The Girl in the Gatehouse (46 page)

Mariah should not have been surprised, but somehow she was. She had thought, perhaps, that Dixon had come to prefer Martin.

“He is a widower, you know,” Dixon continued. “And from what Mrs. Strong says, the first Mrs. Phelps was a happy woman indeed. I don’t doubt he would make a good husband, but . . .”

“But?”

“I . . . I don’t want to leave you, Mariah.”

“Dixon! We’ve talked about this. You mustn’t forgo happiness on my account. You would be very near in the gardener’s cottage, and we have Lizzy now, so we could make do. Though, of course, I should be loath to lose you. . . .” Mariah’s words trailed off as she studied her friend’s wan expression. “That is not the real reason you hesitate, is it?”

Susan Dixon shook her head.

A few moments later, Martin came into the kitchen, face grim. Dixon stiffened and began noisily rearranging pots and kettles.

Martin must have heard, Mariah realized. Perhaps Mr. Phelps had been too excited to keep the news to himself.

Mariah quickly excused herself. Martin’s low, plaintive “Susan. Miss Dixon . . .” followed Mariah into the drawing room.

“You would be a fool to forgo a future with Albert Phelps, with his sunny cottage, secure post, and easygoing ways. If he were not a good man, I wouldn’t say it, but he is. Much as I wish . . . Miss Dixon – ”

The ting and clang of pots and pans finally ceased. Dixon objected, “You were to call me Susan.”

“Perhaps the time for Christian names has passed,” he said, resigned. “I have little to offer you. I haven’t a proper job. Haven’t a home. I haven’t even two hands to offer you.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Well, I do. You deserve better.”

Poor Martin
, Mariah thought, taking herself upstairs. Stoic, noble Martin. What would Dixon do?

Go therefore they must to that knoll,
and through that gate; but the gate was locked.

– Jane Austen,
Mansfield Park

chapter 35

When they had not seen Maggie for three
days
in a row, Dixon became concerned. She had grown quite attached to the little girl over the past few months. And while laundry or kitchen duty sometimes kept Maggie away now and again, the girl always seemed to manage to come by every few days for a visit, a biscuit, or a brief flute lesson with Martin.

Dixon decided she would walk over to Honora House and check on the girl. Lizzy offered to accompany her, saying she knew all the places shy Maggie liked to hide and play. Mariah certainly hoped the little girl had not taken ill.

The thought of illness reminded her of Miss Amy, and Mariah asked the two to check on the Miss Merryweathers while they were there.

Half an hour later, Lizzy ran back through the front door of the gatehouse. Dixon came puffing across the road behind her, arm against her bosom. Mariah had never seen Susan Dixon run and certainly not in such an undignified manner.

“What is it?” Mariah asked Lizzy. “Is it Miss Amy?”

“No, miss.” Lizzy leaned over and rested her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

“Has Maggie taken ill?”

Lizzy shook her head.

Dixon trudged inside. Taking one look at her friend’s ashen face, Mariah’s voice rose in panic. “Dixon?”

Dixon bracketed her side with her hand. “It’s Maggie. . . .” She panted. “Gone.”

“Gone?” Mariah’s heart lurched. “Not . . . dead.”

Dixon shook her head, tears filling her prominent blue eyes. “They have sent her away.”

“What? Where?”

Again Dixon shook her head, still breathing hard. “Mrs. Pitt won’t say.”

“I shall go and speak with her.” Mariah turned and strode to the door.

Dixon caught her arm. “Don’t. For all her patronizing smiles, she is vexed with you.”

“Because I hired Lizzy away from her?”

“That and Captain Prince,” Lizzy said. “She was terrible upset when they found that rope. I heard her say it must have been you and your friends what done it.”

“You think she did this for revenge?” Mariah shook her head, and the realization coated her innards with dread. It was her fault. If only she had not stuck her nose into the welfare of the man on the roof. If only she had been satisfied to warn Lizzy.

“I am so sorry, Miss Dixon,” Mariah said. “So terribly sorry.”

“I don’t blame you, Mariah. I blame that vile woman.”

“Is there nothing to be done?”

A knock sounded on the front door, interrupting them. For a moment no one moved – they simply stared wide-eyed at one another. Then, taking a deep breath, Mariah opened the door.

Her stomach dropped to see Mrs. Pitt standing there, hands folded primly before her, the plume of her hat swaying in the breeze.

“Mrs. Pitt.” Mariah faltered, “We . . . were just speaking of you.”

The matron gave a tightlipped smile. “So I divined through your open window.”

Embarrassment and irritation warmed Mariah’s neck, but Dixon laid a warning hand on her arm.

Mariah stepped back and Mrs. Pitt crossed the threshold. “I shall not stay. I simply came to make a few facts plain to you, Miss Aubrey. I have not been matron for twenty years without learning a few things about controlling the insolent and disobedient.”

Mariah seethed. Only Dixon’s staying hand kept her from lashing out and telling the woman exactly what she thought of her.

“If you had only stolen Miss Barnes, poisoned her against us, I might have overlooked your interference.”

“I will come back, Mrs. Pitt,” Lizzy said, voice high and plaintive. “Just return poor Maggie to us.”

The woman silenced her with a forefinger and a glare. “And why should I want a disloyal chit like you?” She returned her cold eyes to Mariah. “But when you jeopardize my reputation as an effective matron, that I cannot ignore. Honora House is recompensed for the safekeeping of a certain unstable man. If he should have fallen to his death from that window during your friends’ rope stunt, or be seen gallivanting about the parish or even in this particular gatehouse, the board of guardians might very well conclude that I was failing in my duty.” She leaned forward, her gaunt face very near Mariah’s. “And, Miss Aubrey, I
never
fail in my duty.”

