Lord Satan (21 page)

She did not intend to meet Wat inside, but the place figured
as spooky and rather frightening in her memory. Steeling herself, Libbetty
marched to the deserted building.

The sagging door resisted her efforts to open it. Finally
it yielded enough for her to slip through. She paused, a shiver going through
her, remembering the trapped feeling the dim room had instilled before.

Pulling in a lungful of air, she entered, leaving the door
ajar. The air smelled musty, but the hut’s interior calmed her fears. A
slanting shaft of sunbeam came through the window, illuminating the room with
golden light, dust motes twirling so thickly in the ray that it appeared a
solid object. She had the illusion she could climb onto it, ascending straight
out the window and over the trees into the heavens.

Smiling at her fancy, she sat on the burlap sacking, still
spread over the dirt floor, just as she and Wat had left it. Clearly no one
had trespassed since. She would leave before Wat came, meet him in the
clearing. Her thoughts scattered in patterns as random as the dust imprisoned
in the lone ray, then narrowed and focused on Lord Neil. She thrust the
thought away.

Wat thrust his head through the gap in the door, calling,
“Libbetty? You are here!”

She jumped up as he opened the door further to accommodate
his wide shoulders, and as he entered, Libbetty said, “Don’t close it. We need
to go back outside.”

He needed but one step to stand close to her. “You
should’ve waited on me to shake out those sacks. Your skirt’s all dusty.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She started to go past him and leave,
but he caught her hand.

“Wait, Libbetty.” She paused, waiting, and for an awkward
moment neither spoke. After a brief glance upward at Wat, Libbetty lowered her
gaze.

“Please, Libbetty, can’t we try again? I still love you.
There isn’t someone else, is there?”

“There isn’t anyone—at least no one who wants to marry me.
But I don’t care for you the way you deserve. Please say you understand.” She
reached up to touch his strong jaw.

He folded her into his arms, holding her tenderly, his eyes
closed as if he wanted to memorize this moment. Then he pressed his lips on
hers gently, tentatively. One kiss, she thought, for goodbye. The kiss
lengthened and heated. Wat’s hands combed through her hair, loosening the
pins. She tried to pull back.

He muttered, “Ah, Libbetty,” and took her lips again, more
forcefully, his hands stroking her skin at the high neck of her habit, then
working at the top buttons.

“Stop, Wat.” She wasn’t frightened. She could convince him
to end this, wanted him to understand her lack of passion.

His breath rasped harshly in the stillness. Warm air cooled
on her half-bared breast, apprising her how far the situation had progressed.
Suddenly Lord Neil’s face materialized in her mind.

She jumped away, fleeing out the door, hearing Wat croak out
after her, “Libbetty, wait.”

She ran into the clearing, almost colliding with a huge
black beast. It shied and reared with a scream that she slowly identified as a
whinny. Again Lord Neil’s face appeared before her, and it took her a moment
to realize this time it was real.

Wat followed hard on her heels, skidding to a halt when he
saw Lord Neil. “Er, it isn’t the way it looks, sir,” he rushed to say. “We’re
betrothed.”

“No, we are not.” Libbetty forced her gaze from Lord Neil,
turned to Wat. “I told you I can’t marry you.” Wat’s expression, incredulity
and hurt mingled, tore at Libbetty.

“You can’t do this. We’re pledged.” He glared upward at
Lord Neil and back at her, and his gaze hardened to something almost ugly. His
face suffused with red. “He won’t marry you. When he’s done with you, you’ll
come back to me again.”

“I won’t.” Oh, dear Lord, she wanted to die. Wat’s words,
as she belatedly realized their import, completed her disgrace.

She wanted to strike back, but knowledge of how she had hurt
and betrayed Wat kept her silent. Sullenly, he mounted and rode away. She
watched, her back to Lord Neil, hearing the last echo of hoofbeats die away and
the forest return to the quiet of only a few minutes before. The forest gave
her no peace now, however.

Sunlight crawling lower in the sky found a gap in the leafy
canopy and pierced her, and she thought again of dancing on the shaft, away to
the sky like a column of smoke and disappearing. Or a pillar of salt—she
wondered if Lot’s wife had melted when the rains came. She wished she could
become that pillar.

“You had better repair the damages to your, er, toilette.”
Lord Neil’s toneless voice behind her sounded unlike himself. She didn’t
respond, couldn’t move. If she could not be that pillar, she would imitate it,
become a lifeless statue.

