Lord Satan

by Judith Laik

  They even took charge of their little brothers for a period each day. Henry especially blossomed under the notice of his big brothers, and both the younger boys followed the twins around like puppies when the twins allowed it, and when Henry had free time from his father’s lessons.

  Several days after repairs to the manse began, a crew of slaters arrived to repair the roof. Late that morning, Libbetty practiced on the pianoforte, struggling to listen for her errors over the scraping noises as the slaters removed broken tiles. Amid this disturbance, a “Halloo” sounded from outside the house.

  Several horses and riders gathered in the driveway. Lord Cauldreigh and the guests staying at The Castle, along with Edwina and Francis Hogwood and Sybille Bassett. Libbetty’s glance picked out Lord Neil from the rest

  The unexpected callers discomfited Libbetty, dowdy in her old, faded round gown of spotted yellow muslin. The women wore riding costumes, the colors jewel-like in the glowing sunshine, and she wished to run inside and begin the day again, in one of her newer gowns. Overcoming that urge, she greeted the company.

  “We were out riding, but I wanted to see how the repairs progressed,” Lord Neil said.

  Tom burst out and showed the callers around to the stables so they could dismount. Libbetty went inside to inform Mrs. Bishop of the callers, hoping her mother would salvage the occasion and lessen the embarrassment of being caught unprepared.

  “Oh my,” Mrs. Bishop said. “We must find refreshment for them. I believe Mrs. Berkfield baked current buns and almond tarts this morning, and we have lemonade in the larder.”

  Hurriedly, Libbetty helped to make up a tray of tidbits. Enlisting Catherine to serve the cakes, Mrs. Bishop and Libbetty carried the chilled pitcher of lemonade and glasses out to the group strolling about the lawn.

  As Libbetty approached Lord Neil, who was talking with Mr. Hedgesett, the builder was saying, “No, I won’t allow it. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I wish to see for myself,” Lord Neil said emphatically.

  “Do you care for lemonade?” She held the tray out to him.

  He looked up and smiled, not his usual, mocking expression but a full, heart-stopping smile as he took a glass from her. Libbetty felt the heat rise in her cheeks, then deepen as she realized her mother was coming up behind her to pour from the pitcher. Not daring to say anything, Libbetty turned to serve the other guests.

  Miss Bassett accepted her tumbler, saying, “I declare, I am just about to perish of thirst.” She had collected a group of admirers about her—Mr. Colton, Sir Rodney, and another of the London visitors, Lord Chester, a short, slight young man with fair, thinning hair and sideburns.

  As the others accepted the tall glasses, Mr. Colton said, “What, don’t you have any beer or ale?”

  Lord Cauldreigh nudged Jonathan. “This is the house of a servant of the Lord.”

  “We aren’t Methodists, Lord Cauldreigh,” Mrs. Bishop said, smiling. “If you gentlemen would prefer ale, I believe we have some.” She went back into the house, and Mrs. Berkfield came out a short while later with a stone jar of ale and some mugs for the men.

  Mrs. Dalrymple took an almond cake from the tray Catherine proffered and said, “Aren’t you the loveliest child? Do come look at this girl, Christian, Neil.” Lord Neil, some distance away, still talking with Mr. Hedgesett, did not appear to hear, but Captain Forsyth came over and stared at Catherine for several long moments before he smilingly agreed that she was a little beauty.

  Edwina and Miss Bassett frowned at this attention paid to the younger girl. Catherine blushed, her expression revealing mortification at these unwanted attentions. As soon as she had handed the tray of sweets around, she escaped into the house.

  “I think you distressed the poor girl, Letitia,” Captain Forsyth said. He and Mrs. Dalrymple exchanged an intimate glance as he took her arm and they strolled into the orchard. Edwina announced a desire to see Mrs. Bishop’s rose garden. Sir Rodney declared his wish to examine the roses with her, and they walked off, attended by Tom and Lord Chester. Miss Bassett also headed towards the orchard, accompanied by Mr. Colton and Francis.

  Libbetty remained with Lord Cauldreigh and Miss Clark. The three made a small circle, Libbetty facing the house. She covertly searched for Lord Neil but could not see him. Miss Clark murmured, “I must find Mrs. Dalrymple,” and departed.

