In those days, she had laughed merrily at the officers' jokes, blushed winsomely when they paid her compliments and spoken softly, hiding her true thoughts and feelings. Copying Lippy's attitude, along with her gestures and poses, had proven astonishingly effective. She had tried not to think about how tiresome it would be to behave that way for the rest of her life.
But since the debacle with Major Stanley, Marnie had not had the spirit for such games. The Friday after her visit with Doctor Rawson, Marnie was particularly irritable. It was supposed to be springtime, but the weather had turned bleak. It had rained all morning and the drudge of spatters on the roof had continued through the dark afternoon.
She hadn't been able to go outside in days. When she had tried to open the window in her room that morning, Mrs. Jones had slapped her hand away. She hadn't had so much as a breath of fresh air and had been completely unable to concentrate during morning lessons.
When the time for visitation arrived, Marnie sat on one of the plush sofas in the parlour awaiting the arrival of the gentlemen. Marnie knew the conventions of these sessions too well. There would be men she had seen before and men who were new, tall men and short men, broad men and slender men, handsome men and plain men. Some would be polite, and some would be aloof. Some would select one girl and speak to her exclusively, while others would examine every girl in the room as though they were heifers for sale.
Marnie had seen so many military bachelors come into Miss Robin's parlour that, in her mind, they were reduced to types or classes—the handsome but arrogant ones, the kind but plain ones, the brainy but nervous ones. She would sit on the navy sofa—Mrs. Jones insisted it was more becoming on her complexion than the red or cream sofas also positioned about the room—and wait for the visitation period to be over.
When men came to speak to her, as they inevitably did, Marnie could not help but allow her boredom and contempt to show on her face. Often, it had earned her a punishment. But she did not seem able to stop herself.
Marnie had started to wonder whether all men were just the same as these. Dull, self-centred creatures looking for wives, who were soft and pliable and good and sweet.
Soon enough, the familiar sounds started up. There was the rumble of carriages coming up the drive, the sound of the heavy oak door opening and closing, the growing low hum of conversation in the entrance hall.
Then the door to the parlour opened and all the girls and their chaperones stood, waiting for the men to enter.
As her services had grown in popularity and there were more bachelors than ever wishing to visit her Privettes, Miss Robin had recently begun a practice of having each man announced by his name and rank as he entered the room. Marnie examined her fingernails as one of the attendants read out the list of names and men began entering the parlour.
"Colonel Calvin Highley," the attendant called.
Ah, yes. That milksop, thought Marnie.
"Captain Brentley Morgan."
Fat old bore.
"Lieutenant Peter Charles."
Fish breath.
Marnie ignored the droning voice from then on, gazing out the window and wondering when the rain would clear.
"Major James Chance."
Marnie's reverie was broken in an instant. She looked up to catch the major's eye for a fraction of a second before he bowed deeply—so deep, it seemed he was jesting—to the room. There was rain in his chestnut hair and on his shoulders, and Marnie realised immediately that he hadn't taken a carriage. He must have ridden to the academy on his own horse.
When all the men had been announced, Major Chance ignored every other girl and strode immediately to where she was seated.
"There you are," he said, smiling. His smile was at once warm and wolfish. Marnie tried to look cross, but he smelled of rain and horse, of the cool spring air, and it was so pleasing that Marnie was caught completely off-guard. She almost made the grave error of smiling back at him.
"Major Chance, how do you do?" said Mrs. Jones, rising. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mrs. Catherine Jones, and this is my charge—"
"Mrs. Jones. How do you do? Please sit, and don't concern yourself with formalities. Marnie—Miss Stowe—and I, well, we are already acquainted."
Mrs. Jones' eyebrows raised when she realised to whom she was speaking.
"Ah—the rescuer," she said.
"I don't like to boast."
"It isn't boasting if it's true. By all accounts, Major, you saved our dear Marnie from herself. Please accept my gratitude on her behalf."
