Lord Satan (26 page)

The baby lay unmoving. Mama croaked, “Help her breathe.”

Libbetty lifted the infant, indeed a girl, and looked a
question at Mama. “Hold her by the feet and slap her back.”

Libbetty followed the instructions, and the baby gasped and
let out a strong cry. She clasped the tiny child to her chest, a rush of
emotion she had never experienced sweeping over her.

“You must wrap her. I have wrappings prepared in the
clothes press.” Her mother’s voice weakened.

Libbetty could not move the baby, still attached at the
navel. She laid her beside her mother and went to the clothes press. As
Libbetty returned, Mama’s body tightened with another spasm, but she seemed to
be asleep or unconscious. Hurrying to her mother, Libbetty noticed the
enlarging stain of blood on the bed. Surely too much. The purplish-red
afterbirth emerged, carrying with it another gush of blood.

Mrs. Bishop’s skin had gone from the flush of her efforts to
shockingly white, and still the bleeding continued.

Floss came to the door. “Dr. Hayes wasn’t home. He’s gone
to the Murchisons’ with your father. Their bull gored the oldest boy today,
and they don’t expect him to survive. Mrs. Hayes sent a servant to fetch the
doctor, but it will take time.”

Libbetty could see the truth of this. The Murchisons lived
a full seven miles away. “We have to have him. Look at Mama!”

The girl’s eyes widened when she took in the still form and
the blood staining the sheet.

“Oh, Floss, I’m afraid my mother’s dying!”

The two girls stood, paralyzed by horror. Libbetty prodded
her benumbed mind to operate, to plan what to do. When a wound on the arm or
leg would not stop bleeding, one put a tourniquet on it. What could one do
when a person bled inside?

“Where’s Mrs. Berkfield?” Libbetty asked Floss.

“In the kitchen. She said she had to boil some water.”

“Whatever for? It’s no time to have tea.”

Libbetty picked up her new sister. She was still attached
to the dark red afterbirth, and Libbetty did not know what to do. She wrapped
the baby, afterbirth and all, in blankets, and handed the bundle to Floss.
“Wake up Catherine and give her the baby. Then go ask Mrs. Berkfield to tear
sheets into strips and bring them to me immediately.”

The baby, quiet while she lay next to her mother, began to
cry at Libbetty’s brisk handling. Mrs. Bishop stirred but did not awaken.
Floss took the infant and hurried from the room.

Libbetty knelt by her mother. “Don’t die, Mama. We all
need you. I’m trying to help, but I don’t know how.” She fought back tears as
she waited.

It seemed an age before Floss returned with a mound of
ripped-up sheets in her arms. “What will you do with these?”

“I’m going to try to stop the bleeding.” Libbetty took
several strips from the top of the pile and pushed them one at a time into her
mother’s body.

Floss gasped. “Are you sure you ought to do that?”

“No. But I can’t think of anything else to try. Can you?”

The other girl backed away, and Libbetty watched as blood
flowed past her improvised barrier. She grabbed more handsful of strips and
inserted them, stopping to watch for continued bleeding every little while.

A knock sounded at the door, and Floss answered it. “Mrs.
Berkfield is asking if you want more sheets torn?” she reported.

“Yes!”

“She says you’ll have no sheets left for the beds.”

“I don’t care if we all have to sleep on bare mattresses.
Tell her to keep tearing.”

At last Libbetty could detect no bleeding past the strips of
cloth packed inside her mother. She waited, hardly daring to breathe. Had she
applied enough pressure to stop the bleeding? Or did the cloths merely soak up
blood so she couldn’t see it?

She looked at her mother’s face. Her pallor did not appear
as severe, but she lay still and unaware, the rise and fall of her breathing so
slight as to be almost undetectable.

“I can do nothing more. We have to wait for Dr. Hayes.”

Floss yawned, and Libbetty said, “Go to bed. You’ll have to
care for the children again in the morning.”

“Are you certain you won’t need me?”

“Not any more. Dr. Hayes should be here soon.” The other
girl left, and Libbetty realized her exhaustion for the first time. She had
never felt this tired in her life, and yet even without needing to keep watch,
she knew she could not sleep.

Dr. Hayes finally came sometime after midnight. Libbetty
had drifted into a trance-like state, and at first did not realize he had
arrived.

He was bent over Mrs. Bishop, examining her, when Libbetty
came to. “Oh, doctor. How is she?”

“Considering the amount of blood she lost, fair. I see
that you packed her—at least I presume it was you?”

Libbetty nodded.

“How did you know to do that?”

“I didn’t know. I just couldn’t think what else to do.”

“Well, you’re a resourceful young lady. You may just have
saved your mother’s life.”

