Lord Satan

by Judith Laik

  *

  When Tom invited Libbetty to accompany them, she refused, determined to avoid any encounter with Lord Neil.

  He had disappeared from her life; there were no accidental meetings. She felt only relief, of course. When she caught herself looking for him every time she ventured out of doors, she rationalized that she merely strove to avoid him, to protect them both from the embarrassment of coming face to face.

  On rare occasions she had time alone, without one of her younger siblings. She took advantage of those to pursue her investigation of Mr. Hedgesett’s employees. She discovered that Longdon and Walford had not been at the inn. Through them, she learned where Carstow lived and interviewed him as well. He was a stocky man, perhaps around thirty, with thinning hair. She was sure that looking up to the roof from the ground, she would not have received an impression of dark hair if he had been the one. Besides, his body build was all wrong.

  None of the three knew any details about White. He only briefly worked for Hedgesett and had made no effort to befriend any of the other men. Stymied in her efforts to learn more about the fourth man, she decided to turn her efforts to a talk with Jonathan Colton.

  Doing so without the risk of seeing Lord Neil proved difficult. Libbetty kept close to her younger siblings and Alonso Hayes. She entered into their pastimes with forced enthusiasm, but none noticed the shadow that often darkened her.

  With them, she fished again, picked berries, walked for miles—and planned their annual raid on the orchards of a particularly disliked, miserly farmer. This endeavor caused newly aroused qualms of conscience in Libbetty.

  Farmer Beddoes had acted as nemesis to the Bishop children since their move to Peasebotham. The other farmers cast an indulgent eye on their ramblings, offered them access to the fruits of their orchards as part payment for their father’s services to the parish, and generally made them feel welcomed.

  In contrast, Farmer Beddoes yelled at them to cease trespassing across his property, never shared his produce, and, they learned, harshly treated the farmhand who worked for him.

  Ned Thompson had lost an eye in a haying accident some years previously. As a result, his perspective and ability to measure distance were hindered, and no other farmer wanted to hire him. His employer took advantage of this handicap to work him unmercifully and pay him next to nothing.

  When the young Bishops learned about Ned, they believed themselves justified in harassing the farmer. Alonso gleefully joined in, helping to think of new twists to their assaults. Each year near harvest, they slipped out late one night to plunder his crop. Any attacks of conscience were assuaged by giving their spoils to the poor of the parish, and more than once they drew a parallel between their exploits and those of the legendary Robin Hood.

  They laughed at Farmer Beddoes’ curses upon the incursions to his crops and threats that if he ever caught the thieves, he would make sure they were transported—or worse.

  When Alonso reported that it looked as if Beddoes’ fruits had ripened, they gathered at their meeting place by the brook and planned this year’s raid.

  “Shouldn’t we ask Tom to join us?” Freddy leaned against the willow’s trunk, with the low-hanging branches screening him. “He’s always come. He’ll be disappointed to miss out this year.”

  “No,” said Alonso, whittling at a piece of wood. “He’s too busy with his toplofty friends to have time for our games.”

  Libbetty, with her bare feet dangling in the cool water, gave voice to her misgivings. “I don’t think we should do this any more.” The boys eyed her with scorn.

  “Have you turned craven?” Freddy asked. He dropped down to lie full length upon the grass under the willow, hands behind his head. “I never thought I’d hear you council caution.”

  “I’m not craven. It’s stealing, and it’s wrong even if the old miser deserves to suffer. We’d do more good if we tried to help Ned Thompson. When we reduce Farmer Beddoes’ profits, it only gives him an excuse to lower Ned’s pay.”

  “He doesn’t need an excuse,” scoffed George, biting a weed.

  Libbetty gave attention to Catherine’s worried look. “At least, let’s not take Cat. I don’t want to put her at risk.”

  Catherine jumped in, “But I want to go,” and Freddy added, “You really have become an old woman. You needn’t come if you’re scared. Beddoes couldn’t catch a fox in his chicken house.”

  Libbetty shrugged and overrode her uneasiness, which no doubt owed to her despondent mood. “I’m not scared. If you still want to steal Beddoes’ apples, I’ll come along.”

