Lord Satan (14 page)

After his meeting with the man, her father came into the
room. “Lord Cauldreigh has hired a builder to oversee the repairs to the
vicarage.”

“At last,” Mrs. Bishop exclaimed, the tiny shirt in her hands
dropping to her lap. “I was sure Lord Neil was a man of his word.”

Libbetty’s father stared at her mother and said, “Lord
Cauldreigh arranged for the repairs.”

“Of course he did. He is the owner. However, it was Lord
Neil who told you some weeks ago that it would be done.”

Libbetty was startled by this exchange, having never heard
her mother contradict Mr. Bishop.

The builder, Mr. Hedgesett, spent the morning crawling all
over the house, on the roof, and around the foundations, making notes with a
stub of a pencil in the grimy notebook he pulled from his coat pocket.
Libbetty’s youngest brothers dogged his every step.

A few days later he arrived with wagonloads of heavy
timbers, slates, and other supplies as well as several workmen. Soon the
vicarage resounded to the din of workmen prying out rotted wood in the
foundations and window frames, replacing it with sound timbers.

To prevent the younger Bishops’ getting underfoot, Libbetty
helped Floss occupy them. Henry especially was prone to following the workmen
at every chance, asking questions and begging to wield a hammer or saw.
Libbetty could hardly drag him away for the games she devised for the
children’s amusement. This break in their usual routine fascinated her nearly
as much as Henry, but she was sufficiently mature to affect a lack of interest.

Mr. Bishop frequently left the vicarage on parish calls,
grumbling he could not think with all the commotion. Tom doggedly kept to his
schedule of morning studies, but he had little heart for them. Libbetty knew
he suffered a depression of spirits over Edwina’s continued unattainability,
with the marquess and the Coltons’ London guests to choose from.

Mrs. Bishop, however, carried on serenely through the
disruption, the indisposition of early pregnancy behind her.

In the midst of this, Freddy and George came home on school
holiday. Their boisterousness added to the noise and action, making gloom
impossible.

Several months’ absence had wrought an amazing change in the
twins. Fifteen years old, they carried the Bishop looks, a slightly reddish
cast to their sandy hair and freckled faces. They were not identical, and the
differences between them had magnified considerably since their last visit
home.

George had shot up several inches, becoming an inch taller
than Tom. He also developed the start of a beard, and his voice boomed in a
deep register. Freddy had not hit his growth. He was near Libbetty’s height,
his voice sounded boyish, and he appeared years younger than his twin. Their
close companionship continued, Freddy not resenting his brother’s earlier
maturation.

They even took charge of their little brothers for a period
each day. Henry especially blossomed under the notice of his big brothers, and
both the younger boys followed the twins around like puppies when the twins
allowed it, and when Henry had free time from his father’s lessons.

Several days after repairs to the manse began, a crew of
slaters arrived to repair the roof. Late that morning, Libbetty practiced on
the pianoforte, struggling to listen for her errors over the scraping noises as
the slaters removed broken tiles. Amid this disturbance, a “Halloo” sounded
from outside the house.

Several horses and riders gathered in the driveway. Lord
Cauldreigh and the guests staying at The Castle, along with Edwina and Francis
Hogwood and Sybille Bassett. Libbetty’s glance picked out Lord Neil from the
rest

The unexpected callers discomfited Libbetty, dowdy in her
old, faded round gown of spotted yellow muslin. The women wore riding costumes,
the colors jewel-like in the glowing sunshine, and she wished to run inside and
begin the day again, in one of her newer gowns. Overcoming that urge, she
greeted the company.

“We were out riding, but I wanted to see how the repairs
progressed,” Lord Neil said.

Tom burst out and showed the callers around to the stables
so they could dismount. Libbetty went inside to inform Mrs. Bishop of the
callers, hoping her mother would salvage the occasion and lessen the
embarrassment of being caught unprepared.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Bishop said. “We must find refreshment for
them. I believe Mrs. Berkfield baked current buns and almond tarts this
morning, and we have lemonade in the larder.”

