“Wonderful. It’s settled then. I will let Alistair know. He is the head groom,” she explained hastily. “You will be reporting to him.”
“Sounds fine.”
Unsure what else to say, she picked up her bag and stepped out of the vehicle. Telling him she would stop to see the groom on the way to the Cloister, she left him inspecting his new responsibility. She smiled, pleased with her decision to hire him. He clearly loved the car as much as she did. No one else on the grounds wanted anything to do with her toy. Phipps was kindest about it, and she called it a “noisy contraption.”
After enduring the head groom’s grumbling about hiring a stranger with no references, Mariel returned to the main house. Dodsley greeted her with surprise as he crossed the foyer on his nightly inspection.
“Are you going to be able to get back to Foxbridge tonight? You are quite late for supper, Lady Mariel,” he said with his usual curiosity about what she did. She knew he never went to sleep before she arrived home safely on the nights of her late meetings at the school.
“The automobile was not cooperative this afternoon. I decided it would be better not to trust it. I am sure Mr. Gratton and the other members of the school board will not be sorry I am a bit late.” She laughed lightly as she placed her hat and veiling on a chair in the hallway. “They probably wish I would not come at all. A quiet meeting would seem like a welcome respite.”
“Would you like a tray, Lady Mariel? It might save you some time.”
She nodded, remembering she had skipped luncheon. “That would be lovely. Have it sent upstairs. I must rush if I want to get to the village this evening. Would you please tell Mrs. Puhle that I hired a new man to work in the stables? He will be taking his meals in the house.”
Although he could not hide his interest, he said only, “Of course, my lady.”
Racing up the stairs to her room, Mariel threw open her door, nearly into Phipps’s face. The older woman frowned at the habitually disheveled appearance of her lady. When she started to reprimand Mariel, her comments were ignored.
“Not now, Phipps. I have to hurry. The automobile malfunctioned.”
“Malfunctioned?” she repeated, aghast. “My lady, are you—?”
Mariel interrupted impatiently, “I am fine. So is the automobile, but it must be recharged tonight, so I will have to take the buggy to Foxbridge. If I don’t hurry, I will miss the meeting.”
“Lady Mariel, I want to talk to you.”
Grabbing a serviceable dress from her wardrobe, she hurried behind her dressing screen. She called from behind it, “Can this discussion wait?”
“I think not.”
A sigh of resignation was lost in the folds of the black satin skirt Mariel drew over her head. She straightened her blouse and tied the sashes at the waistband. As she rounded the screen, she dropped the dress she had been wearing onto the bed. She scowled at her reflection in the mirror and wondered how other women had mastered the skill of always being neat.
When she heard Phipps’s foot tapping impatiently against the floor, Mariel turned. “All right. What did I do wrong now?”
Blue eyes paler than Mariel’s own sparked with the frustration the older woman considered unladylike. Although she had been with Mariel since the girl outgrew the need for a nanny, Mariel had never seen Phipps lose her temper. Not that the gray-haired woman had not been given cause. Mariel had delighted in trying to see how far she could push the limits her companion imposed.
“You know as well as I,” stated Phipps quietly as she sat on the couch by the bed.
“If I knew, I would not have asked!” Mariel failed to understand how anyone could not speak her mind. Counting on her fingers, she went through the misdemeanors Phipps considered major crimes. “You have told me of the evils of going out without a hat and gloves. You have warned me about raising my voice to an incompetent underling, suggesting I teach each gently, as I would a child. You have lectured me on the state of my pink gown, which was ruined while I investigated the damage from the fire. That was this week. Do you want to talk about what we discussed last week?”
Phipps pointed to a chair. “Sit down, Lady Mariel.”
“I am going to be late!”
“Yes, you are going to be late, for you must listen to reason.”