  The night of the raid, Libbetty woke Catherine shortly after midnight. Fumbling in the darkness, the girls dressed in trousers and shirts borrowed from George and Freddy. They met the twins at the foot of the stairs and crept down the hall to the kitchen and back door, where Alonso joined them.

  The sky was moonless and dark. Libbetty’s eyes adjusted slowly to the starlight so she could make her way sure-footedly.

  It took nearly an hour to reach Beddoes’ Farm, walking cross-country and avoiding houses. They had several fences, hedges, and ditches to negotiate, pastures where resident bulls might provide a hazard to avoid, the stream to ford where it ran shallow. Despite their caution, a couple of watchdogs gave voice to their presence, and they ran out of range as quickly as possible.

  Libbetty’s heart beat fast the whole time, and she ignored a tendency to shiver, as though chilled, although the night air had hardly cooled from the day’s heat. Catherine shivered beside her and started at every strange noise of the night—an owl’s call, the rustle of wind in the trees.

  Despite the need to keep their voices low, the boys laughed and joked. Did their bravado stem from true fearlessness or to cover up the same dread that nagged at her? When they stopped at the stile that bounded Beddoes property, Libbetty said, “Let’s go home. I don’t like this.”

  George gave her a cuff on the shoulder, meant to reassure, and asked, “What could go wrong? We’ll be out of here in ten minutes with our pockets full of apples.”

  Libbetty shrugged, but the wariness would not dissipate. She climbed over the stile with the others, and selected a tree.

  Catherine had no practice in tree climbing, and Alonso lifted her into a low branch. Libbetty had climbed halfway up her tree when a metallic snap and a howl from George froze her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Mantrap!” Alonso cried. Libbetty leaped down to help George. A cacophony of baying broke out from the farmhouse.

  Fearful of more traps, Libbetty reached George. He already strained to free himself. Freddy and Alonso worked with him. The baying came closer, augmented by a shout from Farmer Beddoes, “All right, you sneaking thieves, I’ll catch you this time!”

  The hound had almost reached them when Libbetty heard the click of the trap’s jaws opening. “Can you move?” Alonso asked.

  “I’ll move,” vowed George. Cat joined them, having jumped from her tree on her own. They all took off running.

  “Scatter!” Alonso called. He grasped Cat’s hand to help her. Libbetty lent her support to George, who limped badly.

  “I’ll draw the hound after me,” Freddy said. He waited, then ran as the dog closed in, calling, “Here, doggie.”

  For some reason, the hound chose to follow him, baying menacingly, giving the others more time to get away.

  George leaned on Libbetty as she pumped her legs frantically. Her heart pounded and her breathing rasped in her ears, along with George’s gasps. A gun fired behind her. She couldn’t tell at whom it had been aimed but did not hear any outcries. Hoping the shot had missed, she ran on, towing George. After an eternity, she lost the sounds of the others’ flight and the pursuers.

  She paused to catch her breath, holding her side against a sharp pain. George collapsed onto the ground. “How bad is it?”

  “Don’t know. Hurts like the devil.” His voice was raw.

  “What a despicable thing to do.”

 
“Should have listened to you. Never knew you were a Cassandra.”

  “I’m not. I swear I didn’t know anything would go wrong.”

  After a while, she asked, “Can you walk now?” and upon his assent, helped him to his feet. They walked the best pace he could to Alonso’s house. Libbetty did not know if the others would gather there, but they would have to ask Dr. Hayes’ to treat George’s leg.

  Alonso and Catherine waited for them at the back of the house. Freddy had not come, and Libbetty feared he had been caught. Alonso said, “You girls go on. I’ll take George to my father. If Freddy has got home, have him come here.”

  Libbetty nodded, anxious to see Catherine home safely.

  Freddy had not arrived. The girls undressed and climbed into bed, careful not to awaken Isobel. Libbetty lay awake, aware of Cat, also awake, beside her. She did not hear their brothers return, and at length Catherine’s deepened breathing indicated she had fallen asleep. Libbetty watched the dawn arrive, and finally achieved a fitful doze.

