Lord Satan (27 page)

“In return for some concession from us, of course.”

“I do need assurances that the attempts on Trevor’s life
will cease.”

“Why should I trust anything you say?”

“Unlike my father, I do have some family feelings.”

“I won’t believe any claim you make of fondness for your
younger nephew.”

“Naturally I won’t claim any love for a nephew I didn’t even
know existed until tonight. However, bringing his crimes to trial would be
unpleasant for others for whom I do have affection. I feel an obligation to
give Owen another chance in atonement for the wrong done him by his
grandfather. I assure you, should I learn at any time that he has violated
tonight’s agreement, he will be prosecuted for his crimes.

Maude sighed. “Very well, tell me what you have in mind.”

“I think we will need Owen in here for this. He must also
agree.”

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “He’s not of age.
He can’t sign any legal document.”

“Nevertheless, he will have to carry out his part in any
agreement. If he’s unwilling, there’s no point to this discussion.”

Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “Yes, bring him in.”

After Lord Neil gave the insructions for Owen to be brought
in, they waited in silence for a few minutes. Trevor stood and paced, his
nervousness apparent in the tension of his posture, and the more pronounced
limp.

Then the boy stood a moment in the doorway before he stepped
into the room. “Hello, Aunt Maude,” he said. “And this must be Lord
Cauldreigh. We’ve never come face to face.” Owen walked forward and held out
a hand to Trevor, as though this was an ordinary meeting. Neil had to give him
credit for coolness—and then noticed the tremors in his hand as he held it out.

Looking at the two young men, he felt gut-punched all over
again. There were differences between them: Owen possessed the cat-like eyes
of his mother. They would probably be defined as hazel, but on the green side,
whereas Trevor’s were the Colton gray. Owen’s cheekbones were sharper, his
build a little stockier. But anyone would know them for brothers.

Neil could see this meeting was equally difficult for
Trevor. He held back from taking the offered hand, studying the other for a
long moment, then, saying, “I believe we must have come close on one occasion
when you slipped something into my ale,” he held out his hand.

Owen paled as they shook hands.

“You need not maintain your pretense any longer,” Neil
spoke. “Your mother has informed us of your identity. Take a seat and we will
have a friendly family discussion as to what is to be done with you.”

“If my fate is to be decided, I’d just as soon stand, sir.”
The time he had waited alone in the housekeeper’s room had apparently wrought a
difference in his demeanor. The sneering bravado was gone, and this was a
frightened, but composed edition. A point in his favor, perhaps.

Neil raised an eyebrow, but said, “Suit yourself.”

It appeared Trevor also chose to remain standing. He didn’t
move away from Owen, Neil noted.

“The first thing, if there is to be a discussion of a way to
save your sorry hide, is that I will have in my hands the proof of your
identity, immediately.”

“I don’t have them.” The boy shrugged. “My mother does.”

“Maude?” Neil turned to her.

She tossed her head. “If you think I’ll let you destroy the
papers, you have fewer wits than I expected. You won’t find them on your
own.” She smiled smugly.

“You have matters the wrong way around. Our negotiation of
any different solution for Owen, one that doesn’t result in my laying charges
against him, and his conviction of attempted murder, depends on my having these
papers. Tell me where to find them, or we are done.”

She glared at him, and he held his breath. If she called
his bluff, he’d follow through with his threat. But that was the last thing he
wanted to do.

“Tell him, Mother.” Owen looked at Neil. “You’ll think I’m
saying this to save my neck, but I don’t care. I don’t want to die, or go to
prison, or whatever sentence I’d receive. I wouldn’t beg to save myself,
though. I did this to provide for her. I knew she wanted it mostly for
revenge, but that never meant anything to me. I can manage all right for
myself. And I don’t want the stupid title, never did. I won’t put my neck in
the noose to preserve my right to have it.” He turned back to Maude. “So,
give it to him.”

Her face turned an ugly puce color, but she did. She had
hidden it at the house, as Neil suspected. He called for Woodbridge, his head
groom, and most trusted servant, and gave him instructions. “Now, where were
we? Yes. This is what I propose.”

Neil paused to look at his audience. Maude was not looking
at him. She sat in the chair a few feet from him, looking down at her hands,
which she was twisting and wringing. His two nephews still stood together, and
of the two, Trevor looked the more concerned about what he would say next.

