Lord Satan (15 page)

Tom, in contrast, seemed to have thrown off his moodiness of
the previous week. He rode out on Concobhar each day, returning home in the
evening full of his excursions and of the efforts he and Francis made to guard
Cauldreigh and unmask his uncle. His huge enjoyment of his adventures put
Libbetty more out of sorts than ever, although she could not have explained her
reasons. Certainly it could only make her happy if Tom and Francis managed to
trap Lord Cauldreigh’s assailant, whoever he might be.

Mr. Bishop forbade discussion of the subject at table, so
Tom saved his discourses until after dinner. Their parents retired in the
evenings to the Reverend’s study, and Tom and Libbetty usually spent some time
together in the drawing room. He strode about the room describing with relish
the various traps he and Francis devised and discarded, while she apathetically
picked out tunes on the pianoforte.

She could bear no more of his grandiose prattle. “How can
you talk as if this were all nothing but a game?” She revolved on the bench to
rage at him. “It isn’t a game. Someone has tried at least twice to kill Lord
Cauldreigh. But for the merest chance, he would already be dead. Don’t you
care about that?”

“Of course we care. We have tried to catch Lord Neil out in
his schemes. What have you done besides knitting stockings? I don’t see you
have done anything to stop these attempts on Lord Cauldreigh’s life.” Tom
waved his arms in punctuation.

She did not wish to tell Tom of her futile efforts to find
evidence to convict Lord Neil. “Can you picture me riding around the
countryside after Lord Cauldreigh, trying to protect him?”

“Well, Miss Bassett and Edwina Hogwood ride with us much of
the time—and Mrs. Dalrymple also. You could come too, if we had another horse
for you to ride.”

Libbetty’s eyes filled with tears—from both the tidings
that Tom had just imparted and the injustice of his accusations of her
uselessness. He had forgotten that Lord Cauldreigh had given her the credit
for saving his life.

“Well, obviously, we do not have another horse for me to
ride. And, for all your talk about solving the mystery I don’t see that you
have accomplished anything, either. What have all your plans for traps come
to, anyway? As far as I can see, you have not yet baited one—and you
certainly haven’t caught anybody.” She slammed her hand upon the pianoforte
keys with a clash, then jumped up and ran from the room.

Libbetty’s outburst cleared her mind. An uncharacteristic
lassitude still claimed her, however. The following evening, the Reverend Mr.
Bishop called her into his study. She obeyed warily, as in the past such a
summons was a prelude to reprimand.

“Sit down, Elizabeth,” he said, giving her time to comply
before he continued. “I have noticed you seem unusually low-spirited since the
incident with Lord Cauldreigh. It is entirely natural that you should feel
so. ‘Twas a most harrowing experience to undergo.” He shuffled through some
papers on his desk, as if searching for something, and Libbetty glanced up from
her hands folded in her lap, to gauge his mood.

“You have had a close brush with death, something that a
young girl such as you rarely confronts. I hesitate to call you sheltered, as
that implies an upbringing that I do not espouse, making one unable to contend
with reality. You have, however, had no previous occasion to see such things at
first hand.”

He laid the papers aside and looked earnestly at her. “You
have perforce become awakened to your own mortality, and that of all
creatures. Such a discovery takes time to encompass. You will become more
accustomed to the idea. It may help to reflect that this life is not the only
one. You must not take the present life for granted, nor ever forget that what
you do will count for or against you in the next.”

Libbetty twisted her hands. Her father’s words contained
thoughts that seemed at the same time familiar and yet fresh and new through
her recent experiences. In any case, she needed time to think them over.
“Thank you, Papa,” she managed.

“I hope you will be entirely recovered soon. I cannot
become used to seeing my lively daughter so unnaturally subdued.” He smiled at
her. “Elizabeth, I am proud of you. You showed the admirable essence of your
character.”

“I really did nothing, Papa.”

“Indeed you did. Many in such circumstances would have
thought only of saving themselves. You acted to save Lord Cauldreigh also.”

Such rare praise from her father, along with his wise words
about the cause of her unbearable ennui, gave a measure of peace to her heart.
She went to her bed, tired and knowing she would sleep easy for the first time
since the horrendous experience.

