Satan's Mark

‘How long will you be staying here, sir?’

‘Until my business is finished,’ he said. ‘After that, I shall be returning to London.’ He looked at her again, taking her breath away. ‘Have you ever been there, Mistress Woodward?’

‘No…no, I have not. A visit was planned, but cancelled after the Lord Protector died.’

‘Should you like to visit there?’

‘Yes…I think so, but my uncle is too ill to travel and my aunt could not take me without him.’

‘I have a house in London,’ Justin said, surprising her. ‘My mother lives there for the moment. Perhaps she would invite you to stay.’

‘Why should she? She does not know me.’

‘No,’ Justin replied, a puzzling look in his eyes. ‘But she knew your parents well. One day you will meet her. I am sure she would like to meet the daughter of old friends.’

‘Your mother knew my father…my mother?’ Annelise was filled with a sudden longing. ‘Oh, if only I could meet her! I should like so much to hear what she remembers of my father. I was a small child when he was killed.’

‘Then I shall do my best to arrange it,’ Justin said, and his smile was so sweet that it reached out to her, seeming almost to embrace her. ‘I shall walk with you to the grounds of your home, mistress—and then I must say farewell. But do not forget to mention me to your uncle.’

‘No…’ Annelise lifted her eyes to his. ‘No, sir. I shall speak to him as soon as I feel he is well enough to listen…’

Chapter Two

‘I am glad to see you so much better, sir,’ Annelise said as she carried in the tray for her uncle’s breakfast. He was sitting up in bed, looking brighter than he had for several days. ‘My aunt told me you wished to see me. Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘Put that tray down and come here, Niece.’ Sir Hugh beckoned to her. His grey hair had been neatly combed that day and his man had shaved him. ‘I have neglected your affairs, Annelise. I should have arranged a marriage for you long since. It was remiss of me—but I am resolved to put things right. I shall this day have my steward send a letter to a cousin of your aunt’s. Mr Broughton is a good man, not yet forty, sober and clean in his habits. I believe we can trust him to take care of things when I am gone.’

‘You are getting better,’ Annelise said, gripped by a sudden fear she could not explain. ‘There is no need for haste. I should not wish to marry while you are ill.’

‘If it is God’s wish, I shall be spared to see you safely wed,’ he replied, giving her a compelling look. ‘Have I ever treated you ill, Annelise? Have I ever forced you to something that gave you pain?’

She hesitated, then lowered her gaze. There had been many times when her heart had rebelled, but that was because she was a woman and therefore sinful. Her uncle had sometimes been strict with her, disciplining her for the good of her soul. She knew she owed a duty both to him and to God.

‘No, sir, you have not,’ she said, ‘but I would meet with this man first. If…if I am unable to respect him…’

‘Then I would not force you to marry,’ Sir Hugh said, gazing at her with reproach. ‘How can you think I would marry you to an unworthy man? All I ask is that you will behave with modesty and keep an open mind. It is for your own good, Annelise. I shall not always be here to protect you. Besides, you are of an age to marry. You would not want to live alone? It would not be fitting. You need a good man to be your husband—and who better than a kinsman of your aunt?’

Annelise was silent. All that her uncle said made perfect sense. Indeed, she had expected this, even hoped for it. Her life had sometimes seemed dull. A husband and children would fill the hours that were occasionally empty…so why this reluctance to wed the unknown Mr Broughton?

It could not be because she had been unable to rid her mind these past days of the picture of a man’s laughing eyes, could it? She would be foolish indeed to put her faith in his vague promises.

‘I shall try to do my duty, Uncle—but I beg you not to make your decision before I have met Mr Broughton.’

‘You are a sensible young woman,’ he replied. ‘I have no doubt that you will accept your duty, as we all must.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Annelise hesitated. She had not so far mentioned Master Rochefort’s request to speak to her uncle for fear of upsetting him, but he was so much better. Surely it could do no harm? ‘I told you that Sir Robert Harris had come back, did I not?’

‘I dare say he has a right to claim the land,’ Sir Hugh said, frowning. ‘We must hope he is a godly man—but his presence here makes your marriage all the more urgent.’

Annelise did not ask why. She knew his opinion of the King’s followers all too well; he thought them disciples of the devil, sinful, lewd men. She had accepted his doctrine, but now she had begun to doubt. He was a good man, and she had been taught to obey, but she was an intelligent girl and her mind still questioned.

‘There is a gentleman staying with Sir Robert, Uncle. He begs you will grant him an interview.’

‘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.