In the Brief Eternal Silence

by Rebecca Melvin

  Miss Murdock was moved by this unexpected seal of approval from her new-found friend and looked over at him, her eyes shining, and said, “Thank you, Earl Larrimer. I am quite touched that you at least feel I shall not be a total flop. However,” she continued in a stronger voice and her eyes searched out the Duchess who was making another careful selection from the tray of cakes and sweets, “it really all is a moot point, for I have determined that I can not continue to take advantage of your hospitality, Lady Lenora. I hope you will forgive me, but I believe I should make arrangements as soon as possible to return home.”

  “No!” Andrew said before the Duchess could even reply. “Say you do not mean it, Miss Murdock, for I am sure the entire season will be contemptibly flat without you here to share it with.”

  “Indeed,” the Dowager agreed. “I have been so much looking forward to having someone to launch! Do not say that you will deprive me of that pleasure, Miss Murdock, for I simply will not hear of it.”

  Miss Murdock, with a blotch of color on each cheek, replied, “I am sorry, but I have determined that I must speak to your grandson as soon as possible as it was he that issued this invitation and it is only correct that I tell him personally that I can no longer accept his.

  . . his hospitality,” she ended on a weak note.

  The Duchess's faded eyes studied her with concern, but she seemed disconcertingly calm. “Well, I shall leave it to you and St. James, then, Miss Murdock, as I am sure that he will be able to overcome whatever has you disturbed. He will be here this evening, at any rate, so you may take up the matter with him then.”

  “This evening,” Miss Murdock echoed, finding that just a little sooner than she had expected. But, she had decided the sooner she left the better, so she should not turn squeamish at having her wish to speak to him as soon as possible granted. “Well, that will be fine then. Thank you, ma'am. I hope that after speaking with him I will be able to give you a more understandable explanation rather than this somewhat vague announcement. It is really just so. . . complicated.”

  “Nonsense!” Lady Lydia interrupted. “It is just nerves, my dear, at your coming out. I really can not blame you, as you are rather old for such an activity, and must feel that you are at a distinct disadvantage. But I assure you, that with the Dowager and myself working on you, you will do well enough.”

  “That is very kind of you, Lady Lydia,” Miss Murdock returned. “And I must say, very unexpected. But I really am not in the market for a husband, so you see how misguided all of these efforts are! I think it would be much more prudent for me to return home now before I become more of an expense and feel bound to walk down the aisle with. . . someone. . . just to justify those same expenses.”

  “Tut, child,” the Duchess broke in. “Do not upset yourself. You know very well that I do not count the expense at all. Why I could not be more oblivious to it than if I did not have to pay out a single pence!” she added with a wicked little gleam in her eye. Miss Murdock blushed and set down her tea cup with a less than graceful clang onto her saucer.

  “All the same, ma'am,” Miss Murdock returned. “I can not accept such generosity when I can see no acceptable way to repay it.” Before the Dowager, or anyone else had a chance to comment, she went on in a disturbed voice. “Forgive me, ma'am. I did not mean to go into this now and I think I very much understand your feelings of disappointment, and, indeed, I care very much if you are. . . are hurt. But you must understand my position as well, or at least I hope you can understand.”

  “I do, child. So do not fret,” the Duchess hastened to say. “And I am sure it will all come out right in the end, whatever you decide. But, here, let us talk about something else. There is a ball at Almacks' tomorrow, the first of the Season. Surely, even if you decide you must leave, you will indulge me by at least attending one ball?”

  Miss Murdock twisted her hands in her lap. “I—I can not say for sure, ma'am. . .”

  “But certainly you will go to one, Miss Murdock?” Andrew encouraged. “Why, if you are going to go home, you must be able to say you went to Almacks! And I should so like to take you to some of the other sites here in London for who can say when you will next be here? It would be a shame for you to only go home saying that you saw nothing but the Duchess's home and the dress maker's!”

