Lord Satan

by Judith Laik

  “Good gad, I’ve been poisoned,” Lord Cauldreigh groaned. Libbetty looked at him in alarm, as did the others within earshot of the agonized words.

  “Pickled onion.” He grinned sheepishly. “I despise the stuff. Don’t know how it got on my plate.”

  When the party finished eating, they strolled around the grounds. The graveyard was in poor condition, greatly overgrown, the headstones mostly fallen. The modest markers were so eroded and covered with lichen that the monks’ names carved upon them could scarcely be made out.

  The sun had begun its descent and it was another three-hour journey back. On the return, shortly before they reached Crossfield, Lord Cauldreigh rode up to the Bassetts’ barouche. “We are all thirsty and have decided to stop at the inn just ahead.”

  Libbetty also felt parched as she entered the Goose Inn, an aged stone structure. The coolness and dim light welcomed her after the sun’s hot glare in the open carriage. The host greeted the party and offered a private room and tea for the ladies, but the men opted to have their ale in the public room.

  Libbetty supposed the men had found the women’s company tedious after so many hours. She would have preferred the common room with the men rather than being sequestered with the females of their group, but perhaps that wasn’t proper.

  As she walked down the hall, she couldn’t resist a glance into the public room. She recognized some of the workers who had repaired the vicarage, some local farmers and several other men whom she did not know.

  The parlor was a pleasant room, set with a table that had a blue-and-white checked tablecloth and matching curtains at the windows. A girl no older than Isobel served them tea and cakes.

  Libbetty felt curtained off from the other women in the party. None of them were truly her friends, and an awkwardness had fallen upon them. Edwina sulked by herself. The air between Miss Clark and Mrs. Dalrymple remained frigid. Miss Bassett kept Irene by her, but seemed subdued. The Misses Goforth chatted between themselves, the only ones unaffected by the strained atmosphere.

  They stayed in the room for half an hour and were preparing to leave when Tom rushed in. “Lord Cauldreigh’s been poisoned!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Quit teasing us, Tom,” Libbetty chided. Lord Cauldreigh had jokingly blurted nearly the same words at the picnic, and she did not appreciate the macabre prank. Then Tom’s ashen face registered, and Libbetty felt a sickening lurch in her stomach.

  Someone screamed softly. Edwina moaned and collapsed, in a faint. Tom dashed to her side and caught her before she struck the floor. His face even whiter than when he made his announcement, he murmured, “I shouldn’t have blurted it out.”

  Libbetty and Miss Clark helped him lay Edwina upon the settle. Miss Clark ferreted out a vinaigrette from her reticule and waved it under Edwina’s nose. She choked and tossed on the settle, not coming to full consciousness.

  Mrs. Dalrymple asked, “Is he dead?”

  “No,” said Tom, watching Edwina anxiously. “They gave him an emetic. He’s still very ill.”

  Mrs. Dalrymple left the room without another word, Libbetty presumed, to help Lord Cauldreigh. Miss Clark asked Libbetty, “Will you stay and see to Miss Hogwood?”

  She acquiesced, and Miss Clark followed Mrs. Dalrymple. Anxious about Lord Cauldreigh’s condition, Libbetty wished she could go after them, but she had promised to stay with Edwina. Tom stood by, his unhappy air expressing guilt, worry, and jealousy at the effect of his words on his beloved.

  Irene Bassett cried noisily, and Miss Bassett hugged her and uttered soothing words. The Goforth sisters hovered uncertainly, whispering between themselves.

  Libbetty rubbed Edwina’s hands and said quietly, “Lord Cauldreigh will recover, Edwina, I know he will.”

  Slowly Edwina became conscious and sat up. “I must go to him and try to help,” she said, although she made no move to go.

  “You are not strong enough yet,” Libbetty replied. “Others are caring for him.”

  Two burly inn servants carried Cauldreigh into the room, followed by the other men of the party and the two women. The marquess was paper-white and appeared unconscious. Edwina tottered to her feet, and Lord Cauldreigh was laid on the settle.

  Tom moved to support Edwina, but the others crowded around Cauldreigh. “Get back. Give him room to breathe,” said Lord Neil. He gave his full concentration to his nephew and seemed unaware of the suspicious stares directed at him by some of the others. His dark charcoal eyes mirrored anxiety and concern.

