Mariel

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “If you want to know the truth in the cards, come back here tonight. Raoul will explain them to you.”

  “I don’t want to know. Good day, sir.”

  He laughed at her icy manners. “Go, then, my lady. When the darkness falls on you, you will be sorry you did not listen to me.”

  “Raoul!” cried the fortune-teller again. “Do not speak of that. The cards must be unreadable today.” She glanced with a desperate apology to Mariel. “Sometimes they do not speak clearly to me.”

  The man snapped, “What she means is that she is too squeamish to reveal the truth of the tragedy awaiting you, my lady.”

  Suddenly, Mariel laughed. She eased herself away from the man and reached for the door latch. All of this heated talk about what was no more than a joke—she did not want to waste her time with it. The man’s last threat was only half spoken as she shut the door behind her. When she saw Ian waiting at the base of the steps, she held out her hand to him.

  “So, Mariel, what great mysteries have been solved for you?” His smile faded when she did not tease him in the same light tone.

  “She decided not to read the cards for me.” She added, “Can we go home, Ian? I think we have had enough of this carnival today.”

  His eyes swept her face and saw the unhappiness there. Something had happened in the small wagon to upset her. Tales of the future would not have bothered her. She was too prosaic for such flights of bizarre fantasy.

  Rosie barely protested leaving. With her half-melted ice in one hand and her precious flower in the other, she was ready to go home. Before the sounds of the circus disappeared in the distance and the lights were swallowed by the twilight, she fell asleep against Mariel. The flavored water melted stickily on her skirt, but her fingers remained tightly around the blossom.

  Mariel stared into the thickening darkness. She wished they had not gone into the fortune-teller’s wagon. It tainted the memories she would have of this day. Just the suggestion of evil made her uneasy.

  “Why didn’t she read your fortune?” asked Ian as if she had been speaking her thoughts aloud. “Rosie said she was insistent about using the tarot cards.”

  “It was strange,” she admitted, glad to speak her concerns aloud. “At first, the woman could not wait to do the cards. Then she refused, telling me she could not read them today.” She hesitated about adding more. Telling Ian about Raoul’s half-spoken threats would do nothing but cause trouble.

  He put his arm around her shoulders and leaned her head on his shoulder. “What a shame she would not read them for you. Who knows what fabulous things you might have in your future?”

  “Ian, I thought you did not believe in such nonsense!”

  “I don’t.” He chuckled lightly so not to disturb the sleeping child. “I don’t, but it is fun to imagine such was possible. It would have given you such a pleasant remembrance for the day.”

  Suddenly she sat up. “Oh, no! I forgot to get Rosie’s picture.”

  He smiled. “No problem. We can get it after we take Rosie back to the Cloister. Miss Phipps can put her to bed. It will not take long.”

  His words proved true. Miss Phipps bustled out of the house to collect the exhausted child. When she heard about their errand, she said, “I will tell Mrs. Puhle to hold supper for you. Come, child.”

  “Miss Phipps, see my flower?” Mariel heard a sleepy little girl say as Ian urged the horse back toward the gate.

  The road was nearly deserted. They passed a few vehicles on the way home from the circus, but for most of the trip only the night insects and an occasional owl accompanied them. Even when they reached the fairgrounds, the few lights gave the area an uninhabited appearance.

  Before Ian alit from the carriage, the door of the closest wagon opened. A silhouette emerged to disappear momentarily in the night. Only when he was a few steps from them did they identify him as the man who had been taking the pictures. Grateful that he did not have to search for the man, Ian greeted him and told him their reason for returning.

  The photographer nodded. “Of course, I remember the little girl. I was going to stop by Foxbridge Cloister in the morning to see if my lady had forgotten to pick up her picture. It is in my wagon. Reverend, if you wish to come with me …”

  “Mariel, I will be right back.”

  She smiled as she tightened her silk cape around her shoulders. “Do hurry. Phipps will be troublesome if I arrive home too late.”

