Traffic was loud along the busy street as they emerged from the cab. Ian told the driver to return in an hour. Taking Mariel’s hand, he walked with her to the door gilded with Dr. Gillette’s name. Beyond they found a flight of stairs leading up into the musty darkness. A skylight lit up dancing motes of dust, which littered the air.
“Ready?” he asked, only half teasing.
“No,” she whispered. “I don’t think I can ever prepare myself for this. I have been waiting so long, but …” Her voice strengthened. “Let’s go.”
A single door opened off the narrow landing. Ian felt Mariel’s fingers tighten on his as they entered the room. A woman sat behind a desk. She rose and came forward to greet them. Her professional smile perfectly matched her understated blouse and black skirt.
“Good afternoon,” she said clearly. “Lady Mariel Wythe?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me, my lady. The doctor has been anxious to see you.”
Mariel smiled tremulously. “I have been anxious for this appointment as well.” When the woman took her arm to lead her into an inner room, Mariel hesitated. “May Ian come, too?”
The secretary motioned for the man to join them. “Of course, Reverend, you may come in. Please make yourselves comfortable. The doctor will be with you in a moment.”
The doctor’s office smelled of camphor and rugs thick with ancient dust. They were seated on a horsehair sofa, which pricked through the fine silk of her gown. Her hands stroked the carved wood of the arm next to her. When she heard a door open, she glanced toward it expectantly.
Instead of speaking to Ian as she expected, Dr. Gillette bent down in front of her. “Lady Mariel Wythe?”
“Yes, sir.”
“May I call you Mariel?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“And you may use your fingers to see me if you wish.” He laughed. “One moment, while I remove my glasses. After one youngster nearly embedded them in the bridge of my nose, I decided I would let you use your imagination for that part.”
With the technique she had learned through trial and error, she ran her fingers lightly over his skin, rough with bristly whiskers. A heavy beard attached to a mustache under his bulbous nose. Wide set eyes matched the fullness of his face. Lips, which tilted up with good humor, moved as she lifted her fingers from them.
“I am no beauty like you, Mariel, but I hope you will have pity on an old man.”
“You aren’t old!” she stated without thinking. “I mean—”
“Go ahead.”
She hesitated, certain he was testing her in some way. Then her usual determination asserted itself. “There are no wrinkles along your skin. Your voice is not tremulous. You bent down here without the creak of bones tightened with arthritis. None of this may mean anything, but I would wager you are not much past thirty.”
A chair scraped across the floor as he sat down in front of her. “Very good, Mariel. I see you have learned to use your other senses well. How long has it been?”
“Nearly two months.”
Dr. Gillette looked at the man sitting next to the lovely woman. His keen eyes noted the way the gentleman wearing the clerical collar gazed at Mariel with a pride he could not hide. Holding out his hand, he said, “I am Dr. Lester Gillette. You are?”
“Ian Beckwith-Carter.” His smile widened as he said, “Mariel is to be my wife.”
“Good. I am glad you are here, Reverend. First I want to examine Mariel. Then I will talk with both of you about your options.” He stood. “Mariel, my examination room is about five steps to your right. The door is closed. If you will go in there, you will find a chair another three steps in front of you. Please wait for me there.”
This time she knew he was testing her. She simply said, “Of course, doctor.” She wondered if she should tell him how she had bungled finding her way about the ballroom at the party. Then she remembered how she had managed on her own in the slums of London. She could find this chair.
His instructions were perfect, and she wondered how often he had given them to patients. When she felt the leather of the chair, she lowered herself into it gracefully. She leaned back against its headrest, deciding it must be like a barber’s chair. She closed her eyes and wondered how she would deal with the prognosis, either good or bad. Her happiness pushed the dreary thoughts from her head.
Uncle Wilford should be home soon after they returned to Foxbridge. He would not protest her plans to marry Ian. Easygoing Uncle Wilford appreciated anyone who would make a decision for him. It had not been that way before Georgie was sent to the insane asylum. That was the last decision she could remember her uncle making, except for which strange corner of the world he wanted to visit next.
