Lord Satan

by Judith Laik

  “Oh, yes, it has been agreeable, although not especially memorable among the parties I have attended.”

  “It is my first party,” Libbetty said. I thought it all lovely—except Lord Neil’s words to you. I felt wretched for your sake.”

  Miss Bassett trilled an artificial laugh. “Lord Neil does not appreciate his true friends. He may think differently in time, when he realizes how the very people who have come to eat his food and dance to his music hold him in opprobrium. But all men are the same. They have no discernment about people.”

  Did the older girl truly care for Lord Neil? Edwina had implied that in her eagerness to marry, Miss Bassett would accept an offer from any suitor not actually a murderer. However, Lord Neil had a certain attraction. She could easily enough envision Sybille Bassett’s being drawn to him.

  Libbetty returned to the salon, and concealed herself in a corner in one of the alcoves, unwilling to be obliged to make polite conversation.

  She did not see Lord Neil, and wondered where he had gone. What attribute did he have that continued to fascinate her? Several of the men in attendance were fine-looking. Lord Neil was not even the most handsome of the men present. That honor fell to Lord Cauldreigh, although Captain Forsyth also had a certain air.

  No one looked for Libbetty. This was a perfect opportunity to examine the parapet from which Lord Cauldreigh had nearly fallen to his death. She might not find any clues, as in the site of the shooting a few days ago, but she had to make the effort.

  Chapter Ten

  Libbetty slipped out and climbed the staircase. Two flights up, the stairs came to an end, with no apparent way to the roof. She retraced her steps to the ground floor and along the corridor towards the back wing, closer to the medieval portion of Cauldreigh Castle.

  She found the servants’ stairs and slipped up these. She would have no convenient excuse if she were seen here. Fortunately, no servants used the staircase at the moment. Still, her heart raced and her legs threatened to give way as she crept up.

  This staircase led farther upward than the one for residents and guests. At the very top a narrow door led out onto the roof. Her heart pounded even faster as she passed through.

  Unexpectedly, flambeaux were set about at intervals along the rampart. By their flickering glow she picked her way while her pulse hammered in her head, like a voice yelling at her to flee. She ignored the message, examining the stone wall for broken places. But the parapet was smooth; no loose or missing stones marred the expanse.

  A taller tower ahead blocked her view around the corner. The sudden flare of a match and movement of a darker shadow against the tower forced a gasp from her, and her steps faltered.

  “The rampart has been rebuilt,” came a voice from the dark. “It was the first repair ordered once Trevor became well enough to bear the noise of workmen about the place.”

  Her eyes, adjusting to the dim light, distinguished Lord Neil’s figure outlined by lighter sky to the west as he leaned against the low stone wall.

  *

  “Oh, I did not expect you would be here.” The girl’s voice whispered, as though she had no breath for speech.

  “I hope you’d not have ventured to explore if you realized you would find me here. I trust you are not so foolish as to risk your lovely body being found broken in the ditch below.”

  He could not see her face, shadowed against the light of a flambeau behind her, but he sensed her recoil at his words and her immediate recovery. “If the loose stones have been reset, you could not rid yourself of me that way without risking discovery.”

  “Clever girl. I will have to think of something else.” Neil grinned and waved his cigar in the air, concealing his dismay in his jocular manner. He did not know how to dissuade her from her hazardous quest. The girl had no idea how she courted danger from Trevor’s unknown enemy. Not to mention that if she and he were discovered here together she would be ruined.

  “I don’t believe you would harm me at all,” she ventured. “After all, I don’t know anything to the point. If I disappeared when I was known to have come here, it would arouse questions.”

  Lord, he admired her spirit. Too bad he had to push it to its limits. “Do you believe evil people are ruled by logic? They are not, you know. More often they act without weighing the cost. That is why the jails and gibbets are so well used.”

  “If you were such a person, you wouldn’t tell me this.” She moved closer, peering at him. What a snare she represented.

