In the Brief Eternal Silence

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In the Brief Eternal Silence Page 28

by Rebecca Melvin


  “Aye,” Tyler responded. But his hand went with longing for his chewing tobacco only to leave it alone.

  St. James, with a little grin, said, “By all means, indulge yourself. Only spit in the fireplace is all I ask.”

  “Aye. Thank you, milord,” Tyler said with a note of relief in his voice.

  St. James turned and together they strode out of the stable and into a back entrance of the house reserved for servants, startling a good deal of the kitchen staff into sharp curtsies as they went through. St. James went first to his study, with Tyler companionably at his side, for they worked together as more than employer and servant. St. James ruffled through the mail on his desk that had arrived that day by either post or by messenger, found a smallish envelope that he had apparently been looking for, and opened it for a brief look inside. “Thank you, grandmother,” he murmured. “Knew I could count on you.” Then he dropped the envelope back into the pile and they left the study as quickly as they had entered it.

  They trotted up the stairs, panting a little, and Tyler said between his breaths, “Your hand was rather quick t'your pistol today.”

  St. James glanced at him. “So it was,” he agreed between his own gasps. They reached the second floor hallway, and he continued a little more quietly, “You caught that did you? Ryan did not! I'm afraid that boy is feeling a great deal disillusioned, for he was quite certain I would be about some sort of trouble that would entertain him.”

  “You very nearly were, from t'looks of it,” Tyler countered. “I'd have not noticed it meself except I had stopped t'watch you. Quite a bit shocked at that sorry piece of horseflesh you were leading. Do not tell me you purchased it?”

  St. James was delayed in answering for as they entered his rooms, Effington appeared in the door behind them, and he nodded at his valet before saying, “I did. I believe my new messenger boy should have a horse. By the by, Effington, send that boy up to me, would you?”

  Effington drew himself up. He was already most unhappy to see a groom in his lordship's rooms and now his employer's request seemed designed, as usual, for no other reason than to deprive the valet of his rightful duties. “Do not think you are going to send me on some unimportant task just so you may change your clothing yourself, milord!” he warned.

  But St. James was in no mood for their ongoing game today. “Go,” he said. “Or you may resign on the spot as you have so often threatened, Almacks or no Almacks tonight!”

  Effington seemed to be in a true struggle over this ultimatum, but in the end his lordship's use of the word 'Almacks' bore down his outrage and with haughty deference, he sniffed and said, “Certainly, milord.”

  As soon as the door closed behind him, St. James pulled his two pistols from beneath his dripping coat, laid them on the table and then began tearing off his wet clothes. He paused long enough to dig the handkerchief from his pocket before dropping his sodden coat to the floor. He tossed the handkerchief to Tyler. “Who found it?” he asked.

  “Earl Larrimer.”

  St. James paused in unbuttoning his shirt. “Could have been worse,” he said. Then he let out a steam of curses. “What in hell was I thinking!”

  “I'm afraid it was worse, milord,” Tyler told him and caught the towel that St. James picked up from beside his wash basin and tossed to him. He proceeded to dry his neck as he spoke. “Lady Larrimer was there t'see it found, which had a convenience about it that I could scarce credit t'bein' accidental. And Miss Murdock was there t'catch the full shock of what looked t'be a great deal of outrage on yer aunt's part. I fear that with it takin' me so long t'find you today, that poor Miss Murdock has likely already been grilled.”

  “Damnation!” St. James peeled off his breeches, undid the laces of his shorts in sharp, preoccupied movements and dropped them as well. He turned and took his dressing robe down from the hook where it hung and shrugged into it. Then he ran both hands through his wet, dark hair and tied the belt of his robe about him. He turned back to Tyler. “If I show up now without knowing what Miss Murdock has said, I may very well only make it worse.”

  “I'd say t'is a distinct possibility, milord. If you had been more available. . .”

  “You needn't tell me. I could have arrived and perhaps made some excuse for it being there that would mollify my aunt. As it is, there is no telling what excuse Miss Murdock has made, and if I

  should contradict her, it will make her out to be a liar.”

  “I don't think she'd baldly lie about it, milord,” Tyler observed.

  St. James' gold eyes focused on him. “Quite,” he said sounding a good deal grimmer than he had the moment before. “Mayhaps she has at least been evasive. If my aunt has somehow contrived to get confirmation of her suspicions from Miss Murdock, I fear that she will use it if for no other reason than to further blacken my name and to hell with Miss Murdock.”

  “I fear t'same,” Tyler said. “Otherwise I'd not been ridin' about in t'rain in search of you.”

  “I can not credit I was so careless!” St. James admitted with sudden, savage anger. “I am never careless. And if I am being careless about something like that, what else am I being careless about? Damn it, Tyler, this whole plan is turning into one bloody fiasco.”

  “Be that as it may, milord, but what I want t'know is what did you get wind of t'make you so ready with yer piece today? You were ridin' with one hand free even 'fore you saw me.”