  When she awoke later in the morning, the boys were home. Freddy said, “I finally escaped that Hound of Hell by running in the stream and climbing directly from the water into the branches of our willow. I didn’t dare climb out until I was sure the hound had given up. It took hours.” A sneeze punctuated this.

  George reported his leg was not broken, merely macerated and bruised. He found it painful to walk but concealed the fact from his parents. He spent a few days indoors, pretending he had come down with Freddy’s cold to give him an excuse.

  With the twins curtailed, Libbetty passed time with Alonso and Catherine. Without Freddy and George, they were quieter, often walking to their brook, Alonso bringing a book, which he read out loud to the sisters after they reached their objective.

  The time they shared had a curious peace to it that was balm to Libbetty’s clouded spirit. The friendship growing between Alonso and Catherine sometimes shut Libbetty out. She made no effort to breach the gap, gripped by an unusual lassitude.

  Alonso expressed his admiration for Catherine’s bravery during the raid, although she’d confided to Libbetty that she did not ever want to feel that scared again.

  “Nor do I,” seconded Libbetty.

  *

  A few days later, Sybille and Irene Bassett called at the vicarage. Miss Bassett’s eyes sparkled, and Irene’s complexion flushed with excitement. “Guess what?” the younger woman said, scarcely waiting until she and her sister were seated in the drawing room. “Sybille’th getting married!”

  “Hush, Irene. I told you to let me tell the news,” said Sybille, and Irene clapped her hand over her mouth, giggling. Despite her words, Sybille’s wide smile showed she wasn’t really annoyed at Irene. She wore a deep red Spencer over a dotted white gown, which was outmatched by her glowing complexion.

  Libbetty still stood by the pianoforte which she had been idly playing at the Bassett sisters’ arrival. A vast emptiness gaped inside her at the news. She tried to school her face not to reveal her alarm. Please, not Lord Neil. He would surely marry some day, but not this soon, before she had overcome her feelings for him, and not Sybille.

  “What good news.” Mrs. Bishop looked up from stitching narrow lace onto a baby frock. “Tell us, who is the lucky man?”

  “It’s Mr. Colton, Lord Cauldreigh’s cousin.”

  Libbetty drew a breath and sat back on the piano stool, her legs shaking under her.

  “We are both going to live at his house,” broke in Irene. “It’s a big place, but not as big as a castle. Not quite as big as Bassett House, either. But it’s big enough for me to live with them.”

  “Yes, Jonathan has kindly offered to have Irene live with us—after we return from our honeymoon. The wedding will take place this winter at Sandstone Hall in Dorset. Papa will travel there soon with Jonathan to consult on refurbishing his home.

  “Irene and I will go to London to stay with Mrs. Colton. Jonathan’s mother has been so gracious. She has offered to help me choose my trousseau. We have so much to do before we leave, but I knew I must call on you and tell you our good news.

  “Papa is closing up Bassett House for now. e plans to return here later, and we will visit him from time to time. We will see each other in the future, I am sure.”

  During their brief visit, Sybille and Irene scarcely gave Mrs. Bishop and Libbetty an opportunity to speak. Then they left in a flurry of farewells and good wishes from the Bishop ladies.

  Mrs. Bishop looked shrewdly at Libbetty. “Well, I must say, that was a surprise.”

  Libbetty studied the keys before her, afraid her mother saw more than she wished to reveal. “I am surprised also. I have seen Miss Bassett in Mr. Colton’s company several times lately, but I did not attach any importance to it. I understand Mr. Colton’s fortunes are in disarray, and Mr. Bassett has a fortune to settle on his daughters. Miss Bassett wished to marry well, and though Mr. Colton has no title, he is grandson to a marquess. It seems they have both found what they wished for.”

  Carefully, she picked out a tune, her fingers light and dexterous as a merry air formed beneath them. She should not feel so happy, she thought. The fact that Sybille had not enticed Lord Neil into her trap did not make him hers. Still, her heart lifted from the weight it had carried for a long time.

  *

  The next day, Freddy and George, nearly recovered from their misadventure with Farmer Beddoes, announced their intention of taking a long hike across country before returning to school. Privately to Libbetty, Freddy explained their purpose of strengthening George’s injured leg.