  “It is a nuisance to submit to all the disorder and commotion of having your house reconstructed around you, is it not?” Lord Cauldreigh said. “While they repaired The Castle, I thought I would never have any peace and quiet again.”

  “‘Peace and quiet’ is not a term that would seem to pertain to you, sir. A battle cannot offer much of either.”

  “No, you have the right of it. Usually I flourish on sound and tumult. During this sojourn I have enjoyed the tranquility of the English countryside as a pleasant contrast. That may be because I was so ill—such an urge may never overtake me again.” He smiled.

  A shadow moved on the roof, and Libbetty glanced up. For a shocked instant, she froze as a massive slate sailed off the roof directly above. A fleeting impression formed of a figure topped with a dark head. Thinking and sight stopped as reflex took control. Libbetty flung herself at Lord Cauldreigh. Taken off balance, the marquess stumbled backward with a muttered exclamation. They hit the ground jarringly at the same moment the slate slammed into the turf where Cauldreigh had stood.

  Chapter Eleven

  Libbetty’s heart and breathing seemed to come to a halt and then begin again, speeded up. The world dipped and tilted crazily. She closed her eyes, willing it all back in its proper place. She was sprawled atop Lord Cauldreigh in a most awkward position.

  At last she looked down into his face. It was ashen, slick with sweat, and his eyes gaped in horror. As she watched, his lids closed and he breathed “My God.”

  Libbetty broke away from the intimate entanglement of their limbs. She rolled to a seated position near Cauldreigh’s recumbent form. On his other side, the heavy slate had cut several inches deep into the ground, and another wave of giddiness engulfed Libbetty.

  Some noise must have attended the near-disaster, although Libbetty had not consciously heard the slate strike the ground. Members of the riding party and workmen quickly gathered. First a few workmen appeared; then Miss Bassett and Francis from the orchard; Tom, Edwina, Lord Chester, and Sir Rodney all arrived together.

  Libbetty leaped to her feet, embarrassed about being caught so near to Lord Cauldreigh. Her legs felt oddly boneless, and Sir Rodney steadied her. Mrs. Dalrymple and Captain Forsyth showed up, somewhat disheveled, followed by Miss Clark. Mr. Colton came from the direction of the stables, and some more of the workmen and Mr. Hedgesett from around the corner of the house.

  Francis said, “Jove! An attempt on his lordship’s life.”

  “No,” said Lord Cauldreigh, who had made a recovery by this time. Although he still lolled gracelessly on the grass, his complexion had returned to a nearly normal hue. “It was an accident. The slate must have slipped. But I have never come nearer to death than this. If it weren’t for you—” He looked up at Libbetty, “I rather believe I owe you my life.”

  “Are you sure it was an accident?” asked Tom, disappointed.

  “By no means!” Libbetty declared. “A man on the roof threw the slate. I saw someone with dark hair.” She shuddered, surveying the interested faces surrounding her. Indisputably they all would prefer another murder attempt to an accident.

  Another face, topped with dark hair, appeared in the crowd—and she looked straight into Lord Neil’s eyes. She gasped, remembering the overheard conversation between Lord Neil and Hedgesett. He had intended to go onto the roof.

  He leaned over Trevor, asking in a low voice, “Where are you hurt?” His hands rested lightly on Trevor’s shoulders, but Libbetty saw their tremors. The depth of his concern for his nephew struck her, and her fleeting conviction that he had been on the roof faded to uncertainty.

  �
�I’m not hurt, just resting. That is, I think I wrenched my bad leg when I, er, fell. It’ll be all right in a minute.”

  “What happened here?” Lord Neil glared. He seemed unaware most of those present thought he was responsible for what happened.

  “Someone threw that slate at Lord Cauldreigh,” Francis boomed. Libbetty did not look at him but focused on Lord Neil.

  “Who saw it?” His voice took on authority.

  “Libbetty says she saw a man with dark hair throw it.”

  “No, I did not say that. I didn’t see a person.” She could not accuse Lord Neil. His gentleness with Lord Cauldreigh, the genuineness of his concern, strengthened her doubts. “All I saw was a glimpse—not enough to say anything for certain.”

  “You said you saw someone,” Tom insisted.

  “No, I didn’t. That is, I suppose I did, but it wasn’t someone. It wasn’t as definite as a person. Oh, leave me alone. I don’t know what I saw.” Her voice thickened with the threat of tears. She couldn’t face Lord Neil and whirled away.

