Lord Satan

by Judith Laik

  At dinner, Mr. Bishop remarked, “Lord Neil called today. He wished to speak to you about the accident to Lord Cauldreigh. I denied him, told him you were too upset to talk of it yet.”

  Libbetty gave thanks her father had spared her that painful interview. She hoped she would not see Lord Neil again until she had sorted out her conclusions about his guilt or innocence.

  A conclusion seemed far away in the following days. She moped about the house in an unaccustomed way, unable to shake off her gloom. Gradually, the images and nightmares faded, but she was prey to sudden and unaccountable urges to cry over nothing and continuing listlessness. She could not remember any time in her life when she suffered such a depression of spirits.

  Tom, in contrast, seemed to have thrown off his moodiness of the previous week. He rode out on Concobhar each day, returning home in the evening full of his excursions and of the efforts he and Francis made to guard Cauldreigh and unmask his uncle. His huge enjoyment of his adventures put Libbetty more out of sorts than ever, although she could not have explained her reasons. Certainly it could only make her happy if Tom and Francis managed to trap Lord Cauldreigh’s assailant, whoever he might be.

  Mr. Bishop forbade discussion of the subject at table, so Tom saved his discourses until after dinner. Their parents retired in the evenings to the Reverend’s study, and Tom and Libbetty usually spent some time together in the drawing room. He strode about the room describing with relish the various traps he and Francis devised and discarded, while she apathetically picked out tunes on the pianoforte.

  She could bear no more of his grandiose prattle. “How can you talk as if this were all nothing but a game?” She revolved on the bench to rage at him. “It isn’t a game. Someone has tried at least twice to kill Lord Cauldreigh. But for the merest chance, he would already be dead. Don’t you care about that?”

  “Of course we care. We have tried to catch Lord Neil out in his schemes. What have you done besides knitting stockings? I don’t see you have done anything to stop these attempts on Lord Cauldreigh’s life.” Tom waved his arms in punctuation.

  She did not wish to tell Tom of her futile efforts to find evidence to convict Lord Neil. “Can you picture me riding around the countryside after Lord Cauldreigh, trying to protect him?”

  “Well, Miss Bassett and Edwina Hogwood ride with us much of the time—and Mrs. Dalrymple also. You could come too, if we had another horse for you to ride.”

  Libbetty’s eyes filled with tears—from both the tidings that Tom had just imparted and the injustice of his accusations of her uselessness. He had forgotten that Lord Cauldreigh had given her the credit for saving his life.

  “Well, obviously, we do not have another horse for me to ride. And, for all your talk about solving the mystery I don’t see that you have accomplished anything, either. What have all your plans for traps come to, anyway? As far as I can see, you have not yet baited one—and you certainly haven’t caught anybody.” She slammed her hand upon the pianoforte keys with a clash, then jumped up and ran from the room.

  Libbetty’s outburst cleared her mind. An uncharacteristic lassitude still claimed her, however. The following evening, the Reverend Mr. Bishop called her into his study. She obeyed warily, as in the past such a summons was a prelude to reprimand.

  “Sit down, Elizabeth,” he said, giving her time to comply before he continued. “I have noticed you seem unusually low-spirited since the incident with Lord Cauldreigh. It is entirely natural that you should feel so. ‘Twas a most harrowing experience to undergo.” He shuffled through some papers on his desk, as if searching for something, and Libbetty glanced up from her hands folded in her lap, to gauge his mood.

  “You have had a close brush with death, something that a young girl such as you rarely confronts. I hesitate to call you sheltered, as that implies an upbringing that I do not espouse, making one unable to contend with reality. You have, however, had no previous occasion to see such things at first hand.”

  He laid the papers aside and looked earnestly at her. “You have perforce become awakened to your own mortality, and that of all creatures. Such a discovery takes time to encompass. You will become more accustomed to the idea. It may help to reflect that this life is not the only one. You must not take the present life for granted, nor ever forget that what you do will count for or against you in the next.”

