Lord Satan (18 page)

Libbetty offered to accompany her. The stairs down which
Mrs. Dalrymple and Captain Forsyth had gone were in better condition than those
to the tower, but a scarcity of light obliged Libbetty and Miss Clark to
proceed carefully. They had not gone far when they saw Mrs. Dalrymple and
Captain Forsyth, kissing. At Libbetty’s involuntary gasp, the pair looked up.

“I told you to stop following me,” Mrs. Dalrymple shrilled,
her face distorted and her eyes squinted small and mean.

“Why did you hire a companion if I am not to chaperone you?”
Miss Clark squeaked. Her face had paled, visible in the dimness. Libbetty
shrank behind her, shocked by Mrs. Dalrymple’s fury.

“I did not hire you. The Dalrymples inflicted you on me.”
Her gaze, sweeping past Miss Clark, took in Libbetty’s presence and widened.
She continued, in a moderated tone, “Let that be a warning to you, Miss
Bishop. Guard your reputation or you risk having a sneaking spy like Philberta
foisted upon you.”

The companion whirled and fled up the stairs, and Libbetty
hurried after. She caught up as Miss Clark left the ruins. The other woman’s
face was wet with tears. “I do not …” she sobbed. “I only try to look
after Letitia’s best interests. I’d never report on her doings to the
Dalrymples.”

Libbetty patted Miss Clark’s arm. “I’m sure,” she soothed,
although she knew nothing about the situation. But she ached at Miss Clark’s
distress.

Lord Neil hailed them, his cynical face a model of normality
to Libbetty after the storm she had witnessed. “Our picnic is ready. Where
are the others?”

Miss Clark gave Libbetty a conspiratorial glance. “Letitia
and Captain Forsyth are in there,” the companion pointed a shaky gloved finger
toward the building and took a deep breath before continuing, “and the others
are wandering through the cemetery. We were just about to join them.” Miss
Clark’s voice sounded quite steady, unlike Libbetty’s would have after such a
scene.

To her relief, Lord Neil offered to collect Mrs. Dalrymple
and Captain Forsyth, and asked them to gather the rest of the party. Miss
Clark seemed as eager to achieve distance between herself and Mrs. Dalrymple as
Libbetty was.

After everyone had gathered, they sat to eat the sumptuous
meal. By unspoken agreement, the company granted Lord Cauldreigh the head of
the table. He insisted on placing Libbetty beside him, at his left.
Otherwise, informality reigned in the seating arrangements and each person
chose his or her own seat, seeming to fall into the same groups as when they
had explored the abbey.

Sir Rodney sat on her other side, and Miss Clark at Lord
Cauldreigh’s right. Lord Neil, still grouped with Sybille Bassett and Mr. Colton,
was next to Miss Clark, opposite Libbetty and down one place. She had a
perfect view of Sybille Bassett setting her cap at him. Jonathan Colton, on
Miss Bassett’s other side, occasionally won her attention.

Sir Rodney and Lord Cauldreigh dedicated themselves to
keeping Libbetty amused. She responded diligently and exerted herself to
conceal how her regard kept straying to Lord Neil.

“Do you hunt, Miss Bishop?” Sir Rodney asked.

The idea of a woman hunting was foreign to Libbetty, and she
said with surprise, “No, I do not.”

“It is not usual for a woman, I believe. However, my sister
Olivia is an avid huntswoman.”

“Is that so?” Libbetty warmed to the idea of an activity
that sounded exciting. “I would like to try it.”

“Her husband has an estate in Leicestershire—good hunting
country. I often tease her that she married Haddon for his estate, not for the
man. She doesn’t contradict me,” he smiled.

Sir Rodney then turned to address Miss Clarissa Goforth, on
his other side. Libbetty glanced again at Lord Neil.

“Have you followed the progress of the war in the Peninsula,
Miss Bishop?” Lord Cauldreigh asked.

“No, I fear I have not.” She forced herself to pay
attention to him.

“British forces under Wellesley recently retook Oporto.”

“Is that an important victory?” Libbetty tried to
concentrate on the unfamiliar ideas he presented.