“She’ll be all right?”

“It’s too early to say. She’s very weak. A lot depends on
her own constitution—and the nursing she gets.”

“Oh, thank you, doctor!”

“No need to thank me. You should thank yourself—perhaps
God, as well.” He stared at Libbetty, making her aware of the picture she must
present, filthy and covered with blood. Despite his own sleepless night
working to save a boy’s life, Dr. Hayes bore his usual elegance. His white
hair appeared neatly combed, his black coat unwrinkled.

“I don’t want her disturbed, even to change the bedding. If
she were moved, it could start her bleeding again.” He packed up his case, and
said, “Now I should see to that infant.”

“She is in the nursery,” Libbetty replied.

He went to the door, looking back at Libbetty. “You come
with me, if you please.”

“Is it all right to leave Mama?”

“For now. Your father will stay with her. He is anxious.”

“Oh, has Papa come home? How is the Murchison boy?”

“Still holding on. Your father will go back and pray with
the family again in the morning, and offer what comfort he can.”

How could he leave? She needed him here. Oh, but his
duties included offering comfort to families in the midst of grief or trouble.
She could manage at home. Dr. Hayes’ encouraging words gave her confidence.

Libbetty led the way to the nursery. Cat had fallen asleep with
the baby in bed beside her. Gently lifting the blanket-wrapped bundle from the
girl’s arms, the doctor carried the infant out of the room and down the stairs.

Mr. Bishop waited in the hall, his face fearful.

“You can go up and see your wife, but don’t waken her. She
needs to rest and heal.”

At Dr. Hayes’ words, Mr. Bishop raced up the stairs, with
eagerness totally unlike himself.

Dr. Hayes carried the infant down the hall to the kitchen,
where he tended her, cutting the cord and binding the stump. In the light of
the kitchen fire, her hair gleamed auburn, a deeper shade of red than
Libbetty’s.

“She’s small but seems healthy enough,” he said, handing her
to Mrs. Berkfield to bathe. “You better wash yourself also, Miss Bishop.
Plenty of hot water here, it appears. I will arrange for a wet nurse in the
morning. Ginny Green lost a baby a few days ago.”

At Libbetty’s questioning look, he added, “Perhaps just for
awhile. The baby needs nourishment, and your mother can not provide it in her
condition. I’ll be back later in the morning to see how your mother fares. If
she awakens before I return, give her nothing but water or weak tea.”

Mrs. Berkfield bathed the baby and wrapped her in fresh
swaddles. Libbetty carried her to the nursery and awakened Catherine again to
mind her, then returned to the kitchen to wash, to the accompaniment of the
housekeeper’s complaints about a topsy-turvy household and her own lack of
sleep.

As Libbetty started out of the kitchen, Tom came in, eyes
alight with excitement. “I accompanied Cauldreigh to The Castle with the lame
horse. Everyone was talking of how you captured Lord Cauldreigh’s assailant.
What an adventure! What happened?”

With dull surprise, Libbetty realized that other event had
happened only the previous evening. It seemed a lifetime ago, with the drama
she had been embroiled in since.

“I didn’t capture him. Lord Neil did. If you want the
details, you must apply to him.”

“You needn’t bite my head off. Aren’t you pleased about
it?”

“Yes, Tom,” Libbetty sighed wearily, “but that was not the
only event of the evening. Mama almost died tonight, and we still don’t know
if she will live.” She exited the kitchen, not waiting for him to ask for an
explanation, and knocked on the door to her parents’ bedchamber.

Not hearing a reply, she pushed open the door. The sight
that met her gave her a lurch. Her father knelt by the bed, tears running down
his face. “Papa!” she exclaimed.

“No, she is all right,” he whispered huskily. “I am sure she
will live.” He got awkwardly to his feet. Removing a handkerchief from his
pocket, he wiped his wet face. The rims around his eyes were red. “I must go
back to the Murchisons’. Their boy may still die. He was badly wounded. It
is my duty to pray and wait with them. I wish I did not have to leave your
mother, but she would understand. Will you sit with her?”

“Yes, Papa, I’ll not leave her alone.”

*

Neil sent to Rose Cottage with a summons for Maude Whitelow.

She arrived within the hour, gowned in rose-colored satin.
Had she expected to celebrate Trevor’s demise this evening?

“What do you mean by holding Owen here?” Maude demanded the
moment she walked in the door.

“I caught him making another attempt on Cauldreigh’s life
tonight.” He was sitting behind the desk in his father’s study, emphasizing
his contempt for her by not rising at her entrance.

“You mean you have fixed on him to take the blame for your
crimes,” she mocked.

“I mean what I said. It’s over, Maude. A witness will
testify to events, and Owen will hang,” he said brutally.

