Lord Satan

by Judith Laik

  “He had recovered enough that I no longer checked on him at night.” Neil stared into his glass. “However, one night I awoke with the strong feeling I must go to his room. I tried to persuade myself it was foolish and go back to sleep, but the urgency persisted, so I arose. As I opened the door to Trevor’s room, I saw an intruder.”

  He stood and moved to the fireplace again, unable to remains still as the memory of that night gripped him. “We had discontinued having a servant attending him at night, so no one should have been there. While I watched, the figure neared the bedside. I rushed him and wrenched him backward, away from Trevor. I saw a metallic flash—a knife. He slashed at me, wounding me in the arm, then escaped out the open window. He was out of sight by the time I looked out.

  “My God!” breathed Rayfield. “But who could wish for Cauldreigh’s death?”

  “I haven’t any idea. That’s what confounds me. The obvious answer, what would occur to most everyone, is that it is I.”

  “I fear you are right.”

  “All I could think to do was bring him here, where I can control who can reach him. I brought my own, trusted people to staff The Castle. And I’ve taken steps to ensure that rumors about my evil intentions are circulated afresh.”

  “Good God, Colton, why?” Frowning, Rayfield drained his glass and set it down. “Doesn’t that play into the hands of whoever wants him dead?”

  “I’m hoping he’ll think so. It’s a calculated risk. I believe he counts on my being blamed, so there won’t be any further investigation. I want him to dare another attempt. With all the guards I have set around Trevor, we’ll catch the assailant in the act. The alternative is to wait and hope there won’t be further attempts—and I could not risk that.

  “I came to ask your help in a case. Smugglers who are involved with French spies. But, I see you have your hands full. Let the unit know if you need any help.”

  “I may well have to do so. I’m praying the assassin makes another try soon. Trevor is feeling more like himself, and I can’t keep him confined much longer. If I haven’t caught the blackguard before Trevor’s up and around, I will have to set my friends around him to protect him. I hate to put them at risk, though.”

  “I’ll be in France until we catch the spy, and since you aren’t available, I’ll put Kane on the coast tracking my case from the English side, but Chester and Sir Rodney should be free to help out here.”

  A few years younger than Neil, Lord Chester had risen to an undersecretary in the Home Office. Sir Rodney was attached to the War Office. Both at times worked with Lord Rayfield to root out spies and would be useful if the situation merited. Though Neil’s government duties were more usually tactical ones to ease the military’s way with government, he had occasionally assisted in Rayfield’s task.

  *

  That afternoon the vicar called Libbetty to his study. He laid aside his pen. Papers, no doubt his sermon for next Sunday, spread about untidily on his desk.

  As she stood before him, he said, “It is not your place to greet parishioners beside me.”

  She bowed her head. “I know, Papa. I did not intend to do so. I just somehow found myself standing there.”

  “You must learn to think before you act. That impulsiveness I’ve had occasion to scold you about before will cause you trouble, Elizabeth. I had not planned to introduce you to that man. He is not a proper person for you to know.”

  “How could I have known that? You have never said so,” she replied with logic she thought unarguable.

  He straightened, his face taking on the expression that always made Libbetty tremble. He never physically punished his children, but that somber face wilted resistance from all of them. “I am sure your curiosity, which is much too keen anyway, aroused your interest in the man. No doubt your deplorable practice of listening to unsuitable gossip was responsible for your actions, and what you have heard would have told you that you should not know Lord Neil.”

  “Do you believe he wants his nephew dead, Papa?”

  His face grew red. “That will be enough, Elizabeth.”

  Why would Father refuse to discuss Lord Neil? From the pulpit, he often spoke of resisting Satan’s temptations. What sin could be so terrible that her saintly father feared to speak of it?

  She vividly remembered Lord Neil’s appearance that morning, standing near enough she could have touched him. His dark blue coat fitted across his broad shoulders, snowy linen hugged his neck. His voice, low and deep, gave her a shivery feeling, even in recall.

  He stood a few inches taller than her father, and his eyes—dark gray, not black—reflected amusement, as if he knew what people thought of him and did not care. Her father lectured that the devil frequently hid his evil dealings behind a handsome face. Libbetty shivered.