  Libbetty twisted her hands. Her father’s words contained thoughts that seemed at the same time familiar and yet fresh and new through her recent experiences. In any case, she needed time to think them over. “Thank you, Papa,” she managed.

  “I hope you will be entirely recovered soon. I cannot become used to seeing my lively daughter so unnaturally subdued.” He smiled at her. “Elizabeth, I am proud of you. You showed the admirable essence of your character.”

  “I really did nothing, Papa.”

  “Indeed you did. Many in such circumstances would have thought only of saving themselves. You acted to save Lord Cauldreigh also.”

  Such rare praise from her father, along with his wise words about the cause of her unbearable ennui, gave a measure of peace to her heart. She went to her bed, tired and knowing she would sleep easy for the first time since the horrendous experience.

  The next morning, when Lord Cauldreigh came to call, she skipped downstairs to greet him. Because her mother was helping Mrs. Berkfield with the laundry at the back of the house, Libbetty greeted him alone. As she entered the drawing room, he bowed to her, hands behind his back. “You have your gardens here at the vicarage,” he said, “but these are the famous Cauldreigh blue roses.” He brought forward an enormous bouquet of flowers, not actually blue but pale pink tinged faintly with violet.

  “Thank you, your lordship. Let me find a vase for them.”

  As she arranged the roses, she added, “They are lovely, but you did not need to bring me flowers.”

  “Nonsense. You are a heroine. I had to bring you some token to thank you for saving my life. I would have brought sapphires instead of blue flowers, but some would say that was not proper.” His eyes twinkled.

  Libbetty laughed, bending to smell the roses’ delicate fragrance in order to hide her blush at this renewed talk about her heroism. “You must not think me at all brave. The truth is, you were merely in my way as I sought to escape from the slate falling on me.”

  Lord Cauldreigh chuckled, and her usual ease with him was restored.

  “I was grieved to hear you were unwell,” he continued. “Was it because of the shock of nearly being crushed?”

  “It must have been, as I am usually very healthy. I feel fine again now.”

  “I am glad to hear it. I believe Uncle Neil would like to ask you about what you witnessed when the slate fell.”

  Libbetty sobered, and her hands stilled on the flowers, which needed no further arranging. She could not face Lord Neil, with the unspoken accusation hanging between them—and her own tormenting doubts. “I wish he would not. I can add nothing to what I said before. I really saw little. I should not have insisted I saw a person on the roof, when I have nothing but a vague impression.” She sat, inviting him to take a chair also.

  Easing himself down, Cauldreigh said, “Yes, that is what I think, too. If anyone threw the tile, he had no intention of its coming near to us. He only intended to play a joke.”

  “Would your uncle play such a joke on you?”

  Lord Cauldreigh looked horrified. “Never! I meant, I thought perhaps one of the workmen, or … well, I don’t know. Perhaps the tile slipped instead of being thrown. I should not like to cause trouble for a mere mistake, or even if someone meant to give us a little scare.”

  Did he harbor suspicions of someone, despite his denials? “You don’t believe anyone could have meant to harm you?”

  “Of course not.” He jumped up and began to pace the room.

  “What about the person who shot at you a fortnight ago?”

  “A poacher. He obviously did not realize someone rode t
hrough our woods at the same time as he hunted, or of course he wouldn’t have been hunting. Did you imagine some connection? I assure you there is not. Who would benefit by my death?” He paused his pacing to face her, shaking his head and a set smile on his face.

  Lord Neil, Libbetty thought, or, if Miss Bassett is right, Mr. Colton. But she did not answer this question. He seemed to mean it rhetorically, his tone and attitude discounting any possibility of someone’s wishing to harm him.

  She could not bring herself to suggest the possibilities. “Excuse me a moment, while I bring us some refreshments,” she said. When she went into the kitchen, her mother asked who had called, and took time away from her duties to greet their guest—and to chaperone.

  The kettle was on the hob, keeping water hot for the laundry, so the tea was soon brewed. Libbetty brought in the tea tray, serving Lord Cauldreigh, her mother, and herself. Mrs. Bishop, her face red and shiny from the steamy laundry, seemed content to merely relax from the heavy work of washing and leave the conversation to Libbetty.