  With a grin at her mock compliance with her companion’s edicts, he followed the one-eyed man toward his wagon. The moonlight had stripped the caravan of its flashy colors. All of the reds and golds blended into grays.

  She leaned back against the raised top of the buggy. The excuse of coming here to the circus grounds again had allowed her the chance to be alone with Ian without tongues wagging too harshly. She smiled as she wondered what quiet, winding road he would choose to take them back to the Cloister. Certainly they would not go the most direct, shore route.

  “My lady, I see you have decided to accept my invitation.”

  In shock, she opened her eyes to see the impudent smile of the man the fortune-teller had called Raoul. She stared at him, unsure what to say. He leaned across the buggy so that his broad face was too close to hers. She tried to retreat, but he simply laughed. The motion set his golden earrings to bouncing.

  “Come,” he ordered.

  Finding her voice, Mariel stated haughtily, “I can assure you, sir, that I have no intention of going anywhere with you. As soon as Reverend Beckwith-Carter returns with my daughter’s photograph, we are leaving.”

  “He will not return quickly.”

  “Nonsense! He just has to go to the wagon over there.” She pointed to the well-lit glow of the photographer’s wagon. “He will be back any second now. I suggest, sir, you leave before you find yourself in trouble.”

  “You are the one in trouble, Lady Mariel.” His broad hands spanned her waist easily as he lifted her from the buggy. As she opened her mouth to protest, he threatened, “Speak, and you will be sorry. Come, for Nadia will read for you now.”

  Deciding that it would be easier to go through this charade, Mariel sullenly walked with him to the wagon set apart from the others. He opened the door at the top of the steps and bowed her into the tiny room.

  The woman who had worn the veil in the afternoon was now dressed in a loose caftan. Without the cosmetics she wore for her work, she appeared far prettier and gentler. Her long fingers, now devoid of the garish rings, clutched the pack of tarot cards tightly.

  “Lady Mariel,” she whispered as she pointed to the chair opposite her.

  “Nadia, you do not have to do this.”

  She glanced past Mariel. Her dark eyes glowed with fear. Lowering them to the tabletop, she murmured, “I must.” Louder she said, “Think of the cards, Lady Mariel. Think of your life. Concentrate on your dreams. Tell me when the cards are right for you.”

  Mariel could not doubt that the other woman was terrified. Whether of the man standing nearby or of the fate she must read in the cards, she did not know. This had gone on long enough.

  “No!” she said, slapping her hand on the table. “I will not think of that. I do not want you to read the future for me. It is only a game.”

  Raoul pressed her into the chair. “Do as Nadia says, my lady.”

  “You cannot force me!” She bounced out of the chair and was at the door before he could move. Flinging it open, she halted, swallowing a scream as she stared at the smiling face of the photographer. “Move aside, please. I am leaving.”

  He spoke to the others in the wagon in the strange tongue she had heard Raoul use during her first visit to the wagon. His faked smile dimmed as he listened to them. Then he shrugged. What he replied brought peals of cold laughter from Raoul.

  The photographer stepped aside and held out his hand to help Mariel from the vehicle. “Go then, my lady. Remember that you could have been forewarned of the evil surrounding you. Now you will hav
e no choice but to fall victim to the darkness Nadia has seen.”

  “I don’t believe you!” she stated, but with less vehemence than she wanted to project. She looked back at the other woman’s sorrowful face. “Nadia, I do not want to belittle you, but I cannot believe in this.”

  Nadia rushed past the huge man to kneel in the doorway. Her glistening black eyes were level with Mariel’s. “Be careful, my lady,” she whispered. “Whether you believe in the gift of my ability to read the tarot or not, I urge you to be careful. The evil one is within your house now. He wants to steal the light of life from you. More than that, I cannot tell you, for I could not bear to read more of the darkness. Please, my lady, take care.”

  “I—I will,” she heard herself promise. Nadia must feel very strongly about this. This woman would not put on such a performance if she did not give some credence to her own talents. What she meant, Mariel could not guess.