  “Do you really think you are safe with me?” He puffed on his cigar and blew out again, watching the cloud of smoke hovering in the air before it dissipated. Suddenly his serious mood vanished in a bitter laugh. “Of course you don’t. You half believe I am the one trying to harm my nephew. Or perhaps it is more than half. Do you have any doubt about my villainy?”

  “How…what makes you think I believe that about you?”

  “You do not know how open and revealing your face is, do you? Everything you think plays across it, just as on a stage. It is an entertaining sight.” Neil stretched his free hand toward her face as he spoke, but stopped short of touching her, recognizing danger in his sudden compelling attraction to the girl. Her innocent yearning toward him was a sweet sensation, but if he took advantage of it, he would be a cad.

  *

  She felt as if her awareness of him limned him clearly in the starlit darkness—his outline as he leaned toward her, the tension of the muscles in his shoulders, even his expression, free of his usual mockery. She breathed in his masculine aroma, of tobacco, shaving soap, and his own fragrance. Her attention centered on his hand as it reached for her face. She caught her breath, anticipating his touch, but he lowered his hand, stepped back, and lifted the cigar to his mouth.

  She bit her lip, chagrined he could read her so easily. Did he see her fascination with him as well? Defiantly, she asked, “Are you the one behind the attempts on his life?”

  “I only know of one attempt, unless you refer to his wound from the Peninsula. Although someone undoubtedly tried to kill him on that occasion, he did not aim specifically at Trevor. He was merely one of the unknown enemy to the French soldier who shot him. As for the rest, I do not intend to answer you.”

  Libbetty stepped back. “W-why not?”

  “Because I would say, ‘No, I am not the one who shot at Lord Cauldreigh.’ If I had shot at him, I would protest my innocence with as much passion and sincerity as if I had not. You are much too young and innocent to see the truth behind the lies of a practiced schemer, so what would it avail you to hear my answer?”

  Fury shot through her. “I am not as young and innocent as you think me. I always know when my brothers lie to me.”

  “I hardly think your brothers are the hardened criminals that Trevor’s assailant is. You need not feel insulted to be told you are young and innocent. Those are only conditions of your age and life so far, and will pass with time.”

  She did not know why his words gave her such discomfort. She stood gazing up at him, yearning for something she could not name, thoughts of murder receding.

  He tossed aside his cigar, and silence lengthened between them. He said, with almost the harshness he had used to Sybille Bassett, “You had better go back to the others. You will do your reputation no good by being here with me. I will wait a few minutes and follow, so no one suspects we have been together.”

  “I don’t care about that. Why should it matter, anyway?”

  “If people found out we were out here together, you would learn why it matters. Go back inside.”

  Puzzled and hurt at the precipitous change in his mood, Libbetty retraced her steps and returned to the salon. Nothing seemed different. Music still played, couples still danced, and a mood of gaiety still prevailed. She wasn’t the same, however. The scene had lost its glamour for her.

  Cauldreigh led her out a second time. He was just the same as ever—carefree, full of life, and jovial, evincing no sign of a lovelorn condition. Nor did
her heart beat any faster in his presence. Her lack of progress in charming him would dishearten her more if her enquiry into the attempts on his life did not distract her.

  “Who is that young woman in the gray gown?” she asked, partly to turn her mind away from more serious paths.

  Cauldreigh turned his head to see whom she had indicated. “That is Miss Clark—a cousin or some such of Mrs. Dalrymple.”

  That woman danced a second time with Lord Neil. Libbetty emboldened herself to ask, “And who is Mrs. Dalrymple?”

  “She’s an old friend of Uncle Neil’s, known each other practically all their lives.”

  Were they lovers? Unbidden, Libbetty clenched her teeth at the thought. What about Mr. Dalrymple?. Did they have one of those modern marriages one heard about where husband and wife went their separate ways? Or was she a widow? She dropped the subject, not wishing to appear overly inquisitive.

  Miss Clark bore the stamp of companion, so the older woman still paid lip service to convention. However, Mrs. Dalrymple had danced more than once with Captain Forsyth, and he appeared bewitched.