“Very—well, it’s a start, anyway. It’s hard kicking my
heels at home when there’s so much still to do in the Peninsula.” Lord
Cauldreigh’s expression revealed his gloom.

“I am sure you will return there soon. Of course, we here
in Peasebotham will miss you when you leave.”

“Will you miss me, Miss Bishop?” the marquess pressed.

“Everyone in Peasebotham will miss you,” she repeated. She
looked down the opposite side of the table, where Edwina sat, flanked by Lord
Chester and Captain Forsyth. The army officer gave a good share of his
attention to Mrs. Dalrymple, but he offered sufficient notice to Edwina, to
keep her entertained.

Lord Chester, on Edwina’s other side, gave almost exclusive
attention to her. Mr. Colton sat at Chester’s left. Libbetty could not hear
any of their conversation, but from where she sat it appeared Edwina behaved
with bare politeness to Lord Chester and Captain Forsyth. What was wrong with her?

Libbetty took another bite of her cold pigeon pie, and
listened to Sir Rodney tell her about his new hunter, his hawk-like face alight
with pleasure. The tall redhead paid Libbetty assiduous attentions whenever
they were together, but she did not believe he had any serious interest in
her. It was for the best. After all, their hair colors clashed. Sir Rodney’s
was a carroty, orange-red, and hers nearly pink. She smiled to herself at the
nonsensical thought, and stole another glance at Lord Neil.

Libbetty congratulated herself that she had improved her
technique of watching him from lowered eyes in a circumspect manner he could
not notice. Then his sudden glance across the table surprised her, and he
flashed a wicked grin. Did it indicate that he had caught her staring at him
again or that he wished to share his amusement at Sybille’s coquettish actions?

“Good gad, I’ve been poisoned,” Lord Cauldreigh groaned.
Libbetty looked at him in alarm, as did the others within earshot of the
agonized words.

“Pickled onion.” He grinned sheepishly. “I despise the
stuff. Don’t know how it got on my plate.”

When the party finished eating, they strolled around the
grounds. The graveyard was in poor condition, greatly overgrown, the
headstones mostly fallen. The modest markers were so eroded and covered with
lichen that the monks’ names carved upon them could scarcely be made out.

The sun had begun its descent and it was another three-hour
journey back. On the return, shortly before they reached Crossfield, Lord
Cauldreigh rode up to the Bassetts’ barouche. “We are all thirsty and have
decided to stop at the inn just ahead.”

Libbetty also felt parched as she entered the Goose Inn, an
aged stone structure. The coolness and dim light welcomed her after the sun’s
hot glare in the open carriage. The host greeted the party and offered a
private room and tea for the ladies, but the men opted to have their ale in the
public room.

Libbetty supposed the men had found the women’s company
tedious after so many hours. She would have preferred the common room with the
men rather than being sequestered with the females of their group, but perhaps
that wasn’t proper.

As she walked down the hall, she couldn’t resist a glance
into the public room. She recognized some of the workers who had repaired the
vicarage, some local farmers and several other men whom she did not know.

The parlor was a pleasant room, set with a table that had a
blue-and-white checked tablecloth and matching curtains at the windows. A girl
no older than Isobel served them tea and cakes.

Libbetty felt curtained off from the other women in the
party. None of them were truly her friends, and an awkwardness had fallen upon
them. Edwina sulked by herself. The air between Miss Clark and Mrs. Dalrymple
remained frigid. Miss Bassett kept Irene by her, but seemed subdued. The
Misses Goforth chatted between themselves, the only ones unaffected by the
strained atmosphere.

They stayed in the room for half an hour and were preparing
to leave when Tom rushed in. “Lord Cauldreigh’s been poisoned!”

“Quit teasing us, Tom,” Libbetty chided. Lord Cauldreigh
had jokingly blurted nearly the same words at the picnic, and she did not
appreciate the macabre prank. Then Tom’s ashen face registered, and Libbetty
felt a sickening lurch in her stomach.

Someone screamed softly. Edwina moaned and collapsed, in a
faint. Tom dashed to her side and caught her before she struck the floor. His
face even whiter than when he made his announcement, he murmured, “I shouldn’t
have blurted it out.”