  Cauldreigh said, “It was most unfortunate your indisposition prevented you and Tom from attending the Hogwoods’ soirée.”

  “Oh, er, yes,” replied Libbetty, striving to conceal her surprise at learning of such an event. “I have not heard any news since it took place. Was it a success?”

  “Oh, it was enjoyable enough. Mrs. Hogwood went to great lengths to make it so.” His tone conveyed that he thought she overdid the arrangements.

  “Who attended?” Libbetty offered him the tray.

  “Oh, most everyone—our guests and the Bassetts and the Marble sisters. Except none of the Crossfield residents attended. The party was quite flat without your presence.”

  Libbetty allowed the subject to drop. Privately, she believed her illness had nothing to do with the lack of invitation for herself and Tom. Mrs. Hogwood merely ensured neither she nor the Goforth sisters would provide any competition for Lord Cauldreigh’s attentions, nor Tom for Edwina’s. Mrs. Hogwood intended Edwina to have Lord Cauldreigh, and would not countenance the presence of anyone who might interfere with her plans.

  “Well, now that you are well, I trust you will attend our party on Saturday.” Lord Cauldreigh set aside the cup and rose. “We shall have the games Miss Irene wished for. Will you come?”

  “Oh, indeed, I am sure we shall.” Galvanized by this news, Libbetty regretted she had refused to begin remaking the apricot muslin gown as her mother had suggested a few days before. Perhaps if they hurried, they could still sew it in time.

  The next morning Libbetty and her mother made good progress on her new gown. After a light nuncheon, Mrs. Bishop retired to rest. Libbetty recalled Lord Cauldreigh’s mention of Lord Neil still wishing to speak to her and escaped the vicarage.

  She headed for the stream that was her favorite destination, hoping to spare herself another round of questioning about what she had seen on the vicarage roof. The sunshine and soft wind she met outdoors blew away the last of the megrims and she walked briskly, quelling the urge to run for joy.

  Her hopes to avoid Lord Neil were in vain, however, for he caught up with her on the path before she had walked far. “Miss Bishop. A fine day, is it not?”

  “It was,” she snapped.

  His laughter mocked her, and she increased her pace to a near-run. He caught up again, and took her arm, gently but firmly. “I understand you do not wish to speak about the other day, but I really must ask you some questions.”

  She peered up into his face, frowning, his dark eyes clouded. “Are you afraid I can identify you as the man I saw on the roof?”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “Well, I cannot, so you are safe. I only caught a very brief glimpse of dark hair. That fits you, but it fits a number of other men as well. Was the hair as dark as yours, or a shade lighter, like Lord Cauldreigh’s? All I can say for sure is that it was not Lord Cauldreigh upon the roof, as he stood with me in the path of the slate.”

  Libbetty continued to gaze at his eyes, which darkened with distress. She took a deep breath. “I don’t think that is it at all. You hoped I could provide enough details to identify the person who threw the slate at Lord Cauldreigh. If it were you, you wouldn’t need to learn who it was. I think someone else is trying to kill your nephew, so why pretend it is you?”

  His eyes widened, his mouth dropping open then closing firmly. “That’s ridiculous,” he shot back.

  “No,” she insisted, recalling the concern he had shown for Cauldreigh—genuine, she would swear. “You don’t want your nephew dead. But you have gone around trying to look like a guilty man. What purpose can that serve?”

  “None at all, Miss Bishop. I applaud your imagination, but you will find yourself in trouble if you continue to indulge it.” He swerved about and walked away so fast that she would have been shocked by his rudeness. She smiled. His abrupt behavior showed she had unearthed the truth.

  *

  My God, he had really done it now. He had an impossible conundrum—to protect both Trevor and Elizabeth Bishop. What was worse, he could not choose between the two. His obligation was to Trevor, but Elizabeth had come to mean far too much to dismiss his fears for her. That the slate thrower would not hesitate to kill someone besides Trevor was proven by events the other day.