  St. James, who had begun pacing the room with his thoughts, whirled, his robe fluttering about him. “I was being watched today, Tyler. I could feel it from the time I left the Tempton's with Ryan. And I've come to the conclusion that it must be by more than one person, for I could not catch the same face twice! And do you know,” he added, “that my begging off last night was because I had been summoned to Buckingham Palace, and the Queen wished to congratulate me on my upcoming nuptials to Miss Murdock?”

  Tyler's old salt and pepper eyebrows rose a great degree.

  “Yes,” St. James confirmed. “And she offered herself the observation that if she is able to keep track of my activities, others are equally as able. So I do not think I am suffering a sudden case of the nerves. I believe I am just enjoying a heightened awareness.”

  “What's t'cob for, milord?” Tyler asked.

  “Steven, as I said.”

  And as if cued by his name, there was a tap on the door, and Effington escorted that young man in. One glance by the valet at his lordship undressed and in his robe caused Effington to say, “Milord!” But St. James waved a hand at him.

  “You may stay, Tyler,” St. James said as his groom made a motion to leave. “And you also, Effington, for if I am to make it to Almacks at a decent time tonight, you had better start your dreadful ministrations.” Without pause, he turned to Steven. “By the by, Steven, have you still your clothing that you arrived in yesterday?”

  “Aye, m'lord, though I much prefer me new ones I must say.”

  “And so you may keep your new ones. But I have a little job for you to do tonight, and it might be better if you did not look like one of my servants. Are you willing? I doubt if it will be dangerous, but I still must ask you to use caution and a degree of common sense.”

  “Am I to rouse Miss Murdock from her window again tonight?” he asked with eagerness.

  “No, not tonight, you wretched lad, and you should not bandy such information about, although Effington here is the only one that was ignorant of that young lady's name and he, fortunately, is endlessly discreet,” St. James ended, his voice a little mocking.

  Effington gave him a withering look and as his own form of snide retaliation asked, “Was it she who did the slapping, milord?”

  “Just go about your business, Effington, and nevermind,” his lordship retorted. “If you are sure you wish to help, Steven, this is what I wish for you to do.”

  And for the next hour, Effington worked as efficiently as he could at dressing the duke, who could not remain still as he hashed through plans and thoughts,
putting forth different summations and conclusions only to discard them as Tyler, sometimes Steven, and even Effington brought up a differing point of view that either disproved one theory or seemed to point to another. He seemed very much like a war lord, but in fact his only council was a groom who, smelling rather damply of the stables, spat tobacco into the fire, an eager street urchin who seemed more excited than cautious, and a valet who was trying to listen, advise and ready his lordship with growing frustration.

  At the end of this hour, Effington pronounced himself done with a great deal of pride and, frankly, relief. “Ah, you look as they used to speak of you when you were 'the catch of the decade',” he murmured. “Except, of course, for Miss Murdock's palm print upon your face.”

  And St. James was diverted enough by this announcement to ask his valet, “Good God! Do not tell me that old nonsense is what prevailed upon you to come and work for me?”

  “Indeed, milord,” Effington admitted. “It swayed me quite completely, for I knew if anyone were to be able to help you to your former standing, it was I!”

  “And how very disappointed you must have been to find I have no desire whatsoever to reach those lofty and unsought heights again,” St. James observed. But as he stood at the end of his words, the deep wine red of his velvet coat and matching tight knee breeches with wisteria colored silk cravat and stockings, his gold buckled shoes, his dark hair brushed back from his pale brow and tied in a ponytail with a matching wine colored ribbon, seemed to prove his own words wrong.

  But for once, Effington had mercy upon his employer and did not point this out to him.

  Tyler, rather less concerned with any delicate feelings his lordship may have, guffawed without restraint.

  His lordship's gold eyes caressed over him in amused tolerance. “Hush, Tyler. If I am to go to Almacks, I must be willing to put on the required show of a man hopelessly and rather foolishly in love.”

  Steven caught all of their attention by saying with awe in his voice, “Coo! I think you look like t'king of the world, m'lord,” which caused St. James' smile to fade into faintness.

  With sudden brusqueness, he directed Tyler to ready his carriage for the evening while he went below stairs to dine. “You do not wish me to return to the Duchess's home?” Tyler asked.

  “No. For Miss Murdock will be at Almacks tonight at any rate.” The duke picked up his two pistols, handed them to Tyler. “And I need someone I can trust to handle these.”

  Tyler took them without comment, but Effington, who had watched this exchange, said, “I hardly think you will need those at Almacks, milord. T'is not one of your gaming hells, you know,” and he sniffed.

  But his lordship paid him not the slightest heed, only turned to Steven and asked, “And you understand what you are to be about tonight?”

  “Aye, m'lord.”

  “And you'll have a care?”

  “Aye,” Steven answered, his face sober.

  “Very well, then.” He turned to go below, leaving the others to disperse as they would behind him.

  Upon reaching the ground floor of his home, St. James met with Applegate, informed him that he would like his dinner served in his study. “Yes, milord,” Applegate acknowledged. “And may I say you look very fine tonight, milord.”

