Lord Satan

by Judith Laik

  He didn’t go on any further. Maude screamed and jumped up, pulling a small handgun she had concealed. Before Neil could react, she aimed it at Trevor and pulled the trigger. Owen stepped in front of his brother, and the bullet hit him.

  Trevor caught Owen as he fell. Still screaming, Maude pulled a blade from the concealed pocket and flew at Trevor, who couldn’t fight back, holding Owen. Neil got to her before she could stab him and wrestled the knife away.

  Maude fought like a madwoman, and it took all his strength to hold on to her, but with her legs and arms flailing, he couldn’t control her. Servants rushed in, and a couple of footmen managed to subdue Maude, who was screaming still, her body jerking spasmodically.

  Neil picked up the blade, recognizing his own letter opener, which had been in the drawer of his desk. He moved to Owen and Trevor. Owen lay on the floor, blood spilling from his chest, no, higher up, in the shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked Trevor.

  He nodded, concentrating on pulling off Owen’s clothing to expose the wound, and using the shirt to press against the blood flow.

  “Send for Dr. Hayes,” Neil ordered Salton. The butler bowed and left.

  “I won’t lose him,” Trevor vowed, his voice husky. “He saved my life. He’s shorter than me. If he hadn’t taken the bullet, it would have hit me in the heart.”

  “No, we won’t lose him.” Neil gripped Trevor’s shoulder. “I should have searched Maude. Besides bringing a pistol in here, she managed to secrete the letter opener, which is also lethal. She must have done it when I went out to explain to you what had happened. I completely underestimated her.”

  Neil turned to the servants who were still dealing with the thrashing, screaming woman. “Get her out of here. Put her in a room where she can be locked in. Not Mrs. Browning’s; she might well destroy whatever is in the room.”

  It seemed Maude had completely gone mad. She could not have been all that sane to begin with, to have conceived the vile plan she had. But it changed Neil’s notion of how to deal with her.

  The errand to bring Dr. Hayes in to look at Owen was a fruitless one, it turned out. The physician had a surfeit of emergencies this night. Nursing Owen was up to them.

  “I can’t remove the bullet,” Trevor said. “My battle wound expertise ends with immediate treatment to stanch the bleeding.”

  Neil asked who among the household had any medical skills, and one of the grooms came forward. They managed to stop the bleeding, and bandaged the wound. The doctor’s skills would have to wait until he could be freed from his other duties.

  *

  For Libbetty, the next hours passed in a mist. She longed for nothing so much as a long sleep, but that was denied her.

  The wet nurse arrived with the morning. Libbetty left Mrs. Berkfield to watch over her mother while she spoke to Ginny Green. The wife of a laborer, Mrs. Green had a boy, about three, in tow. “I’ve no place to leave him,” she said apologetically.

  “That’s all right, Mrs. Green. He can play in the nursery with my little brothers.”

  Mrs. Green nursed the baby, who sucked hungrily. “What’s her name?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t had a chance to name her yet.”

  Dr. Hayes arrived to examine Mrs. Bishop. “I believe she can be safely moved enough to replace her bedding with clean sheets,” he announced. “And Bobby Murchison still clings to life. In fact, he may be improving slightly. Mr. Bishop asked me to inform you that he must remain for some while. He charged me with sending a message to tell him how things go on here. Is all well with the rest of the family?”

  “Yes, everyone is well, but the children have been most anxious about Mama. They wanted to come in to see her, but I could not risk anyone’s intrusion upsetting her. Did I do right?” Libbetty stood beside her mother’s bed.

  The doctor looked down at his patient. “Yes, it was best to act protectively. However, perhaps now they could come in one at a time for a short while. They must not disturb her.”

  Libbetty told Catherine the children could come in to see their mother. She instructed her to accompany the younger ones, one at a time, so that no one made any commotion. No one did, however. Even little Richard stood solemnly by his mother’s bedside, while Libbetty whispered to him, “Mama has been very sick, but she is getting better.”

  Tom came in a little later, and his pale face and bobbing Adam’s apple showed his anxiety, though he said nothing. When he turned to leave she caught the sheen of tears in his eyes.