He went on, “First, Maude, you will not live with Owen. I
can’t take the chance of your poisonous influence over him. I’ll grant you a
comfortable annuity, and you will retire back to America.”

He didn’t go on any further. Maude screamed and jumped up,
pulling a small handgun she had concealed. Before Neil could react, she aimed
it at Trevor and pulled the trigger. Owen stepped in front of his brother, and
the bullet hit him.

Trevor caught Owen as he fell. Still screaming, Maude
pulled a blade from the concealed pocket and flew at Trevor, who couldn’t fight
back, holding Owen. Neil got to her before she could stab him and wrestled the
knife away.

Maude fought like a madwoman, and it took all his strength
to hold on to her, but with her legs and arms flailing, he couldn’t control
her. Servants rushed in, and a couple of footmen managed to subdue Maude, who
was screaming still, her body jerking spasmodically.

Neil picked up the blade, recognizing his own letter opener,
which had been in the drawer of his desk. He moved to Owen and Trevor. Owen
lay on the floor, blood spilling from his chest, no, higher up, in the
shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked Trevor.

He nodded, concentrating on pulling off Owen’s clothing to
expose the wound, and using the shirt to press against the blood flow.

“Send for Dr. Hayes,” Neil ordered Salton. The butler bowed
and left.

“I won’t lose him,” Trevor vowed, his voice husky. “He
saved my life. He’s shorter than me. If he hadn’t taken the bullet, it would
have hit me in the heart.”

“No, we won’t lose him.” Neil gripped Trevor’s shoulder.
“I should have searched Maude. Besides bringing a pistol in here, she managed
to secrete the letter opener, which is also lethal. She must have done it when
I went out to explain to you what had happened. I completely underestimated
her.”

Neil turned to the servants who were still dealing with the
thrashing, screaming woman. “Get her out of here. Put her in a room where she
can be locked in. Not Mrs. Browning’s; she might well destroy whatever is in
the room.”

It seemed Maude had completely gone mad. She could not have
been all that sane to begin with, to have conceived the vile plan she had. But
it changed Neil’s notion of how to deal with her.

The errand to bring Dr. Hayes in to look at Owen was a
fruitless one, it turned out. The physician had a surfeit of emergencies this
night. Nursing Owen was up to them.

“I can’t remove the bullet,” Trevor said. “My battle wound
expertise ends with immediate treatment to stanch the bleeding.”

Neil asked who among the household had any medical skills,
and one of the grooms came forward. They managed to stop the bleeding, and
bandaged the wound. The doctor’s skills would have to wait until he could be
freed from his other duties.

*

For Libbetty, the next hours passed in a mist. She longed
for nothing so much as a long sleep, but that was denied her.

The wet nurse arrived with the morning. Libbetty left Mrs.
Berkfield to watch over her mother while she spoke to Ginny Green. The wife of
a laborer, Mrs. Green had a boy, about three, in tow. “I’ve no place to leave
him,” she said apologetically.

“That’s all right, Mrs. Green. He can play in the nursery
with my little brothers.”

Mrs. Green nursed the baby, who sucked hungrily. “What’s
her name?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t had a chance to name her yet.”

Dr. Hayes arrived to examine Mrs. Bishop. “I believe she
can be safely moved enough to replace her bedding with clean sheets,” he
announced. “And Bobby Murchison still clings to life. In fact, he may be
improving slightly. Mr. Bishop asked me to inform you that he must remain for
some while. He charged me with sending a message to tell him how things go on
here. Is all well with the rest of the family?”

“Yes, everyone is well, but the children have been most
anxious about Mama. They wanted to come in to see her, but I could not risk
anyone’s intrusion upsetting her. Did I do right?” Libbetty stood beside her
mother’s bed.

The doctor looked down at his patient. “Yes, it was best to
act protectively. However, perhaps now they could come in one at a time for a
short while. They must not disturb her.”

Libbetty told Catherine the children could come in to see
their mother. She instructed her to accompany the younger ones, one at a time,
so that no one made any commotion. No one did, however. Even little Richard
stood solemnly by his mother’s bedside, while Libbetty whispered to him, “Mama
has been very sick, but she is getting better.”

Tom came in a little later, and his pale face and bobbing
Adam’s apple showed his anxiety, though he said nothing. When he turned to
leave she caught the sheen of tears in his eyes.

