Lord Satan

by Judith Laik

  Sir Rodney claimed Forsyth was solid, and Trevor, who hadn’t been informed about the plot to protect him, nevertheless proclaimed Forsyth a good man to have at one’s back.

  Neil didn’t have their faith in the man. He had a shady background, his father a noted gamester who’d been killed in a duel after an accusation of cheating. Forsyth had no known source of income beyond his officer’s pay, and supplemented that by gaming. Neil didn’t know of any personal reason for Forsyth to wish Trevor dead, but a man like him could easily be suborned with enough money.

  Forsyth, apparently unaware of the direction of Neil’s thoughts, gazed toward the island, where Miss Bishop was just arriving over the little bridge. “That young woman is trouble.”

  “Why do you say that?” Even while agreeing with his assessment, Neil was prepared to do battle to defend her.

  The officer flicked an amused glance at Neil. “She has you tied up in knots. It’s quite intriguing. I would have judged you to be impervious to such an unsophisticated, provincial miss.”

  Neil eyed him narrowly. “You are mistaken about my interest in the girl. She has appointed herself to investigate the attempts on Trevor’s life, and I have merely tried to discourage her from poking into matters that could put her in danger.”

  Laughter in his eyes, Forsyth said, “I see.”

  His body tensing, Neil leaned toward the younger man. “Your interest in the girl seems out of character as well.”

  “Not at all. I’m a keen observer of human behavior. It’s rather a necessity for a gamester, but I find humans fascinating even when I’m not playing.”

  Neil stared him down for several moments, then, saying, “Just be sure you don’t take too much interest in her,” he brushed by him and continued toward the house.

  *

  Once she reached the island, Libbetty halted, unsure what to do. Lord Neil had disappeared. Lord Cauldreigh had not rejoined Edwina’s group but attached himself to Tom and Irene. For Libbetty’s pretense of enjoyment to have any plausibility, she must append herself to one of the coteries, but each choice contained a trap: Edwina with her cluster of admirers, Lord Cauldreigh with Tom. Sybille and Jonathan seemed too serious to wish for an addition.

  As she hovered uncertainly on the outskirts, Captain Forsyth crossed the bridge. He strode to her side, smiling. “Are you already weary of the festivities? Let’s step over to the temple and try the delicacies laid out for us?”

  “Thank you, but I’m not hungry. Where is Mrs. Dalrymple?”

  He shrugged. “She returned to The Castle and is packing to go back to London by now. She received an urgent message.”

  “About Mr. Dalrymple?”

  “He died some years ago.”

  “Oh.” She looked around, realizing for the first time she hadn’t seen Miss Clark that day. “Is Miss Clark leaving with her?”

  “Yes, they always travel together.”

  “How disappointing for you that Mrs. Dalrymple is leaving.”

  “Not really. It was understood between us that our friendship was temporary. Just as Lord Cauldreigh, I can’t form any attachments while England is at war. For me, it’s worse than for Cauldreigh, because if he left a widow she’d at least be amply provided for. I’ve nothing to offer.”

  Libbetty drew her brows together, and her heart nearly stopped beating. Had Captain Forsyth heard her conversation with the marquess? How could he have?

  And also, he was a soldier, so why was he in England instead of on the Peninsula? Had he been wounded like Lord Cauldreigh? He seemed in perfect health.

  “How strange. Lord Cauldreigh just now told me much the same thing.” She looked up at Captain Forsyth. Would he acknowledge he had known that?

  “Ah, not so surprising. Death is on all soldiers’ minds in times of war. We do not dwell upon such thoughts, or we could not do our jobs. It does guide our actions, in such matters, however.”

  “Oh, yes, I can quite understand that. I’m sure it would be on my mind all the time, were I to be a soldier. I would probably be too frightened to shoot my gun.”

  “I think not. The intrepid Miss Bishop? If I recall, you have already saved Lord Cauldreigh’s life.” He smiled at her, a teasing smile that showed his devastating appeal.

  Her face heated—that infernal blush that increased her embarrassment. “Oh, but that wasn’t bravery. I never even thought of doing anything, I just reacted.”