  Libbetty and Catherine were helping their mother make her pear preserve when Mrs. Berkfield announced Lord Cauldreigh’s call.

  “Show him to the drawing room, Mrs. Berkfield. We shall join him there immediately.” Mrs. Bishop took off her apron and tidied her hair.

  Libbetty wished she could hide. Why hadn’t her brothers taken her with them? “You greet him, Mama. I will watch the pears so they don’t burn.”

  “Indeed you will not. Mrs. Berkfield will see to the pear preserve. We do not deny callers at the vicarage, Elizabeth. It is our duty. We never know when they may be in need. Catherine, you may help Mrs. Berkfield. You are still too young to receive callers.”

  Tom already lounged in the drawing room. The marquess stood when the ladies entered, and Tom belatedly remembered his manners, also.

  “Mrs. Bishop, Miss Bishop, how good it is to see you. It has been some time since I have called upon you, and I must apologize for my dereliction. No doubt you have heard our news.”

  “About the betrothal of Miss Bassett and Mr. Colton? Yes, Miss Bassett called upon us yesterday to inform us of it.” Mrs. Bishop sat in her favorite chair. “Please sit, Lord Cauldreigh.”

  “I shall not stay but a minute. I’ve come to deliver invitations for a ball to celebrate the betrothal. It is short notice as the couple will leave for London quite soon.”

  “Splendid,” said Tom, his face aglow with pleasure.

  A cold chill swept through Libbetty. Hearing her voice as though from far away, she said, “Oh, no, I could not go.”

  Instantly she became aware of the shocked expressions of the others, and at the same time realized the effect of her own overhasty words. Attending the ball was perhaps her last chance to see Lord Neil. Tears pooling in her eyes, she dashed from the room, hearing Tom exclaim, “What the devil is wrong with her?”

  A short while later, her mother sought her out in her bedchamber. “Do you wish to tell me what is wrong?” she said, standing beside the bed upon which Libbetty had thrown herself to indulge in a hearty bout of crying.

  “Mama, I cannot tell you,” Libbetty managed between sobs.

  “You have not been offered some insult by someone at The Castle, have you?” Libbetty heard the threatening note in her mother’s voice—the tone of a mother ready to defend her child.

  “No, Mama, it is the other way around. I insulted Lord Neil, and I cannot face him.” A fre
sh burst of tears sprang up.

  “How did this come about?” Mrs. Bishop leaned her belly against the bed.

  Libbetty could not share all the events that had led up to the insult. This was becoming worse and worse. “I can’t exactly say, Mama. He, well, sometimes he makes me uncomfortable, and then I blurt out words without stopping to think.” She could feel the heat of her blush, but hoped that her face was already so reddened from crying that her mother could not detect it.

  “I see.” Mrs. Bishop brushed a hand softly over Libbetty’s head. “I hope you will learn to curb that impulsive streak, such as just now when Lord Cauldreigh issued his invitation.”

  “Yes, I hope so too. I really want to go to the ball, but now I have ruined it by refusing.”

  “Matters are not ruined. I assured Lord Cauldreigh that it was merely a fit of vapors and that you would attend. You have the blue sarcenet that you have not had occasion to wear.”

  “Oh, Mama.” Libbetty leaped up and threw her arms around her mother. “Do you suppose it will be all right to go?”

  “I am certain that it will.” Her arms went around her daughter, and Libbetty’s world tipped back into place.

  *

  Once again Neil stood in a reception line with his nephew and his cousin. This time Sybille Bassett stood beside Jonathan Colton, blushingly accepting the felicitations of the guests.

  Anticipation thrummed icily in Neil’s veins despite all his efforts to quash it. Trevor had assured him Elizabeth Bishop would attend the ball.

  He didn’t want to want her but didn’t know how to stop.

  With the houseguests, save Jonathan, gone, the company was thinner. To make a respectable turnout for a betrothal ball, they had cast their nets wider, inviting others besides the local gentry. They included some of the landowning farm families, such as Mr. and Mrs. Perkins, and merchants, such as the Sidneys, who would not normally expect an invitation to Cauldreigh Castle.