Still Mrs. Bishop did not awaken.

The afternoon light was failing in her parents’ bedchamber.
Libbetty lit candles and added another log to the fire. As she turned away
from the fireplace, her mother looked at her with glazed, sleepy eyes.

Tears rose up and she rushed to her mother’s side. “How do
you feel, Mama?” Her voice came out choked, her throat tight with overwhelming
emotion.

Her mother smiled slightly in reassurance, then, frowning,
she looked around. “The baby?” she croaked in a weak voice.

“The baby is well, Mama. Dr. Hayes, er, we hired a wet
nurse, just until you are stronger.” Libbetty offered her mother a glass of
water, and she swallowed a few sips, then slept again.

Finally her mother’s recovery seemed certain. A great
weight lifted from her chest, re-energizing her vigil by her mother’s bedside.

She sat watching while her mother alternately slept and woke
in short periods during the evening, urging her to take some liquid during her
wakeful moments. On her second awakening, late that evening, Mrs. Bishop said,
“I want to see the baby.”

“All right, Mama.” Libbetty went to the nursery.

Mrs. Green, nursing the infant, looked up at Libbetty’s
entrance. “My mother is awake and asking to see the baby. Would you mind
bringing her in?

The wet nurse rearranged her clothes and stood. She carried
the baby into Mrs. Bishop’s chamber and placed the small bundle in her mother’s
arms. Mrs. Bishop checked her new daughter over, caressed the wispy reddish
hair, and said, “Her name is Michaela.”

Later that evening, Mrs. Bishop had a slight fever. When
Dr. Hayes arrived, he frowned at his patient, although he reassured Libbetty he
had expected nothing less. “Mrs. Bishop’s fever is not high. Keep giving her
as much water and tea as she will take. You might give her some beef tea to
strengthen the blood. I’ll call again in the morning.”

Shortly after, Mr. Bishop came into the room, hurrying to
his wife’s side and kneeling by the bed, studying her as though he had doubted
he would see her still alive. “How is she?”

As Libbetty began to tell him what the doctor had just said,
he interrupted, “I know. I just talked to him. I wished to hear your own
observations.”

“Oh.” How could she put into words the wild reversals of
emotion she had suffered in the past twenty-four hours? “I don’t know how she
is. She was doing better, but she is fevered now. Dr. Hayes doesn’t seem too
worried, though.”

“I’ve just come from the Murchisons’. Billy Murchison is
still clinging to life,” Papa said. “Let me sit with Mrs. Bishop for awhile so
you can rest.”

She noted the weary droop to his shoulders and his
disarrangement, in contrast to his usually pristine neatness. “You are tired,
too, Papa. Why don’t you rest for awhile?”

“I want to be with her.” The mild insistence shocked
Libbetty more than the difference in his appearance. Normally he would have
commanded, expecting no argument.

He further stunned her by adding, “I am accustomed to
keeping such hours, Elizabeth. It has been part of my job for many years. You
are not. You can be of no use to your mother if you are too exhausted to mind
her properly.”

After sleeping a few hours, Libbetty sat with her mother the
rest of the night, while Papa snatched a brief respite. During the night, Mrs.
Bishop’s condition did not improve.

At dawn, before returning to the Murchisons’, Mr. Bishop
came into the chamber and gazed with such sorrow and love at his wife that it
tore at Libbetty’s heart. “I would I did not have to leave,” he said. “The
Murchisons have to struggle to get in their harvest with their son injured. I
know that your mother has good care with you to look after her.”

When Dr. Hayes came back in the morning, he frowned with
worry. “I can’t bleed her,” he said. “I have no choice but to remove the
packing.”

Fortunately, Mrs. Bishop did not resume hemorrhaging
afterward, and she seemed easier.

In the afternoon, Mrs. Berkfield came to the chamber. “Lord
Cauldreigh and Lord Neil are here. I told them this is a house of sickness and
you had no time for callers, but they insisted they must see you.” She eyed
Libbetty narrowly.

“Oh dear,” she said. She wished she could lay all her
burdens at Lord Neil’s feet, but she had no right to expect his sympathy or
succor. Then vanity took over, and she only wished he did not see her when she
looked so haggard and disheveled.

“I must not be rude,” she finally said.

“I’ll stay with Mrs. Bishop while you see them,” Mrs.
Berkfield offered.

