Satan's Mark

‘An interview?’ Sir Hugh started up, clearly alarmed. ‘Who is this man, Niece? When did he speak to you?’

Annelise glanced at her uncle’s servant, who had been discreetly moving about the room all the time she was present; he ceased his tidying and looked at his master in concern.

‘His name is Rochefort, sir,’ Annelise said. ‘I met him by chance three days since.’

‘Met him? Where?’

Annelise was disturbed by the expression in his eyes. It was not the wild, unbalanced look she had seen there before his seizure but one of fear.

‘In the wood,’ she replied, dropping her gaze. ‘I went for a walk and we met by chance. I knew him because he was in the village with Sir Robert the day I spoke with Goodwife Hale.’

‘This man…’ Sir Hugh’s hand clutched at the bedcovers. ‘Did he attempt to harm you…to say anything untoward…anything that disturbed you?’

‘Do not distress yourself, master.’ The servant came forward, glaring at Annelise. ‘You will be ill again.’

‘Be quiet, sirrah! I am speaking to my niece.’

‘Indeed, Uncle, there is no need to distress yourself,’ Annelise said hastily. This was not like her uncle, who was always courteous to his servants. ‘He…said only that he wished to see you on some private matter. I told him you were unwell and that I would mention his request when you were better.’

It was not quite the truth, but to reveal everything that had been said would rouse Sir Hugh’s temper and cause untold harm.

‘Rochefort…it may not be him, and if it is, I may yet prevent him…’ Sir Hugh muttered as though he were feverish. His fingers plucked at the sheets, showing the extent of his disturbance. ‘I must act without delay.’ He stared at Annelise, the pupils of his eyes seeming to narrow to black dots. ‘I shall save you, child. Fear not. Satan’s hand shall not fall upon you if I can prevent it.’

‘You are ill, sir,’ she said, his expression frightening her. She looked at the servant. ‘Call my aunt, please, John.’

‘No!’ Sir Hugh caught at her wrist. ‘John will tend me. I forbid you to worry your aunt. Go now, and send my steward to me. I have much to do and so little time…so little time…’

‘As you wish, Uncle.’

Annelise left him to the ministrations of his body servant and hurried away to do his bidding. She was anxious as she sought out Master Blackwell, and sorry that she had mentioned the stranger to her uncle. It had seemed to bring on another disorder of his mind.

What was it that her uncle feared so? It obviously concerned her. Why was he in haste to see her wed all of a sudden?

She wished she understood.

It was the following morning, and Annelise was sitting in the parlour alone, concentrating on the letter she had been composing. She finished sanding the wet ink and read anxiously through the fine script once more. Would it do? Was it wrong of her to have written without telling anyone? Ought she to throw it away and forget the idea altogether?

Earlier that morning, Mr Blackwell had told her that her uncle had so far dictated only the letter to Mr Broughton. Clearly he had no intention of seeing Master Rochefort, and, after his adverse reaction to her message from that gentleman, she had decided never to distress him over the matter again. Instead, she had written to Master Rochefort herself, telling him that her uncle was too ill to see him.

She sealed her letter with wax and used her father’s crest to mark it, then sat staring at it for a moment. Should she send the note with a servant or deliver it herself? It would be more proper to send it, of course, but if she did so her uncle might learn of it—since the servants would no doubt feel it their duty to inform her aunt, as they always did. She was sure both her aunt and uncle would consider it immodest for her to write to a man she scarcely knew—and one, moreover, who was not of their persuasion.

Could she, dared she, take it herself? Taught to behave with modesty, to listen and reserve her opinions as befitted a woman, she hesitated. Yet Master Rochefort had asked her to enquire whether her uncle was well enough to see him…

She would take it herself! It was but an hour’s walk there and back. She could pick wild flowers and herbs on her way home. Aunt Prudence was in need of certain ingredients for her simples, so the time would not be wasted.

Glancing from the parlour window, Annelise saw that the sky was cloudless. The weather was still very warm; she would have no need of a cloak.

Some half an hour later, Annelise was at the door of Longton Hall. She frowned over the neglected gardens. Only two years earlier they had been flourishing; now they had gone wild. She noticed some attempt had been made to clear a patch of brambles, and the paths nearer the house had been picked clean of weeds. At the back of the house, she could hear the voices of men working on the thatch. Clearly the new owner meant to restore the place to its former graciousness.

