In the Brief Eternal Silence

by Rebecca Melvin

  Tyler looked at her, his eyes unreadable, but he only said, “As you say, miss,” causing Effington to shift and fumble for the scissors. Andrew glanced at the groom, but Tyler shook his head at him in warning.

  Miss Murdock did not notice, for she turned to Effington to continue. “That leaves you to clean up the mess on the stairs and anywhere else in the house that there is blood,” she said to Effington.

  “Yes, miss,” that man said without inflection.

  “But first I will need a great deal of clean linens, and fresh water. You may go ahead, if you would please, and fetch those now. I will finish what—what you are currently occupied with.”

  “Yes, miss,” Effington said, dropping his work and giving her an approving glance. “I would be happy to, miss.”

  Miss Murdock moved from his lordship, looking incongruous in the worn, tattered breeches and fashionable, new riding boots, and tucked in, long sleeved night gown. She settled on the arm of the chair Effington had just abandoned and picked up the scissors and bloody jacket. “Andrew,” she continued as Effington left the room. “Don't forget that after you have taken care of—of Steven's father, that you will have to somehow get him out of my bedroom at your grandmother's and bring him back here, I suppose. And then, I am sorry to say, you will need to help Tyler clean the carriage.”

  “And you are not going to be back in your bed in time to avoid detection at this rate,” he told her.

  “And neither are you,” she countered, looking up, and for the first time she saw just how stunned the two remaining men were at all her firmly sure orders, and she blushed. “So we had better come up with some idea to explain why it is we are not there.”

  But Andrew was not happy about this suggestion. “You are going home, Lizzie. Whatever needs to be done, we can handle it. If you are found missing, that will be bad enough! If you are discovered to be here—!”

  “Oh, I do not care!” she cried. “He has done his best to ruin me at any rate and it is not as if I had any notion of actually securing a husband, God forbid. If I am discovered, then I will merely return home, which I was going to do at the end of the week at any rate.”

  “Lizzie—!”

  “There you go, miss,” Tyler interrupted. “You merely need say you got sick of t'duke's antics and have run home. A letter will do the trick. Write it up and t'Earl here can place it in your room when he fetches t'lad.”

  Miss Murdock nodded approval but Andrew rounded on the

  groom. “You are going to encourage her—!”

  “T'wasn't I that brought her here,” Tyler reminded him.

  “Oh, bloody hell! Write the note, Lizzie, and you had better add that I am escorting you, so they will not set up a manhunt for fear you are going by yourself. It'll explain my absence, also, by-the-by.”

  “You see,” Miss Murdock said, her heart thumping a little unevenly. “It is all very simple. Now you had both better go, for we have a great deal to accomplish and only a few hours to do it in.”

  They did go, and she noted that Tyler's face had lightened and was now set with purpose rather than worry. She finished cutting the cloth, fed the last of it into the flames, then, hoping that Effington would knock before entering, stripped off the ridiculous breeches she had been wearing, threw the sleeping costume off over her head, and unrolled the bundle she had brought with her. It was the brown dress she had been wearing when arriving in London, for she had not wanted to crinkle anything just bought for her by rolling it up as she had. As it appeared she was going to get a good deal messy also, she was happy with her choice.

  She was into it in under two seconds, buttoned it, and took a second to examine her feelings of being in her old attire and acting as the old Lizzie would, calm, capable and a little insistent. It felt very good, indeed, for she feared that for the past four days that so much had been happening that she had nearly lost track of who she was. But with the old dress on and her hair quite down (which at that thought, she took a brief second to quickly wrap it into the bun she had always worn, and lacking any pins, tied one of his lordship's hair ribbons around it to hold it in place that she found on his dresser), she felt a great relief.

  Effington did tap lightly on the door, and when she opened it to him, dressed except for her boots, she surmised he must have done it with his foot, for his hands were filled with a fresh basin of water and over his shoulder were as many linens as he must have been able to lay hands on. “Oh, dear,” Miss Murdock said. “Whatever will the housekeeper think tomorrow?”

  “Linens day is not until Monday, miss. We shall have to contrive to replace them by then. Though I am sure she will notice.”

  “Well, it can't be helped,” Miss Murdock replied and took the water from him and carried it to the table by his lordship. Effington closed the door, handed her the linens.

  “Anything else, miss?” he asked. He also had changed into more serviceable clothing and had rolled his sleeves up like a man ready to tackle a difficult job.

  “Just the floors, as I had said. I will help you if I finish in here before you return.”

  He left, and Miss Murdock had to wonder how many times the door could be opened and closed before someone inadvertently banged it in their haste.

  As she was still unable to begin on St. James until Tyler returned, she went to the small secretary in the corner of St. James' room and finding a piece of paper and pen and ink, sat down in the dainty chair and tried to word her letter. It ended sounding blunt and hurried, which she was sorry for, thinking of how upset the Duchess would be, but she simply could not put any more time into it than she had to spare.