The major waved Mrs. Jones' thanks away. Marnie felt an increasing sense of irritation. She had never needed saving—she would have been perfectly capable of climbing down by herself!
"It was nothing," Major Chance said.
He was already lifting a padded velvet chair with one arm and dragging it directly before Marnie.
"It's good to see you again, Miss Stowe. Marnie." he said. "Have you been well?"
Marnie simply could not believe that he would dare to speak to her so blithely after the nature of their previous encounter.
"Have I been well?" she said, pulling a face and mimicking him. "Have I been well?"
His eyes danced with mirth. "You look very well, indeed," he said.
"Marnie." Mrs. Jones' voice was laced with warning. "Tread very carefully, my dear."
Marnie's nostrils flared as she battled to keep her temper under control. This man would not see her lose her composure again!
She took a long deep breath and cleared her throat before offering Major Chance a pinched smile.
"Let us begin again," she said. Her voice was thin and high with the effort it took to be pleasant to one whom she found so infuriating. "Good afternoon, Major. I am very well, indeed. How are you?"
"Excellent!" he said. "Though you must forgive my dishevelled appearance. I did so want to ride today, and when I saw the rain, I almost thought better of it. But I can be quite stubborn when it comes to things I want."
He edged his chair a little closer.
"The rain will be wonderful for the garden," said Mrs. Jones. "Don't you agree, Marnie?"
"Quite wonderful," said Marnie, her eyes not leaving the major's face. It would, she had to admit, be a not-so-disagreeable face, if only its owner wasn't so persistently unpleasant. The rich tan of his skin spoke of an active life outdoors. His eyes were bright and frank and mischievous. He kept his chestnut hair shorter than most men would and, obviously, paid less attention to its arrangement—there was no careful parting, no sheen of oil. His nose had a small kink, as though it had been broken before. Marnie could easily imagine how that might have happened. Why, given half a chance, she would gladly knock him down, herself!
"Besides, Bess loves riding in the rain," Major Chance said, oblivious to Marnie's hostility. "It seemed unkind to deny her the opportunity to stretch her legs when I knew how much she would relish it."
"Bess must be your horse?" said Mrs. Jones.
"I suppose you could call her a horse," Major Chance said. "But I think that's not quite adequate. She is the finest lady I ever met, a great beauty, a steadfast travel companion, and the best friend a man could have."
"You are fond of horses?" Marnie's voice lost its forced note. None of the girls at Miss Robin's particularly liked horses, except as subjects for drawing. Some were even scared of them. Her sisters had seen the family's horses as work animals and nothing more. She knew no one who felt about horses the way she did.
He laughed.
"Fond? You could say that. You see, Miss Stowe, I didn't start off as an officer in the military like many of the gentlemen you see here. Most buy their commissions—or they used to. That was never an option for me. I joined as a volunteer cavalryman. I know horses—my family are working people. My father was a farrier, an excellent craftsman, and he was training me to take after him in the trade."
"Really?" said Marnie.
"Truly. But I didn't want to just care for other people's horses. I
wanted my own. And I wanted some excitement. Some adventure. The upper classes, who were our customers, can be—forgive me—incredibly dreary."
"How did you get to be a major without—without—" Mrs. Jones was too polite to ask.
"Without connections, a title, or more than an artisan's meagre wage to my name?"
"Yes," said Marnie. "How did you do that?"
"Simple," said Major Chance. "I knew that for anyone to listen to my pleas about my skills as a horseman and my value to the British military, I would have to prove myself. I went to the places no one wanted to go to do the jobs no one wanted to do. I have been shot, knifed, and in one memorable incident, hung up for two days and two nights in a net while leopards prowled below."
"You are making fun of me," said Marnie.
"Only a little," he said. "They were lions, not leopards. Leopards are climbers. If there had been leopards, I would have been dinner."
Marnie's laugh, her true laugh, was loud, rich and resonant. Major Chance, though a seasoned veteran, started in his chair to hear it.