  “Oh, yes, Miss Murdock,” Lady Lydia added. “One must visit the hat maker's also. And no visit would be complete if you did not go at least once to the park in the morning to take the air. And if your stay is to be so short, we should have at least a dinner party in your honor before you go. Do you not think so, Lady Lenora? It has been so long since we had a party here,” and the longing in her voice was unmistakable. “It has been nearly a year since Morty died, and we have not had a party since his death.”

  “Yes. You are right, Lydia,” the Duchess replied, for once in perfect agreement with her daughter-in-law. “Just because the Queen seems determined to be in mourning for ever over Prince Albert does not mean that the rest of us should be so gloomy. Miss Murdock,” she commanded. “You will remain out the week, no matter what you and my grandson decide.”

  And Miss Murdock, seeing how churlish she appeared to be by wanting to return home immediately, agreed with reluctance that she would go to Almacks and allow a dinner party in her honor, though the thought of both fairly terrified her. Andrew expressed his relief, and the Duchess nodded in approval. Lady Lydia expressed her pleasure, “Very good, Miss Murdock. I shall make a point of inviting a great many eligible bachelors so that you may at least see what is being offered this season.”

  To which Miss Murdock rolled her eyes in exasperation and met Andrew's amused look. “Yes, Miss Murdock,” he agreed. “You should at least see what is being offered this season.” And his blue eyes seemed very warm as they looked into her own.

  St. James was in a thoughtful mood as he mounted his horse after spending an hour with his deceased uncle's solicitor. The will that had been sent over to his own Barrister's office had been correct and St. James had been unable to find explanation for the strange arrangements that his Uncle Mortimer had made just two months before his death.

  Barrister Collins had been of the opinion (observing with dryness that St. James' aunt was, in fact, rather ill-suited to be in charge of such a large estate, or even, in fact, any estate) that his Uncle had wanted a more capable hand at the reins of control. That could very well be true, St. James conceded, but it did not explain why St. James had not then been put in charge of the estate immediately, instead of upon his marrying. Or why, once put in charge of said estate, if his cousin Andrew were to die, the estate would not return to Lydia but remain under the control, and in fact, ownership, of St. James himself.

  It seemed very odd, indeed.

  St. James had asked if Collins thought Lady Lydia were even aware of this wrinkle in her husband's will, and Collins had been of the opinion that although he could not know for certain, that she was not, as she had taken no real interest in any of it and had left the decisions to be made by the managers who had always taken care of the various properties and accounts and who reported to him. When Earl Mortimer Larrimer had been alive, Collins had passed on all this information to him to be decided according to his wishes, but since his death, Lady Lydia had not moved herself to make any decisions on the estate and had left it in his hands. Of which, he assured St. James, he had been very profitably able to do.

  All this information, which really was not much at all, left St. James with the strange feeling that his uncle had felt him even less capable of handling the estate than his feather-brained widow. Not a heartening thought, nor one that he could endorse as the true reason, for he had worked with his uncle for many years, and his uncle had seemed to trust him a great deal, and to rely on his abilities.

  “M'lord,” a young voice piped up, interrupting his musings. St. James, who had settled himself in the saddle but had not yet turned his horse into the street, looked down to where the voice had issued from
, saw the same bedraggled youth that he had charged with carrying his message to Tyler earlier.

  “You, laddie,” he said. “Do not tell me you could not find the address?”

  “Oh, no, m'lord. Found it just as I said I would. And your groom Tyler, too. He guv me somethin' to eat, m'lord. I hope you don't mind,” and he rubbed his raggedy shirt covered stomach to give proof to his words.

  St. James gave a faint smile. “No, laddie. I don't mind. Did my man tell you I have a position for you if you want it?”

  “Coo, m'lord. He did. He told's me to comes find you here in case I was needed by you.”

  “Did he send a message?” St. James asked. He leaned down from the saddle, his gold eyes dark with interest.