Annelise lifted the heavy front door knocker. A servant came to answer her. She was relieved that he was a stranger to her; servants tended to gossip, but this man did not know who she was. Perhaps her family would never discover her indiscretion.

‘I pray you, sir, tell me—has your master guests staying?’

‘Yes, mistress.’ The servant stared at her suspiciously. From his dress, he was not of the Puritan persuasion, and he distrusted all those who were. ‘What be your business here?’

‘Would you give this letter to Master Rochefort, please?’

‘Be no one of that name here.’

Annelise was taken aback. ‘But he was visiting—a tall man with black hair and blue eyes.’

‘That be His Lordship,’ the man replied with a superior air. He looked down his long nose at Annelise. ‘Don’t know as I can rightly give him this, being as it’s wrongly addressed.’

‘But I have walked here on purpose to deliver it!’

‘Might offend him…’

Annelise sighed. She ought never to have come here. She was about to turn away when she heard the crunch of boots on stones and turned to discover the man she sought was striding towards her.

He was wearing stained breeches and was naked from the waist up, his shirt slung carelessly over his shoulder; obviously he had been working and had taken it off. His hair was wet, as if he had put his head under the pump in the stableyard, and his skin gleamed like gold satin, bronzed, she imagined, by frequent exposure to the sun.

‘Good day, Mistress Woodward.’ Justin stared at her in astonishment. ‘Forgive my appearance. I had not expected to find a lady at the door.’

Annelise blushed, turning aside as he pulled on his shirt. But not before she had seen his powerful shoulders, and several scars on his back that looked as if they must have been made by the blade of a sword. When she looked again he was dressed, and regarding her through narrowed eyes, his expression one of disapproval if not censure.

‘I came to deliver a letter, sir. I have spoken to my uncle but he begs your pardon. He is too ill to see you.’

‘Could you not have sent your message with a servant? There was surely no need for you to come yourself.’

Annelise stiffened. His criticism stung all the more because she knew her behaviour to be unseemly.

‘I should not have come…’

She flung away, walking swiftly, her head bent. How foolish she was! It was very wrong of her to have been so forward. In her heart, she knew her reasons for delivering the letter had been more than a natural concern for Sir Hugh’s health. She had hoped to see this man again—but he thought her immodest! He was angry with her.

‘Mistress Woodward, wait!’ Justin caught up with her. He grabbed her arm roughly, swinging her round to face him. ‘Do not leave in anger. I meant not to hurt you. I was surprised to see you. Stay a moment, I beg you.’

‘I was wrong to come,’ she said. ‘It is just that…’ Her eyes misted with tears. ‘My uncle is so strange. When I asked him if he would see you, he talked so wildly. I think his mind has begun to fail. His steward has not written to you?’ Justin shook his head. ‘No, I did not think so. He dictated only the one letter…’ She swallowed hard, stifling the tears that threatened. ‘I thought it only right that you should be aware…’ Her breath caught on a sob.

Justin’s forehead creased as he sensed her acute distress. There was more here than she had told him. He offered her his kerchief, touched by her tears despite himself.

‘I am grateful for the intention,’ he said, his voice becoming soft, almost caressing. ‘If I seemed to censure you, it was only out of concern for your safety. We have spoken of this matter before, if you recall?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled through her tears, comforted by his tone. ‘It was foolish of me to walk here myself—but I was afraid my uncle might learn I had written to you and…’ She hung her head then, unable to meet his gaze. ‘I fear it was forward of me, sir.’

‘I understand.’ Justin looked at her thoughtfully. ‘If Sir Hugh will not see me…But you mentioned a letter. To whom was it addressed? Could it have been the Marquis Saintjohn?’

‘Oh, no,’ she replied, a little surprised. ‘It was to my aunt’s kinsman—a Mr Broughton.’ A flush stained her cheeks. ‘My uncle intends…to arrange a marriage…’

Now why had she told him that? Annelise looked away. She was embarrassed by her own indelicacy. This man was a stranger to her. She could not discuss matters of such intimacy with him.

‘Does the idea please you?’

Annelise looked up, her heart racing. Something in his expression made her blurt out the truth.

‘No! No, it does not. I have never met Mr Broughton.’ Her cheeks were flaming. ‘My duty is to obey my uncle, but…I do not wish to marry unless I truly like my husband.’

‘Will your uncle force you to the match?’