When the young woman ran to answer the knock on the door and thanked the maid who brought the supper tray, Phipps leaned against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. Although she never had told Lady Mariel, she loved her spirited charge as much as if she had been her own child. The candid, warmhearted woman did things Phipps never would have dared, despite the urgings of her sometimes rebellious heart. She never would change Lady Mariel, but she wanted her to learn to question the impulses that could send her on a headlong course with disaster.
Mariel set the tray on a table. Holding up the plate of sandwiches, she asked, “Would you like one, Phipps?”
“Yes, thank you.” She smiled as she selected a roast beef sandwich. It would be difficult not to like her lady, although Mariel let few know the real woman hidden behind the efficient Lady Mariel Wythe. Watching the young woman choose the sandwich she wanted, Phipps said, “I want to talk to you about Reverend Beckwith-Carter.”
“Ian?” She gulped to swallow the unchewed bite of bread and meat in her mouth. When Phipps’s eyebrows arched at her use of Ian’s given name, she lowered her eyes. She had given away too much by her reaction. Unsure how she felt, Mariel did not want to reveal those nascent emotions.
“I understand you took him for a drive in your infernal machine last week.”
“He was interested in how it worked, so I asked him if he wanted to ride in it.” Taking a large drink of tea, she demanded, “Is there anything wrong with being neighborly? You were angry before because I was impolite to him. Am I going to be disciplined for being gracious?”
Phipps sighed and placed her sandwich on the plate between them. “No, Lady Mariel. You are no longer a child. I cannot confine to your room when you misbehave.” She leaned forward and added, “You are a young lady.”
“Not so young.” She smiled. In a good approximation of Reverend Tanner’s officious style of speech, she stated, “My dear Lady Mariel, I daresay you do not see that the days pass you by too quickly. Instead of flitting about the countryside like a flibbertigibbet, you should remember the greatest calling a woman can have. A husband. A family. A hearth, which reflects the serenity she brings to her home.” With an inelegant snort, she added in her own voice, “The old fool!”
“Lady Mariel! Do not try to change the subject.”
“I thought that was the subject.”
“Reverend Beckwith-Carter is the subject.” When she saw Mariel’s face close up to hide the truth, Phipps’s concern grew. “You should not go riding with a man without a chaperone. The automobile is no different from a buggy. A lady has a gentleman call on her at her home if he wishes to court her.”
Rising, Mariel went to the dressing table for a final glance at her appearance. All appetite had vanished. She kept her face hidden as she said, “He has no desire to court me. Very specifically, he told me that we would be friends.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“Fine!” she snapped, already sick of lying to herself and her friend. “Don’t wait up for me. I may be late.”
Mariel threw her cape over her arm and stamped out of the room. She could not speak of this now. As she waited in the foyer for the small buggy to be brought around to the front steps, she glared at the design of tiles on the floor.
Unsatisfied rage billowed through her. First Ian, then the automobile. Now Phipps, and even the Cloister. Everything seemed determined to conspire to change or control her life. She intended to put an end to that tonight. Her life was hers to live alone.
Whether she wished it or not.
Mr. Gratton pounded his gavel on the table which normally served as the teacher’s desk at the front of the small classroom. Staring at the pa
ges in front of her, Mariel hid her involuntary smile. She suspected that the chairman of the school board enjoyed his power when he stood before them each month. In the weeks between the meetings, he ran the pub. Under the watchful eye of his nagging wife, he served ale and enjoyed the conviviality of his patrons. That all changed when he entered this building to oversee his school board.
“Quiet, everyone! Let’s get this meeting underway.” He glared at Mariel, although she was silent. When she merely smiled at him, he scowled. Lady Mariel planned something tonight. That would mean hours of debate about her latest radical idea on how the school should be run.
When he came into the classroom for the meeting, he had seen her by the blackboard talking to Mr. Jones, the upper-level teacher. Mr. Jones was receptive to her ideas, while Mr. Knowles, who taught the younger students, felt she was simply a troublemaker. What she and Mr. Jones had been concocting, Mr. Gratton feared he would learn all too soon.
