Lord Satan

by Judith Laik

  A fast-moving barrier suddenly blocked her path. Libbetty stumbled back and fell, landing on her backside with a thump that drove the breath from her body. She sat, staring upward, too shocked at first to suck breath into her compressed lungs.

  The great black horse danced above her, hooves inches away from her face. Lord Neil backed him a safe distance away and leaped from the saddle to bend over her.

  “Miss Bishop, are you all right?” His voice shook. Stunned, she gazed at his face, the furrows on his forehead, the worried expression in his eyes…the pinpoints of light that appeared in the blackness surrounding him. Her air-starved body slumped, and then fought to draw a breath.

  Lord Neil yanked her to her feet and clapped her hard on the back. With a whoop she drew in great gobs of precious air, then gasped and coughed.

  The blows on her back stopped, but his hands still grasped her shoulders, and he spoke soft, meaningless words, until her breathing returned to normal.

  Once she had recovered, he scowled. “Good God, don’t you watch where you are going? You should have heard my horse approaching half a mile away.”

  “No.” Her voice came out whispery and hoarse. “I was thinking…” Remembering whom she had been thinking of, her face ignited.

  “I see.” He smirked. He knew. She wished she could disappear. Abruptly his hands dropped away from her shoulders, as if her heat had burned him.

  She felt very cold.

  “Are you sure you will be all right now?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” She shivered, drawing her cloak more closely about her.

  “Then, I’ll be on my way.” With a final, searching look at her, he remounted and rode away.

  Libbetty stood still, watching him as long as the winding lane permitted. She shook, and chills shot through her. Her lungs ached and her throat felt raw. She still could feel the heated imprint of his hands in the places he had touched her.

  She couldn’t face Edwina today.

  She turned toward home.

  The burning in her shoulders lent a sensation of Lord Neil’s presence. Her teeth chattered, and she could not draw enough warmth into herself.

  She had not appeared in a very good light, nearly crashing into Lord Neil’s horse through her inattention, falling so gracelessly, and having the breath knocked out of her. Heat rushed into her face again.

  *

  “It’s monstrous unfair,” Miss Sybille Bassett said in her soft voice as she sipped tea in the Bishops’ drawing room. “Everyone prefers to think we have a murderer in our midst. Lord Neil has never taken any action to justify such belief, beyond letting his nephew go fight in the Peninsula. By that same measure, there must be countless parents, uncles and grandparents who wish their young men dead.”

  Miss Bassett and her sister were the daughters of a retired iron manufacturer. Sybille, the older of the two, was about twenty-five and would have been attractive save for severe smallpox scars which marred her face.

  “Would any young man wish to go back to war when he has fought, seen its horrors, is wounded and ill?” Libbetty asked.

  “Many young men are eager to go fight a war.” Miss Bassett’s eyes flashed emerald and the matching green feathers in her bonnet bobbed.

  “But also, many believe Lord Neil intended his nephew to fall from the castle walls,” Libbetty protested.

  “Did I tell you Papa gave me a puppy?” Miss Irene Bassett’s piping voice put in, her eyes wide.

  Miss Irene was a few years older than Libbetty, but the younger Bassett sister gave the impression of a pretty child with blonde hair and blue eyes. She talked in a childish lisp about subjects of more interest to a girl of ten or twelve years of age than a young lady.

  “It has the softest fur. Papa says I may take it with me when it gets bigger, with a rope around its neck so it doesn’t run away.” Miss Irene hugged an imaginary creature to herself and rocked. “Right now it is so little, and I hold it like this.”

  *

  As the first step in their rescue of Lord Cauldreigh, Libbetty had suggested that go for walks upon Cauldreigh land in an effort to see the young marquess.

  Edwina vetoed that plan and suggested that they ride instead. “Several pleasant paths within the borders provide an excuse if needed. Perhaps we may discover the state of Lord Cauldreigh’s health, and gain an acquaintance with him should his health permit him to go outdoors,” Edwina had said. “I do not think any penalties would be imposed upon young ladies caught trespassing.