Hurriedly, Libbetty helped to make up a tray of tidbits.
Enlisting Catherine to serve the cakes, Mrs. Bishop and Libbetty carried the
chilled pitcher of lemonade and glasses out to the group strolling about the
lawn.

As Libbetty approached Lord Neil, who was talking with Mr.
Hedgesett, the builder was saying, “No, I won’t allow it. It’s too dangerous.”

“I wish to see for myself,” Lord Neil said emphatically.

“Do you care for lemonade?” She held the tray out to him.

He looked up and smiled, not his usual, mocking expression
but a full, heart-stopping smile as he took a glass from her. Libbetty felt
the heat rise in her cheeks, then deepen as she realized her mother was coming
up behind her to pour from the pitcher. Not daring to say anything, Libbetty
turned to serve the other guests.

Miss Bassett accepted her tumbler, saying, “I declare, I am
just about to perish of thirst.” She had collected a group of admirers about
her—Mr. Colton, Sir Rodney, and another of the London visitors, Lord Chester, a
short, slight young man with fair, thinning hair and sideburns.

As the others accepted the tall glasses, Mr. Colton said,
“What, don’t you have any beer or ale?”

Lord Cauldreigh nudged Jonathan. “This is the house of a
servant of the Lord.”

“We aren’t Methodists, Lord Cauldreigh,” Mrs. Bishop said,
smiling. “If you gentlemen would prefer ale, I believe we have some.” She
went back into the house, and Mrs. Berkfield came out a short while later with
a stone jar of ale and some mugs for the men.

Mrs. Dalrymple took an almond cake from the tray Catherine
proffered and said, “Aren’t you the loveliest child? Do come look at this
girl, Christian, Neil.” Lord Neil, some distance away, still talking with Mr.
Hedgesett, did not appear to hear, but Captain Forsyth came over and stared at
Catherine for several long moments before he smilingly agreed that she was a
little beauty.

Edwina and Miss Bassett frowned at this attention paid to
the younger girl. Catherine blushed, her expression revealing mortification at
these unwanted attentions. As soon as she had handed the tray of sweets
around, she escaped into the house.

“I think you distressed the poor girl, Letitia,” Captain
Forsyth said. He and Mrs. Dalrymple exchanged an intimate glance as he took
her arm and they strolled into the orchard. Edwina announced a desire to see
Mrs. Bishop’s rose garden. Sir Rodney declared his wish to examine the roses
with her, and they walked off, attended by Tom and Lord Chester. Miss Bassett
also headed towards the orchard, accompanied by Mr. Colton and Francis.

Libbetty remained with Lord Cauldreigh and Miss Clark. The
three made a small circle, Libbetty facing the house. She covertly searched
for Lord Neil but could not see him. Miss Clark murmured, “I must find Mrs.
Dalrymple,” and departed.

“It is a nuisance to submit to all the disorder and commotion
of having your house reconstructed around you, is it not?” Lord Cauldreigh
said. “While they repaired The Castle, I thought I would never have any peace
and quiet again.”

“‘Peace and quiet’ is not a term that would seem to pertain
to you, sir. A battle cannot offer much of either.”

“No, you have the right of it. Usually I flourish on sound
and tumult. During this sojourn I have enjoyed the tranquility of the English
countryside as a pleasant contrast. That may be because I was so ill—such an
urge may never overtake me again.” He smiled.

A shadow moved on the roof, and Libbetty glanced up. For a
shocked instant, she froze as a massive slate sailed off the roof directly
above. A fleeting impression formed of a figure topped with a dark head. Thinking
and sight stopped as reflex took control. Libbetty flung herself at Lord
Cauldreigh. Taken off balance, the marquess stumbled backward with a muttered
exclamation. They hit the ground jarringly at the same moment the slate
slammed into the turf where Cauldreigh had stood.

Libbetty’s heart and breathing seemed to come to a halt and
then begin again, speeded up. The world dipped and tilted crazily. She closed
her eyes, willing it all back in its proper place. She was sprawled atop Lord
Cauldreigh in a most awkward position.

At last she looked down into his face. It was ashen, slick
with sweat, and his eyes gaped in horror. As she watched, his lids closed and
he breathed “My God.”

