Satan's Mark. Anne Herries

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