  Lord Neil had not poisoned Lord Cauldreigh, Libbetty was certain. She glanced at Mr. Colton, who stood apart, his expression unreadable. Had he administered the toxic dose? She recalled the incident in the stairway at the abbey. Mr. Colton started out with Miss Bassett and Lord Neil, but when Libbetty looked out the window, he was not with them. Did he tamper with the stairs?

  And, Lord Cauldreigh said he didn’t know how the pickled onion appeared on his plate. Did someone make the experiment to see if they could adulterate his food without detection? Who could have done so? How had Lord Cauldreigh been poisoned?

  She longed to learn what had happened, but did not wish to speak to anyone but Tom. He stood by Edwina, and Libbetty did not want to distress the sensitive girl by discussing the incident in her hearing.

  Mr. Colton suggested, “Let us walk outside and give Trevor time to recover.”

  Edwina protested, “We shouldn’t leave him alone.”

  “The innkeeper has sent for a doctor. Philberta and I will stay with him until he comes,” Mrs. Dalrymple said.

  “I will stay with him,” Edwina asserted.

  Tom patted her shoulder. “You are unwell yourself.”

  Clearly torn, Edwina hesitated.

  Mrs. Dalrymple tossed her head impatiently. “Do you think we would let any harm come to him? I assure you we would not.”

  Tom said, “Come, Edwina, they will look after him,” and she assented. Francis supported Edwina as they left the room, and Tom hovered near the Hogwoods.

  The group gathered in the courtyard of the inn. As they passed the public room, Libbetty saw that none of the vicarage workmen she had noticed earlier remained. Francis and Tom helped Edwina to sit on a bench set against the west wall of the inn.

  Libbetty shivered and glanced toward the sinking sun, which cast indirect rays over them, cooler now. The lighthearted mood prevailing among the company during the picnic had vanished. Serious-faced people clustered and talked among themselves. Sybille Bassett still attempted to reassure Irene, with help from Jonathan Colton, who joked and mugged to distract the girl. Tom stood by Edwina and Francis.

  *

  A middle-aged man drove up in a gig, and Neil hurried to meet him, asking, “Are you the physician?” Receiving the man’s affirmation, Neil told him where he could find his patient and the doctor disappeared inside.

  Neil stood apart from the others, the crushing weight of failure pressing on him. Gone was the brief respite, the hope he could protect Trevor. With all the people who wanted to preserve Trevor’s life about him this afternoon, the unseen enemy had reached him anyway. Neil had never felt so helpless.

  He ignored the suspicious glances directed at him. One of the Misses Goforth said, “He should be arrested,” and Murray replied, “There’s no proof.”

  The foolish chit retorted, “The proof would be that the attempts on Cauldreigh’s life would stop.”

  Her solution would curtail Neil’s freedom of action. He should have thought of the drawbacks when he began his charade. It had proved more of a detriment than a help to his aims.

  Elizabeth Bishop detached from the others and went to him. “I’m sure he will be all right,” she comforted. Neil let the balm of her compassion flow over him, giving her a bleak smile.

  She stood beside him, seeming at a loss for further words, but he sensed her curiosity—and her wish to engage him in conversation, to make the moment last.

  Neil yielded to his need to have some
one near who believed in him. “Two men made a wager over who was strongest. Everybody went outside with their mugs to watch the contest. A large crowd milled around the activity. Someone could have put something in Trevor’s ale at that time, and no one would have noticed.”

  “Then you have no idea who did it?”

  He smiled grimly. Aware of suspicious glares the others directed at him, he realized speaking to her could do her no good. “Everyone else already believes they know who poisoned him. Why should you doubt it?”

  Elizabeth looked at him, and the sympathy in her expression gave him a strange twinge. “I don’t know why I doubt it. I just sense you care too much about him to do such a thing.”

  “Don’t you suppose I could pretend my concern cleverly enough to fool you?”

  She shivered and an expression of misgiving flashed on her face, but she said sharply, “Why do you always try to make me believe the worst of you?”

