Satan's Mark

‘She is probably as plain as a pikestaff,’ Justin said, his sense of the ridiculous coming to his rescue. He chuckled deep in his throat. ‘Indeed, she must be, or Featherstone would have matched her long ago. No, no, Ralph. Spare me that sorry fate, I beg you. If I marry, it will be to a lady of the court—a woman in her twenties, a widow, perhaps—who will understand my ways and give me a son without expecting me to love her. I have no time for courtship and pretty words.’

‘You are asking much,’ Ralph said, lifting his brows. ‘Most women desire at least a show of tenderness. Even I know that!’

‘Tenderness?’ Justin arched his brows mockingly. ‘I am not sure I know how to love, my friend. I have been too busy staying alive these last years to have time for tenderness. What do I know but fighting? I have been a mercenary and a privateer, taking comfort from a willing woman where I found it. Besides, what is love? My mother took lovers even before the war, while my father lived. Most women I have known are as inconstant as the moon.’

‘Oh, ye foolish one!’ It was Ralph’s turn to mock now. ‘I’ll take a wager with you, Justin—one day you will find a woman who will show you what love is, and then you will fall hard. Believe me, you will suffer then. She will twist you round her dainty finger!’

‘A hundred gold guineas says you’re wrong,’ Justin replied, mouth twitching at the corners. ‘If I marry, it will be for a son and no more.’

‘Where have you been?’ Lady Featherstone asked as Annelise entered the parlour. ‘I have been looking for you this past age.’

‘What is the matter?’ Annelise asked. She could see her aunt was really upset. ‘What has happened to trouble you so, Aunt?’

‘Your uncle has locked himself in his private room and will not come out,’ Lady Featherstone replied. ‘I have called to him, but he will not answer me and I know he is not well.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Master Blackwell told me he turned pale after reading a letter come this morning from London. Apparently, he cried out that the mark of Satan was come upon this house and rushed away to his sanctum, locking the door after him. He has since been heard to moan and cry out strange things.’

‘What could have been in the letter?’

‘I do not know, nor even who sent it,’ Lady Featherstone said, shaking her head. ‘Your uncle has never discussed his affairs with me. When I have tried to question him about…about his recent neglect of things, he has turned from me.’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘I do not know what is happening to him, Annelise. He seems…’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I worry about him. Sometimes I think he might be losing his mind.’

‘Oh, no!’ Annelise cried. ‘Never say it, Aunt. It cannot be so. Let me go to him, let me talk to him…he may be recovered from his distress by now.’

‘Yes, please do so,’ Lady Featherstone said, looking relieved. ‘He will sometimes listen to you.’

Her uncle had always been a cold, distant man, with strong views, but clear in his thinking and fair in his treatment of others. Annelise thought it unlikely her uncle really listened to her, though sometimes if he was in a good humour he would permit her to give him her opinion. He did not relish interference from either her or her aunt. Yet she must try to help him if he was ill.

What could have upset him so much?

She paused outside her uncle’s door, knocking softly. ‘May I come in, sir?’

There was silence for a moment, but just as she was about to knock again the door opened. Her uncle stood there, looking much as always. His thin lips parted in a smile.

‘Yes, child—what may I do for you?’

‘Are you well, sir? I heard that you had been unwell earlier.’

‘Unwell?’ He seemed surprised. ‘Who told you such a tale? I am perfectly well. I have been busy working at my accounts and did not wish to be disturbed, that is all.’ He stood back, indicating that she might enter.

‘I am so relieved.’ Annelise followed him into the rather dark room with its crowded shelves and heavy oaken table, at the end of which was a chair with a high back. It was here that her uncle had been working. She could see the rolls of parchment, his quills and the pewter inkwell. ‘Is there anything I can do to help you, sir?’

‘No, thank you, Niece. I have finished now. I believe everything is in order.’ He hesitated, staring at her oddly. ‘I have not taken as much care of your estate recently as I ought. I beg you will forgive me, Annelise.’