Libbetty ran to her room, quickly tidied herself and changed
to a clean gown. Downstairs, Tom sat in the drawing room with their guests.
Libbetty’s gaze flew at once to Lord Neil. He arose and came to take
Libbetty’s hand.

“I’ve heard about your mother’s illness. I deeply
sympathize with her afflictions. Please convey to her our wishes for her
recovery.” His expression, full of concern, warmed her.

“Thank you,” Libbetty said, reluctant to withdraw her hand
from Lord Neil’s clasp. Her fingers tingled where they had touched his.
“Please sit.” She waved at the chairs they had occupied. “I have wondered
what happened with Owen Whitelow.”

“You will never believe this,” Lord Cauldreigh exclaimed.
“He is my brother—or half-brother, actually.”

“Your brother?” Tom frowned, puzzled.

“Yes. We have learned my father actually married Maude
Rose. Owen would have inherited if I had died. He is actually Lord Owen Colton.”

“Oh, infamous!” Libbetty cried. “He would have killed his
own brother to obtain your title and estates?”

“It’s hardly that shocking,” Lord Neil put in. “He didn’t
even know Trevor as a person, so how could he have any affection for him? No
one doubted that I could kill my own nephew.”

“That’s because they don’t know you,” Cauldreigh said with
heat. “No one who knew you could have suspected you.”

Libbetty’s face flamed at Cauldreigh’s implication. How
could she have suspected Lord Neil? And the things she had said to him—she
remembered every rash and unfounded word she had blurted on every occasion she
had felt discomfited by him.

Tom appeared to have no guilt feelings, although he had
expressed his belief in Lord Neil’s guilt more unequivocally than she. “What
will you do about Owen Whitelow—er, Colton?”

“More drama occurred that night at The Castle,” Lord Neil
said. “In fact, Owen has already partially atoned for his attempts on Trevor’s
life. He took a bullet intended for Trevor.”

“Is he dead then?” Tom asked.

“What happened?” Libbetty said at almost the same time. “I
don’t understand. Who would shoot at Lord Cauldreigh if it wasn’t Owen?”

“It was Maude Whitelow,” Cauldreigh put in. “And, no,
luckily, Owen is recovering.”

Lord Neil said, “When he is well enough, he is going to work
with Reynolds, and they will travel to all of Trevor’s holdings to see to their
needs. Owen will use the building skills he learned from his stepfather to
supervise any renovations. I am sure that Reynolds has been equally as lax
elsewhere as he was in Peasebotham, so that will occupy Owen for some time.”

“What about Mrs. Whitelow?” Libbetty asked.

“Apparently the collapse of her plot completely unhinged
her. That is when she tried to kill Trevor,” Lord Neil explained. “She has
been raving and insensible since then. We have confined her to an insane
asylum near Bath.”

“If Owen proves trustworthy, which he has already made a
good start at, stepping in front of his mother’s bullet to save me, he will be
granted one of my unentailed properties. We’ve already established which it
will be. It’s a prosperous property in the north that will support him in
comfort.”

Lord Cauldreigh added, “I look forward to becoming better
acquainted with him. That will have to wait, however, as I am returning very
soon to the Peninsula. We leave for London tomorrow, and I shall return to my
regiment as soon as a ship sails.”

“Unfortunately, Trevor does not take enough care with his
own life.” Lord Neil gave his nephew a rueful look.

“Well, that’s an old issue between us,” Trevor said.

“Tomorrow,” Libbetty echoed.

“Yes, Uncle Neil is fully as eager to shake off the dust of
this place as I am.”

Pain ripped through Libbetty’s heart, despite the efforts
she had made to prime herself for this occurrence. She could not help the
glance she cast at him. She remembered his statement that her face revealed
every emotion, but she was too exhausted to summon the defiance that usually
protected her from exposing her feelings to scorn.

A momentary expression—of remorse, perhaps?—crossed Lord
Neil’s face, but he turned away, saying his goodbyes to Tom, and he and Lord
Cauldreigh rose to take their leave.

The marquess bowed over her hand. “Knowing you has afforded
me much pleasure. It will refresh me to think of you when I am in the midst of
battle.”