  Libbetty had not even given a thought to trespassing. She, her brothers, and Alonso had often traipsed through the Cauldreigh woods in their younger days. The old gamekeeper that had watched over the woods had died not long after the old marquess and no one had replaced him. The woods had become overgrown and a perfect site for their games of Robin Hood or King Arthur.

  When Edwina offered the loan of a horse from the Hogwood stable, Libbetty would not turn down an opportunity to ride. She too seldom had access to Tom’s horse Concobhar.

  The day of their first excursion Edwina arrived with a groom who led a horse for Libbetty to ride in case Tom took Concobhar. Once arriving at the manse, Edwina dismissed the company of Zack, the groom. “Stay here and await our return.”

  Once she and Libbetty had started out, she explained, “Servants are such gossips, you know. I don’t want him talking to others about where we ride.”

  The young ladies set out straightaway for Cauldreigh land, meeting Sybille Bassett by chance shortly after starting from the vicarage. The iron manufacturer’s daughter rode a handsome gray hunter, with her groom some distance back. Libbetty thought Miss Bassett made an attractive picture in a stylish forest green habit.

  “Where are you riding?” Miss Bassett asked.

  “No place in particular,” Edwina said discouragingly. “In fact, I developed a headache and we were about to go back home.” She turned her horse about, away from the older woman.

  Hurt flashed across Sybille’s scarred face. For a moment Libbetty halted, undecided whether to follow Edwina or offer comfort to Miss Bassett. Miss Bassett herself decided the matter. “Good day, Miss Bishop,” she said crisply, riding away.

  Libbetty hurried to catch up to Edwina, an easy matter given her slow pace. “Edwina! You should not have slighted Miss Bassett. I am sure you hurt her feelings.”

  The other girl shrugged. “What else could I have done? Her groom was there and you know how servants gossip. Besides, can you picture her helping us save Lord Cauldreigh? She undoubtedly would ruin everything.”

  “You don’t know that. I don’t think she has many friends.”

  “Of course I feel sorry for her, Libbetty.” Edwina’s face twisted with distress. “If you like, we shall invite her to ride with us after we save Lord Cauldreigh. But his welfare, indeed his very life, is at stake. We must keep our goal in mind.”

  At the edge of the woods, the girls sat their horses, gazing at Cauldreigh Castle. From here, it looked desolate, a medieval ruin. A place where an enchanted prince might be held prisoner.

  “How are we ever to meet Lord Cauldreigh?” Edwina frowned. “If he does not leave The Castle, it is hopeless.”

  “I am sure he will come out sooner or later.” Libbetty spoke in a bracing tone.

  Edwina turned her horse about. “What if he doesn’t? What shall we do, Libbetty?” Her voice quavered. “Mama will never stop harassing me until I have become acquainted with Lord Cauldreigh.” A sob broke from her. She made a pitiful picture, slumped in the saddle, tears shining in her eyes.

  Libbetty urged her horse forward. “Don’t give up hope. We shall keep riding in the woods and trust he’ll appear. Although, I believe we must find a way into The Castle.”

  “I could not do such a thing.” Edwina’s face went white. “What if we were caught?”

  Libbetty took a deep breath, a picture forming in her mind of encountering Lord Neil inside The Castle. The vision of those near-black eyes glaring at her almost
made her give up the idea.

  She steeled her resolve. “No one else seems willing to try to save Lord Cauldreigh’s life. We cannot sit by and make no attempt to help him.”

  “Well, perhaps we may ask Francis and Tom to help us. I would not be so frightened with them accompanying us.”

  “No, we cannot ask them, Edwina.”

  “Why not?”

  Libbetty shook her head. “You can see why not.”

  “Well, I do not.”

  “Francis is all talk. I don’t believe he can be counted on if we run into difficulty. We would more likely come to grief with his help than by ourselves.”

  In fact, Tom had once or twice attempted to invite Francis to take part in some game or rig with the other boys and Libbetty, and he had always backed out at the last minute. Libbetty rather doubted Edwina was made of sterner stuff than Francis, but she claimed to wish to help Lord Cauldreigh.

  Edwina’s silence tacitly admitted the truth about Francis’s character. “Well, what about Tom?” she said finally.

  “Surely you know why we cannot ask him.” Edwina’s blank face annoyed Libbetty. “He has a tendre for you. You cannot ask him to help you in your efforts to attach another man.”