  “Nothing written, m'lord,” the boy replied. “Only that he had what you had asked for this morning and that you should look at it this evening when you arrive as planned. He bade me tell you that,” and he frowned as he said this, his dirty face concentrating as the words had no meaning to him and he wanted to repeat them correctly in case they had meaning for his lordship, “he has a better fist than t'maid has.”

  St. James laughed at this. “Well, that is not saying much,” he commented. “But it is as I expected.” He looked down at the boy, debating for a moment, then said, “Have you ever been up, lad?”

  “On a horse, you mean, sir?”

  “Yes. On a horse, I mean. Can you ride?”

  “Coo, never been on a horse, m'lord. But I guess I can hold on as well as the next boy can.”

  “I expect you can,” St. James agreed. “You look like a scrappy young fellow.” He removed his boot from the stirrup and put a gloved hand down to the boy. “Put your foot in there and I'll lift you up behind. No, your other foot, otherwise you'll end up seeing where we've been rather than where we're going.”

  The boy put in the proper foot and St. James grabbed his hand and hoisted his light figure up behind him. “I only ask you hang onto the saddle as best you may,” he instructed, “for you shall get my coat filthy otherwise.”

  “Aye, m'lord.” The boy was shaking with excitement. “But I be the king of the world from up here, m'lord. This is a grand way to be!” Then he was silent for St. James kicked his stallion into as fast a pace as he could go in amongst the traffic of the street and the boy was too intent upon hanging on to say anything further.

  “By-the-by, boy, does your mother know where you are?” the duke asked when they had reached a less congested part of the street.

  “Aye, sir. I took's me crown to her on me way back here. But the tuppence and ha-penny, I kept for meself,” the boy replied in short, breathless bursts. “She wasn't happy about me working for you, m'lord, but she were happy about the crown. That's what decided it, m'lord.”

  “It usually does, lad,” St. James replied, and as the street was clear for a straight section, he put his heels to his horse and it went into a canter.

  And so, my lord, Effington summed up at the bottom of his letter, it is with great regret, but with, I deem, necessity, that I resign my position as your valet. If you wish, I can recommend someone for replacing me, but as you do not seem to require the services of a valet to the degree that a valet is trained for, indeed, spends a good many years studying for, I can not in all conscience recommend any one that I admire as a friend, for I fear that they would never forgive me for doing them such a grievous disservice.

  I only hope that my resigning will at last shock you into realization that you owe your station more in respects to your attire and appearance than you have so far been wont to show, and that you will take this into consideration upon hiring another valet, and allow that employee more leeway in doing his duty.

  Yours regretfully but sincerely,

  Effing~

  “Effington!”

  His name being shouted from one floor below startled that proper valet to such a degree that he put an unsightly blotch where the end

  of his name should have been, and he fussed over it, wondering if he should in fact rewrite the whole letter. As there were some three pages of it, he decided that of course he should only rewrite the final page and at the same time he got up from his desk with a guilty start and hurried from his room. “Yes, milord,” he asked with as much serenity as he could manage as he saw his employer standing not in his rooms, as he had expected, but at the bottom of the stairs. His coat was filthy, Effington noticed with disapproval, with what looked to be, but surely could not be, some young urchin's hand prints.

  “When was this missive delivered?” St. James asked, holding out a rather plain envelope with the seal now broken. “I have asked Applegate, but he said you were below stairs and took delivery of it.”

  “Yes, milord. Half past two, I believe, milord.” Effington paused for a moment, his eyes straining to see what looked to be a royal seal on the paper held in his lordship's other hand. “Is it something important, milord?” he asked, unable to hide the eagerness in his voice. “I took no particular notice to it as it was delivered in only a plain envelope.”

  St. James looked more irritated than eager. “Yes, damn it.” He glanced at the short, one paged missive that he raised from his side and Effington was now certain that it was a royal emblem at the top of it. “And I have already had a rather commanding summons from my grandmother to be at her home this evening, and now I shall in no way make that. Effington, you will finally get your wish for you had better outfit me in whatever is deemed appropriate for a visit to Buckingham.”

