Barbara Michaels - The Wizard’s Daughter

"Ah, Mr. St. John," Carlton said. "How nice to see you. I hope I have not interrupted some tender exchange of – er – religious exhortation?"

"I was warning Miss Ransom," the vicar said stiffly, "about the performance that went on here last night."

"Oh, was that it? I congratulate you for having the courage to expose yourself to such dreadful dangers."

"That is my duty. I only wish I could persuade Her Grace how dangerous it is."

"For heaven's sake," Carlton exclaimed. "You didn't rant at her and threaten her with hellfire, I hope? If you did -"

"Of course I did not." St. John passed a slender hand across his brow. "I want to help Her Grace. I only wish I knew how to go about it."

"Pray," Carlton suggested, taking a chair and a buttered scone.

"I have," the young vicar replied simply. "And I will return to the church now to pray again. No, thank you, Miss Ransom, I really cannot stay."

His mouth filled with scone, Carlton waved a casual hand in farewell, and the vicar left the room.

"You were very rude," Marianne said. "You drove him away."

"No, not I. It was God who drove him – his God, who is not, I thank Him, mine. Has he seen the Duchess?"

"Yes, and she seemed cheered by his visit."

'Oh, he has his points," Carlton admitted grudgingly. "He is pompous, stupid, priggish, and conceited, but I believe at heart he is sincere. If he were not cursed with those girlish good looks -"

Before Marianne could reply to this outrageous remark the door opened and the vicar's handsome head reappeared.

"I hope he did not hear you," Marianne muttered to Carlton, who merely grinned in an aggravating manner. Aloud she exclaimed, "Have you changed your mind, Mr. St. John? Do have a cup of tea, at least."

The vicar closed the door behind him and came toward her with an air of portentous gravity. "I will return, Miss Ransom, if I can persuade someone else to join me. I met her in the hall and I think I have persuaded her to come in; but I ran ahead to warn you and ask you to welcome her."

"Is it Lady Violet of whom you speak?" Marianne asked eagerly. "Poor lady, this is her house and I am only a guest, she does me a favor by joining me."

"You are an angel of goodness," the young man said, with a look that made Marianne's bones melt. "I will go and fetch her."

He ran out. Marianne turned defiantly to Carlton, expecting some sarcastic comment. She was not disappointed.

"Angel of goodness," he repeated, mimicking the vicar's deep voice with devastating effect. "Good of you to let the lady take tea in her own parlor from her own teapot."

Marianne was saved from a rude reply by the opening of the door. The vicar's tall body towered over the form of a woman so slender and small that she looked like a child playing at dress-up in her mother's clothes. She had very pretty, soft brown hair, which fell loose in a style more appropriate to a young lady than a mother and a widow. Marianne suspected that she wore it so in an attempt to veil her face. That face was turned aside and her hand, toying nervously with a stray lock of hair, further concealed her features.

Marianne rose and curtsied. "It is an honor to meet you, Lady Violet. Not knowing you were coming, I fear I have taken your place. Will you not sit here?"

Her voice was so sweet and her manner so genuinely anxious to please that the rigid little figure in the doorway relaxed and took a few timid steps forward. The vicar beamed approval over her head; even Carlton's eagle glance softened, though Marianne missed this rare sign of approval, so eager was she to make the lady feel at ease.

"Thank you," was the reply, in tones so soft they could scarcely be heard. "Please don't get up; I will sit here." And she indicated a chair as far removed as possible from the window.

"May I pour you a cup of tea?" Marianne asked.

"Thank you."

Carlton had risen too. "May I say how well you are looking, Lady Violet. Have one of these little cakes."

Lady Violet had to lower her hand, which she had kept before her face, in order to take the proffered cake. She had big, expressive brown eyes. They darted rapidly from one face to the next, as if trying to judge the effect of her disfigurement.

Marianne was glad she had been warned. The harelip was more pathetic than terrible, but without some preparation she might have allowed some demonstration of surprise to escape her. The vicar smiled on all and sundry and bounced up and down on his heels, his hands clasped behind him like a proud father watching his child's performance.

The conversation was easy, thanks primarily – Marianne had to admit – to Roger Carlton, who babbled on about the topics of the day. Once Lady Violet actually laughed at one of his jokes. Finally the vicar, who had consumed quite a quantity of tea and sandwiches after all, rose to take his leave.

"This has been a most pleasant meeting. It has been too long since I have seen you, Lady Violet, Now -" he lifted an admonitory finger – "I expect to see you on Sunday. Promise you won't fail me."

A look of terror clouded the lady's fine brown eyes.

"Perhaps," Marianne said quickly, "Lady Violet will be good enough to let me accompany her to church. I don't suppose," she added, with a cold glance at Carlton, "that anyone else in the household will be attending."

"The very thing," St. John exclaimed, with rather excessive enthusiasm. "It is settled then; I look forward to seeing you both."

The door had hardly closed behind him when Lady Violet rose.

"It has been pleasant," she murmured. "Thank you, I must go now – I will see you again -"

She left with a gliding, rapid movement that reminded Marianne of the elusive figure she had seen in the dark hallway.

"That was kindly meant," Carlton said, resuming his seat and taking the last scone. "But it was a mistake. She won't go."

"To church? But why not? It is terrifying to walk down that aisle with all the villagers staring; I thought companionship might make it easier for her. It certainly would be pleasanter for me. My offer was not entirely unselfish."

"I cannot contradict that, since you insist upon it. Good heavens, Miss Ransom, just think a moment; with her sad misfortune, to be seen beside a girl radiant with youthful beauty – why, the contrast is too pitiful."

Marianne felt herself blushing. Did he really think her "radiant"? He had never paid her a compliment before.

And he seemed to regret having done so now, for he went on rapidly, with a self-conscious look, "I know many people with similar difficulties – birthmarks, withered limbs, wens, and so on – some try to hide, others make the best of it and face life with a smile and a jest. Perhaps it is more difficult for a woman who might, but for that, be beautiful."

"You are right," Marianne said, wondering at his perception. "She would be beautiful; she has lovely eyes and skin, beautiful hair, a pretty figure. Life is very sad."

"How profound." Carlton's eyes shone with amusement over the rim of the cup he had raised to his lips.

"I must go to the Duchess," Marianne said coolly.

Curse the man, she thought, stamping up the stairs. Why was he so gentle and sympathetic one moment and so sarcastic the next? It was as if he wanted to win her confidence only so he could make fun of her. He had been so kind with Lady Violet. Was it possible that he could feel…? She must be years older than he, Marianne told herself, not realizing that she was paying Carlton the highest compliment in her power by assuming that Lady Violet's pitiful looks would not affect his feelings.

At least she had finally met the mysterious figure she had seen wandering in the night like a lost soul. She could not believe such a shy, timid woman would play malicious tricks. Cross one off her list of suspects.