Rebecca (57 page)

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 of 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.

The pubkeeper hurried to speak to the minister, who was rising slowly from the cramped school chair. This way he could avoid the teacher. “Thank you for coming, Reverend Beckwith-Carter. I trust you enjoyed yourself.”

Ian smiled. “Without a doubt. She certainly speaks her mind, doesn't she?”

“Yes!” he snapped. His frustration found an easy outlet with the clergyman. “She comes in here with her strange ideas and thinks she can change what has worked for years. It all comes from allowing women to vote in local elections. As soon as that happened, she convinced some fools to nominate her for the school board. Since her victory at the polls, she has been creating havoc at each meeting.”

With studied nonchalance, Ian asked, “I am sure the election results were close.”

“The first time,” admitted Gratton reluctantly. “She was challenged last winter for a second term and won by a wide margin.”

“You might wish to listen to the opinion of the voters, Mr. Gratton. It may be that only the school board is upset by her so-called newfangled ideas.” He smiled as the man regarded him with shock. Deciding he had made his point, Ian added, “Good evening, sir. I trust I will see you on Sunday.”

Mr. Gratton mumbled something and heard Lady Mariel's lighthearted laugh as she approached. He stepped back to watch while she greeted Reverend Beckwith-Carter. His eyes narrowed when he noted the visible softening of the unyielding edges she presented to the school board. Instantly he knew the new minister would not help them in keeping Lady Mariel from railroading her plans through the school board.

He should have guessed. The pastor was a young man, just the right age to have his head turned by the beautiful Lady Mariel. With a spurt of malicious glee, Mr. Gratton decided it would be gratifying to watch the minister receive his comeuppance. Lady Mariel, in the barkeeper's opinion, was destined to be an old maid. She had turned away too many suitors of wealth and title to be interested in the village parson.

Mariel had no such cold intentions as she smiled at the auburn-haired man who set her heart to beating too rapidly. “Ian, you have met Mr. Jones, haven't you?”

Ian looked at the small man, not much taller than Mariel. Mr. Jones was a pale man with a sallow complexion, nearly colorless blond hair, and drab clothes. Yet when he smiled and extended his hand to the new minister, Ian knew Mr. Jones was a man who loved people and loved his profession. Shaking the proffered hand, Ian said, “It is nice to discover Mariel has one ally on the school board.”

“I am not really a member,” he explained in a voice that seemed incredibly deep for a man of his stature. “I come more as a cheering section for Lady Mariel. In her short term on the board, she has grasped an understanding of the needs of the children which others have not learned during their many years.”

When Mr. Gratton cleared his throat gruffly, Mr. Jones bit his lip to keep from smiling. Mr. Knowles shooed them out of the building, so he could extinguish the lamps. Mariel moved to the steps of the building where she listened as Ian continued his conversation with Mr. Jones.

The other men drifted away into the shadows, leaving the three on the stairs. When Mr. Jones excused himself with the explanation that he had papers to correct for his class, he smiled at the woman waiting with uncharacteristic silence.

“I think we might be able to convince them, Lady Mariel.”

She laughed lightly. “Your suggestion of making it sound as if it was my idea shall work wonderfully.”

“I was sure Knowles would refuse to cooperate,” the teacher explained to Ian. “Then it would be a battle between the two instructors here.”

“By making it seem to be Mariel's idea, you could maintain your working relationship with Knowles.” Ian smiled. “You two have created your idea and sprung it on the others masterfully. I think you will succeed by wearing them down.”

Mariel said, “That is the whole plan. Ian, if—”

“No one will learn of it from me.”

With a chuckle, Mr. Jones bid them a good evening and followed the others toward the far edge of the village. When he had approached Mariel with his concerns, she had understood immediately. Not only did Mr. Jones work with Mr. Knowles, but the two bachelors shared a small house not far from the Three Georges. By reaiming the outrage at her, she protected him.

“Where is your automobile?”