  He had questioned everyone there, including the workmen. They had taken a dinner break, and no one was on the roof—at least no one admitted to being there, or seeing anything suspicious. They all vouched for each other, but anyone could have left for a few minutes—who would have noticed?

  And there was the matter of Jonathan. Although a charming young man, he was rather irresponsible and had several times over the years gotten into debt well above his modest income. It was not unreasonable to suspect he might decide Trevor’s fortune would better suit the life he wished to live.

  What was he to do about Elizabeth? Did he dare take her into his confidence and hope he could persuade her to drop her investigation? No, he felt a deep certitude that she would never give up once she chomped her teeth onto a thing. He must convince her anew of his own villainy.

  Chapter Twelve

  Libbetty roamed the corridors of Cauldreigh Castle, almost forgetting that she was “It” in the game of hide-and-seek. No sounds reached her from the players, and this opportunity to look around The Castle was precisely what she had sought when she and Alonso sneaked in some weeks before.

  How to search for clues, though, without being caught? She could not risk a repeat of her frightening experience, being captured by Lord Neil. However, she could memorize the layout of The Castle as she searched for spots where players might hide, and discover where Jonathan Colton’s and Lord Neil’s bedchambers were. Then she could hide there when her turn as It was completed. The plan was risky, but it could result in finding proof of the miscreant’s guilt.

  Still, as she walked the corridors alone, Libbetty’s spine prickled. The Castle had an ominous atmosphere and no lack of secret niches in which to hide—or for danger to sneak.

  Just as on her previous incursion, candles glimmered in brass sconces set at intervals in the walls, casting alternating patches of bright light and shadowy darkness. At every turning of the corridor and irregularity of the plastered walls, the flickering light failed to penetrate. Here and there, under a massive, medieval-appearing table or in the lee of a huge chest, gloom pooled forebodingly.

  Surely she was near the room where she and Edwina had “refreshed” themselves on the occasion of her first official call at The Castle. Cauldreigh’s suite loomed just ahead. Did Lord Neil have rooms close by his nephew? What about the other guests? No parts of the modern wing had been declared off limits for the game. She opened several doors, peeking into the chambers.

  They appeared to be the bedchambers of the guests from London. Would Mr. Colton’s chamber be one of these? She ventured in, undertaking a swift search for articles which identified the occupants, pretending she was looking for hiders in the
game.

  It appeared the maids had tidied the rooms, as little in the way of personal effects was visible. How could she identify who occupied the rooms? One was clearly a lady’s chamber, presumably either Mrs. Dalrymple’s or Miss Clark’s. Libbetty could not violate their privacy by entering.

  The others, however—she needed time to look around more thoroughly. But, as she opened one door, she heard low-voiced whispers and rustling, then a giggle. Libbetty stepped in.

  The bedchamber was made up as for a guest, but just as with the others, it showed no personal items or other signs of occupancy. A dull green damask coverlet lay on the massive oak bed, with draperies of the same fabric at two tall windows on the far wall. Brighter green satin swags decorated the tester over the bed. Libbetty began to back out the door when muffled noise and turbulent movement issued from behind the drapery at one window. She strode over and grasped the green damask, revealing Irene Bassett, her hand over her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle her giggles. “You found me!” she shouted happily.

  “Yes,” Libbetty answered, “and now you are It.”

  Irene pouted. “I don’t want to be It. I’m too scared to walk around this old Castle alone.”

  “I found you, so now you have to be It,” Libbetty explained.

  “You can find someone else.” Tears pooled in Irene’s eyes and ran down her face.

  How could she make Irene do anything she didn’t want to do? The girl’s tears and terror dismayed Libbetty.

  Irene stared at her hopefully. “If you find someone else, he can be It, can’t he?”

  “But I haven’t found anybody.”

  “Francis is hiding behind the other curtain.”

  “Confound it, Irene. You aren’t supposed to tell other people’s hiding place. I told you to keep quiet.” Francis revealed himself from the other window.