‘I am not sure. He will expect me to do my duty.’

‘I see.’ Justin’s mouth drew into a tight line. Featherstone had no right to choose her husband. His haste to arrange the match was clearly an attempt to forestall anything that the Marquis Saintjohn might be planning for his niece. ‘But he will not force you?’

‘Not at once,’ Annelise said on a sigh. ‘I shall not be locked in my room or beaten, but there are other ways of commanding my obedience. I should not like to be the cause of distress to either my aunt or uncle, especially now.’

Justin was thoughtful. The girl had been taught to obey. These damned Puritans had almost succeeded in making her something nature had never intended. She might resist in her heart, but she was a dutiful girl who would accept her uncle’s dictates in the end. The idea of her being tied to the kind of man Sir Hugh had no doubt chosen filled Justin with revulsion. It must not be allowed to happen! Yet he must tread carefully here.

‘Thank you for your visit, Mistress Woodward,’ he said. ‘Shall I send a servant to escort you home?’

Annelise felt as if he had thrown cold water over her. She was not sure what she had expected, or if she had expected anything. In the woods, he had spoken of a visit to his mother, but now he was dismissing her—his manner one of indifference. She had foolishly placed too much reliance on what had obviously been a careless promise.

Why should he care for her problems? She hardly knew him. It had been wrong of her to discuss her uncle’s affairs with a stranger. She raised her head, her expression one of pride.

‘I shall be perfectly safe, sir. You need not trouble yourself on my account.’

But that was exactly what he must do, thought Justin. He should have insisted on seeing Featherstone weeks ago, but he had allowed the matter to drift. Now he must act.

‘Since you are determined to be independent, I shall allow you to have your way.’ Justin smiled inwardly as he saw the spark in her eyes. For all their mealy-mouthed ways, the Featherstones had not succeeded in crushing her spirit. ‘At least in this. I must beg to take leave of you, mistress. I have urgent business…’ An air of disappointment about her stopped him as he started to leave. He reached out, taking a fine strand of hair that had escaped from beneath her cap between his fingers, then let it fall. ‘Do not fear, Mistress Woodward. I have your interests in hand. Do not give your word to Mr Broughton or your uncle on this matter and all will be well.’

Annelise stared after him as he strode away. What could he have meant by that? Her heart took a dizzying leap. She was suddenly glad she had come here, no matter what her aunt or uncle might say.

She was drawn to this man of conflicting moods. When he was stern, she was a little afraid of him…but when he smiled and spoke to her with kindness she liked him.

She liked him more than any other man she had ever met.

Annelise heard the shouting coming from her uncle’s room the next morning. Her heart caught with fear. Was Sir Hugh ill again?

‘What is wrong?’ she asked as she reached the landing and saw her aunt emerging from Sir Hugh’s room. ‘Is my uncle worse?’

‘Send someone for the physician,’ Lady Featherstone said. ‘Your uncle has had another fit, Annelise. He was reading a letter that upset him terribly and he tried to get out of bed; he fell and hit his head on the oak hutch…’ She gave a little sob of distress. ‘He is unconscious, Annelise. I think he may be dying.’

‘Oh, no!’ Annelise looked at her in concern. Despite her uncle’s stern manner, he was a good man at heart and did not deserve this. ‘I will send for the physician immediately, Aunt.’

She ran down the stairs, calling for Master Blackwell. He came almost at once, shaking his head at the news.

‘It was the same hand that wrote the other letter,’ he said, looking sorrowful. ‘It was my duty to give it to him, but I fear I have killed him.’

‘Not you,’ Annelise replied, shaking her head. ‘I do not know what has been distressing my uncle these past weeks, but it was not your fault.’

‘May God forgive whoever has caused this,’ the steward replied, crossing himself. ‘He has done for a good man. I see the work of Satan in this, Mistress Woodward.’

Annelise was silent as he hurried away to send for the physician. What could be in the letters that had disturbed her uncle so? A cold chill went down her spine as she recalled her uncle’s wild talk of the devil’s mark falling upon them. Something had frightened him—frightened him so much that he had lost his senses.

She looked back towards the stairs she had just descended. She was not needed in her uncle’s chamber for the moment. Instead, she would busy herself with the tasks her aunt normally performed; it was all she could do to help.