She looked forward to having him home again. Since Georgie’s funeral a year ago, he had disappeared totally from Foxbridge Cloister. Perhaps she could convince him to stay. She adored her uncle. She smiled as she wondered what he would think of Rosie. Uncle Wilford had always loved children, and she was sure the little girl would worship him too.
Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard the door close. She turned her face toward the doctor. When she heard his rumble of laughter, she smiled. This test she had passed also.
“Open those pretty blue eyes, Mariel. While I look in them, I want you to tell me exactly what happened to you. Dr. Sawyer sent me his report, but I want to hear your version.”
It was not easy to relive those terrifying moments when she discovered her automobile would not respond to her control. Her voice softened to near silence as she spoke of the horror of the impact and the flash of the explosion before pain and darkness overwhelmed her.
“I see,” he murmured when she finished. “And the pain, is it gone?”
“Yes.”
“Can you see any light?”
She nodded. “Sparkles sometimes in my left eye.”
“Shadows or sunlight?”
“No.”
“I see,” he repeated.
As she had not in weeks, she wished she could look into a person’s face and read their thoughts. Then she realized that hope was foolish. Even if she could see Dr. Gillette’s face, his professional demeanor would hide his opinion.
He took her hand and helped her out of the chair. When his hand shoved on her shoulder, she gasped and stepped backward to keep her balance. He mumbled something to himself, which she was sure he did not intend for her to understand. When he did the same to her other shoulder, she knew he had not intended to be unpleasant. He was checking her in some manner.
After he subjected her to a battery of equally incomprehensible tests, he told her to wait in the outer office. She wondered what he had been hoping to discover and how she had done. As she closed the door, she heard Ian’s cane strike the floor, signaling he was rising.
“I am fine,” she said quietly to his unasked question.
“You were in there so long. What did he say?”
She shook her head as she reached out for him. “Nothing. He told me only to come out here. He wants to talk to both of us.” Her hands rose to caress his cheeks. “Ian, whatever he says, it is all right.”
“Is it truly?”
“Yes, truly,” she replied. “I was wrong to think you wanted to marry me only because you felt sorry for me.”
Ian grinned and gave her loosened curls a tug. “And I thought you refused for the same reason.”
Her reply was halted when they heard the doctor approach. Sitting on the settee, they waited impatiently. Ian held her hand as the doctor sat at his ornately carved oak desk. He doubted whether Dr. Gillette used it for other than times like this. Its top was clean, unlike the cluttered surfaces of the secretary’s office.
“Let me read something to you,” began the doctor. Opening a folder, he read aloud the report from Dr. Sawyer. It discussed the accident and its result before finishing with, “Lester, I would like you to check her. I do not have your expertise in ophthalmology, but I fear Mariel’s ey
es are irreparably damaged. The chances of her regaining her sight I feel are minuscule.” He closed the folder and leaned forward. “Mariel, Reverend Beckwith-Carter, I am afraid I must concur with Dr. Sawyer. There is nothing I can do to help you. I am sorry.”
Mariel nodded numbly. As if she was outside herself, she heard herself say, “I understand, doctor. I expected this. Dr. Sawyer told me not to get my hopes up.”
The doctor glanced at the man by her side as he said to her, “I suggest you have Dr. Sawyer check you regularly. If there is any change, any at all, I want to see you again.” His gaze held Ian’s as he added, “I do not expect there will be.”
Looking from the doctor to Mariel, Ian knew Dr. Gillette was concerned by her lack of reaction to his pronouncement. It did not surprise him. He knew her well enough now to realize that she would not break down before strangers and show the sorrow in her heart. He stood and reached across the desk.
“Thank you, Dr. Gillette, for your time. We are pleased you are this honest with us.” He took Mariel’s hand and brought her to her feet.
