Satan's Mark

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.