In the Brief Eternal Silence

by Rebecca Melvin

  “I do not know that at all,” he persisted, a little petulant.

  “Oh, do not be upset, for I was having such a lovely time before this,” she begged. “It is only that I care very much for you as things are and I do not wish to change them and have everything end in a great deal of unpleasantness.”

  “Ah,” he said, brightening, “you have forgotten that I intend to be the epitome of respectability to redeem the Larrimer name that my cousin has so inadvertently besmirched, not that I blame him in any way. So do not get it in your head that I am merely dallying with you.”

  Miss Murdock, with rashness, but with no other inspiration at hand to soothe him and at the same time discourage his behavior, told him, “I did not think you would, Andrew. It is rather myself that I am afraid of, for I fear you quite turned my head, and I do not wish to take advantage of what I am sure are honorable intentions, only to hurt you in the end. For although I find your company very exhilarating, I can not foresee my heart becoming involved and it would not do for me to pretend more than a passion for you in order to only gain my own ends.”

  “Lizzie,” he said quite a bit shocked. “Are you saying you are dangerously close to considering a liaison with me?”

  “It would be indelicate of me to confirm that, Andrew,” she said with a great deal of primness.

  “Of course,” he said with wonder, then pressed, “But I fail to see how you could consider that particular situation and not consider, well, a more honorable solution?”

  “I fear that my very attraction to you makes me afraid of considering anything so drastic! For how am I to know that I am not being blinded by a fleeting feeling of ardor that may unexpectedly pass, as it may for you?” she added gently. “Then each of us would be left with regrets. I beg that you do not repeat your behavior, for I may be tempted to take the low road rather than the high, and then where would I be?”

  “You are so right, Lizzie,” Andrew said, his voice contrite. “Whatever was I thinking to put such temptation before you?”

  “Indeed, I forgive you,” Miss Murdock said. “As long as you are aware that you are putting my mortal soul in danger of toppling to the depths of self-indulgence by your actions and you must promise to never so entice me again.”

  “Certainly I will promise!” Andrew said with conviction. “And as usual you are showing your good common sense, for if you are to reach a point where you may wish to consider my suit, then it must be because of those gentler emotions and not from the wildness of your nearly uncontrollable desires.”

  Miss Murdock, trying not to show how very amused she was at his self-gratifying statement, only said, “I am glad you understand me so completely.”

  There was a brief understanding look between them, and then they were interrupted by Andrew's mother saying, “Oh, there you both are! It is nearly time to leave for Almacks, you know.”

  Lizzie, reminded of the evening before her, lost all her feelings of satisfaction that she had managed to put off Andrew from any amorous actions toward her while also boosting his feelings of manly prowess rather than doing them some grievous harm, turned to Lady Lydia with a pasty smile plastered to her lips and said, “Oh, yes, of course.”

  Lady Lydia gave her such a warm smile that it nearly dazzled her with its brilliance. “You look lovely, tonight, Miss Murdock. I could not ask for a more rewarding young lady to launch. I think you will make some happy suitor's mother feel very lucky to have you some day as her daughter-in-law,” she said, her face bright.

  And Miss Murdock wondered just how long Lady Lydia had been standing in the door, after all.

  Almacks was a crush when they arrived at ten o'clock. It was the first assembly of the Big Season, that social period when most members of the peerage take up residence in London to spend the winter months, with only a break to return to their country estates at Christmas time for a brief few weeks. And although the Season would continue when everyone again returned to London, by then the weather would have worsened, and with Christmas over, everyone would be a little weary of the endless socializing and so after Christmas, it was no longer considered the Big Season, but merely the Season. Then of course, there was the Little Season, in summer, but as those of importance would spend their summer enjoying their country estates, it was of not much consequence. Although there were those who could not tolerate being so long in the country, viewing it as boring rather than relaxing, and they in turn returned to London early and so the Little Season had its place also. But everyone agreed that nothing matched the Big Season.