His apology surprised her. ‘I am sure there is nothing to forgive,’ she replied. ‘You have been a good and faithful guardian to me.’

‘And you would say as much to anyone?’

‘Yes, indeed, sir.’

He smiled at her, reached out and patted her cheek. ‘What a good child you are: the daughter your aunt was never able to have. You will always care for her, I hope?’

‘Yes, of course, Uncle—and you.’

‘Then perhaps all will be well,’ he said, and turned away. ‘Leave me now. I have much to think about.’

‘Will you not come to the parlour for your dinner, sir?’

‘No, I am not hungry—but your aunt may send in a warm posset when it suits her. I shall sit quietly by the fire and think…Yes, I must think of what is best to do for the future. Satan’s mark must not fall on you or your aunt…’

‘Satan’s mark, sir?’ Annelise felt a cold chill at the base of her neck. ‘What can you mean?’

Something was different. It had happened in the space of a heartbeat. She sensed it and felt chilled. For a moment her uncle’s eyes seemed to hold a strange glitter. He was ill! If not in body, in mind.

‘There is evil all around us,’ Sir Hugh said, a new wildness about him. ‘When he died I felt it strike here.’ He beat at his breast in anguish. ‘There is no one to do God’s work, no one to intercede for us. The evil has come back to this land—and the mark of Satan is upon us all. But I shall not let it fall on you. No, not if it costs me my life.’

Her uncle’s eyes were looking far beyond her, searching for something. She saw him start, as if he saw what he feared, and then he began to shiver, his whole body shaking as with an ague.

‘You are ill,’ Annelise cried. She saw him clutch at himself, clearly in pain. ‘Pray, let me help you…’

She tried to take hold of his arm, to lead him to the settle, but he threw her off, his eyes wild. She was frightened by his strange manner. What could be wrong with him?

‘You are in danger,’ he cried. ‘Do not trust him, Annelise—the man who comes to claim you. He is the devil in disguise. Beware…beware the mark of Satan…’

Even as Annelise cried out for help, Sir Hugh’s eyes rolled upwards and he fell forward against her. She could not hold him, and must have let him fall had his steward not come rushing into the room at that moment.

‘Let me take him, mistress,’ he said. ‘I thought this would happen…I have seen it coming on, feared it.’

Annelise helped him to assist her uncle to the settle. It was clear that he had lost consciousness, though she could see that he still lived. She believed his illness was of the mind, brought on by grief and fear for the future.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked the steward. ‘Has this happened before?’

‘It was not so bad the last time,’ he replied, looking grave and sad. ‘But I see the hand of God in this, mistress. It is a warning. Unless Sir Hugh consents to seeing a physician, the next seizure may be the finish of him.’

Annelise moved away when her aunt came to take her place; servants were summoned and Sir Hugh was carried up to his chamber and laid on his bed.

What had he been trying to tell her? She was sure that he had been frightened for her sake—that he had been trying to warn her.

But of what?

Annelise snatched off her cap, allowing her long hair to flow freely on her shoulders; her silken tresses caught the sunlight through the trees. It felt so good, but she knew it was wrong. Both her aunt and uncle would have disapproved of her removing the headdress, because it was immodest for a woman to flaunt her beauty; it tempted men to sin and was frowned upon by the church.

She breathed deeply, lifting her face to the sky as she ran helter-skelter, heedless for once of propriety. How sweet the air was here in the woods, full of the scents of summer, and how glad she was to have escaped from the house at last.

For the past five days she had felt like a prisoner. Her uncle had been pronounced gravely ill, though he had come back to his senses a few hours after his seizure. It was then it had been discovered that his right arm and leg had been affected, leaving him partially paralysed. He was confined to bed, ordered to rest by the physician.

Annelise had naturally helped her aunt to nurse him, and she had been distressed by the change in Sir Hugh. He seemed to have aged overnight and was prone to fits of weeping. Worst of all had been the way he had clung to Annelise’s hand and begged for forgiveness. She had tried to reassure him that he had done nothing that needed to be forgiven, but his mind was no longer as clear as it had been and he would not be comforted.