"How did you get down?" she said, smiling despite herself.
"Some children took pity on me, thank goodness," he said. "They did spend a while throwing rocks at me first, but I suppose I deserved that."
"So how did you come to be an officer?" asked Marnie with her habitual frankness.
"I became accustomed to throwing myself into danger; one day, I saved the right man's arm from being blown off. He asked me what I wanted as a reward and I said to get me out of the volunteers and into the heavy cavalry. He was as good as his word. He even bought Bess for me. And then they brought the changes in, and a man could be promoted without having to purchase his place. So, here I am."
"I should like to see her. Bess, I mean," Marnie said. Her face started to redden immediately when she realised what she had said. "Someday," she added hastily, her face turning scarlet.
"I should be only too happy to introduce you," Major Chance said. "She can be a little difficult at first. She's rather jealous of me, you see, and tends to bite my friends. Not hard—just enough so they know I belong to her. But I have a feeling you two would get along just fine. I would take you to meet her right now, if that were allowed."
Marnie turned to her chaperone.
"Please?" she said. "Oh, Mrs. Jones—please, may I?"
"I must say, Marnie, it's lovely to hear you ask so nicely for something. I suppose there's a first time for everything! But there are strict rules about visitation. Including that no one is permitted to leave the parlour. You know that. As do you, Major," Mrs. Jones said disapprovingly.
"Of course, Mrs. Jones," said the major gallantly. "Please accept my apologies."
But Marnie could not believe her ears. She had not seen Scarlett in more than a year, had not pressed her face to a horse's neck, run her hand along a firm and shining flank, felt the hot breath on her hand. The need for contact with an animal was so strong it was overwhelming.
She stood suddenly and gave the major a sharp look.
"Marnie?" said Mrs. Jones. "Whatever do you think you're doing?"
"I simply cannot stay cooped up in here any longer," she said. "Major, I accept your invitation. Let us go at once."
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," said the major, rising and gently gesturing for Marnie to resume her seat. "But it is not the way things are done here. Another time. Soon."
Marnie was so frustrated, she could have screamed.
"But—"
"Sit down at once, Miss Stowe," said Mrs. Jones.
"I'm afraid you might regret it if you don't," said Major Chance.
Marnie looked from Mrs. Jones to the major and back again. Was everyone quite mad? Insisting she stay inside for no good reason when something that would bring her true happiness was so very tantalisingly close?
"This is ridiculous!" Marnie hissed.
"It's the rules," Major Chance said.
Marnie trembled with the anger that rose up inside her.
"For God's sake—I am so sick of rules!" she cried.
Her voice was loud enough for the whole room to hear.
Marnie's instincts took over. She started to run. She ran to the parlour doors and flung them open. She ran to the front door of the academy, flinging them open and passing through before an attendant could seize her to stop her. She wasn't thinking, only moving. Marnie had reached the bottom of the stone steps and was standing in the driving rain when she was brought to a sudden standstill by Major Chance catching her arm.
"Unhand me! Unhand me at once!"
His voice was calm. He turned her around to face him. The rain plastered Marnie's hair to her forehead, to her neck and shoulders. Her light blue eyes shone with feeling.
"Let me go," she said.
"I shall do no such thing. Not now, not ever."
Marnie didn't stop to ponder what he meant. She pummelled her fists against his chest.
"I will make you let me go! I will find a way!"
"Not likely," the major said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Let me tell you something." Marnie looked up and saw the intent expression in his eyes. Her heart seized. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "I've set my sights on you, Miss Stowe—" he began.
At his warm breath, a shiver of pleasure went through Marnie. But it was closely followed by a jolt of anger—he was still holding her in place. She couldn't move, couldn't run. The frustration was intolerable. A flash of wild anger passed through Marnie's body.
Without thinking about it or what would happen afterwards, Marnie brought her face close to the major's and bit him.
Chapter 4
Marnie stood, wet and shivering, outside the door to Miss Robin's office.