  The Larrimer party made their way into the assembly room, which Miss Murdock, upon taking in her surroundings, found rather disappointing. It was as large and open as a barn, and had not much in the way of adornment. She soon realized that the adornments were left to the guests to provide, for the amount of jewelry, and the luxuriant range of colors of silk and velvet and lace were breathtaking against the plain backdrop of their setting.

  Andrew escorted them through the crush, all of his cheerful attention taken up with making sure the Dowager Duchess on his arm was not tripped up by the pushing and jostling of the high-heeled crowd. She seemed to be enjoying herself, nodding to the left and to the right to old acquaintances of hers, who, from what Miss Murdock could tell, seemed somewhat surprised by her attendance. She and Lady Lydia followed behind the Duchess and Andrew, and she was in positive dread that she would somehow be separated from them and would be left among this tight throng of people on her own.

  The faces about her were laughing and smiling, some had not seen each other since the Season of last year apparently, and there was much catching up to do, and yet, it seemed to Lizzie, they were always glancing about, and as their bright eyes chanced to settle on one of the debutantes to be launched this season, there would be a quick fluttering of fans over their faces as they identified each and passed on any on dits they may know.

  If this were not intimidating enough, there were the men, presumably many of which were 'hanging out for a wife'. They barely spoke to each other at all, but stood in little groups in their elegant clothing as though they were at a polo match, and it appeared that any conversation they had was only asides as they pointed out something (or in this case, someone) of interest to them. Although there were many that were young and handsome (and many that were young and mayhaps not so handsome), there were a good many that, to Miss Murdock's surprise, appeared rather old. As she was trying to puzzle out why men apparently well past this stage of their lives should still be so avidly ‘scanning the market', so to speak, Lady Lydia whispered enlightenment in her ear.

  “Widowers, Miss Murdock. And I beg you, do not dismiss them out of hand for being old, as they are quite well set in the pocket, if you know what I mean.”

  Miss Murdock, distracted by one of this set of men raising a quizzing glass to study her (which, to her immense relief, he dropped a disappointed second later), returned to Lady Lydia that she would certainly bear this in mind.

  “Do,” Lady Lydia encouraged her, and slanted a beguiling smile upon the discussed gaggle of hopefuls, and Miss Murdock remembered that of course, Lady Lydia's husband, St. James' uncle, had died nearly a year ago. Lady Lydia would be out of mourning very soon.

  Andrew at last found a path for them toward one of the walls where there were lined many chairs and a few settees, and luckily, he found one of the latter and settled the Duchess down upon it. Lady Lydia dived upon the other cushion of it, complaining bitterly but happily that her new shoes were killing her feet. Miss Murdock, who had observed that Lady Lydia was not only fond of squeezing herself into stays that were too tight, but she also seemed fond of squeezing her feet into shoes that were too small, made a commiserate sound in her throat. Feeling conspicuous, as she was the only one of their party standing (Andrew had abandoned them, saying something of getting them all refreshment from the tables, but as she could see that he had only gone a few feet before being waylaid by first male friends and then interested, flirt
atious females, it was doubtful that they would see him again for some time) she turned and settled herself in awkward, and, yes, dowdy position on the arm of the settee. It was not as good as sitting properly, but as she was not very tall at any rate, it gave her the satisfaction of feeling somewhat hidden behind the wall of people before her that seemed to fill the room in a solid mass from end to end and side to side. However there would be room to dance when the music started, Miss Murdock had no idea.

  “It is a frightful crush!” the Dowager Duchess just beside and a little below her said. “I can not remember ever seeing it so crowded. And look there, Lydia. Is that not Bertram Tempton?”

  Lady Lydia squinted through the moving crowd. “Why, yes. Yes, it is,” she agreed, a little amazed. “I always believed him to be one of those who was devoted to Whites rather than to Almacks.”

  “Indeed, yes,” the Dowager returned.

  Miss Murdock leaned in a little to ask, “Whites?” for she had recognized Lord Tempton also and it was rather nice to know someone in the crowd other than whom she had come with.