Libbetty broke away from the intimate entanglement of their
limbs. She rolled to a seated position near Cauldreigh’s recumbent form. On
his other side, the heavy slate had cut several inches deep into the ground,
and another wave of giddiness engulfed Libbetty.

Some noise must have attended the near-disaster, although
Libbetty had not consciously heard the slate strike the ground. Members of the
riding party and workmen quickly gathered. First a few workmen appeared; then
Miss Bassett and Francis from the orchard; Tom, Edwina, Lord Chester, and Sir Rodney
all arrived together.

Libbetty leaped to her feet, embarrassed about being caught
so near to Lord Cauldreigh. Her legs felt oddly boneless, and Sir Rodney
steadied her. Mrs. Dalrymple and Captain Forsyth showed up, somewhat
disheveled, followed by Miss Clark. Mr. Colton came from the direction of the
stables, and some more of the workmen and Mr. Hedgesett from around the corner
of the house.

Francis said, “Jove! An attempt on his lordship’s life.”

“No,” said Lord Cauldreigh, who had made a recovery by this
time. Although he still lolled gracelessly on the grass, his complexion had
returned to a nearly normal hue. “It was an accident. The slate must have
slipped. But I have never come nearer to death than this. If it weren’t for
you—” He looked up at Libbetty, “I rather believe I owe you my life.”

“Are you sure it was an accident?” asked Tom, disappointed.

“By no means!” Libbetty declared. “A man on the roof threw
the slate. I saw someone with dark hair.” She shuddered, surveying the
interested faces surrounding her. Indisputably they all would prefer another
murder attempt to an accident.

Another face, topped with dark hair, appeared in the
crowd—and she looked straight into Lord Neil’s eyes. She gasped, remembering
the overheard conversation between Lord Neil and Hedgesett. He had intended to
go onto the roof.

He leaned over Trevor, asking in a low voice, “Where are you
hurt?” His hands rested lightly on Trevor’s shoulders, but Libbetty saw their
tremors. The depth of his concern for his nephew struck her, and her fleeting
conviction that he had been on the roof faded to uncertainty.

“I’m not hurt, just resting. That is, I think I wrenched my
bad leg when I, er, fell. It’ll be all right in a minute.”

“What happened here?” Lord Neil glared. He seemed unaware
most of those present thought he was responsible for what happened.

“Someone threw that slate at Lord Cauldreigh,” Francis
boomed. Libbetty did not look at him but focused on Lord Neil.

“Who saw it?” His voice took on authority.

“Libbetty says she saw a man with dark hair throw it.”

“No, I did not say that. I didn’t see a person.” She could
not accuse Lord Neil. His gentleness with Lord Cauldreigh, the genuineness of
his concern, strengthened her doubts. “All I saw was a glimpse—not enough to
say anything for certain.”

“You said you saw someone,” Tom insisted.

“No, I didn’t. That is, I suppose I did, but it wasn’t
someone. It wasn’t as definite as a person. Oh, leave me alone. I don’t know
what I saw.” Her voice thickened with the threat of tears. She couldn’t face
Lord Neil and whirled away.

“What did you see?” Gripping her shoulders, he turned her
and gazed into her eyes.

Libbetty shook her head. Her throat was constricted with
the gathering sobs. As soon as she tried to speak, they would surge forth.

“Don’t harass the girl, Uncle Neil. She saved my life. I
had my back to the house and didn’t see it. That thing would have hit me as I
stood there. She knocked me out of the way.”

Libbetty could not take her eyes away from Lord Neil’s
burning gaze. “It seems I have a great deal to thank you for, Miss Bishop, and
I apologize for pressing you. Naturally, we would all like to know who might
have been on the roof. But the important thing is that Trevor is alive, thanks
to your quick thinking.”

He released her, leaving her bereft, aching for his touch.
“There’s no need to thank me,” she quavered. “I didn’t think—I have often been
accused of acting without thinking. It usually causes only trouble. This
time, it happened for the best.”

Her parents’ arrival on the scene changed the atmosphere.
Mr. Bishop took charge. “Bring Lord Cauldreigh into the house. Someone go for
Dr. Hayes to check whether he has further harmed his wounded leg.” His words
drew everyone’s attention away from Libbetty, allowing the coiled tension to
ease.