  Still Mrs. Bishop did not awaken.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The afternoon light was failing in her parents’ bedchamber. Libbetty lit candles and added another log to the fire. As she turned away from the fireplace, her mother looked at her with glazed, sleepy eyes.

  Tears rose up and she rushed to her mother’s side. “How do you feel, Mama?” Her voice came out choked, her throat tight with overwhelming emotion.

  Her mother smiled slightly in reassurance, then, frowning, she looked around. “The baby?” she croaked in a weak voice.

  “The baby is well, Mama. Dr. Hayes, er, we hired a wet nurse, just until you are stronger.” Libbetty offered her mother a glass of water, and she swallowed a few sips, then slept again.

  Finally her mother’s recovery seemed certain. A great weight lifted from her chest, re-energizing her vigil by her mother’s bedside.

  She sat watching while her mother alternately slept and woke in short periods during the evening, urging her to take some liquid during her wakeful moments. On her second awakening, late that evening, Mrs. Bishop said, “I want to see the baby.”

  “All right, Mama.” Libbetty went to the nursery.

  Mrs. Green, nursing the infant, looked up at Libbetty’s entrance. “My mother is awake and asking to see the baby. Would you mind bringing her in?

  The wet nurse rearranged her clothes and stood. She carried the baby into Mrs. Bishop’s chamber and placed the small bundle in her mother’s arms. Mrs. Bishop checked her new daughter over, caressed the wispy reddish hair, and said, “Her name is Michaela.”

  Later that evening, Mrs. Bishop had a slight fever. When Dr. Hayes arrived, he frowned at his patient, although he reassured Libbetty he had expected nothing less. “Mrs. Bishop’s fever is not high. Keep giving her as much water and tea as she will take. You might give her some beef tea to strengthen the blood. I’ll call again in the morning.”

  Shortly after, Mr. Bishop came into the room, hurrying to his wife’s side and kneeling by the bed, studying her as though he had doubted he would see her still alive. “How is she?”

  As Libbetty began to tell him what the doctor had just said, he interrupted, “I know. I just talked to him. I wished to hear your own observations.”

  “Oh.” How could she put into words the wild reversals of emotion she had suffered in the past twenty-four hours? “I don’t know how she is. She was doing better, but she is fevered now. Dr. Hayes doesn’t seem too worried, though.”

  “I’ve just come from the Murchisons’. Billy Murchison is still clinging to life,” Papa said. “Let me sit with Mrs. Bishop for awhile so you can rest.”

  She noted the weary droop to his shoulders and his disarrangement, in contrast to his usually pristine neatness. “You are tired, too, Papa. Why don’t you rest for awhile?”

  “I want to be with her.” The mild insistence shocked Libbetty more than the difference in his appearance. Normally he would have commanded, expecting no argument.

  He further stunned her by adding, “I am accustomed to keeping such hours, Elizabeth. It has been part of my job for many years. You are not. You can be of no use to your mother if you are too exhausted to mind her properly.”

  After sleeping a few hours, Libbetty sat with her mother the rest of the night, while Papa snatched a brief respite. During the night, Mrs. Bishop’s condition did not improve.

  At dawn, before returning to the Murchisons’, Mr. Bishop came into the chamber and gazed with such so
rrow and love at his wife that it tore at Libbetty’s heart. “I would I did not have to leave,” he said. “The Murchisons have to struggle to get in their harvest with their son injured. I know that your mother has good care with you to look after her.”

  When Dr. Hayes came back in the morning, he frowned with worry. “I can’t bleed her,” he said. “I have no choice but to remove the packing.”

  Fortunately, Mrs. Bishop did not resume hemorrhaging afterward, and she seemed easier.

  In the afternoon, Mrs. Berkfield came to the chamber. “Lord Cauldreigh and Lord Neil are here. I told them this is a house of sickness and you had no time for callers, but they insisted they must see you.” She eyed Libbetty narrowly.

  “Oh dear,” she said. She wished she could lay all her burdens at Lord Neil’s feet, but she had no right to expect his sympathy or succor. Then vanity took over, and she only wished he did not see her when she looked so haggard and disheveled.

  “I must not be rude,” she finally said.

  “I’ll stay with Mrs. Bishop while you see them,” Mrs. Berkfield offered.