  “Really, Libbetty, you refine too much on Tom’s feelings. He merely has a case of calf-love. He will fall out of love again.”

  “Perhaps he will. But in the meantime it would hurt him if you used him in that way, and I won’t participate in it.”

  “How do you propose we sneak into The Castle?” Edwina’s voice had an edge, as if she had taken offense at Libbetty’s words. Well, so be it. Libbetty must do her all to protect Tom.

  “I’ll think of something… . Wait! Maybe I can think of a way.”

  Edwina relaxed at Libbetty’s renewed enthusiasm. “What do you have planned?”

  “No, I am not going to tell you yet. My plan involves another person who may refuse to participate. If so, it is better that you not know,” Libbetty said, forcing a patient tone into her voice and suppressing her exasperation with Edwina.

  She and Edwina neared the vicarage, putting an end to Edwina’s attempts to wring details of Libbetty’s plan from her.

  The sound of thundering hoof beats broke into Libbetty’s thoughts, and she looked up to see Tom spurring Concobhar toward them, a huge grin on his face. “Libbetty!” he shouted.

  Francis followed, his face also alight with animation, unusual for him.

  “Guess what?” Tom burst out, pulling Concobhar to a halt before Libbetty. The chestnut danced nervously. “Rose Farm has its new tenant, and you cannot imagine who it is.”

  Recent renovations to Rose Farm had caused considerable speculation in Peasebotham. The farm, a few miles from town, had stood empty during the seven years since Libbetty’s father had been appointed to the living in Peasebotham, and had fallen into disrepair. The laborers and craftsmen hired to set the farm to rights in recent days seemed not to know anything about the new owner.

  Libbetty had sensed uneasiness among the villagers when they discussed Rose Farm. With a curiosity she had expected would never be satisfied, she wondered whether a tragic event connected with the place accounted for its abandonment.

  “It’s a woman named Mrs. Whitelow,” Tom continued knowingly.

  Libbetty glanced at Edwina, who gazed back at her with a puzzled frown. “What of it, Tom?” Libbetty asked. Was Mrs. Whitelow some beautiful young woman?

  “She is the widow of a wealthy American merchant,” he went on, stretching out the suspense.

  “Tom,” Francis said, “I don’t think we ought to tell the girls.” His forelock flopped onto his face, concealing his eyes, as he ducked his head. Francis’ horse reflected his rider’s discomfiture, sidestepping uneasily.

  “Really, Francis, you cannot rouse our curiosity like that and leave us without satisfying it,” exclaimed Edwina. She pinched her lips together.

  Nearly at the same time, Tom said, “They will come to hear of it sooner or later, and you told the girls of the old scandal in the first place.”

  “I think I ought not to have,” the older boy said. “It’s not at all the thing.”

  Libbetty tried to pluck from her memory some scandal of which Francis might have spoken, but could think of nothing. A fly buzzed around her, and her horse flicked its tail.

  Teasing her with a hint, Tom said, “Mrs. Whitelow’s maiden name was Maude Rose.”

  “Oh!” Edwina blushed.

  “So, Rose Farm was named for a person, not a flower,” Libbetty said.

  “Precisely.” Tom’s eyes lighted with mischief.

  “What’s the mystery?” Libbetty asked. “Maude Whitelow probably lived at the farm before her marriage.” She gathered the reins, prepared to bow out of Tom’s game.

  “She’s the one who ran away with the marquess’s father!” A wide grin split Tom’s face.

  Edwina snorted. “How dared she come back?”

  “Mayhap she thought the scandal would have faded by now, since it’s been almost twenty years. She must have inherited the house and wanted to return to her girlhood home.” Tom’s eyes still sparkled with excitement, although the others had progressed to varying degrees of embarrassment. “What say we all ride over there, see if we can see anything of the woman?”

  “We can’t take the girls there,” Francis said, shocked.

  “No!” Edwina shuddered. “When I think of all the suffering that woman caused, I never want to lay eyes on her. I am going home.” She stared at Libbetty, a silent command to dismount and give the horse to Zack to lead home.

  “Well, what about you, Libbetty? Aren’t you curious to see the woman?” Tom asked.