Tom and Mr. Colton helped Lord Cauldreigh to his feet and
supported him as he hobbled into the vicarage, his limp more pronounced than
previously. Mrs. Bishop sent their man-of-all-work to fetch Dr. Hayes.
However, when the physician arrived, Lord Cauldreigh declared the wrench to his
muscles had worked itself out and insisted on riding his horse back to The
Castle.

After the riding party left, the last of Libbetty’s energy
drained, leaving her as limp as the old rag doll from her childhood.

Mrs. Bishop said, “Elizabeth, you look as pale as a ghost.
Go up to your room and rest.” Without argument, she retired to her
bedchamber. Catherine and Isobel came in and questioned her about the day’s
events, but Libbetty’s irritability soon drove them away. Her mother brought
her a cup of hot milk and stayed until she finally feigned sleep.

She could not sleep. Reaction set in, and she lay in bed
shivering, unable to warm herself even though she piled the bed with blankets.
She tried to picture the events just before the slate had come sailing at her
and Cauldreigh. Had she seen Lord Neil on the roof? No clearer image came to
her than the vague impression she had received as she flew against the marquess
to knock him out of the way. Instead, she saw Lord Neil’s intense charcoal
eyes, his gaze boring into her, his warm hands gripping her shoulders. Perhaps
he was not a murderer—could that be? Then, who had tried at least twice to
kill Lord Cauldreigh?

*

Miss Bassett paced about the Bishops’ drawing room. The
skirts of her wine red velvet riding habit swirled with her movements.
Libbetty, nerves still overwrought after the near-fatal incident the previous
day, wished Miss Bassett would settle in one place and come to the point. She
shut her eyes a moment.

As if responding to Libbetty’s unspoken wish, Sybille
dropped into a chair. Her portentous air of snapping energy and purpose and
the high color in her cheeks made her sitting posture hardly more restful to
the eye than her previous pacing.

“Why is Irene not with you this morning?” Libbetty asked.

Sybille Bassett’s gentle sister had an aversion to loud
noise and violent emotions, and the older girl avoided conduct that would
overset her. In Libbetty’s disturbed state of mind, she would welcome Irene’s
calming influence on Miss Bassett.

“What I wished to discuss with you would have distressed
Irene,” she replied. “I hardly know how to ask—what exactly did you see on
the roof yesterday?” she finished in a rush.

“Why, as I told everybody—I scarcely saw anything at all.
But indubitably someone threw the slate off the roof—even had I not witnessed
it, the evidence shows the fact. Lord Cauldreigh and I stood some distance
from the house—if the slate had merely slipped, it would have landed next to
the house instead of on top of us.”

“Yes, yes, but what of the man you said you saw?” Miss
Bassett tapped her foot impatiently.

“I cannot say I saw someone—I just formed an
impression—nothing clear. By that time I saw the slate coming towards us, and
I stopped looking—or thinking—and simply reacted.”

“You said you saw someone with dark hair.”

“Yes. I cannot explain it.” Libbetty waved her hand
vaguely. “I can only say everything seemed to happen in an instant and at the
same time to take forever.”

Miss Bassett shook her head. “But, did you or did you not
see someone on the roof?” She jumped up and began to pace again.

“Oh, it’s too difficult to explain.” Libbetty clapped her
hands to the sides of her head to still the throbbing. “It was like, well, a
shadow. I’m sure I saw someone, someone with dark hair. But I couldn’t
describe any more than that. I wish I could!” she finished passionately.

“I am sorry to bring it all back. It must have been
horrible. Just being near to such a disaster terrified me. But I have to
know. Last night, I could not sleep. I just kept thinking of the ghastly
event.” Miss Bassett once more sat, perching on the edge of the chair as if
she would jump up again.

Libbetty too had lain in bed while the scene played again
and again in her mind, mixed in with Neil’s shocked face when he heard her
accusation. When at last she slept, he saw once more the tile falling toward
them, but in her dream she was helpless to move, and knew she and Cauldreigh
would die.