  “Gaming Hell,” the Duchess explained.

  Miss Murdock digested this, then perplexed by another question, asked, “But if he does not ever come to Almacks either, why was he not denied vouchers as St. James has been?”

  The Duchess looked at her a little surprised. “Whoever told you that St. James had been denied vouchers?”

  “My maid,” Miss Murdock said with a guilty flush, for she was certain there must be some protocol about gossiping with the servants, or at least admitting to gossiping with the servants.

  The duchess harrumphed and gave her a stern look, but she did answer her question. “No scandals laid at Bertram's door, my child. And I am sure they have searched quite diligently for some wrongdoing on his part, but although he always seems to be on the scene whenever St. James is up to one of his tricks, it is always generally agreed that it would have been much worse had Tempton not been there.”

  “Oh,” Miss Murdock said.

  “They would dearly love to deny him vouchers also, I am sure,” the Duchess continued. “But they can not, for then it would obviously be because they felt snubbed. And never would it do for them to admit that anyone dares to snub them.”

  Lady Lydia said in a thoughtful voice, “Most odd that he should be here.” She paused a moment, glancing around the room. “Now that I am noticing, there are a great deal of faces here that I would have never expected to see. It seems as though Whites must be suffering an extreme lack of attendance tonight. And Boodles, also, I daresay.”

  “Boodles?” Miss Murdock asked.

  “Another Gaming Hell,” the Duchess replied. “You are right, Lydia. For there is Marquis Engleson. And over there is Viscount Brookline.”

  Lady Lydia pointed out several other discoveries and Miss Murdock looked around trying to catch glimpses of those being nodded at in rapid succession. She saw that a great many others in the crowd of what she could only suppose were the 'regulars' were chatting with animation amongst themselves and seemed to be nodding to one person and another and exclaiming also.

  “Do you suppose,” Lady Lydia asked, “that there is an incomparable to be launched tonight?”

  “I could not say, of course, Lydia,” the Duchess returned with impatience, “but it seems obvious that rumor of someone's being here tonight has lured a great many more people than would come otherwise.”

  “Well, it must be an exceptionally beautiful debutante,” Lady Lydia insisted, “for so many of the jaded set to show up.”

  “Oh, I do not know,” the Duchess disagreed, “for I saw the same thing happen nearly thirty years ago when Earl Abormaril was pursuing his future wife. He had been a rake until well into his forties, and when he was at last taken with a young lass half his age, the betting at Whites as to whether she could reel him in was stupendous.” As an afterthought, she added, “So I was told at any rate.”

  Miss Murdock, with the sudden insight that in all probability, the Duchess had someone placing her money down for her at that establishment, gave a small chuckle. “And did you win, ma'am?” she asked when the Duchess looked at her.

  The Duchess grinned. “Oh, yes. You may be certain of that. But it was quite an entertaining affair, at any rate, and as so many of the jaded set had money riding on the outcome, they showed up at the functions just as they are tonight to decide for themselves the odds.” She added a little musingly, “I never thought I would see such a ridiculous Season repeated, for it was most outlandish.”

  “Well, if it is happening again, I can only say that I shall be just a little bit sorry not to see it,” Miss Murdock said with honesty, for she was finding it quite enjoyable to sit and be an onlooker at this great throng of boisterous people and hearing what the Duchess and Lady Lydia were making of it all.

  Then Andrew was back, and as he had balanced two small cups in one hand and a third in the other, it was evident that he had been about procuring them all refreshment despite how it may have looked to the contrary. “You will never guess the rumor I have heard, nor credit it, I dare say!” he exclaimed without preamble as he handed out the cups, but before he could go on there was a sudden disturbance in the assembly room, starting, it appeared, at the entrance, and he turned (as did, it seemed, everyone else present) to observe this, and never did enlighten them as to the rumor he had heard.