  She shifted in the sidesaddle and looked around at their faces—Tom’s eager, Francis’s ready to be persuaded, Edwina’s angry. “No, I’m sure it would not be proper.” She was tempted, though, to see what such a woman would look like.

  “Come, Lib, you used to be game for anything,” Tom coaxed.

  She might have allowed him to convince her, but Edwina spun her horse away, calling Zack to follow.

  “Wait,” Libbetty said, starting to dismount.

  “I can bring the horse back home if you wish to come with us,” offered Francis.

  Libbetty paused. Edwina waited for her to make up her mind. Zack came to her side to help her down. Several feet away, the groom’s mount snorted and stamped its feet. Libbetty said, “The horses have already been ridden enough for today.” She dismounted and glanced at Tom, who had already accepted her refusal and appeared eager to be off.

  “Go without me, Tom. I should see how Mama does anyway.” Mrs. Bishop had recently confided that she expected a new baby in the fall, and needed extra help from Libbetty to manage her duties about the home and the parish.

  The others rode away. Libbetty stood beside the gate and watched, already regretting her newfound sense of responsibility.

  When she came down to dinner that evening, Tom waited in the dining room, wearing a coat of dark brown superfine and a fresh neckcloth. He had recently received some new clothes in anticipation of his leaving for Oxford in the autumn.

  However, his glum expression told of his failure to catch sight of the scandalous widow. “I saw no more of Mrs. Whitelow than you did staying home,” were his confirming words to Libbetty. “And now Papa has lectured me that I am wasting too much time away from my studies and must concentrate on them.”

  “Oh, Tom. That is too bad,” Libbetty said. “But I’m sure Papa will relent after a few days.”

  “I’m not so certain. He rang a peal over me, I’ll tell you. He seems to think all my gadding about has to do with the furor over the marquess, and now Mrs. Whitelow.”

  Well, hasn’t it? Libbetty wanted to say. Their mother entered the room just then, preventing any further private discussion.

  *

  The following day, Libbetty waited in vain for Edwina. Libbetty had sensed a coolness in Edwina as they parted, but she did n
ot know whether Edwina had become discouraged about the chances that their rides would result in a meeting with Lord Cauldreigh or was pouting because of Libbetty’s vacillation over riding to Rose Farm. However, since her father had confined Tom to his studies, she grasped the opportunity to ride Concobhar to meet Wat, her secret betrothed.

  Recent events had prevented Libbetty from meeting him. The absence of meetings between them had relieved Libbetty, bringing her to an awareness of her uncertainty over the betrothal. Perhaps she had accepted his proposal at least in part to save her parents from the worry of finding a match for her. But then, why had she so feared telling them? Did she love Wat enough for marriage? Perhaps meeting him again would answer some of her questions.

  As Libbetty passed by Dr. Hayes’ black-timbered-and-white-plastered Tudor house, his son Alonso appeared from the stableyard and trotted down the drive on his big sorrel gelding. “Libbetty, wait,” he called, setting the horse into a canter.

  She stopped, concealing her dismay. It appeared her friend intended to join her, and she could not meet Wat with Alonso at her side. Trying to think of a polite way to rid herself of his unwanted presence, she waited as he bounced down the drive. Alonso had the most ungainly seat on a horse, which never seemed to bother him. Her friend just jounced along like an untidy bundle of sticks tied to the saddle.

  Although a year younger than Libbetty, Alonso had grown tall suddenly. He was all angles and bones, wrists protruding from the sleeves of his coat, a too-large nose and a shock of thick, sandy hair. Yet when he stopped by her and smiled his wide smile, her annoyance faded.

  “Has your father made Tom concentrate on his studies again?” he asked, nodding at Concobhar. Although just sixteen, Alonso was exceedingly smart and would attend Oxford this fall with Tom.

  “Yes, I fear so.” Libbetty stayed in place, hoping to appear as if she had only stopped for a brief greeting before each went about their separate purposes.

  He walked his horse in the direction she had been riding, forcing Libbetty to fall in with him. “Tom has the whole summer to repair the deficiencies in his Greek. I thought your father had allowed him time for a ride each day.”