Satan's Mark. Anne Herries

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.’