  “Bah!” St. James answered and he went down the wide hallway to his study, closed the door behind him and went to his desk. There he flipped through the envelopes that he had pawed through earlier. Most of them appeared to be the run-of-the-mill invitations and correspondence. One of these he scrutinized a little more sharply, as the handwriting on it seemed to bespeak of someone mostly uneducated and hence was unusual, and he lay it aside. Then as he reached the bottom of the pile, he found a larger envelope with no postage that indicated it had been brought by messenger. He lifted it and tapped it into the palm of his other hand. Then he set it with the other envelope that had struck his interest at the fore of his desk.

  He went to the sideboard, poured himself a comfortable brandy in a large glass, and then seated himself at his desk, turned the wick up on his reading lamp, took a sip of his drink, and proceeded to open the large envelope first.

  There was a brief cover letter, unsigned, but he had anticipated that. It simply read: Materials as discussed. More to follow. Would be very interested in any thoughts you have. I will have a man call on you in a few days.

  St. James took a deep drink, flipped the cover letter over and began reading hand writing that was as familiar to him as a long forgotten song:

  From the hand of Duke of St. James, William Desmond Larrimer

  At the request of Her Royal Highness, Queen Victoria

  On Behalf of the Crown.

  Subject: China's seizure of East India Company Opium

  Date: November 29, 1839

  And the date was like a slap to St. James' face, for it was a month to the day before his parents had been killed.

  Your Royal Highness,

  I trust that you are in good health.

  I have no final conclusions on the present situation here in China. I will remain here until the week before Christmas to continue my investigation, but thus far this is what I have discovered:

  As you already are aware, our East India Company has been trading opium from India with China, mostly through the Canton sea ports, for manufactured goods and tea, which we then ship to England and trade with other countries. In 1836, the Chinese government banned this trade, designated Opium as an illegal commodity and have been trying to stem any flow of this product into their country.

  This has been a mostly futile effort as I am afraid our traders have quite blatantly disregarded their laws, have bribed the Cantonese officials, and illegal smuggling has been nearly as profitable to them as legal trading had been in previous years, if not more profitable as they are no longer paying tariffs on any of the product they are importing, and no longer paying taxes on any of the products they are exporting.

  In March of this year a new Imperial Commissioner of Canton was appointed, Lin Tse-hsuuml. He has made it his mission to expose and remove the corrupt officials that have made this illegal smuggling so proliferate. He has taken action against Chinese merchants dealing in opium and destroyed all stores of it on land.

  This has led up to the seizure of our English merchant vessels earlier this month, that necessitated my being here at your request.

  I understand of course that there are many other matters on the table to be considered beside this one product, but I am very much afraid after being here for a fortnight, that whether we go to war or not will hinge most decidedly on the opium problem.

  It is the one point of contention that the Chinese will not be swayed on, and unfortunately, as the East India Company relies immensely upon the sale of this product to China, they are quite immovable upon voluntarily withdrawing from the trading of opium with China.

  I well understand their position. They have an obligation to their investors (of which I am one, which I only mention, because in light of my tentative conclusions, which are below, you may find it interesting to know this), and without this lucrative trade, they will go from being a very rich company to a very poor one. Possibly a ruined one.

  I fear the estimates of loss already sustained that have been given you have been misleadingly conservative. I deem it well into millions of £'s.

  Treaty talks are going poorly and I understand, even here, that there are rumors that the Crown will not tolerate this action taken by the Chinese Imperial government for long unless some encouraging progress is made that these matters will be settled reasonably quickly. I fear from my meetings with the diplomats here that this seems unlikely. I trust you have reached the same conclusion from their reports to you.

  At this point, I can well imagine the pressure being brought to bear on you and the Prime Minister from those who have much at stake, as I myself have much at stake. I well understand also, that although the opium is the focal point, that China's action to refuse any
trade at all with our sovereign until there is a treaty in place is putting other commodities at stake also. I am sure it is being pointed out to you quite strongly that if we go to war, we may be able to improve our trading position on these other necessary commodities as well.

  But the fact is, and I offer this to you respectfully, that our previous trading agreements with China were not onerous to our sovereign regarding other commodities, so contrary to what may be being presented to you by others, please keep in mind that their main concern is the loss they are taking on the opium, despite this other argument.

  So what you must ask yourself now, I humbly recommend, is whether you are willing to, in fact, go to war for this single commodity, which is very valuable to be sure, and necessary from a medical standpoint, but which has a grievous paradox to it also, which I have seen firsthand here in China in a way that had never been brought home to me in England, even on the meanest streets of London.

  I shall try very hard to explain my observations in the simplest, most straight-forward manner, but as they are, frankly, perplexing to me, I do not know how well I will achieve my endeavor of relaying my thoughts to you.

  Opium seems to be a scourge on this land. I had noticed first upon my—

  “Your dinner, milord, as you had requested.”

  St. James glanced up from reading, his eyes taking a moment to focus. “Very well, Applegate. Thank you.” He indicated that Apple-gate should place it on a corner of his desk.

  “I knocked, milord, but I fear you did not hear me.”

  “That is quite all right, Applegate.”

  “Anything else, milord?”

  St. James shook his head. “No. Thank you. Wait. Refill my glass and then nothing else.”

 

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