The next morning, when Lord Cauldreigh came to call, she
skipped downstairs to greet him. Because her mother was helping Mrs. Berkfield
with the laundry at the back of the house, Libbetty greeted him alone. As she
entered the drawing room, he bowed to her, hands behind his back. “You have
your gardens here at the vicarage,” he said, “but these are the famous
Cauldreigh blue roses.” He brought forward an enormous bouquet of flowers, not
actually blue but pale pink tinged faintly with violet.

“Thank you, your lordship. Let me find a vase for them.”

As she arranged the roses, she added, “They are lovely, but
you did not need to bring me flowers.”

“Nonsense. You are a heroine. I had to bring you some
token to thank you for saving my life. I would have brought sapphires instead
of blue flowers, but some would say that was not proper.” His eyes twinkled.

Libbetty laughed, bending to smell the roses’ delicate
fragrance in order to hide her blush at this renewed talk about her heroism.
“You must not think me at all brave. The truth is, you were merely in my way
as I sought to escape from the slate falling on me.”

Lord Cauldreigh chuckled, and her usual ease with him was
restored.

“I was grieved to hear you were unwell,” he continued. “Was
it because of the shock of nearly being crushed?”

“It must have been, as I am usually very healthy. I feel
fine again now.”

“I am glad to hear it. I believe Uncle Neil would like to
ask you about what you witnessed when the slate fell.”

Libbetty sobered, and her hands stilled on the flowers,
which needed no further arranging. She could not face Lord Neil, with the
unspoken accusation hanging between them—and her own tormenting doubts. “I
wish he would not. I can add nothing to what I said before. I really saw
little. I should not have insisted I saw a person on the roof, when I have
nothing but a vague impression.” She sat, inviting him to take a chair also.

Easing himself down, Cauldreigh said, “Yes, that is what I
think, too. If anyone threw the tile, he had no intention of its coming near
to us. He only intended to play a joke.”

“Would your uncle play such a joke on you?”

Lord Cauldreigh looked horrified. “Never! I meant, I
thought perhaps one of the workmen, or … well, I don’t know. Perhaps the
tile slipped instead of being thrown. I should not like to cause trouble for a
mere mistake, or even if someone meant to give us a little scare.”

Did he harbor suspicions of someone, despite his denials?
“You don’t believe anyone could have meant to harm you?”

“Of course not.” He jumped up and began to pace the room.

“What about the person who shot at you a fortnight ago?”

“A poacher. He obviously did not realize someone rode
through our woods at the same time as he hunted, or of course he wouldn’t have
been hunting. Did you imagine some connection? I assure you there is not.
Who would benefit by my death?” He paused his pacing to face her, shaking his
head and a set smile on his face.

Lord Neil, Libbetty thought, or, if Miss Bassett is right,
Mr. Colton. But she did not answer this question. He seemed to mean it
rhetorically, his tone and attitude discounting any possibility of someone’s
wishing to harm him.

She could not bring herself to suggest the possibilities.
“Excuse me a moment, while I bring us some refreshments,” she said. When she
went into the kitchen, her mother asked who had called, and took time away from
her duties to greet their guest—and to chaperone.

The kettle was on the hob, keeping water hot for the laundry,
so the tea was soon brewed. Libbetty brought in the tea tray, serving Lord
Cauldreigh, her mother, and herself. Mrs. Bishop, her face red and shiny from
the steamy laundry, seemed content to merely relax from the heavy work of
washing and leave the conversation to Libbetty.

Cauldreigh said, “It was most unfortunate your indisposition
prevented you and Tom from attending the Hogwoods’ soirée.”

“Oh, er, yes,” replied Libbetty, striving to conceal her
surprise at learning of such an event. “I have not heard any news since it
took place. Was it a success?”

“Oh, it was enjoyable enough. Mrs. Hogwood went to great
lengths to make it so.” His tone conveyed that he thought she overdid the
arrangements.

“Who attended?” Libbetty offered him the tray.

“Oh, most everyone—our guests and the Bassetts and the
Marble sisters. Except none of the Crossfield residents attended. The party
was quite flat without your presence.”

