Lord Satan (2 page)

“Well, I need something to blunt my memories of this room.”
The massive furnishings and dark colors sucked out all the light. “I can’t
even count the times Father called me in here to face my punishment for some
misdeed. I vowed I would never come back, but here I am.”

He poured himself a generous measure, then, with a shudder,
threw himself into the worn armchair behind the desk. In his mind, the dark
brown upholstery still retained an essence of his father, the faint scent of
his tobacco, even three years after his death. He sipped at the amber liquid
and leaned back. “Someone tried to kill Trevor in London.”

Rayfield stood. “You are right. This demands a drink.” He
poured two fingers into the glass and sat again. “Go on.”

“He had recovered enough that I no longer checked on him at
night.” Neil stared into his glass. “However, one night I awoke with the
strong feeling I must go to his room. I tried to persuade myself it was
foolish and go back to sleep, but the urgency persisted, so I arose. As I
opened the door to Trevor’s room, I saw an intruder.”

He stood and moved to the fireplace again, unable to remains
still as the memory of that night gripped him. “We had discontinued having a
servant attending him at night, so no one should have been there. While I
watched, the figure neared the bedside. I rushed him and wrenched him
backward, away from Trevor. I saw a metallic flash—a knife. He slashed at me,
wounding me in the arm, then escaped out the open window. He was out of sight
by the time I looked out.

“My God!” breathed Rayfield. “But who could wish for
Cauldreigh’s death?”

“I haven’t any idea. That’s what confounds me. The obvious
answer, what would occur to most everyone, is that it is I.”

“I fear you are right.”

“All I could think to do was bring him here, where I can
control who can reach him. I brought my own, trusted people to staff The
Castle. And I’ve taken steps to ensure that rumors about my evil intentions
are circulated afresh.”

“Good God, Colton, why?” Frowning, Rayfield drained his
glass and set it down. “Doesn’t that play into the hands of whoever wants him
dead?”

“I’m hoping he’ll think so. It’s a calculated risk. I
believe he counts on my being blamed, so there won’t be any further
investigation. I want him to dare another attempt. With all the guards I have
set around Trevor, we’ll catch the assailant in the act. The alternative is to
wait and hope there won’t be further attempts—and I could not risk that.

“I came to ask your help in a case. Smugglers who are
involved with French spies. But, I see you have your hands full. Let the unit
know if you need any help.”

“I may well have to do so. I’m praying the assassin makes another
try soon. Trevor is feeling more like himself, and I can’t keep him confined
much longer. If I haven’t caught the blackguard before Trevor’s up and around,
I will have to set my friends around him to protect him. I hate to put them at
risk, though.”

“I’ll be in France until we catch the spy, and since you
aren’t available, I’ll put Kane on the coast tracking my case from the English
side, but Chester and Sir Rodney should be free to help out here.”

A few years younger than Neil, Lord Chester had risen to an
undersecretary in the Home Office. Sir Rodney was attached to the War Office.
Both at times worked with Lord Rayfield to root out spies and would be useful
if the situation merited. Though Neil’s government duties were more usually
tactical ones to ease the military’s way with government, he had occasionally
assisted in Rayfield’s task.

*

That afternoon the vicar called Libbetty to his study. He
laid aside his pen. Papers, no doubt his sermon for next Sunday, spread about
untidily on his desk.

As she stood before him, he said, “It is not your place to
greet parishioners beside me.”

She bowed her head. “I know, Papa. I did not intend to do
so. I just somehow found myself standing there.”

“You must learn to think before you act. That impulsiveness
I’ve had occasion to scold you about before will cause you trouble, Elizabeth.
I had not planned to introduce you to that man. He is not a proper person for
you to know.”

“How could I have known that? You have never said so,” she replied
with logic she thought unarguable.

He straightened, his face taking on the expression that
always made Libbetty tremble. He never physically punished his children, but
that somber face wilted resistance from all of them. “I am sure your curiosity,
which is much too keen anyway, aroused your interest in the man. No doubt your
deplorable practice of listening to unsuitable gossip was responsible for your
actions, and what you have heard would have told you that you should not know
Lord Neil.”

“Do you believe he wants his nephew dead, Papa?”

His face grew red. “That will be enough, Elizabeth.”