  “That’s exactly what soldiers do, Miss Bishop. So you are not so different from us.” He smiled again, and this time she read admiration in his eyes, and her face flamed even hotter.

  “Miss Bishop, it is because you are so brave that I feel I have to warn you, don’t allow your attraction for Lord Neil to lead you into foolishness.”

  She stilled, glancing toward the Bassetts’ mansion, looking in vain for Lord Neil. “What do you mean?”

  Captain Forsyth rubbed his face, his expression concerned. “I can see how he fascinates you.”

  Libbetty pretended deep interest in the stitching on her glove, ignoring the prickling warmth in her face. Were her feelings really so obvious?

  He touched her hand. “Miss Bishop, you’ll only be hurt if you lose your heart to him. He is too sophisticated for you, and you don’t suit his style at all. He likes more mature women, like Mrs. Dalrymple.”

  “You are mistaken,” Libbetty forced out, shaken with mortification. “I have never …”

  He shook his head at her sadly. “It is perfectly all right. We all have our youthful follies. I would just like to protect you from deeper hurt.”

  The humiliations of the day were complete. She wanted to run home, or perhaps leap into the lake and sink to the bottom.

  “Let’s forget all the gloom, shall we? There are other men here to flirt with—Lord Chester and Sir Rodney.”

  “I can’t go to them. Edwina—“

  “Ah, yes. She is jealous of you, isn’t she. She thinks you have stolen Lord Cauldreigh from her. She is pretty enough, but he would never favor a milk-and-water miss like her. How about the Goforth sisters? It would be good for you to have some other female friends of your age.”

  She allowed her to lead her to where the Goforth sisters stood with Francis and Mr. Murray. Edwina glowered at her whenever their glances met. And Lord Neil never returned to the party.

  As she and Tom walked home, he said, “How could you hurt Edwina? You know she loves Cauldreigh, yet you lure him to you, ignoring her pain. She won’t even speak to me, your betrayal has so devastated her. It makes me ashamed I am related to you.”

  “Oh that is just too much. The betrayal, if any, comes from you. My own brother! Edwina herself asked me to draw off Lord Cauldreigh. It seems she has changed her mind and decided she wants him now, but it is not love. She has either bowed to pressure from her mother or has realized Lord Cauldreigh is the best match around. She does not speak to you because you aren’t even in the running as a good match. And you would never think of noticing that while Cauldreigh ignores her, Lord Chester and Sir Rodney entertain her well enough. If she can’t nab a marquess, she will make do with a viscount or a baronet. You don’t need to waste your sympathy on Edwina.”

  With that, Libbetty flounced away from Tom. She would not go home in this mood and face the rest of her family. She took the path that led to her favorite place by the brook. Sitting upon the bank, she allowed herself to wallow in her heartaches and mistakes. Her life could never come right again. How could she have said those unthinking, cruel words to Lord Neil? Every instinct told her he loved his nephew and could never wish him harm. Hurt as she was by the accusations Tom had cast her way, the accusation she had made caused her deeper pain.

  *

  After the Bassetts’ garden party, Libbetty could not recover her usual cheerful mood. Although she had already decided she did not wish to marry Lord Cauldreigh, it was lowering to discover he did not wish for any attachment to her either. As well, he was still in danger, his mysterious attacker yet
unidentified. Edwina was angry with her for reasons she did not understand. And she had insulted and hurt Lord Neil.

  Peasebotham had quieted; she received no invitations for social gatherings. What shifts the Coltons made to entertain the guests from London, Libbetty did not know. She saw little of Tom, who spent most of his time out on various excursions.

  On a walk, Libbetty headed heedlessly for the wood where she used to meet Wat. Her encounter with him was unexpected. She had not seen him since the end of their betrothal some weeks ago.

  “I didn’t think to see you here,” Wat said in a sarcastic tone. Sensitized by the modishness of her company of late, she noted his jacket and buckskins, neat and of good quality but not well tailored. “Not with your high-and-mighty friends today?”

  “Lots of days I’m not with them,” she rejoined. It was none of his business any more.

  “Libbetty, let me see you one more time.” His tone changed to a wheedling one. “It should not end thus between us.”