The next few days were anxious ones for Sir Hugh’s family. The physician came when sent for, and shook his head over the sick man, who still clung precariously to life but seemed incapable of speech or thought, staring blankly at the ceiling and taking no notice of anything around him.

‘I fear I can do nothing,’ the physician told Sir Hugh’s anxious wife. ‘He is in the hands of God, madam. All you can do is watch over him and pray.’

‘He was always a good man,’ said Lady Prudence. ‘We must not question the Lord’s work, but I do not think he deserved this.’ Her mouth settled into a line of bitterness.

Annelise could do nothing but agree. She sat by her uncle’s side reading aloud from the Bible for half an hour every evening, hoping that it would somehow bring him comfort, but she was not sure he understood. He gave no sign of knowing her.

The letter which had upset him seemed to have disappeared. She did venture to mention it to his servant, asking if he had put it away, but he shook his head and gave her a dour look, as if he blamed her for her uncle’s illness.

It was five days after the seizure that had robbed her uncle of his senses that Annelise’s aunt called her into her parlour. She smiled at her, patting the oak settle beside her.

‘I have something to tell you, my dear.’

Annelise’s heart caught. She knew instinctively what Lady Prudence was about to say.

‘I believe your uncle spoke to you about a match he had thought to arrange for you, Annelise?’

‘Yes, Aunt.’ Annelise raised her head. ‘But I do not think we should speak of this at such a time.’

‘Your uncle was most particular,’ her aunt replied. ‘He told me that the marriage should go ahead even if he…’ She dabbed a kerchief to her lips. ‘It is his ardent wish that you should be married, my dear. And it is not as if he were dead, so there is nothing improper in our thinking of your happiness.’

Sir Hugh was not yet dead, and strictly speaking they were not in mourning. Annelise avoided her aunt’s earnest look.

‘I am not sure I wish to marry Mr Broughton, Aunt.’

‘Annelise!’ Lady Prudence exclaimed, her mouth tight with disapproval. ‘It is unlike you to set yourself against your uncle’s will—and at such a time.’

‘I am sorry, but…’

‘Mr Broughton has travelled all the way from Huntingdon to see you,’ her aunt said, looking severe. ‘You will at least do him the courtesy of seeing him?’

‘Yes, Aunt,’ Annelise said. ‘I cannot refuse to do that—but I beg you will not place your hopes on this marriage.’

‘May I know the reason why?’ Lady Prudence looked up, a frown of annoyance on her face as a servant came in. ‘Yes, Ruth—what is it? I told you I did not wish to be disturbed.’

‘There is a visitor come, my lady.’

‘I know. Mr Broughton…’

‘No, my lady…’ The servant stopped speaking abruptly as a lady swept into the room. She was clearly a person of some importance, in her middle years and dressed very finely in green silk, with a huge black hat that sported a curling feather. Her long dark hair was curled in ringlets on her shoulder, and her strong perfume wafted ahead of her, imposing her personality on the small room. ‘The Dowager Marchioness Saintjohn…’

‘I prefer to be called Lady Emily,’ said the visitor, ‘but that is indeed my title.’ Her eyes swept dismissively over Lady Prudence and came to rest on Annelise. She seemed to approve of what she saw, and smiled. ‘Ah, you must be Mistress Woodward, the daughter of Lady Mary Woodward. I was a great friend of your mother, my dear—and your father—which is, I suppose, why he made you my ward in his will. I should perhaps more properly say the ward of the fourth Marquis. However, the Marquis Saintjohn is a very busy man, so he has arranged for you to be placed in my care. I have come here today to take you back to London with me. We should leave as soon as possible, since I am expected at Court next week and there is no time to be lost.’

Her statement was met by a stunned silence. How could this be? Annelise wondered. She had heard nothing of a will—nothing of a guardian other than her uncle. Glancing at her aunt now, Annelise saw that she was apprehensive, but not surprised.

Surely she could not have known of this? And yet she had; Annelise could see it in her eyes.

‘Is this true, Aunt? Did my father’s will make me the ward of…?’ She turned to the fashionable lady, who was watching closely, clearly very much in command of the situation. ‘Forgive me, I did not quite understand whose ward I am.’

