Mariel

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Yes, Lady Mariel,” she answered too politely. That perfectly correct expression disappeared as Rosie flashed a superior smile at her friends while Mariel was turning the automobile to drive through the gate. She crowed with delight, “They all wish they were me!”

  “Because you are riding in the automobile?”

  “No, because I am going home with you.”

  She risked a grin in the child’s direction. “I thought you might want to sleep in the room next to mine instead of in the nursery. The nursery is on the third floor. No one goes up there anymore.” She laughed. “Besides, there is plumbing in a few rooms on the second floor. I don’t want you coming down those steep stairs in the night to find the bathroom.”

  “Bathroom?” The little girl’s eyes widened until Mariel feared they would pop out of her head. “You have bathrooms at Foxbridge Cloister?”

  “We have many things I think you will enjoy,” she promised. “Shall I take you on a tour when we get home?”

  Overwhelmed, Rosie simply nodded. She shyly placed her hand in Mariel’s. With a smile, Mariel urged the automobile faster along the road. For the first time, she believed this could be successful. It had been years since she had experienced this sense of being part of a family. She savored that feeling as she allowed it to soothe some of the pain she could not let anyone see.

  Not even Ian.

  Chapter Five

  Rosie’s eyes grew wide again as Mariel drove the automobile through the front gate of Foxbridge Cloister. On the few occasions when the orphans came into the town of Foxbridge, the little girl had seen the impressive house crouched like a sleeping giant at the edge of the marsh. Only knowing her beloved Lady Mariel lived there kept her from being frightened by the gray monster overlooking the village. Now she would live there. The thought seemed too preposterous to be real.

  She did not fire her normal barrage of questions while Lady Mariel pointed out the various buildings connected to life in the Cloister. The little girl had not guessed so much was hidden behind the walls of the Cloister. It was bigger than the grounds of the orphanage. When the car stopped in its private barn, she found herself frozen to the seat. A man stepped out of the shadows, and she squealed with heartfelt terror.

  Mariel chuckled. “Rosie, this is Walter Collins who tends to my car. Walter, Rosamunde Varney. She will be staying with us at the Cloister for a few weeks.” Taking Rosie by the hand, she withdrew the small bag from behind the seat. “Shall we go up to the Cloister, Rosie?”

  Keeping her eyes on the strange man, the child nodded. She did not like this man who gazed at her so strangely. She risked a glance at Lady Mariel and saw she was still smiling. There must be nothing wrong with this man, because Lady Mariel treated him with kindness. She tried to shake off her instinctive distrust of him, but was glad when they stepped out into the spring sunshine and away from his glowing eyes.

  “Go ahead,” urged Mariel when they paused before a clump of exultantly yellow daffodils. “You may pick one, if you wish. Just don’t take too many of them. The gardeners get cranky if we take all the blossoms. They like to enjoy the beauty of their labors as well.”

  “I think I will leave them,” Rosie said regretfully. “They are so pretty here. If I take one, it will die too quickly.”

  “Shall we come back tomorrow on our way to Foxbridge and see them again?”

  “We are going to Foxbridge tomorrow?” the child asked enthusiastically. “In the automobile?”

  With a smile, Mariel began to walk toward the house. “Tomorrow is a school day. I think it would be best if you attended at the village school.” This was one point Ian had been emphatic on when they discussed Rosie coming to Foxbridge Cloister. He felt the child must be with others her own age instead of imprisoned with only adults at the Cloister.

  “School? Do I have to go to school?”

  “Of course.” She laughed. “Don’t worry about it now. Shall we go inside?”

  Mariel felt Rosie tighten her grip on her hand as they entered the Cloister. Briefly Mariel wondered what it would be like to be entering this impressive house for the first time. She no longer noticed the plastic scallops edging the ceiling or the silk wallcovering glistening in the gas lights.

  Only Phipps and the butler stood in the expansive foyer. Mariel appreciated the thoughtfulness of the staff in not overwhelming the child on her arrival. Calmly, she introduced the two adults to the wide-eyed child.

  “Rosie?” asked Phipps. “What is your full name, child?”

