Read Lord Satan Online

Authors: Judith Laik

Lord Satan (9 page)

BOOK: Lord Satan
8.5Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

“As I said, to pay his respects. He apologized for not
calling sooner—said his nephew’s illness had prevented him from attending to
his duties.” Her father’s glance swept over Libbetty briefly, an enigmatic
look, before he continued.

“He asked if the vicarage and the church needed any work. I
gave him a list of repairs, and he promised to attend to them.”

He addressed himself to his food for a time, then turned to
Tom. “Lord Neil asked if you could make yourself available perhaps twice a
week to accompany his nephew on rides. It appears Cauldreigh desires to build
up his strength after his long illness, and his uncle fears he will be tempted
to overdo.

“He pointed out not many young men hereabouts are of an age
to accompany his nephew. He does not want to follow him about playing
nursemaid—feels Cauldreigh would likely resent such treatment. You struck him
as a sensible young man. Cauldreigh should have someone attend him who notices
and points out to him when he appears to tire. Could you carry out that
instruction?”

Tom stammered, “If you, er, have no objection, sir?”

Mr. Bishop’s mien was sober. “I must trust your good sense
not to become drawn into behavior unbecoming a vicar’s son. A patron as well
placed as Lord Cauldreigh will aid you in becoming established. Go call on him
tomorrow—see when he wants you. Just do not allow yourself to neglect your
studies.”

Libbetty dared not ask whether the new policy included her.
In the following days, however, her life became no less restricted, except that
she increasingly took on the burden of her mother’s charitable calls as well as
helping with care of the children.

She tried not to feel misused by her father’s edict, but
when she saw Tom ride off to meet Cauldreigh she felt so persecuted she could
scarcely bear it. She could not uncover Lord Neil’s scheme, confined as she
was. She questioned Tom about Lord Cauldreigh’s health and awareness of
danger.

“Won’t hear a word against his uncle,” was Tom’s unhelpful
reply. “Says any thought of a plot against him is nonsense.”

*

Neil regretted his promise to Miss Marble and the sense of
duty that made him keep his word. His shirt points were wilting along with
himself, sitting in the Marbles’ overheated drawing room.

Exceedingly ugly examples of rocaille furniture of nearly a
hundred years ago, with quantities of marble and carved giltwood, overcrowded
the room. The heavy mustard-colored draperies were closed and a fire smoked in
the fireplace.

For the courtesy of paying a call upon a shut-in neighbor,
he suffered the fate of being roasted half to death—and worse.

“Madame, I assure you I am not your son,” he guiltily
addressed Mrs. Marble once more. The old woman looked so thrilled at her
long-lost son’s return that it seemed cruel to disabuse her.

He might as well have saved his breath. She was too deaf to
hear him. “Lennox! Where are you, Lennox?” she shouted, and as the elderly
servant came from behind her, “Lennox, make Sylvester’s room ready for him. We
have kept it in readiness for you, Sylvester,” she said, turning to Neil. “We
air the sheets every fortnight. When were they last aired, Lennox?”

Thankfully, Mrs. Marble did not wait for her to answer
before renewing her attentions to Neil. He did not wish the servant to ready a
room he would not occupy. His good deed took on the quality of one of those
vivid nightmares where bizarre events occur, and he feared for his ability to
escape.

Mrs. Marble laid a cold hand on his cheek. “You must tell
me all about your shipwreck, Sylvester. How did you survive?”

Neil gazed imploringly at the elder Miss Marble, who only
smiled at him as though she found the conversation perfectly normal. To his
relief, the sound of another arrival interrupted them. Miss Lennox entered the
room, followed by Miss Bishop.

*

Libbetty followed the black-gowned servant down the hall
toward the Marbles’ drawing room. The dark hallway seemed to close in on her,
accentuating the almost overpowering musty odor of the house. Miss Lennox,
nearly as ancient as Mrs. Marble, smelled of camphor and the oil of cloves with
which she had evidently packed one of her few remaining teeth. Libbetty vowed
to hurry her call on Mrs. Marble and escape as rapidly as possible.

The servant flung open the door to the drawing room.
Libbetty stepped in, her eyes still not adjusted to the dimness after the
bright sunlight outside.

Mrs. Marble sat in a squat, cabriole-leg chair by the fire.
A wizened woman in her eighties, her black taffeta gown barely peeped out from
layers of shawls. Miss Marble and Miss Anemone were also there—and a man,
wearing a brown morning coat with plated buttons, a light green waistcoat and
cream pantaloons, with polished Hessian boots. Libbetty stopped short upon
seeing him, and everything else in the room receded from her view.