‘The Marquis Saintjohn,’ repeated Lady Emily. ‘There is no need to be apprehensive, my dear. Nothing in this world will give me greater pleasure than to undertake your education. I dare say it has been neglected, for it is not the country way to teach Court manners to young ladies—but I shall see that no attention is lacking in this matter. The Marquis wishes you to be properly provided for until you marry, and, having seen you, I am certain a match worthy of your status can be arranged.’ Her manner was so confident, so certain, that she seemed to sweep everything before her, taking it for granted that everyone would jump to her bidding.

Lady Prudence recovered her tongue. ‘Sir Hugh…my husband…has already arranged a match for our niece,’ she said. ‘The gentleman is here, waiting to speak to her even now.’

‘Then I am come in time, thank goodness!’ Lady Emily waved her arm towards the servant who was hovering, her mouth hanging open. ‘Pray tell that gentleman…if he is the one I saw in the lobby…that he has wasted his journey. He is certainly not of the station or consequence I expect for my ward.’

‘He is my kinsman, madam!’ Lady Prudence was indignant. She stared at the visitor as if she could not believe her ears. ‘And a good, godly man.’

Lady Emily’s eyes moved to inspect the other woman, her expression one of disdain. ‘Indeed? Your kinsman? A very worthy man, I dare say—but not an aristocrat, not a gentleman of distinction. Lord Woodward would not have approved of such a match for his only daughter, nor would his dear wife. No, no, we can do better than that for Annelise.’ Her eyes flicked back to Annelise. ‘You would not object to a visit with me, my dear?’

‘No, I should not, ma’am,’ Annelise said. Her amazement was turning to a sense of relief. ‘I have never met Mr Broughton and I would rather not marry him.’

‘It is your uncle’s wish,’ Lady Prudence reminded her. Her mouth thinned in disapproval as she looked at Annelise. ‘You would not wish to disobey him? You would not want to show disrespect now that he is close to death?’

‘I owe both you and my uncle a debt of gratitude I can never repay,’ Annelise replied, her cheeks flushed. She was conscious of her heart beating very fast. ‘I do not wish to disoblige you, Aunt, truly I do not—but if my father’s will made the Marquis Saintjohn my guardian, am I not obliged by law to obey him?’

‘The will was made when your father was in great distress,’ argued her aunt. ‘He was close to death and could not have known what he did. Your uncle has stood guardian these many years—and none has come forward to dispute it. I believe the law would uphold his right.’ She glared at Lady Emily. ‘How do I know you are who you say you are—or that the Marquis has given you the care of my niece?’

Lady Emily smiled and took a rolled parchment from beneath her falling sleeve. ‘This is a letter from His Majesty King Charles II,’ she said, presenting it with a flourish to display the impressive seal. ‘It is addressed to your husband, madam, but since he is perhaps too ill to read it, I suggest you do so yourself. It confirms all I have told you, and requests that you relinquish Mistress Woodward into my care at once.’

‘I…cannot read it,’ Lady Prudence confessed, her cheeks flushed with shame. ‘I can sign my name, but I never learned to read more than a few words.’

‘Then summon your steward, madam.’

‘No.’ Lady Prudence was suddenly angry. She looked at Annelise. ‘This can be settled between us. We have been good to you, niece. Would you have us turned out of house and home now that your uncle is ill?’

‘No, aunt, of course not!’

‘That is what they will do if you allow them to have their way. It is what your uncle has feared since…since the letters came.’

‘The letters…’ Annelise felt chilled. She stared at her aunt uncertainly. ‘The letters that brought on my uncle’s illness?’

‘It is these people who have killed him,’ Lady Prudence cried with an accusing look at the other woman. ‘They are the devil’s disciples; they stand for all your uncle hated. You are not like them, Annelise. If you go with this woman, they will destroy you. They will make you like them…they will destroy your soul.’

‘That is nonsense,’ said Lady Emily. ‘The Marquis has no wish to turn you out, Lady Prudence. He may send someone to take charge of the estate, but you and your husband are at liberty to stay here as custodians of the house…providing, of course, that you do not deny his right to take charge of his ward.’

‘You are threatening us…’ Lady Prudence drew back, fear in her eyes. She waved a hand towards Annelise. ‘Take her, then. Take the ungrateful girl. She is a serpent, and her cruelty has struck me to the heart. I do not wish to set eyes on her again.’

‘Aunt…’ Annelise looked at her unhappily. ‘Pray do not let us part in anger. I do not wish to quarrel with you.’

‘Go with her,’ replied Lady Prudence, her eyes hard, cold. ‘You are no longer any affair of mine.’