  Raoul growled and dragged Nadia to her feet. Even as he was closing the door, he clearly was berating her in the language they spoke. When Mariel started to step toward the wagon to defend the woman who wanted only to help her, the man who had taken Rosie’s picture took her arm.

  “Do not interfere, my lady. Raoul does not like Nadia to give away the fruits of her sight. He sees her gift as a way to make money.” His teeth glittered in the moonlight. “Do not worry. He will not strike her hard. He knows she must be able to work tomorrow if he is to eat.”

  When he tugged on her arm, she compliantly went back to where Ian was waiting. Telling her farewell, he walked away to blend into the shadows.

  “So you decided to have your fortune told after all?” teased Ian as he assisted her into the buggy.

  She did not answer as he lifted the reins and turned the carriage onto the road. Instead, she slid across the seat to feel the comforting strength of his body close to her. Slipping her hands around his arm, she clutched onto him as if she feared she would be swept away without him to anchor her amid this madness.

  Nothing was said while he drove onto a road leading more indirectly to the Cloister. When he had put more than a mile between them and the fairgrounds, he halted the horse in a pool of moonlight. He turned to look into her shadowed eyes.

  “Tell me, Mariel.”

  This time she revealed everything that had been said during both of her visits to the fortune-teller’s wagon. When she was finished, he drew her to him and kissed her on the forehead. She whispered his name as she felt his mouth hovering close to hers. At its touch, she forgot all her trepidation and remembered only the glory of the feelings Ian brought forth from her.

  As he leaned her back on the buggy seat, she closed her eyes to better savor the caress of his lips searing their path along her neck. His fingers traced rapture among the sequins on her blouse. As they stroked the responsive curve of her breast, she moaned with a longing she could not deny.

  Her hands found their way beneath his coat to the fine lawn of his shirt. The wide strap of his suspenders teased her fingers to push it aside. They clenched on the elastic as his mouth replaced his fingers exploring her through her clothes’ thin fabric. Her body pressed against the lean line of his, demanding satiation.

  Looking down into her face lit by the soft glow from the night sky, he wondered how much longer they could wait to satisfy this craving. Whenever he was away from her, he thought of the enticing shape of her body and the teasing sound of her laugh. At night, he spent hours thrashing in his lonesome bed, infected with desire for her.

  “Mariel?”

  She opened her eyes lazily. Happiness brightened her face as her fingers followed the planes of his whisker harsh cheeks. “What is it? Why are you talking instead of kissing me?”

  “Let me kiss you every night, my love, before I close my eyes.”

  Bafflement furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

  With an irreverent grin, he picked up her left hand and kissed the fourth finger. “Do I need to be less subtle, my love? Marry me, Mariel. I have thought long on it today. I know I want you with me forever. You know we belong together. Marry me.”

  Instead of answering him with the joyous abandon she exhibited when he kissed her, she drew out of his arms. Sitting up, she moved away from him to straighten her blouse. Her hand shook as she lifted her cape over her shoulders again.

  “This is so sudden,” she answered with a triteness she hoped would cover her true emotions.

  “Then think on it,” he urged. “Think on it, and give me your answer soon.”

  She wanted to reply that she could give him her answer now. She could not marry Ian Beckwith-Carter. That she loved him with all her heart changed nothing. She had not needed the woman with her tarot cards to speak of the curse hanging over Foxbridge Cloister. Every day of her life, it had been her constant companion. Never before had it hurt her as much as it did tonight by ripping her dreams from her once again.

  Letting him put his arm around her as he picked up the reins, she tried not to show him the fear within her. She spoke of Rosie and of the circus while they drove to the Cloister, anything but the marriage proposal and the reason she could never reveal why she would never marry him. They drove into the night, which was less dark than the void of horror within her.

  A horror she could share with no one. Not even the man she loved with every ounce of her being.

  Chapter Ten

  Mariel opened the heavy, time-stained door of the pub. She blinked as she tried to adjust her eyes to the dimness of the interior. When the door slammed loudly behind her, all light from the outside world vanished.