  As she watched the older woman, it occurred to Libbetty how mistaken were her impressions during the encounter in Sidneys’ store, when she supposed Mrs. Whitelow to be a Castle visitor. Although both women were beautiful and dressed in a bold, dashing fashion, subtle differences in style and speech proved Mrs. Dalrymple a lady born, while Mrs. Whitelow’s low origins could not be hidden.

  Tom asked Miss Clark to stand up with him, filling Libbetty with pride at his kindness. No other man present had asked the two wallflowers to dance. Miss Clark looked flustered, as though unused to receiving such attention.

  Most of the young men present solicited Libbetty for a second dance. It had become obvious Lord Neil would not ask her. He lounged on the sidelines, moving about the room and conversing with guests who were not dancing. He did not even approach Libbetty when she sat out one set.

  Several times she glanced his way, to have him catch her eye and smile his infuriating smile. Why must he catch her each time she peeked at him? She vowed not to look at him again, only to find her eyes seeking him out.

  The evening drew to a close. People said their farewells. Mrs. Hayes came to collect Libbetty and Tom.

  “We had a lovely time,” someone said to Lord Cauldreigh.

  “Well, I did not!” Irene Bassett piped up in a carrying tone. “It is not at all like the parties I have gone to before. I thought we would eat cakes and ices and play games, like blind man’s buff and hide-and-go-seek.”

  There was a startled silence, and then Lord Cauldreigh laughed as he spoke to Irene. “I am sorry that we overlooked the games. We will play them next time, I promise you.”

  *

  The soft sound of his door opening and closing awakened Neil. He sat up in the darkness. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me,” Letitia Dalrymple said.

  Neil masked his annoyance in sarcasm. “Forgive my lamentable memory, but did I invite you?”

  She answered in a humorous tone, “You know you didn’t. I thought we might take up where we left off.”

  Neil reached for his dressing gown, drawing it around him as he stood. He fumbled for flint to light the candle. After light flared in the room, he said to her, “That time is past, Letitia. We’ve been friends for far longer than we were lovers. Let’s not spoil it.”

  “It’s the little redhead, isn’t it? You couldn’t keep your eyes off her.” Letitia floated over to his bed and sat down, fluffing the pillows.

  Candlelight shone through the clinging folds of her diaphanous nightgown, revealing her generous curves. As tempting as the sight was, Neil had no desire to reignite the past. “Don’t be tiresome. She’s a child.” As if in denial, a picture came to him of Elizabeth Bishop, lit by torchlight, tantalizing almost beyond measure in her sweet vulnerability.

  “Oh, but a ripe child. She won’t be a virgin much longer—presuming she still is now. Why shouldn’t you have her first?”

  “Damn it, Letitia, her father is the parish vicar.” He took a cigar from the top drawer of his bureau and lit it from the candle. He drew in a mouthful of smoke, keeping his back to her.

  “My dear, are you harboring the illusion that the children of clergymen have some untouchable virtue the rest of us don’t? How droll. And I believed your cynicism was complete.”

  Silence prevailed as Neil mastered the desire to shake her. “You were fairly well amused by Christian Forsyth.”

  “Did I make you the least bit jealous?”

  “No, Letitia. You may have Christian with my good wishes. You are an even match.”

  “‘Amused by Christian’ is all I feel. You and I had much more than that.” She slid off the bed and walked to him.

  He felt her standing just within reach if he should turn. The scent of her perfume brought back memories. “We had sympathy and caring, and helped each other through troubled times. Don’t attach more significance to our affair than that.”

  Letitia moved toward the door, then stopped. “Do you know how your esteemed guests talked about you tonight? Don’t count on finding friends among the locals.”

  “I am always talked about. I don’t expect anything different, here or in town.”

  “How does it go with Trevor?”

  “You know. I’m sure my neighbors gave you all the facts.”

  “I would help you.”

