of the last week.

She counted the stair risers in her head as they slowly walked up to the macadam area where they would wait for the train. A rush of voices burst over them as they stepped out of the tunnel onto the platform. Like a prehistoric monster lurking on the iron rails, the train breathed its gusty heat over them.