  Libbetty ran to her room, quickly tidied herself and changed to a clean gown. Downstairs, Tom sat in the drawing room with their guests. Libbetty’s gaze flew at once to Lord Neil. He arose and came to take Libbetty’s hand.

  “I’ve heard about your mother’s illness. I deeply sympathize with her afflictions. Please convey to her our wishes for her recovery.” His expression, full of concern, warmed her.

  “Thank you,” Libbetty said, reluctant to withdraw her hand from Lord Neil’s clasp. Her fingers tingled where they had touched his. “Please sit.” She waved at the chairs they had occupied. “I have wondered what happened with Owen Whitelow.”

  “You will never believe this,” Lord Cauldreigh exclaimed. “He is my brother—or half-brother, actually.”

  “Your brother?” Tom frowned, puzzled.

  “Yes. We have learned my father actually married Maude Rose. Owen would have inherited if I had died. He is actually Lord Owen Colton.”

  “Oh, infamous!” Libbetty cried. “He would have killed his own brother to obtain your title and estates?”

  “It’s hardly that shocking,” Lord Neil put in. “He didn’t even know Trevor as a person, so how could he have any affection for him? No one doubted that I could kill my own nephew.”

  “That’s because they don’t know you,” Cauldreigh said with heat. “No one who knew you could have suspected you.”

  Libbetty’s face flamed at Cauldreigh’s implication. How could she have suspected Lord Neil? And the things she had said to him—she remembered every rash and unfounded word she had blurted on every occasion she had felt discomfited by him.

  Tom appeared to have no guilt feelings, although he had expressed his belief in Lord Neil’s guilt more unequivocally than she. “What will you do about Owen Whitelow—er, Colton?”

  “More drama occurred that night at The Castle,” Lord Neil said. “In fact, Owen has already partially atoned for his attempts on Trevor’s life. He took a bullet intended for Trevor.”

  “Is he dead then?” Tom asked.

  “What happened?” Libbetty said at almost the same time. “I don’t understand. Who would shoot at Lord Cauldreigh if it wasn’t Owen?”

  “It was Maude Whitelow,” Cauldreigh put in. “And, no, luckily, Owen is recovering.”

  Lord Neil said, “When he is well enough, he is going to work with Reynolds, and they will travel to all of Trevor’s holdings to see to their needs. Owen will use the building skills he learned from his stepfather to supervise any renovations. I am sure that Reynolds has been equally as lax elsewhere as he was in Peasebotham, so that will occupy Owen for some time.”

  “What about Mrs. Whitelow?” Libbetty asked.

  “Apparently the collapse of her plot completely unhinged her. That is when she tried to kill Trevor,” Lord Neil explained. “She has been raving and insensible since then. We have confined her to an insane asylum near Bath.”

  “If Owen proves trustworthy, which he has already made a good start at, stepping in front of his mother’s bullet to save me, he will be granted one of my unentailed properties. We’ve already established which it will be. It’s a prosperous property in the north that will support him in comfort.”

  Lord Cauldreigh added, “I look forward to becoming better acquainted with him. That will have to wait, however, as I am returning very soon to the Peninsula. We leave for London tomorrow, and I shall return to my regiment as soon as a ship sails.”

  “Unfortunately, Trevor does not take enough care with his own life.” Lord Neil gave his nephew a rueful look.

  “Well, that’s an old issue between us,” Trevor said.

  “Tomorrow,” Libbetty echoed.

  “Yes, Uncle Neil is fully as eager to shake off the dust of this place as I am.”

  Pain ripped through Libbetty’s heart, despite the efforts she had made to prime herself for this occurrence. She could not help the glance she cast at him. She remembered his statement that her face revealed every emotion, but she was too exhausted to summon the defiance that usually protected her from exposing her feelings to scorn.

  A momentary expression—of remorse, perhaps?—crossed Lord Neil’s face, but he turned away, saying his goodbyes to Tom, and he and Lord Cauldreigh rose to take their leave.

  The marquess bowed over her hand. “Knowing you has afforded me much pleasure. It will refresh me to think of you when I am in the midst of battle.”