“Yes,” she echoed, “thank you, doctor.” She offered her hand unerringly in his direction.
Dr. Gillette found himself the one unnerved as he felt her firm handshake. He had not read them the total of the report. In a private letter attached to it, his friend had told him some of Lady Mariel Wythe’s past history. He wrote of her work for the downtrodden and for the children of her community. The tale of the free-spirited sprite who brightened each room she entered fit with this woman accepting the prognosis he had not wanted to make. As he shook her hand, he wished he could shout that he had been wrong and that she would regain her sight by some miracle.
When the two walked out of his private office, he rose to walk to the window. He watched when they emerged from the ground floor to go to the waiting carriage. The sound of their voices rose to him, but the meaning of their words was muted by the glass. A slow smile moved across his lips as he saw the woman throw her arms around her fiancé and kiss him most inappropriately on the public street. He turned away as they entered the carriage to ride back to their lives, far from his own.
“Mariel?”
“I am fine.”
Ian drew her head back against his shoulder. Looking past her, he watched the fine houses on the streets they traveled. “I understand,” he whispered into her hair.
“I know,” she murmured. She did not want to refute what she had long since learned. Ian could sense what she was feeling, even when she tried to submerge it.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, but it was not uncomfortable. They thought of nothing—they simply stood poised between joy and grief. Although they had dreamed of a different ending today, they would find a way to deal with the truth.
As soon as they entered the house, Ian saw Phipps looking at him. Mariel bent to greet Rosie, and he shook his head sadly. The older woman pressed her handkerchief to her mouth to stop her sob of sorrow. For Phipps, acceptance of the whims of fate did not come easily.
Rosie chatted about the visit they had made to the Tower today. “And did you know they used to cut off people’s heads there?” Her hand swept down on Mariel’s arm. “Just like Mrs. Puhle has the boys cut the heads off the chickens.”
“Amazing!” gasped Mariel with the right amount of astonishment. “Now, why don’t you run off to the kitchen and order tea for three down here and for you and Phipps upstairs.”
“Three?”
“Ian has a friend coming to call.” She wrinkled her nose in faked distaste. “Business. Have tea with Phipps, and then you can dress up for dinner with us. All right?”
The sound of feet racing toward the back of the house gave her the child’s answer. She straightened and brushed her skirt clean of invisible dirt. Taking a deep breath, she turned to Phipps. The smell of her companion’s favorite bath powder always told her where the older woman was.
“It was not what we wanted to hear.”
The sobs Phipps had tried to subjugate escaped. Mumbles of unintelligible words and a quick embrace overwhelmed Mariel before the woman went up the stairs almost as quickly as Rosie had run to the kitchen. Mariel wanted to shout after her. She did not want Phipps to feel so badly about something that could not be changed.
Ian took her hand and led her into the drawing room. “Phipps will be fine.”
“And you?”
He bent to place his lips close to hers. “I, too, will be fine eventually. I do not like the idea of the woman I love suffering.”
“I am not suffering,” she retorted saucily. “I have a wedding to plan after I welcome my uncle home. That sounds wonderful to me.”
“And to me.”
His lips played a resounding melody across her mouth. The sensation of her slender body against him drove all other thoughts from his mind. He wanted only to feel her moving with the love they shared. As he tasted the fragrant moistness of her mouth, her hands clenched on his back.
The soft sound of a throat being cleared separated them. Ian met the embarrassed face of his butler. “Yes, Barbon?”
“Mister—er, Reverend, a friend has arrived to call on you and Lady Mariel. A detective from Scotland Yard, sir.”
“Show him in.”
Detective Nelson held his hat in his hand as he entered the room. He noted the fine wallcoverings accenting the stylish furniture. A large gilt mirror went from floor to ceiling between the two front windows. In it, he could see the reflection of the back of the lovely Lady Mariel. He found it difficult to believe that this beautiful lady had survived the adventures she had described. That all of them could be corroborated added to his admiration of her.