Lord Neil bowed. “Miss Bishop. A pleasure to see you
again.” As usual, she could read volumes of meaning in his tone—mockery,
humor, the hint of an adult patronizing a child, and pleasure at seeing her.
Or had she only imagined this last?

The room had grown appreciably warmer since she had noticed
Lord Neil. At least, she appeared her best in her newest day frock, a walking
dress of cream muslin trimmed with yellow embroidery, and a blue Spencer. She
nodded a brief acknowledgement to him and continued toward Mrs. Marble.

She could feel his gaze at her back as she proffered the jar
in her hand to the elderly lady. “Mama sent this over for you,” she said
loudly, knowing Mrs. Marble’s deafness.

Mrs. Marble stared at her with suspicion. “Who are you?”

“Oh, your mother’s famous pork jelly.” Miss Anemone jumped
up from her chair. “How kind of her to send it. So restoring. Mama will
benefit greatly from it, surely.”

“Who is that person, Nemmie?” Mrs. Marble’s quavery voice
piped, her bulging eyes enormous in her shrunken face. Wisps of silvery hair
poked out from under her old-fashioned cap.

“It is Miss Bishop, Mama, the vicar’s daughter,” Miss
Anemone said loudly. “She has often called here before with Mrs. Bishop. Mama
is not at her best today, I fear,” she said to Libbetty in an undertone. She
took the jar from Libbetty. “Lennox, take this to the kitchen.”

The servant left the room, closing the door upon any stray
breeze that might cool the air.

Miss Hyacinthe Marble patted the gold satin upholstery of
the red-japanned settee. “Come sit over here by me, Miss Bishop.”

Stealing a glance at Lord Neil, she complied, relieved that
Miss Marble sat at a remove from the fire. Libbetty’s mind spun with ways of
taking advantage of this opportunity to question the man. What could she say?
“Are you trying to kill your nephew” did not recommend itself as a way to learn
the truth.

“How is your dear mother? Not well, I take it, since you
are making calls in her place.” The elder Miss Marble’s words drew Libbetty’s
attention away from Lord Neil.

Miss Hyacinthe’s tones seemed sincere, but Libbetty recalled
Catherine’s account of the gossip between the woman and Mrs. Hogwood about Mrs.
Bishop’s condition. “She is well enough, I believe. But the warm weather has
made her feel out of sorts.”

“I hope she will soon be entirely well. Everyone in the
parish benefits from her kindness and generosity.”

Miss Marble had her mother’s bulging eyes, which in her
round face, did give her the appearance of a toad. She wore a high-necked,
severe gown in brown bombazine.

“Sylvester has come to see me,” Mrs. Marble quavered. “We
were having such a nice coze.” Her glare indicated Libbetty’s arrival had
somehow spoiled things.

“Sylvester?” she queried, looking in puzzlement at Lord
Neil.

“Our brother,” whispered Miss Anemone. “A sea captain, just
as dear Papa. His ship never came home from a voyage.”

“Your father’s ship?”

“No, Sylvester’s. Papa had been retired from the sea for
some years before Sylvester’s final voyage. Poor Mama has never recovered from
his loss. She doted upon Sylvester. Such a fine figure of a man—and in his
prime, too. Only forty-five years of age. That was twenty years ago.” Miss
Anemone sighed and moisture appeared at the corners of her eyes.

She affected to wear frilly clothes of a style and color for
much younger women. Today’s gown boasted a shade of bright pink that did not
suit her yellow complexion. She shared the family eyes, but with her thin
frame, sharp features and prominent beak of a nose, they created a more
bird-like result.

“Lord Neil does not resemble Sylvester in the least,” Miss
Hyacinthe Marble stated in tones that left no doubt he would lose in any
comparison with her brother.

Libbetty, surmising that the unfortunate Captain Marble would
have resembled the rest of the family, glanced to see how her fellow caller
received this slight. He gave a self-deprecating shrug, and as her eyes had
finally adjusted to the dim light, she could see laughter glinting in his.

“Where have you been all this time, Sylvester? Why did you
not come home sooner?” Mrs. Marble inquired querulously.

Lord Neil, the amusement wiped away from his expression,
looked as if he did not know how to reply.

“Humor her, sir,” Miss Anemone pleaded.

“Well, I have been very busy, you know,” he said loudly to
the old woman. “I came as soon as I could.”