  “Rosamunde Varney, but everyone has always called me Rosie … ma’am.” She added the last as an afterthought.

  “Then that is what we shall call you here also.” Phipps smiled, and her stern demeanor vanished.

  Although she had done all she could to talk Lady Mariel out of involving herself in this crazy plan, Phipps welcomed the idea of a child in Foxbridge Cloister again. In the past year, she had shunted aside her dreams of staying on at the Cloister as the nanny of the children Lady Mariel would have. When the young woman showed no inclinations toward marriage, she had resigned herself to the solitary life of growing old with her charge.

  She followed as Lady Mariel led the child up the stairs. Her lips pursed in disapproval as she saw the woman allow the little girl to touch the stained glass window on the landing. The expression softened as she heard Lady Mariel proudly explain that this was the crest of the Wythe family. She began to smile as Rosie exclaimed over the two wolves holding up the herald flag.

  Phipps was sure neither Lady Mariel nor Mrs. Parnell had paused to consider the impact of this adoption on the community. Lady Mariel was the sole heir to the wealth of the Wythe family. When her uncle died, the Cloister would come to her to be passed on to this orphan.

  As the two raced up the few stairs from the landing to the second floor, the older woman paused by the window. Undimmed by the centuries of sunlight which had passed through its light green glass, the family motto written in Latin wafted on a scarlet banner beneath the flag. Always Prepared, Truth’s Champion, she translated mentally. Phipps often wondered if the creator of that phrase could have guessed Lady Mariel Wythe would embody it four hundred years later. When she heard the giggling from the second floor, she hurried after the others.

  Mariel pointed out the door to her uncle’s now unused rooms and the suite where she slept. Pausing by her door, she opened it. Out burst a dark brown blur. She grasped Muffin’s collar just as he was about to put his nose directly into Rosie’s face. The little girl was staring at the springer spaniel as if he was a monster.

  “Rosie, this is Muffin,” she said as she dragged the dog back from the child. “She’s just enthusiastic. She loves children.”

  Regarding the dog’s brown eyes and the full coat covering its chest, she whispered, “To eat?”

  Mariel laughed and shook her head. “To play with. Do you want me to put her back in my room?”

  “You sleep with her in your room?” she asked incredulously.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.” For some reason that Mariel could not decipher, that fact seemed to change Rosie’s mind. She held out a tentative hand and stroked the dog’s head along the white stripe between its eyes and along its wide nose. Suddenly she grinned. “She’s soft.”

  “Just like butter melting on a muffin.” Mariel chuckled again. “That’s how she got her name. Now would you like to see your room?”

  “Do I have a Muffin, too?”

  Taken aback by the abrupt reversal, Mariel glanced at Phipps. The older woman was trying not to smile at the odd request. Mariel answered honestly, “No, there’s only one Muffin, but I’m sure you can convince her to sleep with you sometimes.”

  Rosie’s smile broadened as she patted the dog before skipping after the others. Opening the heavy door next to hers, Mariel ushered the child into the spacious room. It was a simple room, once a servant’s quarters, but the single room and attached bath would be perfect for Rosie. A chair and a small table
would provide space for school work. Books clustered on the shelves, and a well-used dollhouse waited in one corner beneath a window overlooking the ocean. A jumbled selection of stuffed animals and dolls sat on a chest at one edge of the slightly worn Oriental rug.

  “For me?” cried the little girl. She ran to the tester bed and threw herself on its neat covers.

  Mariel laughed until she heard Phipps’s outwardly outraged sniff. Hating to dampen the child’s excitement, Mariel went to the bed. In a stage whisper, she warned, “We don’t jump on beds with our shoes on, Rosie.” Her voice dropped as she added, “Only with them off, and when Miss Phipps is not around.”

  Rosie giggled, but slid off the now-rumpled bed. Her eyes were caught by the toys, which she had not seen in the first moments of discovering this luxury of having a massive room for her own use. Awed, she approached a doll dressed in a creamy white nightdress. Her fingers reached out to touch the china curls, but hesitated.

  “Go ahead,” urged Mariel when the child looked over her shoulder for permission. “She endured my kisses when I was your age. I think she will enjoy being played with again.”

  Dropping to the floor, the little girl pulled the doll into her lap. Gently she examined every inch of the eyelet gown and the tiny leather shoes. Her face beamed with happiness as she asked, “Can she sleep with me? Can I name her?”

  “Of course. I called her Alice, but you may name her whatever you please.”

  “I like Alice.”

  “I did too.” Mariel sat on the small chair, savoring the joy of having a child in the house again. She pointed to the chest. “She has more clothes in there. Uncle Wilford always had a dress made for her each time he had one made for me.”

  “So you and Alice could be twins?”

  Mariel’s smile vanished. Rosie looked from her suddenly shattered features to the shocked expression on Miss Phipps’s face. Something she had said was horribly wrong, but she could not guess what it was. A wave of homesickness washed over her. At the orphanage, she knew everyone well. She did not have to worry about every word she spoke.

  Struggling to escape the horror such innocent words allowed to run free in her mind, Mariel forced a fake smile on her too-tight lips. “Yes, so we could always look alike.” She took a deep breath. “Phipps will unpack for you. I have some work to do. Why don’t you play here? I will be back in a few minutes.”

  Rosie watched, disconcerted, as the woman walked out of the room without further explanation. Needing to know the truth, she turned to Miss Phipps and asked bluntly, “What did I say wrong?”

  With a sigh, the older woman looked back at the unhappy little girl. She had thought Lady Mariel had put that sorrow behind her, but it appeared the lady simply had fooled everyone into believing she had accepted her past. The truth was not for this youngster on her first day at the Cloister.

  “You said nothing wrong, child,” Phipps assured Rosie quickly. “It is Lady Mariel. Sometimes she is very sad. When she is like that, I think you can help best by giving her a big hug and by not asking any questions.” She absently patted the curls escaping from the uneven braids. Again she sighed and shook herself to break free from the tentacles of the past. “Now, shall we see what you have to wear to supper tonight?”

  With the door to her own rooms closed, Mariel groped for a chair and dropped into it. She hid her face in her hands, and she began to cry as she had not been able to do in many years. Such open words laid bare the wounds which would not heal. She had thought having Rosie here might help, but already it seemed the child would only make things worse.

  Although she had tried to tell herself there was nothing she could have done to change what happened the night Lorraine died, guilt continued to plague her. She should have guessed what would occur and worked to alter it. In retrospect, all the signs of the disaster had been firmly in place weeks before that night.

  Her hands pressed against her ears as she heard the childish screams in her own younger voice. Other sounds of destruction and death ricocheted through her head. She could not close them out, for they came from within the treasury of her memories.

  “Oh, Lorraine, why did you have to say that to him?” she moaned. “Why did you have to teach that rhyme to me?”

  As in the past, there was no answer for any of her heartfelt questions. Only when the last burning tear coursed along her cheek did she raise her head. The shadows crossing the room told her it was nearly time for the evening meal. A surge of present-day guilt washed over her. She had brought Rosie to the Cloister, then abandoned her to Phipps’s care. Hurrying to get ready for the evening meal, she vowed that would not happen again.

  When she knocked on the door of the neighboring room, Phipps answered it. Mariel nodded to her whispered question. She was all right, at least until the next time the horror oozed from the secured vault in her head. She put it from her mind as Rosie ran to her, chattering about the treasures she had found in the toy box. Mariel let the little girl’s joy fill the emptiness in her. She drew the child onto her lap as she laughed with her.

  “So you like this room?” she asked, although Rosie’s glowing face spoke of her happiness.

  “I love it, Lady Mariel!”

  “Why don’t you call me Mariel?”

  Rosie gasped. “Mariel? You want me to call you Mariel?”

  “Only if you want.” Mariel smiled with a shyness she was unaccustomed to feeling. “Maybe later, if everything works well for us, you can call me something else, but for now I thought you might want to call me Mariel.”

  “Yes.” Her head bobbed so hard it appeared as if it might bounce off at any moment. “Yes, M-Mariel!”