“Elizabeth, are you all right?” He dismounted and came to
her. She fixed her gaze on the sunbeam. Fewer motes quivered in its light
than the beam in the hut, and her notion of climbing into it, merging with it,
shattered. She looked into Neil’s face. For the first time those gray eyes
contained no laughter, and his lips twisted. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

She shook her head. He touched her shoulders, and she
wondered if he would kiss her. Would he respond to Wat’s implied invitation?
Instead he closed the buttons of her jacket. Closing her eyes, she thought, if
he carried her into the hut and made love to her, she could not resist. She
willed him to do so, to make of her the wanton he must believe her to be.

He did not speak as he gathered her hair, combed his fingers
through and found a few pins still clinging to her locks. Handing them to her,
he said, “You’ll have to do this part. I don’t know how you had arranged it.”

She moved finally, opened her hand for the pins and reached
up to twist her hair into a quick knot. Shoving in the pins haphazardly, she
said, “It doesn’t matter.” Her words or her motion broke the spell, shook
something loose that had frozen, and she gave vent to her need to strike out.
“Why have you been following me around? Everywhere I go, there you are.”

“I haven’t been following you.” Her words had brought back
the twinkle of amusement to Lord Neil’s eyes.

The indulgent humor that always made her feel too young and
awkward capped her ignominy. “No? I take leave to doubt that.”

She pulled her shredded dignity around her, feeling it
unfurl and float on a rush of fury. “You enjoy catching me out in
circumstances where I look a fool.” Her rage, fueled by shame and
powerlessness, ran freely now, unrestrained by any civility or caution. “I got
in your way, didn’t I? I imagine you would like more than to catch me in some
new folly—you would like to insure that I can never foil your plans again.”

The smile disappeared from his face, replaced by comprehension
of her accusation, then a strange blankness.

A part deep inside Libbetty watched, like a spectator at
someone else’s drama, as words spilled from her mouth, words unconnected with
any conscious thought of hers. “You must find me a terrible nuisance and
burden.”

With a hiccup her words finally ran out—too late to save
her. She ran, tears blurring her eyes, toward Concobhar. Lord Neil somehow
managed to reach the horse before she did. He boosted her into the sidesaddle
and handed her the reins.

She could not glance at him, could not have read his
expression through her tears in any case, but his touch, impersonal and
brusque, told its own tale. Riding blindly, she let Concobhar have his head
and lead them home.

By the time she reached home, Libbetty had gained control
over her tempestuous emotions. She could not allow her family to see her in
this state; they would ask questions she could not answer. However, her
outward calmness masked the utter ruins of her life.

Neil shook as he rode away, but his first blind anger at
Elizabeth faded almost immediately. He well understood the distress that
prompted her striking out at him. In his younger days, he had often responded
in the same manner to emotional pain.

What most rattled him was how desperately he wanted her, in
all her dishevelment and shock. Handling her in the dispassionate manner he
sensed she needed nearly tore him apart. He vanquished the desire to take her
right there and damn the consequences. She would have offered no hindrance
despite her mistrust of his motives, he knew. But she would have hated herself
and him.

And he—another part of his attraction to her was her
willingness to consider he might not desire his nephew’s death. He wanted
more, her complete trust in him. What a fool.

Not such a fool as she, though. What had prompted her to
put herself in a position where that country bumpkin could nearly ravish her?
He should have reprimanded her for her folly. Perhaps she would think twice
before doing such a thing again.

That country bumpkin wanted to marry her—indeed thought
they had an understanding. What intimacies had occurred between them before?
He might denigrate the Perkins boy as a rustic, but he was an Adonis who could
turn almost any young girl’s head.

He clenched his teeth, pushing away the unwanted image of
the two of them together. He had no rights to Elizabeth Bishop. Once he left
Peasebotham, her affections would no doubt return to her farmer. They were
unevenly matched, but not so disastrously for her as Neil. The sooner he
retired from the lists, the better for all concerned.

*

When Tom invited Libbetty to accompany them, she refused,
determined to avoid any encounter with Lord Neil.

He had disappeared from her life; there were no accidental
meetings. She felt only relief, of course. When she caught herself looking
for him every time she ventured out of doors, she rationalized that she merely
strove to avoid him, to protect them both from the embarrassment of coming face
to face.

On rare occasions she had time alone, without one of her
younger siblings. She took advantage of those to pursue her investigation of
Mr. Hedgesett’s employees. She discovered that Longdon and Walford had not
been at the inn. Through them, she learned where Carstow lived and interviewed
him as well. He was a stocky man, perhaps around thirty, with thinning hair.
She was sure that looking up to the roof from the ground, she would not have
received an impression of dark hair if he had been the one. Besides, his body
build was all wrong.

None of the three knew any details about White. He only
briefly worked for Hedgesett and had made no effort to befriend any of the
other men. Stymied in her efforts to learn more about the fourth man, she
decided to turn her efforts to a talk with Jonathan Colton.