The door at the back of the room opened. All heads swiveled as Reverend Beckwith-Carter entered and took a seat in the last row. His knees reached higher than the child-sized desktop. He said nothing as he placed his hat on the desk in front of him.
“Reverend, is there something we can do for you?” asked Mr. Gratton.
Ian smiled when his eyes met Mariel’s. As her lips softened to give him the expression he had seen while they walked along the seaside precipice, he forced his attention back to the bulbous chairman. “I was under the impression that these meetings were open to the public.”
“Of course. Of course,” said the chairman quickly. A stray thought entered his head, and he added more enthusiastically, “You know you are always welcome, Reverend.” He did not glare at the perfectly attired lady sitting on his left. Perhaps with the minister here, Lady Mariel would act as she should, instead of voicing her opinion as though she were a man.
He asked for the minutes of the previous meeting to be read. Mr. Jones volunteered to read the pages sent in by the absent secretary. Mr. Stadley’s cow had gone into labor tonight with the usual complications, so no one was surprised to discover him absent.
Throughout the normal, mundane business of the school board, Mariel remained aware of Ian sitting at the back of the room. She kept her head lowered as if the papers in front of her revealed matters of the greatest interest. If she looked up, she was afraid her eyes would stray toward him and display what she must conceal.
She did not understand why he had chosen to attend the meeting. If he wanted to see her, he could have waited until the end of the session. She admitted she did not want him to be here this evening. When she brought up the subject on her mind, Mr. Gratton would not be the only disgruntled boardmember. She was accustomed to this, but she could not guess what Ian would think.
Angrily, she spun her pencil in her fingers. Although Ian invaded her thoughts far too often, she should not allow herself to become overly concerned with his opinion of her. Long ago, she had vowed never to change to suit someone else. It was simply that she wanted him to think well of her. For the first time in her life, another’s opinion of her truly mattered.
That Lady Mariel remained silent startled Mr. Gratton. He had expected some outburst from her immediately. His jovial smile brightened his face as he glanced in the pastor’s direction. If Reverend Beckwith-Carter had this type of settling influence on Lady Mariel, they must discover a way to coerce him to attend each board meeting.
“No old business? Any new business?” He did not pause to take a breath, before adding, “If there is no—”
With a serenity that deceived no one, Mariel interrupted, “I have a question which would be considered new business, Mr. Gratton.”
“Yes, Lady Mariel?” he asked with obvious reluctance.
“I am wondering why there is no money earmarked for the purchase of new textbooks. I know I am not the only one in the community concerned with the appalling condition of the books our children use.”
“Our children,” corrected Mr. Albion, “have used these books for twenty years.”
She smiled at him coolly. More than the head of the school board, this rail-thin man, whose head was covered with sparse gray hairs, abhorred her ideas. He termed each one revolutionary or decadent. Although her voice was not raised, everyone was aware of her disgust with him when she replied.
“I may not have had twelve children attend this school as you have, sir, but I do know that many things have changed in two decades. How do you expect the children of this community to deal with the problems of the approaching twentieth century when they know nothing of the new advances in the second half of this one? If they leave Foxbridge to seek their fortunes in the bigger world, they will be ill-equipped to handle it.”
“We don’t want our children to leave!” he retorted with a sniff.
“But they are. They are going to the cities, to America, to the next town.” She warmed to her topic. With her elbows on the table in a most unladylike pose, she pointed the pencil directly at the four men at the table. “We can offer the children of Foxbridge only one thing: a quality education, which will prepare them for the future. Even if they don’t leave Foxbridge, they will have to deal with outsiders coming here. Do you want your children to be cheated by hucksters who prey on their ignorance?”
When he saw Mr. Jones nodding in eager agreement, Mr. Knowles leapt to his feet. A pompous man, he always reminded Mariel of a posturing blue jay, decked out with brightly colored feathers, but as empty-headed as the squawks coming from his mouth. The buttons on his forest-green waistcoat strained as he took a deep breath to remonstrate with her. She watched with amused fascination, for she considered him a fool in love with the sound of his own voice.