  Placing Rosie on the floor, Mariel rose and offered her hand. “Shall we go and explore some other parts of the Cloister? I know you will want to know where the kitchen is. When I was your age, I liked to ‘help’ there. That way I got to sample everything while it was cooking.”

  Rosie giggled as they walked out of the room hand in hand. She had already decided that she wanted to stay with Lady Mariel. No, she corrected herself mentally, simply Mariel. She vowed to try not to bring the sorrowful expression to her friend again.

  Each room they visited Rosie enjoyed more than the previous one. As Mariel expected, she was welcomed royally by Mrs. Puhle. The woman, who always had a sweet for any child who came to the kitchen door, could not hide her delight with having a youngster to spoil again.

  Mariel was laughing at Rosie’s impressions of the house as they entered the solarium. Of all the rooms on the ground floor, this was Mariel’s favorite. Built three steps up from the hallway, the room offered a special haven in the big house. Not that it was cozy. Its ceiling, fifteen feet from the floor, was crisscrossed with heavy beams. A circular iron chandelier accented the ornate metalwork on the arched tops of the tall windows.

  Rosie ran to peer out. She squealed with excitement as she pointed to the gardens and the strip of light at the horizon, gray against the dark sky. No child of the shire could be unaware of the sea. Its rhythms controlled the life of the land by bringing storms and balmy breezes.

  For a moment, time telescoped for Mariel. She saw another little girl running carefree through this room, intent on discovering what mischief the new day would bring. That youngster, with black pigtails flapping against her back, had not learned yet of the sorrow waiting for her in the near future. Then, she had known only the joy of childhood. Rosie brought that happiness back to her.

  Sitting on an oak chair upholstered in the pale green of the Foxbridge crest, Mariel watched as Rosie skipped from window to window. When the child turned to her, she held out her arms. Rosie hesitated for a brief second, then, with a smile, threw herself into Mariel’s embrace.

  “Can we go for a walk? Can we go and see the gardens?”

  “Not tonight, but soon,” Mariel promised. “It is nearly time for dinner. We do not want to be out when Reverend Beckwith-Carter arrives.”

  The child’s face froze into distr
ess. “The minister? He is coming here? Why?”

  Mariel smiled. “I invited Reverend Beckwith-Carter to join us, Rosie. He is eager to meet you.”

  “Will I have to listen to him preach about the orphans’ obligations?”

  “What? Oh, that would have been Reverend Tanner!” Mariel patted the child’s hand as she grimaced with her own recollections of Ian’s pompous predecessor. “Reverend Beckwith-Carter is nothing like that old bore.”

  “Don’t believe her. I am much worse,” came an amused voice from behind them.

  As Mariel stood, Rosie could not miss how her guardian’s eyes glistened with an emotion she did not recognize. She looked from one adult to the other as Mariel greeted the minister pleasantly. Some unseen thread held them together in a sweet caress, although they did not touch.

  “Ian, I did not hear you come in.”

  “I know I’m early. I wanted a chance to talk with your friend before we sit down at the table.” He pulled his eyes from the beautiful woman to look at the scrawny child in the too large dress. Offering his hand, he said, “Hello, Miss Varney.”

  She dipped in a quick curtsy to avoid shaking his hand. She did not want Mariel to tell Mrs. Parnell that Rosie Varney had no manners. A mumbled, “Hello, Reverend Beckwith-Carter,” was barely audible.

  “Reverend Beckwith-Carter?” he repeated with a laugh. “Why don’t you call me Ian, as Mariel does?”

  With a scowl, she realized this man would demand some of the precious time she had with Mariel. Rosie knew too well that this magic might not last forever. She did not want to share the few days she might have at the Cloister. Clasping her hands behind her back, she eyed Reverend Beckwith-Carter suspiciously. She knew what ministers were like. They treated you nicely, then warned you about the need to be grateful to anyone who might give you clothes filled with rips and holes. Every bite she had eaten she must be thankful came from someone more fortunate than she. She did not want to be reminded that Mariel might only be doing her Christian duty. She longed to think her friend welcomed her to Foxbridge Cloister simply because she might care for Rosamunde Varney.