  Miss Murdock heard a sudden growing whisper run through the

  crowd, jumping impossible distances so that those in the back of the room appeared to hear before those in the middle. It encompassed everyone in just a brief few seconds, and those who had not heard it began to see for themselves what the whispering was about, until they too said it with amazed anticipation. Disjointed words and phrases came to Lizzie’s ears: Impossible. . . Virtually barred, I had heard. . . And Egads! his face. . . They say he. . . That can not be what I think it is. . . Really, I had not heard. . . Slapped. . . The nerve to show up looking like that. . . Is she here tonight. . . Scandalous. . . They will have no choice but to bar him now. . . No one decent. . . Can you credit it. . . Well, I certainly shan't let my daughter dance with him. . . Ruinous. . . Such a shame he is the way he is for his worth, you know. . . Waste. . . Once 'the catch of the decade', now look at him. . . Obscene. . . Even he should know. . . Simply unacceptable. . .

  Miss Murdock heard these rustlings about her in an ever increasing wave. She saw the crowd break back as someone, who was not overly tall, strode through them. There was a great deal of back clapping of this gentleman, and as though all had been waiting for something to begin some great, and somehow not quite decent, revelry, the crowd took on a new element that was a little frightening.

  To her dismay, there seemed to be a sudden turning of heads, a searching throughout the large expanse of the ball room, and then first one set of eyes found the Duchess and then settled upon Miss Murdock. And then another set of eyes, and then another, and then there were whisperings of there. . . there. . . that must be she. . . Nonsense. . . Can't be. . . But all the same a path opened like magic between herself and he who had strode through the door and had charged the room, and even before the last few people fell back, she knew with dread in her heart that it would be St. James.

  And she sat like a dowd on the arm of the settee, her punch tipping precariously in its cup, feeling her world fall from beneath her feet.

  Andrew popped in front of her, his face a comical (if she had been in the proper frame of mind to appreciate it) mask of disconcertedness and he said, “Lizzie. . .?” and then even he fell back, and as she was certain that his retreat was motivated by the look on her own face, it caused her some alarm for she could not even guess what expression she must be displaying.

  Then she saw St. James. The path that had opened for him was narrow, and it closed in behind him as he passed. It changed some, a little to the left, then a little to the right, as someone would be jostled out by those who were shoving to see from behind, but it never
closed. And the fact that he was barely taller than most of the women, and certainly shorter than most of the men, made it all seem a joke, like a court jester snagging the crown of a King and wearing it for His Highness's entertainment, swaggering and ridiculous.

  But St. James did not swagger and he was not ridiculous. If anything, he seemed to find the crowd and its actions ridiculous, as if the jester was suddenly revealed as true royalty, and the crowd as so many imposters. But perhaps only Miss Murdock, and the Duchess surely, were able to read that snapping, mocking disdain in his eyes as he walked toward them.

  Miss Murdock, despite her complete feeling of being floored by an unseen, unexpected blow had a brief small thought run through her mind. Something has changed. Oh, Lord. Something has changed. And then she had no more time for any thoughts for her attention was caught by the bright red, swollen palm print on his cheek, and her own cheeks began to burn as though in sympathy.

  He reached them, his coiled tenseness covered in resplendent red velvet with Wisteria lace at sleeves and neck, and stockings of the same color. His gold eyes dwelt with intentness on Miss Murdock and she made some effort to school her features, cool them, remembered Andrew's description of her being 'dewy fresh' and had to bite her lip to keep from letting loose with a nervous laugh that she was sure in the sudden hush of the room would have come out sounding brayingly hysterical.

  Everyone quieted, waiting for the action that would stamp the tone of the rest of the evening (and very possibly the remainder of the Season). If St. James did something outrageous, if etiquette was breached any further than it already had been by his merely striding in with that mark upon his face that branded him for all to see that although he was a lord, he was surely no gentleman, then it would seem that the very foundation of Almacks would be rocked and toppled and all decorum lost. Mayhaps, some of them were eager to be released from those constraints.

  St. James tore his eyes from Miss Murdock, shifted, bent down, kissed his grandmother on her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered.