Lord Satan

by Judith Laik

  “What, Mama?”

  “I wish to protect you. You should know aristocrats such as the Coltons marry within their own class. I fear associating with them may awake expectations in you that are doomed to disappointment and heartbreak.”

  Libbetty said, “But Mrs. Hogwood has urged Edwina on. She is convinced Lord Cauldreigh will offer for her.”

  “Miss Hogwood at least has a fortune that makes her less ineligible. However, I believe the Hogwoods’ hopes are destined to come to nothing. I think Mrs. Hogwood very foolish to encourage her daughter’s pursuance of that goal.”

  Deep red spread across her cheeks. “Something more I must say. I’m sure you’ve noticed, when men and women marry, they have a baby soon after—that is, within a year or so.”

  “Er, yes?” Libbetty watched in fascination as the fringe in her mother’s shawl unraveled.

  “Yes. When a man and woman marry, certain…intimacies happen between them that result in a baby growing.”

  That babies grew inside women’s bodies, Libbetty had seen evidence of during her mother’s last pregnancies, four and seven years before. This information did not enlighten her about the process. Squirming in her chair, she stared at her mother, waiting for some key to clear up the mystery.

  In a rush, Mrs. Bishop went on, “The thing is, Elizabeth, you must be careful of your dealings with young men. For an unmarried woman to have a baby is a most disastrous event.”

  Libbetty’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, Mama?”

  Her mother glanced up quickly before she went back to her inspection of her shawl. “You must never allow such intimacies to occur before you are married.”

  Cold pooled in Libbetty’s stomach as she pictured the kisses she had shared with Wat. “What…intimacies, Mama?”

  Her mother swallowed, and seemed to be struggling to find words. “Women have a secret place in their bodies—and men, that is, when they embrace in an intimate fashion—men go very close to that secret place. That is enough for you to know right now. I’m sure I can trust your good judgment.”

  Libbetty inhaled deeply. Mama must not mean kisses. Lips were not secret—they were right there on a person’s face.

  Mrs. Bishop stood up. “Elizabeth, when a woman finds the right man to marry, the closeness between them brings great joy. Your papa and I have been very happy.”

  Afterward, Libbetty went up to her bedchamber. Her sisters were still in the nursery, so she had the room to herself. Would she truly have anything to fear from Lord Cauldreigh? She could not believe such a puppyish, friendly young man would ever set out to ruin a woman. No matter what her mother had said, she could not be in any danger from Lord Cauldreigh.

  Lord Neil—now, it was easy to picture him as the ruin of many a woman. Even she, who had seen the violent side he usually hid beneath his ironic manner, was affected by a strange attraction to him. However, knowing his true nature, she was armed against his appeal. She must persuade her father to free her from his strictures, so she could unmask Lord Neil for the villain he was.

  *

  Neil handed his card to the stout, middle-aged woman who answered the door and asked, “Is the Reverend Mr. Bishop in?”

  “I’ll see,” the servant said, her brow furrowed. “Do you want to step in?” She went down the hall and knocked at a door.

  Neil removed his hat and looked about. All about him were signs of deterioration—carpet with a worn nap, walls in need of fresh paint. The noise of children playing outside wafted to him, muted by the stone walls of the vicarage, but bringing back the image of Miss Bishop as he had seen her upon his arrival, leaping to reach the shuttlecock, racket in hand.

  The servant came back, said, “This way, sir,” and showed him into the vicar’s study. The vicar sat among furniture Neil remembered from the time of Bishop’s predecessor, with the classical lines of the previous century. Two chairs, desk, and a round-top table had been of good quality in their day. Now they had a faintly shabby, embarrassed appearance, rather like an elderly, impoverished relative wearing faded, out-of-fashion clothing.

  Mr. Bishop stood and extended his hand civilly, though Neil could see reluctance in his stiff posture and sober expression.

  He invited Neil to sit and added, “What may I do for you? I’m afraid I don’t have a great deal of time to spare this afternoon.” He indicated his desk, untidily strewn with papers.

  “I’ll take no more of your time than necessary.” With an effort, Neil kept his voice even. The man trod the thin edge of courtesy. “I came here to discuss repairs to the vicarage.”

  “Indeed. What made you conclude the vicarage needs renovations?”

  “Actually, it was your daughter.”

  “Elizabeth told you that the vicarage needed restoration?” The sour expression on the vicar’s face told Neil that would be very unwelcome news.

  “No. I should explain. When she accompanied Miss Hogwood on a charitable call to my ailing nephew, she told him that many of his farms were falling into disrepair. I’m afraid Reynolds never mentioned the fact to us. However, now that Cauldreigh has nearly recuperated, such matters will be undertaken.”

  A small smile crossed Mr. Bishop’s face. “I am glad to hear it, sir. There has been some hardship in the village.”

  “Yes, I have instructed Reynolds not to withhold such information from us in the future. My nephew was greatly impressed with your daughter’s knowledge and concern for the families of Peasebotham. He much appreciated her kindness, and that of Miss Hogwood, in calling on him in his invalid state.”

  Having made as much of a point as he dared, Neil changed the subject, pressed the vicar further on the subject of repairs to the church and vicarage and obtained a list. “I have a request to make, Mr. Bishop,” he added before he left.

  *

  At dinner that night, Mr. Bishop gazed at his wife and said, “Lord Neil Colton paid his respects today.”

  “Why, whatever did he want, Mr. Bishop?”

  “As I said, to pay his respects. He apologized for not calling sooner—said his nephew’s illness had prevented him from attending to his duties.” Her father’s glance swept over Libbetty briefly, an enigmatic look, before he continued.

  “He asked if the vicarage and the church needed any work. I gave him a list of repairs, and he promised to attend to them.”

  He addressed himself to his food for a time, then turned to Tom. “Lord Neil asked if you could make yourself available perhaps twice a week to accompany his nephew on rides. It appears Cauldreigh desires to build up his strength after his long illness, and his uncle fears he will be tempted to overdo.

  “He pointed out not many young men hereabouts are of an age to accompany his nephew. He does not want to follow him about playing nursemaid—feels Cauldreigh would likely resent such treatment. You struck him as a sensible young man. Cauldreigh should have someone attend him who notices and points out to him when he appears to tire. Could you carry out that instruction?”

  Tom stammered, “If you, er, have no objection, sir?”

  Mr. Bishop’s mien was sober. “I must trust your good sense not to become drawn into behavior unbecoming a vicar’s son. A patron as well placed as Lord Cauldreigh will aid you in becoming established. Go call on him tomorrow—see when he wants you. Just do not allow yourself to neglect your studies.”

  Libbetty dared not ask whether the new policy included her. In the following days, however, her life became no less restricted, except that she increasingly took on the burden of her mother’s charitable calls as well as helping with care of the children.

  She tried not to feel misused by her father’s edict, but when she saw Tom ride off to meet Cauldreigh she felt so persecuted she could scarcely bear it. She could not uncover Lord Neil’s scheme, confined as she was. She questioned Tom about Lord Cauldreigh’s health and awareness of danger.

  “Won’t hear a word against his uncle,” was Tom’s unhelpful reply. “Says any thought of a plot against him
is nonsense.”

  *

  Neil regretted his promise to Miss Marble and the sense of duty that made him keep his word. His shirt points were wilting along with himself, sitting in the Marbles’ overheated drawing room.

  Exceedingly ugly examples of rocaille furniture of nearly a hundred years ago, with quantities of marble and carved giltwood, overcrowded the room. The heavy mustard-colored draperies were closed and a fire smoked in the fireplace.

  For the courtesy of paying a call upon a shut-in neighbor, he suffered the fate of being roasted half to death—and worse.

  “Madame, I assure you I am not your son,” he guiltily addressed Mrs. Marble once more. The old woman looked so thrilled at her long-lost son’s return that it seemed cruel to disabuse her.

  He might as well have saved his breath. She was too deaf to hear him. “Lennox! Where are you, Lennox?” she shouted, and as the elderly servant came from behind her, “Lennox, make Sylvester’s room ready for him. We have kept it in readiness for you, Sylvester,” she said, turning to Neil. “We air the sheets every fortnight. When were they last aired, Lennox?”

  Thankfully, Mrs. Marble did not wait for her to answer before renewing her attentions to Neil. He did not wish the servant to ready a room he would not occupy. His good deed took on the quality of one of those vivid nightmares where bizarre events occur, and he feared for his ability to escape.

  Mrs. Marble laid a cold hand on his cheek. “You must tell me all about your shipwreck, Sylvester. How did you survive?”

  Neil gazed imploringly at the elder Miss Marble, who only smiled at him as though she found the conversation perfectly normal. To his relief, the sound of another arrival interrupted them. Miss Lennox entered the room, followed by Miss Bishop.

  *

  Libbetty followed the black-gowned servant down the hall toward the Marbles’ drawing room. The dark hallway seemed to close in on her, accentuating the almost overpowering musty odor of the house. Miss Lennox, nearly as ancient as Mrs. Marble, smelled of camphor and the oil of cloves with which she had evidently packed one of her few remaining teeth. Libbetty vowed to hurry her call on Mrs. Marble and escape as rapidly as possible.

  The servant flung open the door to the drawing room. Libbetty stepped in, her eyes still not adjusted to the dimness after the bright sunlight outside.

  Mrs. Marble sat in a squat, cabriole-leg chair by the fire. A wizened woman in her eighties, her black taffeta gown barely peeped out from layers of shawls. Miss Marble and Miss Anemone were also there—and a man, wearing a brown morning coat with plated buttons, a light green waistcoat and cream pantaloons, with polished Hessian boots. Libbetty stopped short upon seeing him, and everything else in the room receded from her view.

  Lord Neil bowed. “Miss Bishop. A pleasure to see you again.” As usual, she could read volumes of meaning in his tone—mockery, humor, the hint of an adult patronizing a child, and pleasure at seeing her. Or had she only imagined this last?

  The room had grown appreciably warmer since she had noticed Lord Neil. At least, she appeared her best in her newest day frock, a walking dress of cream muslin trimmed with yellow embroidery, and a blue Spencer. She nodded a brief acknowledgement to him and continued toward Mrs. Marble.

  She could feel his gaze at her back as she proffered the jar in her hand to the elderly lady. “Mama sent this over for you,” she said loudly, knowing Mrs. Marble’s deafness.

  Mrs. Marble stared at her with suspicion. “Who are you?”

  “Oh, your mother’s famous pork jelly.” Miss Anemone jumped up from her chair. “How kind of her to send it. So restoring. Mama will benefit greatly from it, surely.”

  “Who is that person, Nemmie?” Mrs. Marble’s quavery voice piped, her bulging eyes enormous in her shrunken face. Wisps of silvery hair poked out from under her old-fashioned cap.

  “It is Miss Bishop, Mama, the vicar’s daughter,” Miss Anemone said loudly. “She has often called here before with Mrs. Bishop. Mama is not at her best today, I fear,” she said to Libbetty in an undertone. She took the jar from Libbetty. “Lennox, take this to the kitchen.”

  The servant left the room, closing the door upon any stray breeze that might cool the air.

  Miss Hyacinthe Marble patted the gold satin upholstery of the red-japanned settee. “Come sit over here by me, Miss Bishop.”

  Stealing a glance at Lord Neil, she complied, relieved that Miss Marble sat at a remove from the fire. Libbetty’s mind spun with ways of taking advantage of this opportunity to question the man. What could she say? “Are you trying to kill your nephew” did not recommend itself as a way to learn the truth.

  “How is your dear mother? Not well, I take it, since you are making calls in her place.” The elder Miss Marble’s words drew Libbetty’s attention away from Lord Neil.

  Miss Hyacinthe’s tones seemed sincere, but Libbetty recalled Catherine’s account of the gossip between the woman and Mrs. Hogwood about Mrs. Bishop’s condition. “She is well enough, I believe. But the warm weather has made her feel out of sorts.”

  “I hope she will soon be entirely well. Everyone in the parish benefits from her kindness and generosity.”

  Miss Marble had her mother’s bulging eyes, which in her round face, did give her the appearance of a toad. She wore a high-necked, severe gown in brown bombazine.

  “Sylvester has come to see me,” Mrs. Marble quavered. “We were having such a nice coze.” Her glare indicated Libbetty’s arrival had somehow spoiled things.

  “Sylvester?” she queried, looking in puzzlement at Lord Neil.