  Effington had to hold on to the newel post to keep his hand from shaking at the sudden fervor that went through him. “Yes, milord. Certainly, milord. It will be my pleasure, milord. Is that to be for this evening, milord?”

  “Yes, blast you, Effington, and you needn't look so bloody eager.”

  “Is it to be an audience with the Queen, milord?” Effington asked in a near reverential whisper.

  “I am not at liberty to say, Effington, but you may outfit me to whatever degree your imagination deems necessary. And a God-awful miserable evening it shall be,” St. James muttered. “I will be below in my study as I will have to write a very unwelcome note to my grandmother expressing my regrets. Of which, I may add, I am sure I will be paying for for some time and I will not even be at liberty to tell her what 'pressing matter' has come up to make me beg off. Although, I doubt in her mind that even the Queen herself would be a suitable engagement to keep me from coming to her when she has so brusquely commanded my presence.” He turned to Effington before descending further down the stairs. “Not a word of this to anyone, Effington, you understand,” and the gold eyes were very piercing indeed, making Effington draw himself up in defense.

  “No, of course not, milord. I have never had lack of discretion laid at my door, I need not remind you.”

  St. James relaxed enough to grin. “Much to my benefit, you would probably like to add. But of course, you are much too discreet to say so.”

  “Indeed, I am, milord,” Effington replied.

  St. James only waved a dismissing hand. “Go about the business of dreaming up how you shall shame me tonight with your notions of fashion, Effington.” He continued on down the stairs and so did not see that man rub his hands together in glee, already envisioning what he would attire his lordship in. Royalty deserved something bright, he decided, but not too bright, for the Queen herself still remained in mourning. Perhaps conservative black with a colorful cravat, waistband and boots? he wondered. No, he shook his head. Black boots. Black waistband and black cravat. That would show a proper degree of respect for her majesty's mourning and at the same time allow him the liberty of dressing his lordship in more colorful pantaloons and shirt. And his jacket could be something colorful also. A turquoise jacket, Effington thought, yellow pantaloons and shirt. Yes, that would be fashionable and with the black counterpoints, properly respecting the Queen's sensibilities. If, indeed, it were the Queen his employer had been summoned to see. It must be, Effington thought, for he doubted any
one lesser than the Queen could induce the Duke to allow his valet full control of his wardrobe for the evening.

  But of course, before he could do any of this, he had to return above stairs and rip the letter he had been writing to shreds.

  “Applegate,” St. James said to his butler upon reaching the ground floor of his house. “I have a new messenger boy. He's in the

  kitchens now, I believe. See to it that he has the proper clothing.”

  “Yes, milord. Will you be dining in this evening, milord?”

  “Yes. But then I will be going out after. I do not know how late I shall be so please do not remain up. By-the-by, when you speak to this messenger boy I have retained, send him round my study in a bit for I shall have several notes for him to deliver.”

  “Very well, milord.”

  St. James continued into his study to compose first a note to Tyler, short and easily written, and then a somewhat more difficult note to his grandmother.

  In between them, he paused, stared at the fire for a brief moment wondering why ever the Queen should have the sudden desire to summon him to Buckingham Palace. It was an annoyance at best and could be a distraction at worst, and at the moment he didn't need any further distractions, for he already had one in the form of Miss Murdock residing at his grandmother's home.

  With this thought in mind, he began the composition of his letter, and it came more easily than he had expected:

  Dearest Grandmother,

  I received your warm regards earlier today and had every intention, of course, of coming around your house at the appointed hour. I am sorry to say that I have become aware of a pressing and unavoidable obligation. Please know that only something of the most supreme importance could keep me from you when you have asked for my audience. Or from Miss Murdock, for that matter. Please express this to her. I am sure she will find it comforting to know that my attention has not strayed from her in the hours I have been gone from her presence.