  Because one of us needs to keep a distance between us and I’m afraid for you. He had forbidden her to investigate, but he had little hope she would heed him. He had no right to insist. He had to end this conversation lest he give in to the yearning to touch her. He could not bear the hostility of the others being directed at Elizabeth. “You are too gullible. Anyone could take you in. Your lack of discernment may cause you harm.”

  She whirled and walked away, twitching the deep blue riding skirts in anger. Watching her go, a wave of self-disgust overcame him. He should not have spoken so harshly to her. In trying to protect her, he only hurt her. Yet a small hurt now was better than a deep one later. He could offer Elizabeth Bishop nothing but his tarnished reputation.

  Miss Clark came out of the inn to report that Trevor had awakened and appeared improved. Neil hurried inside, Sir Rodney and Lord Chester following. The doctor exited the chamber where Trevor rested. “My lord, your nephew has recovered enough that I believe you may safely transport him home.”

  *

  Libbetty lingered on the decorative wooden bridge leading to the island in the middle of the Bassetts’ artificial lake. Mr. Bassett had invited the usual Crossfield and Peasebotham guests, and those from The Castle, for a garden party at his spacious Georgian estate. Libbetty had drawn aside from the merry-making of the others, feeling an unaccountable estrangement.

  An extravagantly laden table stood inside the pseudo-Greek temple on the island, and Francis hovered next to it with the Goforth sisters, sampling apricot tarts and other delicacies.

  Although the island was not large, it had been artfully designed to contain several prospects. In a formal rose garden, Tom spoke with Irene, glancing from time to time at Edwina. She stood smiling shyly some distance away, surrounded by Sir Rodney, Lord Chester, Mr. Murray, and Lord Cauldreigh. In a small orchard set off from the other areas by a grape arbor, Jonathan Colton and Sybille Bassett stood closely together shaded by the arbor. Captain Forsyth and Mrs. Dalrymple had disappeared.

  Lord Neil had thus far firmly stayed on the land side of the bridge, on a paved terrace near the classically Palladian house. He sat with the chaperons, Mrs. Murray, Mr. Bassett, and Dr. and Mrs. Hayes, as if determined to declare himself too mature for the frivolities of the younger ones in the party.

  Libbetty most likely could have joined any of the younger groups in sight, but the only person she wished to be near had clearly distanced himself. At least Sybille was not hanging upon his sleeve.

  Libbetty wore another gown made over from the attic trove, a lilac-and-white striped pekin silk. She had persuaded her mother to make it slightly décolleté, with a white lace collar, short puffed sleeves, and flounces of lilac ribbon at the hem. She wore long white gloves and a wide-brimmed straw hat with lilac ribbons. She knew she appeared at her best.

  She had ceased pretending she cared for anyone’s opinion but Lord Neil’s. Libbetty could swear he made a special effort to avoid glancing at her. She wanted to cry, to stamp her daintily clad feet, or to run away.

  She stared shamelessly at him, willing him to glance her way, but he remained oblivious. She looked down in frustration. Water lilies dotted the blue-reflecting expanse of the lake. At shore, a heavy willow dangled branches into the water. She wondered how Mr. Bassett had succeeded in transplanting the huge tree, or had it grown there already before he created the lake? Perhaps a small pond or swampy area marked the original site of the lake.

  Lord Cauldreigh detached himself from the group around Edwina and crossed to stand by Libbetty. “If I gave you a penny for your thoughts, you could toss it into the water and make a wish,” he said. “It appears several others have done so.”

  Leaning over the railing, Libbetty saw a number of coins on the bottom at the edge of the bridge. “It does not work that way. If I tell you my wish, it won’t come true.”

  “Perhaps it might,” he said, smiling at her. “Were you thinking of me?”

  “What conceit. I wasn’t, but now I am. I am thinking you should go back to the others.”

  “Nobody misses me.”

  “That doesn’t seem to be so.” She did not know why Edwina had changed her mind about wanting Cauldreigh, but she glared at Libbetty from among the roses.

  “Spoiled little girls should not receive everything they want.”

  “She is not spoiled—or, at least, not the way you think. You don’t know—it’s her mother who keeps pushing her.”