  “Our brother,” whispered Miss Anemone. “A sea captain, just as dear Papa. His ship never came home from a voyage.”

  “Your father’s ship?”

  “No, Sylvester’s. Papa had been retired from the sea for some years before Sylvester’s final voyage. Poor Mama has never recovered from his loss. She doted upon Sylvester. Such a fine figure of a man—and in his prime, too. Only forty-five years of age. That was twenty years ago.” Miss Anemone sighed and moisture appeared at the corners of her eyes.

  She affected to wear frilly clothes of a style and color for much younger women. Today’s gown boasted a shade of bright pink that did not suit her yellow complexion. She shared the family eyes, but with her thin frame, sharp features and prominent beak of a nose, they created a more bird-like result.

  “Lord Neil does not resemble Sylvester in the least,” Miss Hyacinthe Marble stated in tones that left no doubt he would lose in any comparison with her brother.

  Libbetty, surmising that the unfortunate Captain Marble would have resembled the rest of the family, glanced to see how her fellow caller received this slight. He gave a self-deprecating shrug, and as her eyes had finally adjusted to the dim light, she could see laughter glinting in his.

  “Where have you been all this time, Sylvester? Why did you not come home sooner?” Mrs. Marble inquired querulously.

  Lord Neil, the amusement wiped away from his expression, looked as if he did not know how to reply.

  “Humor her, sir,” Miss Anemone pleaded.

  “Well, I have been very busy, you know,” he said loudly to the old woman. “I came as soon as I could.”

  This seemed to pacify her. She subsided in her chair, the anxious wrinkles smoothing out.

  Libbetty could not ask him any pointed questions in front of the Marbles. “I must go. I have other calls to make.” Would Lord Neil also leave? She could not let this opportunity pass.

  She stood, drawing on her short, biscuit-colored gloves.

  *

  Miss Bishop’s leave-taking made Neil realize he had been staring at her. She looked as cheery as sunshine, and the way he brightened at the sight of her disturbed him. He had too many years on the town for a schoolroom miss to enamor him. With a combination of innocence and sensuality, she was a sleeping beauty, but it would not fall to him to awaken her. No doubt a country bumpkin ached for the chance to play the role.

  Still, he rose from
his chair. He could not stay in that gloomy place once the sunshine had removed her bright presence. “I too must take my leave. I should not like to overstay my welcome.” He stepped to take the hand of each of the Marble ladies in turn, bowing. He felt like a complete fraud, acting a part for Miss Bishop to see.

  “Oh, must you go?” Miss Anemone asked in coquettish disappointment. Mrs. Marble frowned and looked as though she also would protest.

  Miss Hyacinthe said, “Yes, Mama needs her afternoon rest.”

  “You will come back again soon, Sylvester?” Mrs. Marble’s face twisted with anxiety.

  “Yes, I’ll call again.” But not soon, he added to himself.

  Miss Marble summoned Lennox to show them out. Miss Bishop reached for her basket, sitting beside the hall table. Neil picked up his tall beaver hat and followed her outside.

  *

  On the doorstep, she took a deep breath of sunshine-laden air and tipped her head up. The sunlight stroked her face. Freed from the oppressive atmosphere of the Marbles’ house, her heart lightened and she wanted to run for sheer joy.

  “You will cause your freckles to darken,” Lord Neil warned, setting his hat on his head as he stepped out the door.

  She cast her gaze down, flushing at the reminder of her flaw. “It is not at all gallant of you to notice them.” She skipped down the steps and walked briskly along the pavement.

  “I am not noted for my gallantry.” He strode alongside her, and her senses prickled with awareness of him.

  “Are you not? I would think it a necessary quality for a man such as you.” Her gaze darted around the village. Someone might report her present company to her father. Scarcely a soul was in sight, and she must use this chance to question him.

  “A man such as what?”

  “A rake?”

  He laughed and her face heated. “At least, that is what they say,” she said. “Do not rakes need gallantry to charm the ladies?”

  “No, Miss Bishop. It works far better to be rude.”

  She looked up at him. Amusement lurked in his eyes.

  “Ah, you do not believe me. That is the great attraction of a rake, don’t you see. Ladies always hope to reform him.”