Maude’s eyes glittered, but she maintained her act. “Who
have you found to perjure himself? It wouldn’t be difficult when all the
people around here depend upon you for their living.”

“My witness has unimpeachable honesty. It won’t do, Maude.
You can only save Owen’s life by telling the truth. Who is he?” Neil opened
an enameled box on the desk and extracted a cigar. He lit it cigar from a
taper on the candelabra, then arose leisurely and strolled over to the
fireplace.

“He is my husband’s nephew.” Maude stood just inside the
door, poised as if ready to flee.

“In that case, it won’t matter to me if he hangs, will it?”

Her hand went to her throat and she swallowed. Her eyes
were huge and moist.

“I have almost worked it out. He’s your son, isn’t he—and
Tipton’s?” He leaned against the mantel and puffed on the cigar.

She didn’t reply, but only stared at him with her cat-like
eyes flashing hatred at him.

“I don’t understand what you hoped to gain by killing
Trevor. Why do you hate Tipton’s legitimate son so much?”

“Owen is legitimate,” she spat. “Tipton received word of
his first wife’s death and married me before he died. Owen came after our
marriage.”

A pain like a fist to the gut struck him. “You have proof?”

“Of course,” she said, advancing toward him. “Owen could
not claim the Cauldreigh titles and estates without proof. Once Cauldreigh was
dead, Owen would have returned to America, and then come to England as if for
the first time and showed the authorities his credentials.”

Neil went back to the desk, and, placing his hands on the
top, fixed her with his stare. “Why did you feel it necessary to take such
drastic action? There is plenty of money to have seen you and Owen comfortably
fixed if you had stepped forward with your claim.”

“Oh yes, you were eager to have us join your family. I
wrote the old marquess after Owen’s birth. He wrote back that he wanted
nothing to do with us and we’d never see a penny.” From the other side of the
desk, her eyes blazed hatred at him.

“He knew about Owen? He left no indication of the boy’s
birth in his effects.” Neil sat, struggling to conceal his shock over his
father’s coldness. Not that he should have been surprised. It was all of a
piece with his other actions. “So you decided to take your revenge of him.”

“I wanted my vengeance on the old man, yes. That was hardly
the most important reason. How would you know about our life—the hardships we
went through to survive? I married Whitelow thinking at last we would have a
comfortable life. He had an overabundance of money.” She laughed harshly and
paced the room.

“He was a miser. He gave me nothing and forced Owen to work
for his keep. He was a builder—at least he taught Owen a skill that proved
convenient for our purposes. When Whitelow died, he left the business to his
sister’s son. I received a pittance, not enough to live on for long. What
could we do?”

“Murder is not the answer that would occur to most people.”

She shrugged. “It almost worked.”

“You made your son a fratricide. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Oh yes, your family has such feelings for its own. Your
father would not have cared if Owen had died—his own grandson. Why should I
care what happens to some pampered aristocrat?”

Trevor burst into the study. “Uncle Neil? Woodbridge said
someone really was trying to kill me? And you captured him tonight?” Then,
noticing Maude, “What’s she doing here?”

“Excuse us for a moment,” Neil said to Maude, and led Trevor
out of the room, closing the door, and continuing into an adjacent saloon.

As he informed him of the evening’s events, Trevor’s face
paled. “You mean I have a brother, and Grandfather knew and didn’t inform
anyone? Would he have done such a thing?”

“He might have. He was bitter at your father’s betrayal.
He loved your mother as his own daughter.” That was misstating matters a bit.
Jane had merely been his choice of wife for his heir—a dutiful and dull girl.
If he had possessed a shred of human understanding, he could have foreseen it
would be the worst sort of match for his high-spirited son. “He hated seeing
her slowly waste away after your father left her.”

“What are we to do, Uncle Neil? We can’t subject my own
brother to a trial. There must be some solution.” Trevor scrubbed his hands
through his hair, his shock still evident.

Sympathy tugged at Neil’s heart. He had yet come to grips
with the facts, himself. “I have a plan—a way that might insure your safety
and keep Owen alive. Come back in the study with me while I talk to Maude, but
don’t interfere.”

“I should have some say in the plan.”

“I will put nothing into effect without your approval. I
merely wish you to leave it up to me to negotiate with Maude.”

Trevor reluctantly nodded.

Neil sat behind the desk again. He indicated a chair at his
left for Trevor. The bruised look the boy wore made Neil wonder if he should
allow him to witness the negotiations. He gave his attention to Maude. While
he and Trevor had been absent from the room, she had finally taken a seat. “We
are going to explore whether we can come to some agreement that spare’s Owen’s
life.”