“Good afternoon,” he said quietly. His quick eyes had noticed the soft expression on Lady Mariel’s face and the way her fingers entwined with his friend’s. That Ian had a very strong emotional stake in the abducted woman Nelson had known from the moment Ian had stormed into the cluttered office at the Yard, where Nelson had been trying to finish up a report on his latest case.
Since their early years together in boarding school, the two men had been close friends. While the rest of their schoolmates went on to the more conventional pursuit of wealth, they had chosen these two divergent paths with the same goal of creating peace in the world. Those callings had brought them together again and again.
Mariel heard the distress in Detective Nelson’s voice and said, “Please come in, sir. Ah, here is the tea tray right on time.” She motioned for it to be placed near the settee. “Please sit and tell us what you must. The news will not become better by delaying.”
Flashing Ian a sheepish grin, Nelson did as she ordered. The strict, though congenial, tone of her voice reminded him of a professor who expected continually better work. He admitted she was correct. The news must be told quickly.
It did not take him long to explain the details of the interrogation. Determined to save himself from criminal proceedings, Rupert Muir denounced his sister as the originator of the plan. He repeated again and again that he went along only to help Portia deal with the spirited Lady Mariel Wythe.
“Is that so?” demanded Mariel tightly. Her hands paused in midair as she was reaching for the teapot. “He is lying, sir.”
Nelson nodded, then recalled she could not see him. “I suspected that. Are you prepared to testify to that?”
“Yes, if I must,” she whispered. The idea of retelling that horrible series of events before the public was distasteful to her. Such titillating details would be the meat of headlines for reader-hungry newspapers.
“Good. Of course, it may not come to that point. Already the Muirs have contacted their father’s barrister. He sent a message to expect a call from him first thing tomorrow. They will serve no time,” finished the detective with regret. “With their father’s influence in the present government, they will be released as soon as the senior Mr. Muir puts some pressure on the court. Thank you,” he added as Mariel held out a cup of tea.
�
�Forgive what is splashed on the saucer,” Mariel said lightly. “I am still as inept as a girl in the schoolroom when it comes to pouring tea.”
“It is fine. Not a drop on the saucer.”
She turned to Ian with a private smile, which made Nelson uncomfortable. He felt as if he was intruding on an intimate moment. Glancing down at his tea, he stirred it continuously until Ian spoke.
Breaking his mesmerism as he stared at her lips, which urged him to sample them again, Ian said, “You may not be able to keep them in prison, but I don’t think they’ll try the same trick again. Another woman might not have been as resourceful as Mariel.”
“Or as lucky!” she interjected.
“Not just luck.” Ian smiled with pride as he turned to his friend. “I don’t know if I could have been brave enough to strike out across the trackless waste of London rooftops even being able to see in the moonlight.”
Grimly, she said, “You would have when the only other choice was what awaited me at the end of an hour when Kitty brought back another of her clients. I had suffered enough groping by her heavy-handed patrons to know I did not want to share that disgusting room with one.”
Embarrassed by the topic of which no lady should speak, Nelson adroitly changed the subject. Soon Mariel was listening as the two men shared reminiscences of their school years. She stored the tales away in the special part of her heart she reserved for Ian.
That was the last quiet moment she had during the remainder of their visit to London. Once the announcement was made that she would marry Ian, a round of callers came to offer their congratulations. That most were curious also about her adventures in Southwark they could not hide. She parried their questions by telling them she could not speak of such things while the case was being investigated.
Between those visits and the times they called at the Beckwith-Carter home in Kensington, it seemed as if she had no time to catch her breath. Only in the velvet hours of the night when she rested in Ian’s arms did she have time to dream of the joy yet to come. He came in the hours after the rest of the household slept, and he slipped away before dawn. She did not like the necessity of him sneaking in and out of her room, but she knew once they returned to Foxbridge they would not be together like this until after their wedding.
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