  “An even better reason for me to keep my distance. Miss Bishop, I will return to the Peninsula as soon as I convince the War Office I’m fit. I cannot form any attachments. With a mother such as hers, if I pay Miss Hogwood any attention, I just might find myself leg-shackled. And then, if I should survive the War, I would find myself tied to her for the rest of my life—a prospect which makes death at the hands of the enemy positively desirable.”

  “So, you singled me out to pursue because my mother does not push me into a match.” Not stopping to think about her actions, Libbetty fled to shore. Although she did not wish Cauldreigh’s regard to become warmer, knowledge he only toyed with her hurt.

  Cauldreigh followed. She sped up to a brisk trot, entering into what would be a picturesque wood when the trees grew tall enough. They barely grew above her head at present, too thinly spaced to shelter her, with a wide path winding through them.

  “Dash it all, Miss Bishop, I meant no insult to you. Please wait for me.” He grabbed her arm in a bruising grip.

  She looked back toward the island. At this point thick bushes concealed them from the others. Good. She did not want to become the subject of gossip and supposition. “Let go of me,” she said in a low voice, trying to free herself.

  Cauldreigh’s grip firmed, and she winced. “Please hear me out, Libbetty—Miss Bishop.”

  “Not until you let me go.” She jerked free, and he lowered his hand.

  “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you. I only wanted to explain that I did not mean what you thought. Most men only dream of meeting a woman like you—beautiful, kind and brave. If I could marry now, I would probably already have fallen in love with you. I didn’t think you had taken my attentions seriously.”

  She hadn’t. She looked down at her arm as she rubbed the place he had gripped, more to give herself time to think than because it hurt.

  *

  “There you are, Trevor.” Neil sauntered towards them, masking his turmoil behind a calm face. Miss Bishop’s smile lit him from the inside out. His next words, “You had better go back to the others. The two of you being alone will cause gossip,” dimmed her smile.

  “Yes, you must go back,” she said. “It will upset Edwina that I have been alone with you.”

  “Devil take Miss Hogwood! Sorry, Miss Bishop, but I won’t modify my actions to suit her.”

  “However, you should not be so careless of Miss Bishop’s reputation,” Lord Neil pointed out.

  “You’re right,” Lord Cauldreigh admitted. “Shall we go back?” He held out an arm to Libbetty.

  “You go ahead. I want a
word with Miss Bishop,” said Lord Neil. The marquess walked away, not questioning the command.

  Lord Neil turned his attention to her. As he’d halfway expected, his high-handed actions found no favor with her. Her mobile mouth drew tight, and she clenched her fists. “What a plumper you told him. You have no real concern for my reputation, do you? You once told me it would ruin me to be alone with you.”

  He glanced around. “We’re not alone. We are in sight of the others.”

  “So was I with Lord Cauldreigh. Or is that what worries you? That it was Lord Cauldreigh? It would not suit your purposes if he should form an attachments, would it?”

  “What do you mean?” He reached out to seize her, but drew his hand back. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, glaring at her.

  She flinched. “I did not mean anything.”

  He stepped back. “Never mind. I understand your meaning well enough.” He laughed harshly. “It doesn’t suit me to think of you with Trevor, but not for the reason you impute to me. However, I shall endeavor to ensure my odious presence does not intrude upon you again.”

  God, he always did the wrong thing where she was concerned. He vowed to stay away, but then was drawn like leaves toward the sunlight. All the while knowing he was wrong for her. And he still couldn’t win her trust—trust he did everything in his power to smother, but which he wanted desperately.

  He pivoted and strode back toward the Bassetts’ mansion. Aware of Miss Bishop’s footsteps hurriedly stumbling the opposite direction. Lord, she was probably crying and couldn’t see where she was going. He had to force himself to keep moving and not go to her again.

  He’d taken several steps when he nearly walked into Christian Forsyth. He raised an eyebrow. “Were you eavesdropping?”

  “Inadvertently, I assure you. I was returning from saying my farewells to Leticia, and your conversation appeared to be one I should not interrupt.” He flashed a half-smile, his posture easy, relaxed.

  Forsyth was in Trevor’s unit in the Peninsula. He’d been sent to London with dispatches, and Sir Rodney had invited him to this mission-to-save-Trevor disguised as a house party.