Doing so without the risk of seeing Lord Neil proved
difficult. Libbetty kept close to her younger siblings and Alonso Hayes. She
entered into their pastimes with forced enthusiasm, but none noticed the shadow
that often darkened her.

With them, she fished again, picked berries, walked for
miles—and planned their annual raid on the orchards of a particularly
disliked, miserly farmer. This endeavor caused newly aroused qualms of
conscience in Libbetty.

Farmer Beddoes had acted as nemesis to the Bishop children
since their move to Peasebotham. The other farmers cast an indulgent eye on
their ramblings, offered them access to the fruits of their orchards as part
payment for their father’s services to the parish, and generally made them feel
welcomed.

In contrast, Farmer Beddoes yelled at them to cease
trespassing across his property, never shared his produce, and, they learned,
harshly treated the farmhand who worked for him.

Ned Thompson had lost an eye in a haying accident some years
previously. As a result, his perspective and ability to measure distance were
hindered, and no other farmer wanted to hire him. His employer took advantage
of this handicap to work him unmercifully and pay him next to nothing.

When the young Bishops learned about Ned, they believed
themselves justified in harassing the farmer. Alonso gleefully joined in,
helping to think of new twists to their assaults. Each year near harvest, they
slipped out late one night to plunder his crop. Any attacks of conscience were
assuaged by giving their spoils to the poor of the parish, and more than once
they drew a parallel between their exploits and those of the legendary Robin
Hood.

They laughed at Farmer Beddoes’ curses upon the incursions
to his crops and threats that if he ever caught the thieves, he would make sure
they were transported—or worse.

When Alonso reported that it looked as if Beddoes’ fruits
had ripened, they gathered at their meeting place by the brook and planned this
year’s raid.

“Shouldn’t we ask Tom to join us?” Freddy leaned against
the willow’s trunk, with the low-hanging branches screening him. “He’s always
come. He’ll be disappointed to miss out this year.”

“No,” said Alonso, whittling at a piece of wood. “He’s too
busy with his toplofty friends to have time for our games.”

Libbetty, with her bare feet dangling in the cool water,
gave voice to her misgivings. “I don’t think we should do this any more.” The
boys eyed her with scorn.

“Have you turned craven?” Freddy asked. He dropped down to
lie full length upon the grass under the willow, hands behind his head. “I
never thought I’d hear you council caution.”

“I’m not craven. It’s stealing, and it’s wrong even if the
old miser deserves to suffer. We’d do more good if we tried to help Ned
Thompson. When we reduce Farmer Beddoes’ profits, it only gives him an excuse
to lower Ned’s pay.”

“He doesn’t need an excuse,” scoffed George, biting a weed.

Libbetty gave attention to Catherine’s worried look. “At
least, let’s not take Cat. I don’t want to put her at risk.”

Catherine jumped in, “But I want to go,” and Freddy added,
“You really have become an old woman. You needn’t come if you’re scared.
Beddoes couldn’t catch a fox in his chicken house.”

Libbetty shrugged and overrode her uneasiness, which no
doubt owed to her despondent mood. “I’m not scared. If you still want to
steal Beddoes’ apples, I’ll come along.”

The night of the raid, Libbetty woke Catherine shortly after
midnight. Fumbling in the darkness, the girls dressed in trousers and shirts
borrowed from George and Freddy. They met the twins at the foot of the stairs
and crept down the hall to the kitchen and back door, where Alonso joined them.

The sky was moonless and dark. Libbetty’s eyes adjusted
slowly to the starlight so she could make her way sure-footedly.

It took nearly an hour to reach Beddoes’ Farm, walking
cross-country and avoiding houses. They had several fences, hedges, and
ditches to negotiate, pastures where resident bulls might provide a hazard to
avoid, the stream to ford where it ran shallow. Despite their caution, a
couple of watchdogs gave voice to their presence, and they ran out of range as
quickly as possible.

Libbetty’s heart beat fast the whole time, and she ignored a
tendency to shiver, as though chilled, although the night air had hardly cooled
from the day’s heat. Catherine shivered beside her and started at every
strange noise of the night—an owl’s call, the rustle of wind in the trees.

Despite the need to keep their voices low, the boys laughed
and joked. Did their bravado stem from true fearlessness or to cover up the
same dread that nagged at her? When they stopped at the stile that bounded
Beddoes property, Libbetty said, “Let’s go home. I don’t like this.”

George gave her a cuff on the shoulder, meant to reassure,
and asked, “What could go wrong? We’ll be out of here in ten minutes with our
pockets full of apples.”

Libbetty shrugged, but the wariness would not dissipate.
She climbed over the stile with the others, and selected a tree.

Catherine had no practice in tree climbing, and Alonso
lifted her into a low branch. Libbetty had climbed halfway up her tree when a
metallic snap and a howl from George froze her.