Moments after biting the major on the cheek, she had been seized by attendants, who marched her straight to Miss Robin's door. Without a word of either comfort or censure, they had turned and left. Marnie stood, abashed and shivering, dripping a small wet patch onto the carpet.
Mrs. Jones had appeared, a moment later, and looked darkly at her charge.
"I am going to fetch a towel. We cannot have you ruining the carpet on top of everything else. Do not move from this spot. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, Mrs. Jones," said Marnie through chattering teeth.
Now that the white heat of her rage was abating, Marnie felt genuinely worried about what punishment she would face this time. She wondered—was this worse than the time she destroyed Cassie's cherished toy bird and ruined her gown with paint? She had been caned for that. Surely, there was no punishment worse than the cane?
Marnie remembered her last glimpse of Major Chance. He had brought his hand to his face and was looking at the blood on his fingers, wearing a stunned expression. Her face flamed with shame at the memory. Irritation quickly followed. If he had only left me alone!
Her line of thought was cut off when a strong gust of wind rattled the windowpanes. The draft that entered the corridor was forceful enough to open the door to Miss Robin's office. The door only opened a little, but Marnie distinctly heard a sigh coming from within. Moments later, she heard voices—Miss Robin and a man whom, after glancing inside, she realised was Doctor Rawson.
"Did he give you the man's name?" Miss Robin said.
"I'm afraid not, Miss Robin. Hendricks really didn't want to bother you with it. All he said in the letter was that he had been approached by a young man, a young brigadier, who had been in the East Indies."
"And this man sought Edward out? You're quite sure?"
"Quite sure. This young brigadier was visiting a friend in the Paris hospital where Edward is a resident physician. The brigadier heard that Edward's previous appointment was at your academy and came to ask him about you."
"But what exactly did he say?"
"He said he had a friend—an older man—in the East Indies, who had spoken to him many times of a Miss Robin, for whom he had cared very deeply. It was never just Robin or Miss so-and-so—but always Miss Robin—that's wha
t the man told the young chap. So, this young brigadier thought it strange to hear the name again. He wondered whether it was more than a coincidence."
"What did Edward tell him?"
"What he could. He said that, yes, he was employed at a Miss Robin's Academy. But this young brigadier seemed to be under the impression that his friend's Miss Robin had married—he thought there was a chance she had chosen not to use her married name professionally. At any rate, when he heard that you were unattached, he dismissed the incident as a coincidence."
Marnie heard Miss Robin sigh again.
"You must write to Edward immediately," Doctor Rawson said.
"It might be nothing."
"I know that. I know that, Miss Robin. But goodness me—twenty years of silence and now this—you must at least investigate."
"I understand your feelings on the matter, Doctor. I long for news, just as you do, though I confess to having all but given up hope. But to be frank, I don't know that I could stand the disappointment."
At that moment, Mrs. Jones' tread could be heard in the corridor. The voices in Miss Robin's office fell silent. Soon, a towel was wrapped around Marnie's shoulders. Blast! she thought. She knew she had overheard something not meant for her ears and was intrigued, to say the least—who could the man who was searching for Miss Robin be?
Moments later, Doctor Rawson slipped from the doorway, giving Marnie and Mrs. Jones a curt nod. Mrs. Jones knocked and was ushered into Miss Robin's office.
After several excruciating minutes, Miss Robin opened the door. She stood in the doorway, her expression inscrutable. She looked as she always did, dressed in a crimson gown, her round spectacles perched on her nose, her hair gathered into its customary low chignon. Her appearance was as orderly as ever—the satin-covered buttons that ran from the neck of her gown to the waist were in a perfect, precise line.
"Miss Stowe," said Miss Robin. "You'd better come in."
Mrs. Jones exited the room, dropping a polite curtsey to Miss Robin. Marnie gulped. The news could not be good if Miss Robin wished to speak with her alone.
A Major of Marnie (Miss Robin's Academy Book 3) Page 5