  Dearest Lady Lenora,

  I find that upon reflection over your grandson's behavior at Almacks this evening, that I can not bear to be in London knowing what a spectacle I have become. Hence, I am returning home this very night, for I do not wish to argue with you and upset us both more than we both already are (I am sure). Please forgive me. I will explain more adequately as soon as I possibly can.

  Earl Larrimer has kindly offered to escort me. Please do not blame him, for I insisted and he was afraid that if he did not accompany me that I would set out on my own. Which I of a certainty would have.

  I express my most heart felt affection and appreciation for you, and hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me someday.

  Yours sincerely,

  Miss Sara Elizabeth Murdock

  Tyler returned even as she was writing the Dowager's name on the envelope. “You have them then?” she asked.

  “Aye, miss. Everything I could lay me hands on that I thought may be of help,” he said and placed a wicker basket full of supplies on the chair next to the bed.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You are incredible, Tyler,” and to her amazement, he looked a good deal embarrassed. She handed him the letter in its envelope, reminded him to make sure that Andrew took it into the house and left it in her bedroom when he went to get Steven out, and then he was gone leaving Miss Murdock alone with the unconscious duke of St. James.

  She delayed for a deliberate moment, going through the basket Tyler had brought in, taking inventory and pulling out those items she felt she should need, and a few others just in case. She lined up these items on a folded white cloth on a small table that she pulled up to join the one already at the head of the bed that held the fresh water and the lamp, which she turned up to its brightest. She had three different needles and she made a small solution of Borax and water in his lordship's empty (and thanks to Effington, spotlessly clean) shaving cup and soaked the needles in it as she unwound the suture thread and cut it off three different times. Then she pulled the needles out one at a time and secured the thread to each and laid them in line so that she could get to them with the least amount of fuss or effort. She put the open tin of Borax powder beside them. Then, taking a deep breath, she picked up the sharp scissors she had also laid out and turned to the unawares St. James.

  Tyler met with Earl Larrimer in the stables
, his hand going to his breast pocket for his bag of chaw only to come out empty again. “Damn it,” he muttered. Then looking at Andrew, he asked, “Ready?”

  “Yes. I got the horse blankets as you said and disposed of the rug also. No need hauling that around when it can only add to the mess.”

  “Aye. Good thinking, milord. You're learnin' fast.” Tyler climbed up onto the driver's seat, and Earl Larrimer surprised him by joining him. “Sure you don't want to ride below where yer less likely to be seen?”

  “Not until we've finished and get it cleaned out,” Andrew answered with distaste.

  Tyler laughed, backed the horses, which were relieved to be moving after standing for so long. He sobered as he turned the carriage skillfully around until it faced in the proper direction. “I think someone's gonna have to ride below, because near as I can tell, we're gonna have to change the plan slightly and pick up t'lad first. If we wait 'til we get this business finished, may be too late.”

  “I agree,” Andrew said. “I can't like him being alone in Miss Murdock's room. What if he awakes and finds her not there? But I hate to have him with us while we fetch his father's body. Do you think we would have time to bring him back here, first?”

  Tyler considered as he drove, glancing at the low hanging moon. Then he shook his head. “Nay. Might do him some good at any rate to see that his father isn't just going to rot there but is being properly taken care of.” He added in a mutter, “More than he deserved at any rate.”

  Andrew gave him a sharp glance. “It's not quite the way Miss Murdock pieced it together then?”

  “No, milord,” Tyler shook his head, his face grim. “Not at all. And damningly, I have discovered that St. James' pistol has been left behind as well, and that we must locate it also.”

  Andrew, who was well aware that his cousin owned an extremely rare and fine pair of dueling pistols, and that, quite understandably, they were well known, fully understood the implications of this last remark. “Whatever shall Miss Murdock say if she discovers this?” he wondered aloud.

  Tyler nodded. “Know it isn't going to be me to tell her that Steven's father lying dead in the mew is from St. James' hand,” he said with conviction. “Neither do I think his lordship will be pleased to learn that his would be assassin is getting a proper burial courtesy of milord's pocketbook!”

  “Is Steven aware of how his father died?” Andrew asked, troubled.

  “Aye. T'lad was there,” Tyler answered. “And you can see what a great mess this all is!” As they were now a small distance from his lordship's home, Tyler laid the reins on the horses' backs, and they moved out into a fast, long reaching trot as they headed for the Dowager Duchess' home in the surrounding night.

  At this pace, they reached the Dowager's residence in short time, and Tyler was soon slowing the horses down to approach the house more quietly. He and Andrew each scanned the windows but found no indication of anyone being up or about, at least not until they turned the corner into the mew, and then Miss Murdock's light was on in her room. But as Andrew expected that she had forgotten to blow it out, dangerous, but understandable in the circumstances, he was not alarmed by it.

  Tyler stopped the horses as soon as the back of the carriage was out of sight from the street, and Andrew jumped down. “I'll move as quickly as I can manage,” he told the groom in a hushed voice, and then he was running to the front of the house, where the door should still be unlocked, but if it were not, he had the proper keys as it was not unusual for him to be out late at night.