Libbetty and Miss Clark helped him lay Edwina upon the
settle. Miss Clark ferreted out a vinaigrette from her reticule and waved it
under Edwina’s nose. She choked and tossed on the settle, not coming to full
consciousness.

Mrs. Dalrymple asked, “Is he dead?”

“No,” said Tom, watching Edwina anxiously. “They gave him
an emetic. He’s still very ill.”

Mrs. Dalrymple left the room without another word, Libbetty
presumed, to help Lord Cauldreigh. Miss Clark asked Libbetty, “Will you stay
and see to Miss Hogwood?”

She acquiesced, and Miss Clark followed Mrs. Dalrymple.
Anxious about Lord Cauldreigh’s condition, Libbetty wished she could go after
them, but she had promised to stay with Edwina. Tom stood by, his unhappy air
expressing guilt, worry, and jealousy at the effect of his words on his
beloved.

Irene Bassett cried noisily, and Miss Bassett hugged her and
uttered soothing words. The Goforth sisters hovered uncertainly, whispering
between themselves.

Libbetty rubbed Edwina’s hands and said quietly, “Lord
Cauldreigh will recover, Edwina, I know he will.”

Slowly Edwina became conscious and sat up. “I must go to
him and try to help,” she said, although she made no move to go.

“You are not strong enough yet,” Libbetty replied. “Others
are caring for him.”

Two burly inn servants carried Cauldreigh into the room,
followed by the other men of the party and the two women. The marquess was
paper-white and appeared unconscious. Edwina tottered to her feet, and Lord
Cauldreigh was laid on the settle.

Tom moved to support Edwina, but the others crowded around
Cauldreigh. “Get back. Give him room to breathe,” said Lord Neil. He gave
his full concentration to his nephew and seemed unaware of the suspicious
stares directed at him by some of the others. His dark charcoal eyes mirrored
anxiety and concern.

Lord Neil had not poisoned Lord Cauldreigh, Libbetty was
certain. She glanced at Mr. Colton, who stood apart, his expression
unreadable. Had he administered the toxic dose? She recalled the incident in
the stairway at the abbey. Mr. Colton started out with Miss Bassett and Lord
Neil, but when Libbetty looked out the window, he was not with them. Did he
tamper with the stairs?

And, Lord Cauldreigh said he didn’t know how the pickled
onion appeared on his plate. Did someone make the experiment to see if they
could adulterate his food without detection? Who could have done so? How had
Lord Cauldreigh been poisoned?

She longed to learn what had happened, but did not wish to speak
to anyone but Tom. He stood by Edwina, and Libbetty did not want to distress
the sensitive girl by discussing the incident in her hearing.

Mr. Colton suggested, “Let us walk outside and give Trevor
time to recover.”

Edwina protested, “We shouldn’t leave him alone.”

“The innkeeper has sent for a doctor. Philberta and I will
stay with him until he comes,” Mrs. Dalrymple said.

“I will stay with him,” Edwina asserted.

Tom patted her shoulder. “You are unwell yourself.”

Clearly torn, Edwina hesitated.

Mrs. Dalrymple tossed her head impatiently. “Do you think
we would let any harm come to him? I assure you we would not.”

Tom said, “Come, Edwina, they will look after him,” and she
assented. Francis supported Edwina as they left the room, and Tom hovered near
the Hogwoods.

The group gathered in the courtyard of the inn. As they
passed the public room, Libbetty saw that none of the vicarage workmen she had
noticed earlier remained. Francis and Tom helped Edwina to sit on a bench set
against the west wall of the inn.

Libbetty shivered and glanced toward the sinking sun, which
cast indirect rays over them, cooler now. The lighthearted mood prevailing
among the company during the picnic had vanished. Serious-faced people
clustered and talked among themselves. Sybille Bassett still attempted to
reassure Irene, with help from Jonathan Colton, who joked and mugged to
distract the girl. Tom stood by Edwina and Francis.