  “What did you see?” Gripping her shoulders, he turned her and gazed into her eyes.

  Libbetty shook her head. Her throat was constricted with the gathering sobs. As soon as she tried to speak, they would surge forth.

  “Don’t harass the girl, Uncle Neil. She saved my life. I had my back to the house and didn’t see it. That thing would have hit me as I stood there. She knocked me out of the way.”

  Libbetty could not take her eyes away from Lord Neil’s burning gaze. “It seems I have a great deal to thank you for, Miss Bishop, and I apologize for pressing you. Naturally, we would all like to know who might have been on the roof. But the important thing is that Trevor is alive, thanks to your quick thinking.”

  He released her, leaving her bereft, aching for his touch. “There’s no need to thank me,” she quavered. “I didn’t think—I have often been accused of acting without thinking. It usually causes only trouble. This time, it happened for the best.”

  Her parents’ arrival on the scene changed the atmosphere. Mr. Bishop took charge. “Bring Lord Cauldreigh into the house. Someone go for Dr. Hayes to check whether he has further harmed his wounded leg.” His words drew everyone’s attention away from Libbetty, allowing the coiled tension to ease.

  Tom and Mr. Colton helped Lord Cauldreigh to his feet and supported him as he hobbled into the vicarage, his limp more pronounced than previously. Mrs. Bishop sent their man-of-all-work to fetch Dr. Hayes. However, when the physician arrived, Lord Cauldreigh declared the wrench to his muscles had worked itself out and insisted on riding his horse back to The Castle.

  After the riding party left, the last of Libbetty’s energy drained, leaving her as limp as the old rag doll from her childhood.

  Mrs. Bishop said, “Elizabeth, you look as pale as a ghost. Go up to your room and rest.” Without argument, she retired to her bedchamber. Catherine and Isobel came in and questioned her about the day’s events, but Libbetty’s irritability soon drove them away. Her mother brought her a cup of hot milk and stayed until she finally feigned sleep.

  She could not sleep. Reaction set in, and she lay in bed shivering, unable to warm herself even though she piled the bed with blankets. She tried to picture the events just before the slate had come sailing at her and Cauldreigh. Had she seen Lord Neil on the roof? No clearer image came to her than the vague impression she had received as she flew against the marquess to knock him out of the way. Instead, she saw Lord Neil’s intense charcoal eyes, his gaze boring into her, his warm hands gripping her shoulders. Perhaps he was not a murderer—could that be? Then, who had tried at least twice to kill Lord Cauldreigh?

  *

  Miss Bassett paced about the Bishops’ drawing room. The skirts of her wine red velvet riding habit swirled with her movements. Libbetty, nerves still overwrought after the near-fatal incident the previous day, wished Miss Bassett would settle in one place and come to the point. She shut her eyes a moment.

  As if responding to Libbetty’s unspoken wish, Sybille dropped into a chair. Her portentous air of snapping energy and purpose and the high color in her cheeks made her sitting posture hardly more restful to the eye than her previous pacing.

  “Why is Irene not with you this morning?” Libbetty asked.

  Sybille Bassett’s gentle sister had an aversion to loud noise and violent emotions, and the older girl avoided conduct that would overset her. In Libbetty’s disturbed state of mind, she would welcome Irene’s calming influence on Miss Bassett.

  “What I wished to discuss with you would have distressed Irene,” she replied. “I hardly know how to ask—what exactly did you see on the roof yesterday?” she finished in a rush.

  “Why, as I told everybody—I scarcely saw anything at all. But indubitably someone threw the slate off the roof—even had I not witnessed it, the evidence shows the fact. Lord Cauldreigh and I stood some distance from the house—if the slate had merely slipped, it would have landed next to the house instead of on top of us.”

  “Yes, yes, but what of the man you said you saw?” Miss Bassett tapped her foot impatiently.

  “I cannot say I saw someone—I just formed an impression—nothing clear. By that time I saw the slate coming towards us, and I stopped looking—or thinking—and simply reacted.”

  “You said you saw someone with dark hair.”

  “Yes. I cannot explain it.” Libbetty waved her hand vaguely. “I can only say everything seemed to happen in an instant and at the same time to take forever.”