  As Tyler kept the restless horses, who no doubt had had about enough for one night, calm, he noted that Miss Murdock's window was still open also. He hoped Andrew would think to close it. He took a brief second to reflect that when St. James had been here just twenty-four hours ago, they could not have fathomed how quickly everything was to change for the worse.

  Then Andrew's dark head was hanging out the window, drawing his attention once again. “He's not here!” he hissed down.

  Tyler had the sudden gut feeling that everything had just turned a good deal more worse than he had first thought. “Mayhaps we'll find him in the mew, with his father,” he returned. Then added, “We haven't time at any rate, the moon is falling and dawn can't be far!”

  Andrew nodded in understanding and his head moved back inside the window, which, to Tyler's relief, he remembered to close. Then the lamp was extinguished, leaving that window black, and Tyler backed the horses and the carriage out of the mew and onto the street, facing in the direction that would take them toward the Thames and the mew.

  Earl Larrimer came out of the house a brief second later and wasted no time in joining the groom. “I can't like it,” he said with vehemence.

  “Did you leave t'letter?” Tyler asked.

  “Yes, damn it. I did. But this business with, what is his name, Steven? I can't like it.”

  “If he's gone, he's gone,” Tyler said, trying to calm his own uneasy feelings. “We haven't time to spare searching for him and we daren't wake the house doing so at any rate. He's probably gone home to his mother.”

  But Andrew said, “Without any breeches on?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Her hand stilled upon the white cloth of his bandage and the scissors in her other hand dropped to her side. He was vulnerable, and she had not ever thought to see him like that. His eyelids were closed, and the fluctuating emotions of his gold eyes were hidden from her. That sharp, dancing contradiction in them that bespoke of endlessly seeking thoughts, like twin candle flames that flickered and burned and gorged themselves on the very wax that kept them alive, until they burned the wax completely down and gutted out, a victim of their own brightness.

  It was not the thoughts she should be thinking. A moment ago, she had been ready to embark on her task, but that was before her hand had fallen on his bandaged chest, and her eyes had roamed enough to notice the puckering of scars in his pale skin. It was not the first time he had been injured. It was not the first time he had been vulnerable.

  She wondered if he had always survived on nothing but the rough ministrations of a crusty old groom whose methods dated back to Waterloo. And she shuddered.

  Who was she to think that her attempts would be any better? And she bowed her head and fought back a sudden urge to shed tears.

  There was nothing for it but to press on. In the pressing on, she was aware that everything she had fought against had come about on its own accord anyway. Had she not foreseen just this situation? Had she not dreaded loving him, and watching him die?

  Oh, yes, she did love him, and she acknowledged this to herself as she stood with one hand upon his shallowly breathing, bandaged chest and her head bent in tears. Foolish and impossible as it was to love someone in the space of four days. Four days? If she would be honest with herself, she had loved him that first night when he had been so drunk that he walked her hallway with his shoulder propped against the wall, and stopped and turned and given her that crooked grin that made her stomach do a sudden lurch and her own smile freeze foolishly on her face.

  Lizzie the caregiver, the rational part of her mind admonished her. And my, haven't you picked a project for yourself this time.

  But she had tried to retreat from his needs! Had tried to explain that the picture he presented of her entertaining herself with all his money while he fought a struggle for his life and his future was not how it would be, could be, with her. She could not have stopped herself from caring for him any more than she could have passed by a bird with an injured wing, and the only sanctuary for her would have been to purposefully take a different path. A path where she could not see his needs, or his hurt.

  But of course, he had not understood this. Or, if she were to be honest, and by God, she was being honest right now, wasn't she? Was fairly slapping herself in the face with the truth. If she were to be honest, she had never boldly explained it to him, had shrank from it, a complete coward.

  Milord, the simple truth is that if I com
e with you, you will break my heart. Either you will die, and I will have to witness it, or you will prevail and suffer through a marriage with me that you would have never desired under normal circumstances and that you will regret for the remainder of your life. So, you see, your plan is really quite impossible.

  And he had been so full of dismayed wonder at her using the word sacrifice!

  She was becoming angry now, but at least with anger, she could do what had to be done. It steadied her. She swiped at the salty tears in her eyes, brought up the scissors and began snipping through the bandages.

  The very sound of the scissors cutting through the threads of the linen made her calm. It was a sound she had heard often, and she began to have that feeling of confidence that she was able to do something and to do it well, and if it were an uncommon talent and one no where near ladylike, her penchant for healing, she still took a great deal of satisfaction in it.

  She pulled gently on the fabric, took a sponge and squeezed water beneath it where it was pasted to him by drying blood. Her anger and her distress were rushed away in a wave of concentration. From habit, she began to speak, of nothing and everything, for she was too used to having to soothe a frightened animal as she worked.

  Her voice took on that quality she had used when Leaf had been in the fence, a sort of soft teasing that it should be in such a mess that reassured by its light tone that someone with more sense could and would get it out.

  Do you know that Tyler and I decided you should be Lord Habitual Ill-Humor, Dante? Indeed, we agreed upon it quite totally.