Miss Bassett went on, “It came to me that Mr. Colton has
dark hair also. And he left our group in the orchard some time before the
incident happened. I don’t know where he went. I did not see him again until
after we all gathered by you and Lord Cauldreigh.”

“Why should he wish Lord Cauldreigh any harm?”

“It is said he is deep in dun territory. His branch of the
family is far from prosperous. If Lord Cauldreigh died without heirs and Lord
Neil was executed for the crime, Mr. Colton would inherit the title and
estates.”

“But how dreadful. It would mean murdering two people in
order to inherit. How could anyone be such a villain?” She shut her eyes
against such a terrible thought.

What about Jonathan Colton? Could he have attempted his
cousin’s life for the inheritance? Libbetty shrank from believing anyone would
wish for the death of Lord Cauldreigh.

“Indeed, how could anyone be so heartless as to kill poor
Lord Cauldreigh? Such a charming, lighthearted young man. But someone wishes
to do so—unless he meant the tile for you.” Miss Bassett tittered at this
absurdity.

Libbetty smiled weakly at her witticism. Her head ached
worse than ever. She stood and took a turn about the room, hoping motion would
clear her mind. “I wish I could help. I cannot identify the man on the roof,
if indeed someone was there.”

Her mother came in and exclaimed, “Elizabeth, I told you to
keep to your bed today. You have had a dreadful shock and need to quiet your nerves.
I apologize, Miss Bassett, but perhaps you would call another day. Elizabeth
is not well.”

Ordinarily, Libbetty would have resented the attempt to
coddle her. Today, she felt grateful. Apologizing, Miss Bassett departed.
Mrs. Bishop spoke sympathetically to Libbetty, “Why don’t you go rest as I told
you to do?”

“I tried, Mama, but I can’t stay alone. I just keep seeing
it happen over and over.” To her dismay, she burst into tears.

Mrs. Bishop gathered Libbetty to her breast. “Let’s have
some of Mrs. Berkfield’s tea, dear. That will soothe you. Then, if you like,
we could start on the apricot muslin. I have an idea how to make it a lovely
frock for you.”

Libbetty sniffed as more tears prickled behind her lids. “I
couldn’t work on a dress, Mama. It would only cause me to think about what
happened all the more.”

“Very well. I know just how to divert your thoughts from
Lord Cauldreigh and the events of yesterday.” Mrs. Bishop reached into her
knitting basket and pulled out a sturdy hank of black wool, a pair of knitting
needles, and the toe of a man’s black stocking—one of her charitable projects.

Libbetty almost groaned. Knitting was not her preferred way
of passing time. She always ended up with a tangle of yarn and a hopelessly
out-of-shape garment. However, the project would serve to distract her mind
from events of the previous day.

Ensconced with her cup of tea and knitting, she felt nearly
restored. Concentrating to keep the stitches regular freed her thoughts from
troublesome images. She stopped for a hasty luncheon and went back to work,
until her eyes felt strained and her shoulders ached from holding the needles
properly.

Mrs. Bishop stayed by her side, knitting a pair of booties
for the coming baby. She looked up and exclaimed, “Why, it is nearly time for
dinner. Go rest awhile before dressing.”

Libbetty gladly arose and stretched her stiff muscles. She
felt certain she had put her troubled thoughts behind her. However, once in
her room, yesterday’s scenes again preyed upon her mind. She shivered, nearly
as chilled and shocked as yesterday. Even though the day was warm, she wrapped
herself in a shawl after putting on one of her old evening dresses.

At dinner, Mr. Bishop remarked, “Lord Neil called today. He
wished to speak to you about the accident to Lord Cauldreigh. I denied him,
told him you were too upset to talk of it yet.”

Libbetty gave thanks her father had spared her that painful
interview. She hoped she would not see Lord Neil again until she had sorted
out her conclusions about his guilt or innocence.

A conclusion seemed far away in the following days. She
moped about the house in an unaccustomed way, unable to shake off her gloom.
Gradually, the images and nightmares faded, but she was prey to sudden and unaccountable
urges to cry over nothing and continuing listlessness. She could not remember
any time in her life when she suffered such a depression of spirits.