“Now see here, Lady Mariel. It is all right for you to express your ill-thought-out opinions, but I will not have you disparaging the education the children receive in our school. We do the best with the materials at hand.”
“Exactly.” She smiled as her agreement knocked the next words from him. “You do the best with what you have, but think of how much more you could do if you had up-to-date materials for these hungry young minds! They want to learn. I know that, for I have spoken with both your students and their parents. They appreciate what you have done with the shoddy materials you have here, Mr. Knowles.”
He puffed several times, but could think of nothing to say. Glancing at the other members of the board for aid, he found none. They were as startled by her reaction as the teacher was. He dropped back into his chair and stared at the floor, unsure how she had twisted his words to use them to prove her point.
Mr. Jones seconded her argument as he said enthusiastically, “I agree with Lady Mariel. She has shown me some of the literature she has gathered from various textbook publishers. Science books, history books, the classics. Our children could learn about the people of the far-flung countries of the Empire. Who knows what ideas might come from these young minds if they are properly taught?”
“Ideas?” Mr. Albion refused to be intimidated. “Like hers?” He hooked his thumb toward the smiling woman.
“No,” Mariel replied quietly. “New ideas, original ideas, ideas which we in our plodding conventionalism cannot conceive, Mr. Albion.”
He sniffed. “Old ideas were good enough for me and mine.”
“Old ideas are the building blocks for the future.” She glanced around the table. “Or is that what you want to avoid? I can tell you, gentlemen, that the future is coming whether you wish it or not. Hiding like a ferret in a hedgerow will not stop the days from passing. Look at this school. It is an outgrowth of the school my great-great grandmother started with the newfangled ideas she brought with her from America. Would you go back to that time when your children were ignorant of booklearning?”
“Change simply for the sake of change is useless,” stated Albion, but more weakly.
When she agreed with him, the resigned faces of the board grew longer. “Of course, Mr. Albion, but not change for the sake o
f the children of Foxbridge. Who wants to stand and be counted as one willing to deny them the best?”
Mr. Gratton saw no one else was willing to joust verbally with Lady Mariel. Not that he blamed them. The woman was too damn glib! Guiltily he looked at the minister sitting silently at the back of the room. He could not tell what Reverend Beckwith-Carter thought, for his face was emotionless. His hope for an ally dimmed. Reverend Tanner had agreed with the male members of the school board, but had not been able to convince Lady Mariel to seek more ladylike pursuits and leave government to men who knew how to handle it. Rumor had it Reverend Beckwith-Carter had been seen riding with Lady Mariel in that blasted contraption of hers.
As the clock on the wall struck nine, he sighed. He must get back to the Three Georges. “Very well, Lady Mariel. I assume you have this information on the books you wish to purchase, but I must adjourn this meeting because of the late hour. For our next meeting, please have that information, as well as costs, available for us.”
She closed the folder in front of her. Although she had not won the battle tonight, she knew when to accept her small victories and retire gracefully from the contest. “I will send a copy of the information I have to each of you a week before the next meeting. That will give you time to peruse it, so you can be adequately prepared to discuss this.”
Mr. Gratton said quietly, “Thank you, Lady Mariel.” He bristled internally at her easy efficiency. Although she made no suggestions that she could run the board more effectively than he, others had. Loudly and often, he had heard about the fine work Lady Mariel did. It aggravated him more each time. That he liked her despite her outlandish ideas irritated him even more.
Closing the meeting before anyone else could speak, he avoided Mr. Knowles’s eyes. He knew the older teacher wanted to talk to him about this newest twist Lady Mariel was bringing to the board. Until he had a chance to organize his thoughts out of the chaos roiling through his head, he did not want to discuss this with anyone.
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