  “I can manage.” Still puffing on his cigar, he turned to see her standing by the door, the width of the room between them.

  “Remember my offer. I will be your alibi if you need one.”

  He closed his eyes against the pain her meaning brought. “I appreciate the gesture, Letitia, but I’d never ask such a thing. No one would believe you, and being the admitted intimate of an accused murderer would ruin you. You would not only lose your allowance from the Dalrymples, but every door would be closed to you.”

  “I don’t care. Everything that matters to me has already been taken away. I spend my time concocting forms of petty revenge, but that palls as a purpose in life. Besides, I am sure you would see that my finances did not suffer overmuch.”

  “Thank you, Letitia. I will remember your kindness. Now go to bed—your own or Christian’s.”

  “Oh, unfair, Neil. You should take care not to alienate your friends. Whatever happens between Christian and me, happens. So I shall go to my solitary bed, and hope you lie here awake, regretting your rejection of me.” She blew him a kiss and closed the door.

  He threw the cigar in the dead fireplace and cursed under his breath. Letitia knew him too well. He would be a long time going back to sleep this night, but regrets concerning Letitia would not be the cause. Her visit had stirred up thoughts he believed he had, with great effort, banished—thoughts of a girl whose wide eyes asked for something from him. It would be all too easy to try to give it, but wrong. He would not see her brightness tarnished by his dark past and shadowed future.

  *

  On Monday morning, Libbetty sat in the drawing room sewing clothes for the baby with her mother. A stranger came to call on the Reverend Mr. Bishop.

  After his meeting with the man, her father came into the room. “Lord Cauldreigh has hired a builder to oversee the repairs to the vicarage.”

  “At last,” Mrs. Bishop exclaimed, the tiny shirt in her hands dropping to her lap. “I was sure Lord Neil was a man of his word.”

  Libbetty’s father stared at her mother and said, “Lord Cauldreigh arranged for the repairs.”

  “Of course he did. He is the owner. However, it was Lord Neil who told you some weeks ago that it would be done.”

  Libbetty was startled by this exchange, having never heard her mother contradict Mr. Bishop.

  The builder, Mr. Hedgesett, spent the morning crawling all over the house, on the roof, and around the foundations, making notes with a stub of a pencil in the grimy notebook he pulled from his coat pocket. Libbetty’s youngest brothers dogged his every
step.

  A few days later he arrived with wagonloads of heavy timbers, slates, and other supplies as well as several workmen. Soon the vicarage resounded to the din of workmen prying out rotted wood in the foundations and window frames, replacing it with sound timbers.

  To prevent the younger Bishops’ getting underfoot, Libbetty helped Floss occupy them. Henry especially was prone to following the workmen at every chance, asking questions and begging to wield a hammer or saw. Libbetty could hardly drag him away for the games she devised for the children’s amusement. This break in their usual routine fascinated her nearly as much as Henry, but she was sufficiently mature to affect a lack of interest.

  Mr. Bishop frequently left the vicarage on parish calls, grumbling he could not think with all the commotion. Tom doggedly kept to his schedule of morning studies, but he had little heart for them. Libbetty knew he suffered a depression of spirits over Edwina’s continued unattainability, with the marquess and the Coltons’ London guests to choose from.

  Mrs. Bishop, however, carried on serenely through the disruption, the indisposition of early pregnancy behind her.

  In the midst of this, Freddy and George came home on school holiday. Their boisterousness added to the noise and action, making gloom impossible.

  Several months’ absence had wrought an amazing change in the twins. Fifteen years old, they carried the Bishop looks, a slightly reddish cast to their sandy hair and freckled faces. They were not identical, and the differences between them had magnified considerably since their last visit home.

  George had shot up several inches, becoming an inch taller than Tom. He also developed the start of a beard, and his voice boomed in a deep register. Freddy had not hit his growth. He was near Libbetty’s height, his voice sounded boyish, and he appeared years younger than his twin. Their close companionship continued, Freddy not resenting his brother’s earlier maturation.