  Libbetty did not answer immediately. She had treated him shamefully and owed him another meeting, to apologize and make clear it was not his fault she could not marry him. She could not help noticing his badly cut hair and the dull finish of his workmanlike boots, comparing him to Lord Neil’s impeccable tailoring and air of distinction.

  “Ah-h, I’m not good enough for you now, am I?” Libbetty wanted to protest at the pain she saw in Wat’s eyes, but before she could think of words that would explain without lying, he had wheeled around and walked away.

  “Wat,” she called, but her voice lacked force. Either he did not hear, or chose to ignore her, and she let him go. She continued home, the weight of guilt hammering at her heart.

  After that encounter, Libbetty continued her solitary walks, but was careful to take a different direction that was unlikely to bring her face to face with Wat. Occasionally, she saw Miss Bassett riding with Mr. Colton. The last time Sybille and Irene Bassett had called at the vicarage, Sybille no longer suggested Mr. Colton had made the attempts on Lord Cauldreigh’s life.

  Cauldreigh’s would-be assassin had also apparently lain low, making no further attempts, at least as far as she had heard.

  Needing to take action toward uncovering the miscreant’s identity, she decided to call on the builder who made the repairs on the vicarage. Some of his workers had been at the inn where Lord Cauldreigh was poisoned, and she hoped to learn more about the men who worked for Mr. Hedgesett.

  Because Tom had Concobhar nearly every day, she had to wait for an opportunity to take the dogcart that her father used for parish visits, and which Mrs. Bishop occasionally took when she had several calls to pay. Libbetty knew Mr. Hedgesett lived beyond Crossfield in a village called Honeybridge. It was too far to walk. However, her mother had again taken over making charitable calls, so Libbetty had few excuses to borrow the cart.

  Finally Mrs. Bishop asked her to go see a family who lived in the direction of Crossfield while she had paid calls nearer home. Libbetty honored the request, then headed to Honeybridge.

  It took extra time to find Mr. Hedgesett, as he was on a job. When at last she found him, he said, “Don’t know much about my men. They come and go.”

  “Do you remember who worked on the vicarage and who might also have been at the Goose Inn near Mellingham in mid-July?”

  “Told you. I don’t remember.”

  “Could you even give me one name, someone I could ask who might know more?”

  Reluctantly, Mr. Hedgesett said, “There’s Mumms, my head man. Could be he could tell you more. Don’t know what you expect to learn that others haven’t. That Lord Neil asked me about it several weeks ago.”

  “Did you have him talk to Mumms?”

  “Don’t remember. He went around to several of my men. That might have been after the slate fell off your roof and almost hit young Cauldreigh.”

  Libbetty obtained Mumms’ direction. Fortunately, he lived closer to Peasebotham, as she had already been gone today as long as she dared. She could walk to Mr. Mumms’s house.

  It was several days later before she had the chance. The Mumms’s cottage was halfway between Peasebotham and Crossfield, a black-and-white, half-timbered house. His wife invited her in.

  Mumms was a tall, thin man in his forties, who had just finished his midday meal and was polishing off his mug of ale as she came in. “What might I do for you, Miss Bishop?” he asked, deference for the vicar’s daughter in his manner.

  “What men worked on repairs to the vicarage?”

  “Why there were several. Who did you want to know about?”

  “One of them had dark hair, and was at the Goose Inn near Mellingham in early June. Several of your men were there, and someone made a wager on the outcome of a contest of strength.”

  “I wouldn’t know about the Goose Inn. What the men do on their own time is nothing to me. And more than one of the workmen have dark hair.”

  “Could you tell me their names and where they live?”

  “Doesn’t seem right, a young girl like you calling on rough men like these.”

  “I would bring one of my brothers with me.” Libbetty might actually allow Freddy or George to accompany her, although she had no intention of inviting them.

  “Well, there are four I can think of with dark hair: Longdon, White, Carstow and Walford.”