*

Neil bowed formally, and said only, “Miss Bishop.” He had
his emotions under control again. He had nearly forgotten all his resolutions
and taken Elizabeth in his arms when he first saw her. The sight of her, her
brightness dimmed by burdens, her eyes shadowed, had roused a fierce instinct
to shelter her, to carry her away from the misfortune that had visited her
family.

They needed her. With Mrs. Bishop so ill, no one else could
manage the day-to-day running of the household and care for everyone. Tom was
clearly out of his depth, and was soon to leave in any case. Neil’s estimate
of the Reverend Mr. Bishop’s character led him to conclude his family’s and his
community’s spiritual concerns would be foremost, leaving practical details to
someone else.

And just as much, Elizabeth Bishop needed her family.
Nothing he could offer her would compensate for the protection and love she
found at home. He renewed his vow not to see her again.

He had been urgently summoned to London. An old friend was
embroiled in a battle to secure funding for Wellington. The British army was
stalled—by oncoming winter and the difficulties of dealing with the Spanish
government—and some officials in London had begun a campaign to cut back on
needed supplies and armaments.

With Trevor soon to join the forces in Spain, Neil had a
personal as well as a patriotic reason to join in the effort to ensure
Wellington had everything his troops needed.

*

Libbetty’s heart was scraped and bleeding. Lord Neil had
taken a piece of it to London and didn’t even know. Somehow she kept to her
duties. Her mother’s recovery was all she could give herself to.

Within a few days, Tom and Alonso left for Oxford, leaving
Libbetty lonelier than ever. Mrs. Bishop recovered slowly. Dr. Hayes told
Libbetty and her father that they would require the wet nurse’s services until
Michaela could be weaned.

Mrs. Green took the baby to live with her. She was a farm
laborer’s wife whose own duties made it impossible for her to stay at the manse
for more than a few days, and when it became obvious Mrs. Bishop would not be
able to assume the infant’s care, sending her to the Greens’ was the only
practical solution. Her mother grieved, and they all missed their youngest
sister, but she would return home once she was weaned. Mrs. Green brought her
over for a visit with Mrs. Bishop as often as she was able.

Mr. Bishop said he could not afford to pay both Mrs. Green
and Floss, and they let the nursery maid go. Floss took her dismissal calmly,
as she had become betrothed to Zack, the Hogwoods’ groom. Her departure heaped
more burdens upon Libbetty and her sisters, and left Libbetty even more bereft
of friends.

A week later, as Libbetty directed the laundry operations,
Edwina and her mother called. Libbetty removed her apron and tried to marshal
a cool and gracious appearance before greeting them.

Edwina comported herself as though there had never been any
discord between the two of them, greeting Libbetty in a friendly manner.

“How is dear Mrs. Bishop?” Mrs. Hogwood’s solicitousness
struck Libbetty as spurious.

“She is making progress, although very slowly.”

“Please convey our good wishes to her.” With barely a
pause, Mrs. Hogwood continued, “We have decided to go to London. My little
Edwina will be a toast, I am sure. Lord Chester and Sir Rodney both assured
her of their courtesy should she come to town. Who knows, she may find another
suitor more to her liking. And of course, we would not miss dear Sybille’s
wedding.”

“Sybille asked me to be a bridesmaid,” Edwina boasted. “It
is to be a grand wedding, with many of the ton in attendance.”

“How delightful for you,” said Libbetty. Her own voice
echoed false in her ears.

There could be no question of leaving her duties to attend
Sybille’s wedding, even had she received an invitation. Still, Libbetty could
not help her hurt at being excluded. Lord Neil would undoubtedly attend, as
Jonathan Colton was his cousin.

“When is the wedding?” she asked, knowing she should not.
Having the date in her mind only ensured she would think of it, and Lord Neil.
She could no more have prevented the words from leaving her lips than she could
prevent herself from breathing.

“In December. A Christmas wedding—so romantic.” Edwina’s
eyes glowed as if she dreamed of such an event in her own future.

*

Libbetty’s future did not glow. A dreary winter loomed.
Caring for her mother, the household and the children occupied her, and she
could not restore her carefree youth.

Catherine and even Isobel helped, minding their younger
brothers and caring for Mrs. Bishop, but Libbetty tried not to impose upon them
too much, wishing to steal no more of their childhood than she must. However,
she became closer than she had ever been to Catherine and Isobel. They had
always seemed too young for them to be companions, but the additional cares
placed on them had matured them also during these times.