  Although her father would not discuss the fascinating Lord Neil, others would. Francis and Edwina Hogwood called the next morning. Tom abandoned his studies to join them.

  “We came to hear all about Lord Neil.” Francis’s attire made Libbetty stifle a giggle. He probably thought he presented a splendid sight in buckskins of bright mustard yellow, flowered waistcoat and a bottle-green coat. The combination did not flatter his square figure and clashed with the Bishops’ shabby sofa. Leaning back he clasped his lapels. “What did the man say to your father?”

  Libbetty had brought in tea and some cakes and sat in one of two matching needlepoint-covered chairs.

  Wearing a royal blue riding habit, Edwina already occupied the other chair. She sipped her tea. “It was so clever how you got beside your father after the service,” she breathed. “Did he say anything about Lord Cauldreigh?”

  “Yes, he said Lord Cauldreigh has a recurrent fever. He gets better, then relapses.” Libbetty repeated the entire conversation. It had not amounted to much.

  “Well, he lied when he claimed he wished the marquess to recover,” Edwina declared.

  “The uncle’s style of life shows him to be of bad character. He is a rake and is known for all the high-flyers he always has in keeping—well, one at a time, I mean.” Francis sat forward and reached for one of the cakes, taking a huge bite.

  Libbetty’s face heated, shocked nearly as much by Francis speaking of such things as by Lord Neil’s reputed iniquitous behavior. She glanced to see Edwina’s reaction, but the other girl’s expression was blank.

  “Beware lest you fall into the traps of such hardened lechers.” Francis wagged a finger at the girls.

  I’m safe from such a misfortune. Libbetty’s pledge to Wat Perkins was secret but would become known, as soon as she thought of a way to tell her father. The Coltons could not compare to Wat’s blond handsomeness, not even Lord Neil. Why did she keep thinking of that man?

  Francis took another cake and continued, “The marquess is scarcely any better than his uncle, though he hasn’t had as many years to become steeped in vice. He had a wild career at Cambridge—Lord Cauldreigh that is—and when he was sent down, he embarked on the same sort of life as his uncle in town.

  He—that is Lord Neil—claimed it was to save his nephew from degenerating into libertinism that he bought him a pair of colors, although Cauldreigh has since purchased a higher commission. But how gullible does Lord Neil believe people are? Saying he wished to save his nephew from living his own kind of life!”

  He jerked his head to toss back the mass of brownish hair that flopped into his face. “Everyone knew Lord Neil wished Cauldreigh dead, but he wanted it accomplished some way no blame could attach to himself.”

  Edwina clapped a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. Libbetty gasped and then noticed Francis’ gratified smile at their appalled reaction. Papa would be very displeased to see his two eldest offspring listening to gossip.

  “Poor Lord Cauldreigh,” Edwina said.

  “Oh, well, I suppose he must be quite inured to his uncle’s hatred,” Francis said. “It’s not the first time in his life a relative has shown he didn’t care as he ought. Cauldreigh was scarce more tha
n a babe when his father abandoned him.”

  Libbetty exchanged a glance with Tom at this, and Francis added, “I suppose you never heard that old scandal? It happened years before your family came here, of course. I was only an infant myself, but I’ve heard the villagers talk of it.”

  “What do you mean, ‘abandoned him’?” asked Libbetty.

  “Ran off with another woman, he did, old Cauldreigh’s heir. Left his baby, the present Lord Cauldreigh, and his heartbroken wife. She was just a farmer’s daughter too—the woman he ran off with, that is. She died shortly after that—I mean his wife—leaving the heir to the care of old Cauldreigh. He wanted nothing to do with the babe, and sent him off to his aunt.”

  Again Francis flipped back the persistent lock of hair. “Then, a few months later, news came of Tipton’s death—that’s the marquess’s father. Cauldreigh was an orphan while still a babe.”

  Libbetty squirmed. If even hearing this squalid tale caused her such discomfort, how much worse would it be for the Coltons, the subject? She could imagine her own distress if everything she did was reported all over the village. No wonder the marquess and Lord Neil refused to talk to anyone.