  Matthew Longdon and John Walford lived near Peasebotham, and Libbetty knew them by sight. If either had been at the Goose when Cauldreigh was poisoned, she would have recognized him, although she would talk to both and see what information she could learn from them. She did not know Carstow or White. After getting what information she could, she thanked Mumms and left. In the next few days she would try to find each of them and learn if they were at the Goose when Cauldreigh was poisoned.

  Chapter Fifteen

  With Libbetty’s days no longer occupied with social events, she began to join the twins on their outings. It was a return to earlier days, when she, Tom, and the twins had been nearly inseparable during the boys’ holidays from school. Now she found contentment in Freddy and George’s company, relieved to stay away from The Castle residents, most especially Lord Neil. Her excursions with her brothers could not keep him from her thoughts, however.

  How was he? The hurt in his eyes at their last meeting. Perhaps her belief in his innocence meant something to him.

  She refused any invitations that came her way, although each time the temptation to see the Coltons almost overcame her determination.

  Tom still accompanied Lord Cauldreigh, his guests and local residents who made up his circle. A week after the Bassetts’ garden party, Tom told Libbetty that the London visitors, except Jonathan Colton, had left. In the next days, several of the young folk in Peasebotham and Crossfield, called at the vicarage to complain of boredom since the visitors left.

  These calls, and her thoughts of Lord Neil, sank Libbetty’s spirits, but she hid her feelings and romped with her younger brothers as though she had no cares. She decided adulthood was a difficult state, and she would not deal with it at present.

  One warm summer afternoon, Freddy and George invited Libbetty to go fishing. For the first time, they also invited Catherine. Cat jumped up, surprise and pleasure in her expression. Freddy had remarked to Libbetty a few days before that their next younger sister had become remarkably grown up. Apparently he had discussed it with George, and they had decided Catherine could now participate in their excursions. Both girls scrambled upstairs to change into their oldest gowns. Having begged a picnic lunch from Mrs. Berkfield, the Bishops stopped to collect Alonso Hayes, and they all headed for the brook.

  They passed by fertile orchards where pears, plums, and apples were ripening. A warm breeze blew, carrying the fruity scents of the orchards. Birds fluttered about, the young ones learning to fly.

  For a moment Libbetty felt dissociated from the others, drinking in the goodness around her, realizing what she had overlooked in these last weeks while preo
ccupied with the doings of a more worldly crowd. Then hastily she came back to the others, who laughed over something she had missed.

  “I’ll race you all to that tree,” George said, pointing to a giant oak at the top of a rise. The three boys all took off running, Libbetty only a step behind, hiking up her skirts to free her legs. After a little hesitation, Catherine joined in. With his long legs, Alonso won the race, although George was a close second. They all stood for a few minutes, catching their breath and full of merriment.

  They continued on to the brook and followed the bank, where Alonso reported he had caught a good-sized trout the week before. A willow overhung the water, making a shadowy hideout for the fish.

  The boys sat to remove shoes and stockings, baited hooks, and dropped lines in the water. Libbetty called Catherine to join her under the willow, and the girls shed shoes and stockings, shielding each other. Nearly as practiced as the boys, Libbetty grabbed a pole, rummaged in the bait bucket to find a fat worm, and impaled it on her hook.

  Catherine turned pale with enormous, alarmed eyes. Her throat worked. “I don’t think I can do that,” she whispered.

  “Come on, Cat,” Libbetty said. “The only way to do it is not to think about it.” Cat gulped and shook her head, her complexion faintly green.

  “For Heaven’s sake,” Alonso said impatiently, taking the pole from Catherine and baiting her hook. Then, he became more gentle with her and demonstrated his fishing technique.

  There were too many fishermen for this one small pool. Libbetty moved apart from the others, around a bend in the brook. Here the water flowed rapidly, the rocky bottom dappled with sunlight. A little farther on, she spotted a more promising area and dropped in her line.

  Almost immediately a large fish struck. “Eeeeeeyah” she yelled exuberantly, tugging on the pole. The prey fought ferociously and her pole bent nearly double. She hung on, arms aching from the strain. The finned giant made one last, twisting leap. The pole snapped in two. The fish was free, but trapped in a shallow pool and still hooked. Libbetty sprang into the water. Floundering with the effort to seize it, she ignored the water splashing over her clothing.