Why would Father refuse to discuss Lord Neil? From the
pulpit, he often spoke of resisting Satan’s temptations. What sin could be so
terrible that her saintly father feared to speak of it?

She vividly remembered Lord Neil’s appearance that morning,
standing near enough she could have touched him. His dark blue coat fitted
across his broad shoulders, snowy linen hugged his neck. His voice, low and
deep, gave her a shivery feeling, even in recall.

He stood a few inches taller than her father, and his
eyes—dark gray, not black—reflected amusement, as if he knew what people
thought of him and did not care. Her father lectured that the devil frequently
hid his evil dealings behind a handsome face. Libbetty shivered.

Although her father would not discuss the fascinating Lord
Neil, others would. Francis and Edwina Hogwood called the next morning. Tom
abandoned his studies to join them.

“We came to hear all about Lord Neil.” Francis’s attire
made Libbetty stifle a giggle. He probably thought he presented a splendid
sight in buckskins of bright mustard yellow, flowered waistcoat and a
bottle-green coat. The combination did not flatter his square figure and clashed
with the Bishops’ shabby sofa. Leaning back he clasped his lapels. “What did
the man say to your father?”

Libbetty had brought in tea and some cakes and sat in one of
two matching needlepoint-covered chairs.

Wearing a royal blue riding habit, Edwina already occupied
the other chair. She sipped her tea. “It was so clever how you got beside
your father after the service,” she breathed. “Did he say anything about Lord
Cauldreigh?”

“Yes, he said Lord Cauldreigh has a recurrent fever. He
gets better, then relapses.” Libbetty repeated the entire conversation. It
had not amounted to much.

“Well, he lied when he claimed he wished the marquess to
recover,” Edwina declared.

“The uncle’s style of life shows him to be of bad
character. He is a rake and is known for all the high-flyers he always has in
keeping—well, one at a time, I mean.” Francis sat forward and reached for one
of the cakes, taking a huge bite.

Libbetty’s face heated, shocked nearly as much by Francis
speaking of such things as by Lord Neil’s reputed iniquitous behavior. She
glanced to see Edwina’s reaction, but the other girl’s expression was blank.

“Beware lest you fall into the traps of such hardened
lechers.” Francis wagged a finger at the girls.

I’m safe from such a misfortune. Libbetty’s pledge to Wat
Perkins was secret but would become known, as soon as she thought of a way to
tell her father. The Coltons could not compare to Wat’s blond handsomeness,
not even Lord Neil. Why did she keep thinking of that man?

Francis took another cake and continued, “The marquess is
scarcely any better than his uncle, though he hasn’t had as many years to
become steeped in vice. He had a wild career at Cambridge—Lord Cauldreigh that
is—and when he was sent down, he embarked on the same sort of life as his uncle
in town.

He—that is Lord Neil—claimed it was to save his nephew from
degenerating into libertinism that he bought him a pair of colors, although
Cauldreigh has since purchased a higher commission. But how gullible does Lord
Neil believe people are? Saying he wished to save his nephew from living his
own kind of life!”

He jerked his head to toss back the mass of brownish hair
that flopped into his face. “Everyone knew Lord Neil wished Cauldreigh dead,
but he wanted it accomplished some way no blame could attach to himself.”

Edwina clapped a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. Libbetty
gasped and then noticed Francis’ gratified smile at their appalled reaction.
Papa would be very displeased to see his two eldest offspring listening to
gossip.

“Poor Lord Cauldreigh,” Edwina said.

“Oh, well, I suppose he must be quite inured to his uncle’s
hatred,” Francis said. “It’s not the first time in his life a relative has
shown he didn’t care as he ought. Cauldreigh was scarce more than a babe when
his father abandoned him.”

Libbetty exchanged a glance with Tom at this, and Francis
added, “I suppose you never heard that old scandal? It happened years before
your family came here, of course. I was only an infant myself, but I’ve heard
the villagers talk of it.”

“What do you mean, ‘abandoned him’?” asked Libbetty.

“Ran off with another woman, he did, old Cauldreigh’s heir.
Left his baby, the present Lord Cauldreigh, and his heartbroken wife. She was
just a farmer’s daughter too—the woman he ran off with, that is. She died
shortly after that—I mean his wife—leaving the heir to the care of old
Cauldreigh. He wanted nothing to do with the babe, and sent him off to his
aunt.”