  Within seconds, she could see again. Picking her way through the maze of tables and benches, she sought the bar. The woman working there did not hide her surprise when she saw who had entered the Three Georges.

  “Lady Mariel! I—I did not expect to see you here.”

  She smiled politely. No proper lady would enter this place, especially unescorted, but she had business with the owner. “Good morning, Mrs. Gratton. Is your husband here?”

  “Yes. Yes, my lady. He is in the back. One moment please.” The woman scurried away after a respectful half-curtsy in Mariel’s direction. From the room behind the smoke-darkened bar, her voice sounded shrilly as she called to her husband.

  Mariel turned away to hide her amusement. She glanced about the room. She had never seen it before, although she had heard much about the revelry shared here by the men of the shire. A dart board hung on a wall pitted with misfired darts. The huge fieldstone fireplace smelled dank as it sat waiting for the winter.

  “Lady Mariel?”

  She greeted the tavernkeeper. Dressed in his chambray shirt, with black suspenders struggling to hold his trousers around his girth, he appeared far more at ease than at the school board meetings. The men constantly tugged at the unaccustomed stiffness of high stocks and ties while Mariel worked with them to make the school a success. “I told you I would bring this information to you, Mr. Gratton. It took me so long to copy it all. I did get Mr. Knowles and Mr. Jones their copies before the term was completed. I thought they would need the most time to peruse it.” She smiled charmingly at him. “When I spoke to you at the meeting about arranging to bring this to you, I had no idea how much time Rosie would take out of my day.”

  “Thank you,” he replied as she handed him the thick packet. It would take him hours to struggle through just the first few pages of this material. He wondered if he should simply tell her to do as she wished and save himself the trouble.

  “I will see you tomorrow night, then. Good day.” She raised her voice slightly. “Good day, Mrs. Gratton.”

  Walking along the green, she waved to women hanging their freshly washed linens in the summer sunshine. She hesitated as she stepped onto the porch of the parsonage. She wanted to see Ian, but she could not bring herself to tell him what she must. Her distress had kept her awake all night. No answer had appeared with the dawn. Without telling him the essential bit of truth she could not rev
eal, he would never understand why she could not follow her heart into his arms.

  Her knock on the door went unanswered. She frowned in bafflement as she peered into the front window. As she expected, Ian was working furiously at his desk. Lost in his task, he probably had not heard her.

  Knowing it was bold of her, she opened the door and admitted herself. No sounds of industrious preparation came from the kitchen. She stopped by the open door of Ian’s study and rapped lightly on the molding.

  Ian smiled. “Come in. What are you doing in Foxbridge so early on a Monday morning?”

  “I had papers to deliver to Mr. Gratton.” She drew the pins from her hat and placed it on the forest-green chair. “Where is Mrs. Reed?”

  “Her sister is ill, so I sent her to stay with her. I think I can manage alone for a few days.”

  “Nothing serious?”

  He shook his head as he bent again over his work. “No, but her sister is not young. I knew Mrs. Reed was worried, so rather than have her moping around here, I sent her to York until her sister feels better.”

  “Such a sacrifice,” she teased as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and placed her head against his. “What are you working on?”

  “Sunday’s sermon” He peered up at her. “Sometime you should come and hear me.” He swiveled to face her. “I think I will be most inspired this week.”

  Dropping to sit on his lap, she smiled. “You always inspire me, Ian.” When he wrapped his arms around her, she asked, “Why should I come Sunday when I have already been regaled by a private service here?”

  “You do listen well.” He stroked her arm as he said in a more serious voice, “Honey, I think you should attend the services.”

  “Are you worried about my eternal soul?”

  “It is not something to joke about, Mariel.” His hands tightened around her as she scowled. “I know you used to attend every Sunday with your uncle. After he left last time, you have not set foot in the church for Sunday services. Can’t you tell me why? If it was just because you did not like Reverend Tanner, that should not keep you from attending now. After all, you do like me.”