Mariah swallowed, barely resisting the urge to step back. “But Captain Prince returned of his own free will.”

“Exactly.” Mrs. Pitt’s thin lips curled in a smug smile. “Which only demonstrates your disregard for the institution and the man’s well-being. He knows what is good for him. There is no other place for a man like that. And should any further attempts be made to . . . disturb him, I am afraid I shall have no choice but to retaliate further.”

A shiver went up Mariah’s spine. “How? What will you do to him?”

“To him? Nothing, so long as the annual stipend is paid. But George Barnes might very well find himself sent to, shall we say, a less hospitable institution, regardless of my son’s misguided affections for his sister. And I should hate to think what a cold winter in the workhouse would do to young George’s cheery plump cheeks.”

Lizzy’s voice was hoarse with tears. “Don’t, missus. Please, I beg of you.”

She ignored Lizzy, her muddy eyes pinning Mariah with venom. “I do hope, Miss Aubrey, that I make myself perfectly clear?”

Not trusting her voice, Mariah merely nodded.

Mrs. Pitt turned on her heel and strode out of the gatehouse.

As soon as Dixon closed the door behind her, Lizzy gave a keening wail, pressing her temples as though to keep her head intact. “Did I not tell you the Pitts were not to be crossed?”

“I am sorry, Lizzy.”

“Why did I listen to you? I should have stayed. Put up with John Pitt’s rovin’ eyes and hands. I must go back. Beg John to persuade her. I’ll do anything to protect George. Anything.”

“Lizzy, don’t. You mustn’t sacrifice yourself. We’ll think of another way.”

Dixon said, “Perhaps someone of influence, like Mr. Prin-Hallsey, might persuade her to tell us where Maggie is.”

Mariah shook her head. “Do you think Hugh Prin-Hallsey would help me after I exposed him as a fraud?”

Dixon frowned in thought. “Perhaps the vicar?”

“You are better acquainted with him than I, but I was under the impression he and Mrs. Pitt were closely allied.”

Dixon blinked rapidly, trying unsuccessfully to keep tears from rolling down her cheeks. “That poor angel. She has already lost so much, everybody who ever loved her. And now to be abandoned again . . . How lonely and confused she must feel.”

Tentatively, Mariah put her hands on her friend’s shoulders and, when Dixon didn’t stiffen, embraced her gently. By now tears were falling down Mariah’s cheeks as well, and Lizzy was sniffling like a child.

Martin shuffled in from plucking their dinner, wiping his hands on a cloth. He looked from one tear-streaked face to another. “What’s all this, then?”

Mariah looked at him over Dixon’s shoulder. “It’s Maggie. They’ve sent her away.”

“What?” His face clouded in shock and grief.

“She may have been sent to another poorhouse,” Lizzy said. “Or worse, a workhouse.”

“She wouldn’t!” Dixon exclaimed, pulling away from Mariah. “Not a defenseless little girl like that.”

Lizzy nodded grimly. “She would.”

“Which workhouse? Did she say?” Martin asked.

“No.” Dixon threw up her hands. “And she refuses to tell us!”

Mariah knew better than to assure Dixon all would be well. For everyone knew what a dire fate the workhouse was. Not only were they hard dismal places more like a prison than a poorhouse, but workhouses were infamous for selling children to textile mills as “pauper apprentices” – cheap labor that basically enslaved a child until she was twenty-one years old. If she lived that long.

Martin strode forward and somehow managed to catch both of Dixon’s flailing hands in his single grasp. “Susan, listen to me. We shall find her. Somehow we shall. Do you hear me?”

Dixon looked at him through her tears, her chin trembling. There were answering tears in his eyes as well. “But how?”

After visiting his parents and his old friend Captain McCulloch, Matthew returned to Windrush Court. He felt like a new man, released from the driving quest to prove himself to Miss Forsythe, her father, his father, and society at large. He had an inkling that Mariah Aubrey thought him worthy just as he was and was eager to see her again. He’d had enough of biding his time.

After a bath and a change of clothes, he went directly to the gatehouse. Mariah met him at the kitchen door, tears streaming down her face. His pulse raced in alarm. How forlorn, how tortured she looked. Instinctively, he opened his arms as he might to his sister. Mariah flew into them, like an exhausted bird coming home to roost, and buried her face against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her trembling body and held her close. “Mariah, what is it? What has happened?”

She lifted her face. “It’s Maggie. Mrs. Pitt has sent her away, and it is all my fault.”

Matthew started. “But why?”

“Because of Lizzy, and Captain Prince.”

Matthew reeled. The woman had sent away that little girl to punish Mariah? Unthinkable! “Did she say as much?”

Mariah nodded and buried her face once more. Gently, he took her shoulders and held her a little from him so he could look at her. Tears pooled in her amber eyes and coursed down her cheeks. His chest ached to see it. He raised his arms and cradled her face in his hands. His thumbs wiped the tears from her cheeks, but they were quickly replaced.

“Dixon cried herself to sleep. You’ve never heard such a desolate sound. My heart broke to hear it. Why did I have to interfere? Why did I not guess what Mrs. Pitt might do? Even Martin wept to hear the news. Martin!”

Matthew knew the man was fond of the child but had not realized how deep the attachment ran. “It is not your fault, Mariah. If anyone is to blame for that stunt, it is my comrades and me. We were the ones who left that rope as evidence for the woman to find.”

“But none of you would ever have known about Captain Prince if I hadn’t seen him, hadn’t told you and Martin, hadn’t asked Mrs. Pitt about him. . . .”