Again Francis flipped back the persistent lock of hair.
“Then, a few months later, news came of Tipton’s death—that’s the marquess’s
father. Cauldreigh was an orphan while still a babe.”

Libbetty squirmed. If even hearing this squalid tale caused
her such discomfort, how much worse would it be for the Coltons, the subject?
She could imagine her own distress if everything she did was reported all over
the village. No wonder the marquess and Lord Neil refused to talk to anyone.

Then she looked at Edwina’s eyes, glistening with tears, and
her quick sympathy went out to her. Mrs. Hogwood had made no secret of her
ambitions to see her daughter wed to the marquess. Edwina showed no aversion
to the idea. It was understandable that the doings of the Coltons were much on
her mind.

Libbetty had heard some of the same gossip on the lips of
several villagers in recent weeks, since word had spread that the Coltons were
coming to Cauldreigh Castle for the first time since the old marquess died. It
seemed the Hogwoods were not the only ones whose minds were occupied with the
wicked Coltons. However, Francis was the only one to recount the old scandal.

The following Sunday, the marquess returned to church,
although still pale.

Early in the ensuing week, with an air of excitement about
them, the Marble sisters called upon Mrs. Bishop. Middle-aged spinsters with
an elderly, infirm mother, the Misses Marble were the village’s preeminent
purveyors of gossip, and a trial to Libbetty’s upright mother.

“You’ll never believe what we’ve just heard,” said Miss
Marble, once the sisters had tea and almond tarts in their hands.

“So shocking,” murmured Miss Anemone, the younger sister,
closing her eyes as though near to fainting from the scandalous news.

“Lord Cauldreigh has been confined to his bed again,” Miss
Marble took up the tale.

“Oh, the poor unfortunate man,” Mrs. Bishop said.

“He suffered a near-fatal accident.” The sisters exchanged
glances at this, their eyes nearly popping from their heads. Miss Anemone took
a fortifying sip of her tea, then bit into her tart.

Miss Marble said, “He went to take the air on the roof of
The Castle. As he walked upon the parapet, a wave of dizziness made him lean
against a coping stone.” She set down her tea and fanned her face with her
handkerchief.

The other sister jumped in. “The stone gave way, falling
some fifty feet to the ground. Cauldreigh narrowly escaped following. Between
the shock of this near calamity and the return of his fever that brought on the
dizziness, the young man once again is in the gravest danger of expiring.”
Miss Anemone’s voice faded to a near-whisper.

The elder Miss Marble took up the tale. “Of course,
everyone knows that Lord Neil engineered the mischance somehow. If Lord
Cauldreigh survives, we will undoubtedly learn from his own lips how that
immoral man tried to kill his own nephew.”

Libbetty’s mother set her own cup down with a decided
rattle. “What nonsense,” she said bluntly. “Reynolds’ parsimony with the
marquess’s money and refusal to see to any repairs undoubtedly have caused The
Castle to fall to pieces, just as his other properties in Peasebotham have.”
Indeed, the villagers well knew that the steward feared facing Lord Neil with
reports of needed repairs.

However, it was equally well known that Mrs. Bishop never
spoke ill of anyone. Therefore, her mother’s cautions against jumping to
conclusions failed to still the rumor that Lord Neil had made an attempt on
Cauldreigh’s life. Wherever Libbetty went during the following days, she heard
this version from everyone she encountered.

Libbetty did not know what to believe. She remembered Lord
Neil’s sinister appearance, and doubted his innocence. At the same time, she
couldn’t accept the idea of such evil residing in the peaceful village. Her
mother’s words lingered, and she determined to withhold judgment.

Some days later, the younger Hogwoods, Tom, and Libbetty,
went riding, Libbetty mounted on a bay mare borrowed from the Hogwoods’ stable.

As usual, Francis and Tom took the lead. Francis turned
about in the saddle and said, “There’s not a doubt, that man should be imprisoned,
or sent away where he can’t harm anyone. It’s a disgrace that a person of such
high rank—Cauldreigh, I mean—is at the mercy of his uncle’s devilish schemes.”