  Then she looked at Edwina’s eyes, glistening with tears, and her quick sympathy went out to her. Mrs. Hogwood had made no secret of her ambitions to see her daughter wed to the marquess. Edwina showed no aversion to the idea. It was understandable that the doings of the Coltons were much on her mind.

  Libbetty had heard some of the same gossip on the lips of several villagers in recent weeks, since word had spread that the Coltons were coming to Cauldreigh Castle for the first time since the old marquess died. It seemed the Hogwoods were not the only ones whose minds were occupied with the wicked Coltons. However, Francis was the only one to recount the old scandal.

  The following Sunday, the marquess returned to church, although still pale.

  Early in the ensuing week, with an air of excitement about them, the Marble sisters called upon Mrs. Bishop. Middle-aged spinsters with an elderly, infirm mother, the Misses Marble were the village’s preeminent purveyors of gossip, and a trial to Libbetty’s upright mother.

  “You’ll never believe what we’ve just heard,” said Miss Marble, once the sisters had tea and almond tarts in their hands.

  “So shocking,” murmured Miss Anemone, the younger sister, closing her eyes as though near to fainting from the scandalous news.

  “Lord Cauldreigh has been confined to his bed again,” Miss Marble took up the tale.

  “Oh, the poor unfortunate man,” Mrs. Bishop said.

  “He suffered a near-fatal accident.” The sisters exchanged glances at this, their eyes nearly popping from their heads. Miss Anemone took a fortifying sip of her tea, then bit into her tart.

  Miss Marble said, “He went to take the air on the roof of The Castle. As he walked upon the parapet, a wave of dizziness made him lean against a coping stone.” She set down her tea and fanned her face with her handkerchief.

  The other sister jumped in. “The stone gave way, falling some fifty feet to the ground. Cauldreigh narrowly escaped following. Between the shock of this near calamity and the return of his fever that brought on the dizziness, the young man once again is in the gravest danger of expiring.” Miss Anemone’s voice faded to a near-whisper.

  The elder Miss Marble took up the tale. “Of course, everyone knows that Lord Neil engineered the mischance somehow. If Lord Cauldreigh survives, we will undoubtedly learn from his own lips how that immoral man tried to kill his own nephew.”

  Libbetty’s mother set her own cup down with a decided rattle. “What nonsense,” she said bluntly. “Reynolds’ parsimony with the marquess’s money and refusal to see to any repairs undoubtedly have caused The Castle to fall to pieces, just as his other properties in Peasebotham have.” Indeed, the villagers well knew that the steward feared facing Lord Neil with reports of needed repairs.

  However, it was equally well known that Mrs. Bishop never spoke ill of anyone. Therefore, her mother’s cautions against jumping to conclusions failed to still the rumor that Lord Neil had made an attempt on Cauldreigh’s life. Wherever Libbetty went during the following days, she heard this version from everyone she encountered.

  Libbetty did not know what to believe. She remembered Lord Neil’s sinister appearance, and doubted his innocence. At the same time, she couldn’t accept the idea of such evil residing in the peaceful village. Her mother’s words lingered, and she determined to withhold judgment.

  Some days later, the younger Hogwoods, Tom, and Libbetty, went riding, Libbetty mounted on a bay mare borrowed from the Hogwoods’ stable.

  As usual, Francis and Tom took the lead. Francis turned about in the saddle and said, “There’s not a doubt, that man should be imprisoned, or sent away where he can’t harm anyone. It’s a disgrace that a person of such high rank—Cauldreigh, I mean—is at the mercy of his uncle’s devilish schemes.”

  Libbetty voiced her doubts. “Really, Francis, if one person wished to kill another, tampering with the stone and trusting that he would fall from the parapet would be an exceedingly stupid way to do it. How could Lord Neil know his nephew would go up there? If anyone did go there, it would more likely be one of the servants.”

  Francis said, “I understand he suggested it—Lord Neil that is. It rained earlier that day, and he claimed the ground would be muddy, suggesting his feet—Cauldreigh’s I mean—would become muddy and lead to a renewal of his fever.”