Libbetty allowed the subject to drop. Privately, she
believed her illness had nothing to do with the lack of invitation for herself
and Tom. Mrs. Hogwood merely ensured neither she nor the Goforth sisters would
provide any competition for Lord Cauldreigh’s attentions, nor Tom for
Edwina’s. Mrs. Hogwood intended Edwina to have Lord Cauldreigh, and would not
countenance the presence of anyone who might interfere with her plans.

“Well, now that you are well, I trust you will attend our
party on Saturday.” Lord Cauldreigh set aside the cup and rose. “We shall
have the games Miss Irene wished for. Will you come?”

“Oh, indeed, I am sure we shall.” Galvanized by this news,
Libbetty regretted she had refused to begin remaking the apricot muslin gown as
her mother had suggested a few days before. Perhaps if they hurried, they
could still sew it in time.

The next morning Libbetty and her mother made good progress
on her new gown. After a light nuncheon, Mrs. Bishop retired to rest.
Libbetty recalled Lord Cauldreigh’s mention of Lord Neil still wishing to speak
to her and escaped the vicarage.

She headed for the stream that was her favorite destination,
hoping to spare herself another round of questioning about what she had seen on
the vicarage roof. The sunshine and soft wind she met outdoors blew away the
last of the megrims and she walked briskly, quelling the urge to run for joy.

Her hopes to avoid Lord Neil were in vain, however, for he
caught up with her on the path before she had walked far. “Miss Bishop. A
fine day, is it not?”

“It was,” she snapped.

His laughter mocked her, and she increased her pace to a
near-run. He caught up again, and took her arm, gently but firmly. “I
understand you do not wish to speak about the other day, but I really must ask
you some questions.”

She peered up into his face, frowning, his dark eyes clouded.
“Are you afraid I can identify you as the man I saw on the roof?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Well, I cannot, so you are safe. I only caught a very
brief glimpse of dark hair. That fits you, but it fits a number of other men
as well. Was the hair as dark as yours, or a shade lighter, like Lord
Cauldreigh’s? All I can say for sure is that it was not Lord Cauldreigh upon
the roof, as he stood with me in the path of the slate.”

Libbetty continued to gaze at his eyes, which darkened with
distress. She took a deep breath. “I don’t think that is it at all. You
hoped I could provide enough details to identify the person who threw the slate
at Lord Cauldreigh. If it were you, you wouldn’t need to learn who it was. I
think someone else is trying to kill your nephew, so why pretend it is you?”

His eyes widened, his mouth dropping open then closing
firmly. “That’s ridiculous,” he shot back.

“No,” she insisted, recalling the concern he had shown for
Cauldreigh—genuine, she would swear. “You don’t want your nephew dead. But
you have gone around trying to look like a guilty man. What purpose can that
serve?”

“None at all, Miss Bishop. I applaud your imagination, but
you will find yourself in trouble if you continue to indulge it.” He swerved
about and walked away so fast that she would have been shocked by his
rudeness. She smiled. His abrupt behavior showed she had unearthed the truth.

*

My God, he had really done it now. He had an impossible
conundrum—to protect both Trevor and Elizabeth Bishop. What was worse, he
could not choose between the two. His obligation was to Trevor, but Elizabeth
had come to mean far too much to dismiss his fears for her. That the slate
thrower would not hesitate to kill someone besides Trevor was proven by events
the other day.

He had questioned everyone there, including the workmen.
They had taken a dinner break, and no one was on the roof—at least no one
admitted to being there, or seeing anything suspicious. They all vouched for
each other, but anyone could have left for a few minutes—who would have
noticed?

And there was the matter of Jonathan. Although a charming
young man, he was rather irresponsible and had several times over the years
gotten into debt well above his modest income. It was not unreasonable to
suspect he might decide Trevor’s fortune would better suit the life he wished
to live.

What was he to do about Elizabeth? Did he dare take her
into his confidence and hope he could persuade her to drop her investigation?
No, he felt a deep certitude that she would never give up once she chomped her
teeth onto a thing. He must convince her anew of his own villainy.