  Miss Bassett shook her head. “But, did you or did you not see someone on the roof?” She jumped up and began to pace again.

  “Oh, it’s too difficult to explain.” Libbetty clapped her hands to the sides of her head to still the throbbing. “It was like, well, a shadow. I’m sure I saw someone, someone with dark hair. But I couldn’t describe any more than that. I wish I could!” she finished passionately.

  “I am sorry to bring it all back. It must have been horrible. Just being near to such a disaster terrified me. But I have to know. Last night, I could not sleep. I just kept thinking of the ghastly event.” Miss Bassett once more sat, perching on the edge of the chair as if she would jump up again.

  Libbetty too had lain in bed while the scene played again and again in her mind, mixed in with Neil’s shocked face when he heard her accusation. When at last she slept, he saw once more the tile falling toward them, but in her dream she was helpless to move, and knew she and Cauldreigh would die.

  Miss Bassett went on, “It came to me that Mr. Colton has dark hair also. And he left our group in the orchard some time before the incident happened. I don’t know where he went. I did not see him again until after we all gathered by you and Lord Cauldreigh.”

  “Why should he wish Lord Cauldreigh any harm?”

  “It is said he is deep in dun territory. His branch of the family is far from prosperous. If Lord Cauldreigh died without heirs and Lord Neil was executed for the crime, Mr. Colton would inherit the title and estates.”

  “But how dreadful. It would mean murdering two people in order to inherit. How could anyone be such a villain?” She shut her eyes against such a terrible thought.

  What about Jonathan Colton? Could he have attempted his cousin’s life for the inheritance? Libbetty shrank from believing anyone would wish for the death of Lord Cauldreigh.

  “Indeed, how could anyone be so heartless as to kill poor Lord Cauldreigh? Such a charming, lighthearted young man. But someone wishes to do so—unless he meant the tile for you.” Miss Bassett tittered at this absurdity.

  Libbetty smiled weakly at her witticism. Her head ached worse than ever. She stood and took a turn about the room, hoping motion would clear her mind. “I wish I could help. I cannot identify the man on the roof, if indeed someone was there.”

  Her mother came in and exclaimed, “Elizabeth, I told you to keep to your bed today. You have had a dreadful shock and need to quiet your nerves. I apologize, Miss Bassett, but per
haps you would call another day. Elizabeth is not well.”

  Ordinarily, Libbetty would have resented the attempt to coddle her. Today, she felt grateful. Apologizing, Miss Bassett departed. Mrs. Bishop spoke sympathetically to Libbetty, “Why don’t you go rest as I told you to do?”

  “I tried, Mama, but I can’t stay alone. I just keep seeing it happen over and over.” To her dismay, she burst into tears.

  Mrs. Bishop gathered Libbetty to her breast. “Let’s have some of Mrs. Berkfield’s tea, dear. That will soothe you. Then, if you like, we could start on the apricot muslin. I have an idea how to make it a lovely frock for you.”

  Libbetty sniffed as more tears prickled behind her lids. “I couldn’t work on a dress, Mama. It would only cause me to think about what happened all the more.”

  “Very well. I know just how to divert your thoughts from Lord Cauldreigh and the events of yesterday.” Mrs. Bishop reached into her knitting basket and pulled out a sturdy hank of black wool, a pair of knitting needles, and the toe of a man’s black stocking—one of her charitable projects.

  Libbetty almost groaned. Knitting was not her preferred way of passing time. She always ended up with a tangle of yarn and a hopelessly out-of-shape garment. However, the project would serve to distract her mind from events of the previous day.

  Ensconced with her cup of tea and knitting, she felt nearly restored. Concentrating to keep the stitches regular freed her thoughts from troublesome images. She stopped for a hasty luncheon and went back to work, until her eyes felt strained and her shoulders ached from holding the needles properly.

  Mrs. Bishop stayed by her side, knitting a pair of booties for the coming baby. She looked up and exclaimed, “Why, it is nearly time for dinner. Go rest awhile before dressing.”

  Libbetty gladly arose and stretched her stiff muscles. She felt certain she had put her troubled thoughts behind her. However, once in her room, yesterday’s scenes again preyed upon her mind. She shivered, nearly as chilled and shocked as yesterday. Even though the day was warm, she wrapped herself in a shawl after putting on one of her old evening dresses.