The question drew Mariel out of her thoughts. She smiled when she saw that Ian's eyes were on a level with hers, for he stood on a lower step. “It is recharging. I had to drive out to the orphans' home this afternoon. It refused to cooperate on the way home, but I think it is in good hands now. I hired a mechanic to take care of it.”

He took her hands in his. “I have been anxious to see you, Mariel. I hope we don't always have to part in anger.”

“Ian—”

“No, don't say it. Forget the quarrels we have had. I have to go to the church to retrieve the records book I left there after the wedding Saturday. Do you want to walk with me? Afterward, we can go to the parsonage for another sampling of Mrs. Reed's biscuits.”

Searching his face, she saw the longing, which tormented her. Phipps's words rang in her ears, but she could not see any reason to refuse such a kind invitation. No one would think ill of them for walking to the church.

The thickness of the close air of the building swirled over them as he opened the door. She paused as she stepped into the foyer. When he lit a candle from the box on a nearby stand, she smiled uneasily. More than Phipps's warning, this place forced her to recall proprieties. She held her hands clenched in front of her as he picked up the leather-bound book he needed.

“One other thing,” he murmured as he walked into the sanctuary.

She followed, for she did not want to be alone with her uneasy thoughts. Her hands ran along the backs of the pews until she reached the foremost one on the right side of the aisle. Unlike the others, this pew had a door secured with a lock. So often she had come with her uncle to sit here and try to remain quiet through the sermon. If Reverend Tanner had written ones like the lesson Ian had let her read, he might have held her attention.

“It is always empty,” came a gentle reprimand in a velvet, dark voice.

Mariel turned to see Ian had returned to stand directly behind her. His strong, masculine allure could not be ignored even in the church. She fought her hands which wanted to raise to caress the uncompromising lines of his face. To touch him would be wrong. Her fingers clenched onto the door as she faced him.

“It is reserved for the Wythes,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“Ian, don't start lecturing me, too!”

“Too?” He put his hands on her shoulders to halt her as she was ready to walk back up the aisle. “Mariel, what is wrong?”

She shrugged his hands off her. “Nothing. I just don't like having people telling me what I should or should not do. If you want us to keep from quarreling each time we meet, you must remember that.”

His laugh resounded off the high ceiling of the church, startling her. “I doubt if you will allow me to forget.” He sobered as he said, “I have heard talk that the fire at the Cloister was not accidental.”

Her eyes in the candlelight showed her shock at his sudden alteration in the course of the conversation. Inanely, she said, “That is always said after a fire.”

“But?”

“I don't know, Ian.” Tears of sorrow at the loss of part of her beloved home glittered brightly as she flung out her hands. “Why would anyone want to destroy the Cloister?”

“Do you have any enemies?”

She laughed coldly. “You were at the meeting tonight!”

“Those are adversaries, not enemies. There is a difference.” He refused to let her escape from his hands as they grasped her shoulders again. “Mariel, if it is true that the fire was intentionally set, you must contact the constable. There may be a madman in the Cloister. Who knows what such a person would do next?”

Terror wiped all other emotions from her face. Ian stared at her in disbelief. He had seen Mariel sparkling with happiness and fiery-eyed with rage, but not totally incapacitated like this, quivering in fear. When he asked her to tell him what was wrong, she did not move. Not knowing what else to do, he drew her into his arms.

As her face pressed to his chest, she blindly sought for comfort. Her arms went around him as she buried her eyes against his waistcoat. She did not cry as the unforgotten screams soared through her memory. In the past, she cried, but she learned that nothing could soothe the pain and the impotence, which raced over her when this bolted door in her mind chanced to open.

Ian's broad hands clasped her face and raised it to meet his concerned eyes. She saw a small portion of the pain she felt mirrored in them. The shivers ceased racing through her as she let his silent compassion flow over her. He did not need to speak. She was sure he had no idea what to say. Just knowing that he cared was enough, and more than enough.

“Mariel?”

“I am fine,” she whispered. As she spoke, she knew the words were the truth. The horror had been submerged again to allow her to pretend it had never existed. “I think I will go home now.”