*

A middle-aged man drove up in a gig, and Neil hurried to
meet him, asking, “Are you the physician?” Receiving the man’s affirmation,
Neil told him where he could find his patient and the doctor disappeared
inside.

Neil stood apart from the others, the crushing weight of
failure pressing on him. Gone was the brief respite, the hope he could protect
Trevor. With all the people who wanted to preserve Trevor’s life about him
this afternoon, the unseen enemy had reached him anyway. Neil had never felt
so helpless.

He ignored the suspicious glances directed at him. One of
the Misses Goforth said, “He should be arrested,” and Murray replied, “There’s
no proof.”

The foolish chit retorted, “The proof would be that the
attempts on Cauldreigh’s life would stop.”

Her solution would curtail Neil’s freedom of action. He
should have thought of the drawbacks when he began his charade. It had proved
more of a detriment than a help to his aims.

Elizabeth Bishop detached from the others and went to him.
“I’m sure he will be all right,” she comforted. Neil let the balm of her
compassion flow over him, giving her a bleak smile.

She stood beside him, seeming at a loss for further words,
but he sensed her curiosity—and her wish to engage him in conversation, to
make the moment last.

Neil yielded to his need to have someone near who believed
in him. “Two men made a wager over who was strongest. Everybody went outside
with their mugs to watch the contest. A large crowd milled around the
activity. Someone could have put something in Trevor’s ale at that time, and
no one would have noticed.”

“Then you have no idea who did it?”

He smiled grimly. Aware of suspicious glares the others
directed at him, he realized speaking to her could do her no good. “Everyone
else already believes they know who poisoned him. Why should you doubt it?”

Elizabeth looked at him, and the sympathy in her expression
gave him a strange twinge. “I don’t know why I doubt it. I just sense you
care too much about him to do such a thing.”

“Don’t you suppose I could pretend my concern cleverly
enough to fool you?”

She shivered and an expression of misgiving flashed on her
face, but she said sharply, “Why do you always try to make me believe the worst
of you?”

Because one of us needs to keep a distance between us and
I’m afraid for you. He had forbidden her to investigate, but he had little
hope she would heed him. He had no right to insist. He had to end this
conversation lest he give in to the yearning to touch her. He could not bear
the hostility of the others being directed at Elizabeth. “You are too
gullible. Anyone could take you in. Your lack of discernment may cause you
harm.”

She whirled and walked away, twitching the deep blue riding
skirts in anger. Watching her go, a wave of self-disgust overcame him. He
should not have spoken so harshly to her. In trying to protect her, he only
hurt her. Yet a small hurt now was better than a deep one later. He could
offer Elizabeth Bishop nothing but his tarnished reputation.

Miss Clark came out of the inn to report that Trevor had
awakened and appeared improved. Neil hurried inside, Sir Rodney and Lord
Chester following. The doctor exited the chamber where Trevor rested. “My
lord, your nephew has recovered enough that I believe you may safely transport
him home.”

*

Libbetty lingered on the decorative wooden bridge leading to
the island in the middle of the Bassetts’ artificial lake. Mr. Bassett had
invited the usual Crossfield and Peasebotham guests, and those from The Castle,
for a garden party at his spacious Georgian estate. Libbetty had drawn aside from
the merry-making of the others, feeling an unaccountable estrangement.

An extravagantly laden table stood inside the pseudo-Greek
temple on the island, and Francis hovered next to it with the Goforth sisters,
sampling apricot tarts and other delicacies.

Although the island was not large, it had been artfully
designed to contain several prospects. In a formal rose garden, Tom spoke with
Irene, glancing from time to time at Edwina. She stood smiling shyly some
distance away, surrounded by Sir Rodney, Lord Chester, Mr. Murray, and Lord
Cauldreigh. In a small orchard set off from the other areas by a grape arbor,
Jonathan Colton and Sybille Bassett stood closely together shaded by the
arbor. Captain Forsyth and Mrs. Dalrymple had disappeared.

Lord Neil had thus far firmly stayed on the land side of the
bridge, on a paved terrace near the classically Palladian house. He sat with
the chaperons, Mrs. Murray, Mr. Bassett, and Dr. and Mrs. Hayes, as if
determined to declare himself too mature for the frivolities of the younger
ones in the party.