  *

  Neil bowed formally, and said only, “Miss Bishop.” He had his emotions under control again. He had nearly forgotten all his resolutions and taken Elizabeth in his arms when he first saw her. The sight of her, her brightness dimmed by burdens, her eyes shadowed, had roused a fierce instinct to shelter her, to carry her away from the misfortune that had visited her family.

  They needed her. With Mrs. Bishop so ill, no one else could manage the day-to-day running of the household and care for everyone. Tom was clearly out of his depth, and was soon to leave in any case. Neil’s estimate of the Reverend Mr. Bishop’s character led him to conclude his family’s and his community’s spiritual concerns would be foremost, leaving practical details to someone else.

  And just as much, Elizabeth Bishop needed her family. Nothing he could offer her would compensate for the protection and love she found at home. He renewed his vow not to see her again.

  He had been urgently summoned to London. An old friend was embroiled in a battle to secure funding for Wellington. The British army was stalled—by oncoming winter and the difficulties of dealing with the Spanish government—and some officials in London had begun a campaign to cut back on needed supplies and armaments.

  With Trevor soon to join the forces in Spain, Neil had a personal as well as a patriotic reason to join in the effort to ensure Wellington had everything his troops needed.

  *

  Libbetty’s heart was scraped and bleeding. Lord Neil had taken a piece of it to London and didn’t even know. Somehow she kept to her duties. Her mother’s recovery was all she could give herself to.

  Within a few days, Tom and Alonso left for Oxford, leaving Libbetty lonelier than ever. Mrs. Bishop recovered slowly. Dr. Hayes told Libbetty and her father that they would require the wet nurse’s services until Michaela could be weaned.

  Mrs. Green took the baby to live with her. She was a farm laborer’s wife whose own duties made it impossible for her to stay at the manse for more than a few days, and when it became obvious Mrs. Bishop would not be able to assume the infant’s care, sending her to the Greens’ was the only practical solution. Her mother grieved, and they all missed their youngest sister, but she would return home once she was weaned. Mrs. Green brought her over for a visit with Mrs. Bishop as often as she was able.

  Mr. Bishop said he could not afford to pay both Mrs. Green and Floss, and they let the nursery maid go. Floss took her dismissal calmly, as she had become betrothed to Zack, the Hogwoo
ds’ groom. Her departure heaped more burdens upon Libbetty and her sisters, and left Libbetty even more bereft of friends.

  A week later, as Libbetty directed the laundry operations, Edwina and her mother called. Libbetty removed her apron and tried to marshal a cool and gracious appearance before greeting them.

  Edwina comported herself as though there had never been any discord between the two of them, greeting Libbetty in a friendly manner.

  “How is dear Mrs. Bishop?” Mrs. Hogwood’s solicitousness struck Libbetty as spurious.

  “She is making progress, although very slowly.”

  “Please convey our good wishes to her.” With barely a pause, Mrs. Hogwood continued, “We have decided to go to London. My little Edwina will be a toast, I am sure. Lord Chester and Sir Rodney both assured her of their courtesy should she come to town. Who knows, she may find another suitor more to her liking. And of course, we would not miss dear Sybille’s wedding.”

  “Sybille asked me to be a bridesmaid,” Edwina boasted. “It is to be a grand wedding, with many of the ton in attendance.”

  “How delightful for you,” said Libbetty. Her own voice echoed false in her ears.

  There could be no question of leaving her duties to attend Sybille’s wedding, even had she received an invitation. Still, Libbetty could not help her hurt at being excluded. Lord Neil would undoubtedly attend, as Jonathan Colton was his cousin.

  “When is the wedding?” she asked, knowing she should not. Having the date in her mind only ensured she would think of it, and Lord Neil. She could no more have prevented the words from leaving her lips than she could prevent herself from breathing.

  “In December. A Christmas wedding—so romantic.” Edwina’s eyes glowed as if she dreamed of such an event in her own future.

  *

  Libbetty’s future did not glow. A dreary winter loomed. Caring for her mother, the household and the children occupied her, and she could not restore her carefree youth.

  Catherine and even Isobel helped, minding their younger brothers and caring for Mrs. Bishop, but Libbetty tried not to impose upon them too much, wishing to steal no more of their childhood than she must. However, she became closer than she had ever been to Catherine and Isobel. They had always seemed too young for them to be companions, but the additional cares placed on them had matured them also during these times.