This seemed to pacify her. She subsided in her chair, the
anxious wrinkles smoothing out.

Libbetty could not ask him any pointed questions in front of
the Marbles. “I must go. I have other calls to make.” Would Lord Neil also
leave? She could not let this opportunity pass.

She stood, drawing on her short, biscuit-colored gloves.

*

Miss Bishop’s leave-taking made Neil realize he had been
staring at her. She looked as cheery as sunshine, and the way he brightened at
the sight of her disturbed him. He had too many years on the town for a
schoolroom miss to enamor him. With a combination of innocence and sensuality,
she was a sleeping beauty, but it would not fall to him to awaken her. No
doubt a country bumpkin ached for the chance to play the role.

Still, he rose from his chair. He could not stay in that
gloomy place once the sunshine had removed her bright presence. “I too must
take my leave. I should not like to overstay my welcome.” He stepped to take
the hand of each of the Marble ladies in turn, bowing. He felt like a complete
fraud, acting a part for Miss Bishop to see.

“Oh, must you go?” Miss Anemone asked in coquettish
disappointment. Mrs. Marble frowned and looked as though she also would
protest.

Miss Hyacinthe said, “Yes, Mama needs her afternoon rest.”

“You will come back again soon, Sylvester?” Mrs. Marble’s
face twisted with anxiety.

“Yes, I’ll call again.” But not soon, he added to himself.

Miss Marble summoned Lennox to show them out. Miss Bishop
reached for her basket, sitting beside the hall table. Neil picked up his tall
beaver hat and followed her outside.

*

On the doorstep, she took a deep breath of sunshine-laden
air and tipped her head up. The sunlight stroked her face. Freed from the
oppressive atmosphere of the Marbles’ house, her heart lightened and she wanted
to run for sheer joy.

“You will cause your freckles to darken,” Lord Neil warned,
setting his hat on his head as he stepped out the door.

She cast her gaze down, flushing at the reminder of her
flaw. “It is not at all gallant of you to notice them.” She skipped down the
steps and walked briskly along the pavement.

“I am not noted for my gallantry.” He strode alongside her,
and her senses prickled with awareness of him.

“Are you not? I would think it a necessary quality for a
man such as you.” Her gaze darted around the village. Someone might report
her present company to her father. Scarcely a soul was in sight, and she must
use this chance to question him.

“A man such as what?”

“A rake?”

He laughed and her face heated. “At least, that is what
they say,” she said. “Do not rakes need gallantry to charm the ladies?”

“No, Miss Bishop. It works far better to be rude.”

She looked up at him. Amusement lurked in his eyes.

“Ah, you do not believe me. That is the great attraction of
a rake, don’t you see. Ladies always hope to reform him.”

“You were very gallant to the Marble ladies.” At the Good
Queen Bess Inn, the ostler, Ben Sefton, lounged in the yard with a couple of
his cronies. None of them paid the least attention to the passersby.

“Yes. I always behave the opposite of what one would expect
of me. If I am charming to a lady, you may be sure I have no desire to
ingratiate myself with her.”

She studied his face as he blinked, then glanced away. He
regrets that revealing speech. She smiled. Perhaps she could lead him into
other revelations, more germane to her pursuit of justice.

“Now, where shall we go?” He continued walking up the
street. Their direction took them away from The Castle.

“My next call is on Mrs. Chambliss. It is quite some
distance outside the village,” Libbetty said.

“Merely a pleasant walk.”

They approached Sidneys’ mercer shop. Mrs. Sidney was a
notorious gossip, and Libbetty looked nervously at the shop’s front window.
Luckily, Mrs. Sidney’s face did not appear over the dusty array of ribbons and
thread. Libbetty relaxed. “Our quiet country ways must seem tame to one used to
the amusements afforded by the city. How have you occupied your days?”

“It has not been easy. I have gotten a great deal of
exercise riding.”

This was true. From the beginning of his sojourn at The
Castle, villagers had reported frequently seeing Lord Neil on his black
thoroughbred. She had seen him herself on numerous occasions when she went out
on an errand for her mother.

BOOK: Lord Satan
8.5Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

84 Ribbons by Paddy Eger
The King of the Rainy Country by Nicolas Freeling
Endangering Innocents by Priscilla Masters
He's the One by Linda Lael Miller
10 - The Ghost Next Door by R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead)
Ditch Rider by Judith Van GIeson
Sofia's Tune by Cindy Thomson