  “What moonshine. Even if he suggested the roof, how could he ensure the dizzy spell, or the loose stone? As a plan of murder, it leaves as much to chance as the hope of his lordship’s dying in the Peninsula … ” Libbetty stopped, inadvertently pulling on the reins so the mare also halted. She remembered many people’s belief that Lord Neil had purchased Cauldreigh’s army commission and allowed his deployment to the Peninsula for just such a purpose.

  Francis leaped upon Libbetty’s sudden doubts. “Aha! And maybe that’s just what Lord Neil wanted, send him up there and leave the rest to chance, just as in the war. If he’s killed—Cauldreigh that is—he can persuade himself he has nothing on his conscience—I mean Lord Neil—if he even has a conscience, which I doubt. He cannot be charged with murder either, or at least it is highly unlikely. It’s quite perfect.”

  Libbetty looked to Tom and Edwina for help, but their expressions showed her they did not agree with her. They had obviously convinced themselves of Lord Neil’s guilt. Edwina was still enthralled by the thought of capturing Cauldreigh’s interest.

  With Tom, perhaps it only lent some excitement to his daily routine of studying Greek every morning before he was allowed to go out.

  If only Libbetty could be so easily convinced. She kept seeing Lord Neil’s dark eyes as he explained Cauldreigh’s illness to her father. “Well, it wasn’t so perfect if it did not work.” Despite her ineffectual arguments, the rumors were likely true. Her throat burned.

  Tom and Francis raced ahead of the girls. Libbetty was forced to a slower pace to provide escort for Edwina, a cautious horsewoman.

  A bright sun shone, but the ground felt springy underfoot from recent rains. Libbetty breathed in the softly perfumed air, letting it wash away the taint of their discussion. Masses of plum and pear blossoms lent their delicate tints of greenish white and snow white to the flat landscape. It looked like a good crop of fruit would bless the village this harvest season.

  Edwina wore a new habit of a deep cherry color, set off with a dashing hat styled like a hussar’s. “I wonder where the aunt who reared him is now?” the older girl said, bringing up the subject Libbetty thought laid to rest. “She should not sit tamely by while her sister’s son is done to death.”

  “Lord Cauldreigh is a man now, not a little boy. Presumably he is capable of taking care of himself,” Libbetty countered.

  “But he has been ill. What if he did not suspect his uncle previously, and now is too weak to escape? Perhaps Lord Neil is even giving him som
e weakening drug.”

  Libbetty looked at her in dismay. Such a thought had not occurred to her, but it was possible. Perhaps Lord Neil had even given him a drug before sending him up on the parapet. Her heartbeat slowed as she pictured Lord Cauldreigh, lying helpless in his bed.

  “I am going to take action to save Lord Cauldreigh’s life,” said Edwina with an uncharacteristic tone of resolution.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I do not know as yet. I am trying to think of a plan. Will you help me, Libbetty?”

  Fixed with the penetrating gaze from those brown eyes, Libbetty’s own path became clear. She would not help Edwina to trap the Marquess, but she would determine the truth, and then take whatever action that warranted. It would not be easy; she had no idea how to proceed.

  And what if someone was trying to kill the poor young man? The bright day seemed suddenly to grow more shadowed, and she shivered.

  Chapter Two

  The following day, Libbetty set out to call upon her friend. Tom had taken Concobhar, “to shake out the cobwebs in his brain” from studying, as he put it, leaving Libbetty to walk to the Hogwoods’.

  The weather had turned chilly, and Libbetty bundled up in her shabby old Melton cloak and sturdy boots. A weak sun shone, unable to combat the brisk wind. She hurried to escape the gusts that blew her along, her hood pulled up around her face. Branches rustled furiously in the shrubbery enclosing the lane.

  Libbetty wished she could avoid discussing the rescue of Lord Cauldreigh with Edwina. The thought she might end up helping her entrap him gave Libbetty a stomachache However, if danger threatened Lord Cauldreigh, it was her Christian obligation to discover the truth and save him.

  But if Cauldreigh truly were in danger, it had to be from his uncle. Her pace slowed as she pictured Lord Neil at church. Those mocking charcoal eyes, the quirk at the corner of his mouth—oh, she had memorized his features too well. Heat crept into her face. Instinctively hiding the blush, even though no one was around, she ducked her head and dashed forward.