Libbetty most likely could have joined any of the younger
groups in sight, but the only person she wished to be near had clearly
distanced himself. At least Sybille was not hanging upon his sleeve.

Libbetty wore another gown made over from the attic trove, a
lilac-and-white striped pekin silk. She had persuaded her mother to make it
slightly décolleté, with a white lace collar, short puffed sleeves, and
flounces of lilac ribbon at the hem. She wore long white gloves and a
wide-brimmed straw hat with lilac ribbons. She knew she appeared at her best.

She had ceased pretending she cared for anyone’s opinion but
Lord Neil’s. Libbetty could swear he made a special effort to avoid glancing
at her. She wanted to cry, to stamp her daintily clad feet, or to run away.

She stared shamelessly at him, willing him to glance her
way, but he remained oblivious. She looked down in frustration. Water lilies
dotted the blue-reflecting expanse of the lake. At shore, a heavy willow
dangled branches into the water. She wondered how Mr. Bassett had succeeded in
transplanting the huge tree, or had it grown there already before he created
the lake? Perhaps a small pond or swampy area marked the original site of the
lake.

Lord Cauldreigh detached himself from the group around
Edwina and crossed to stand by Libbetty. “If I gave you a penny for your
thoughts, you could toss it into the water and make a wish,” he said. “It
appears several others have done so.”

Leaning over the railing, Libbetty saw a number of coins on
the bottom at the edge of the bridge. “It does not work that way. If I tell
you my wish, it won’t come true.”

“Perhaps it might,” he said, smiling at her. “Were you
thinking of me?”

“What conceit. I wasn’t, but now I am. I am thinking you
should go back to the others.”

“Nobody misses me.”

“That doesn’t seem to be so.” She did not know why Edwina
had changed her mind about wanting Cauldreigh, but she glared at Libbetty from
among the roses.

“Spoiled little girls should not receive everything they
want.”

“She is not spoiled—or, at least, not the way you think.
You don’t know—it’s her mother who keeps pushing her.”

“An even better reason for me to keep my distance. Miss
Bishop, I will return to the Peninsula as soon as I convince the War Office I’m
fit. I cannot form any attachments. With a mother such as hers, if I pay Miss
Hogwood any attention, I just might find myself leg-shackled. And then, if I
should survive the War, I would find myself tied to her for the rest of my
life—a prospect which makes death at the hands of the enemy positively
desirable.”

“So, you singled me out to pursue because my mother does not
push me into a match.” Not stopping to think about her actions, Libbetty fled
to shore. Although she did not wish Cauldreigh’s regard to become warmer,
knowledge he only toyed with her hurt.

Cauldreigh followed. She sped up to a brisk trot, entering
into what would be a picturesque wood when the trees grew tall enough. They
barely grew above her head at present, too thinly spaced to shelter her, with a
wide path winding through them.

“Dash it all, Miss Bishop, I meant no insult to you. Please
wait for me.” He grabbed her arm in a bruising grip.

She looked back toward the island. At this point thick bushes
concealed them from the others. Good. She did not want to become the subject
of gossip and supposition. “Let go of me,” she said in a low voice, trying to
free herself.

Cauldreigh’s grip firmed, and she winced. “Please hear me
out, Libbetty—Miss Bishop.”

“Not until you let me go.” She jerked free, and he lowered
his hand.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you. I only wanted to
explain that I did not mean what you thought. Most men only dream of meeting a
woman like you—beautiful, kind and brave. If I could marry now, I would
probably already have fallen in love with you. I didn’t think you had taken my
attentions seriously.”

She hadn’t. She looked down at her arm as she rubbed the
place he had gripped, more to give herself time to think than because it hurt.

*

“There you are, Trevor.” Neil sauntered towards them,
masking his turmoil behind a calm face. Miss Bishop’s smile lit him from the
inside out. His next words, “You had better go back to the others. The two of
you being alone will cause gossip,” dimmed her smile.

“Yes, you must go back,” she said. “It will upset Edwina
that I have been alone with you.”