Folded beneath it was a lacy chemise, clean stockings and garters, a bustle (as a crinoline was not appropriate for a riding habit), a split slip and to her consternation, stays. “Oh, good heavens,” she said to herself, “and whoever did Effington think was going to tie them?” And with the realization of who would probably be most happy to do that task for her, she hurried and took the pile of clothing into the sitting room, returned to pour water from the pitcher and into the basin, located his lordship's soap and towel, and then retreated once again through the connecting door and closed it with firmness behind her.
She disrobed, bathed as best she could in the cold water (which was quite a shock from the pleasant hip baths she had enjoyed at the Dowager's but since she was returning home at any rate, she may as well get used to it again) and dressed. Then she returned to his lordship's warmer bedchamber, found her riding boots she had worn the night before stowed in the bottom of the wardrobe with a mass array of St. James' boots, and put those on as well. The stays she had of course left out of her ensemble and for lack of anything better to do with them, stuffed them into one of St. James' drawers. The clothing she had taken off she wrapped in a pillow case from off his bed, which she trusted that Effington could replace. She put this and her mint green cloak in the wardrobe where they would be out of sight but where Effington would find them if she by chance forgot to tell him they were there before she departed. Then she brushed out her hair, knotted it into its normal bun and secured it with another ribbon from the handy supply on milord's dresser and at last dared to look at herself in the mirror.
Her eyes were more solemn than what they normally were and the black silk of her habit made her appear as if she were in mourning. She did have to admit that Effington had sized her with incredible accuracy, for the clothing was a perfect fit and she had to wonder where he had procured the items she wore, for they looked as if they could be new. And as she was unusually short and her shape accordingly slighter, it could not have been easy to stumble across something that was as though tailored for her.
Her face was rather washed out, as though all of the night-time activity she had been involved in since meeting St. James had managed to fade her sun-browned skin, but other than that and a slight puffiness under her eyes from all the crying she had done that day, she did not look too terrible and even dared to admit that in fact, she looked rather handsome in a modest way.
She was surprised out of this minute self-examination by the clock striking the hour, and as she counted the tolls, she turned with incredulity when it reached eight and continued to chime nine, and fastened her eyes on the face of it just in time to see that it read ten of the clock and the tenth hour was struck also as though to alleviate any doubt in her mind. “Oh, it can not be that late!” she worried to herself. “Or is it still morning? Oh, I am so confused!” And she went to the window, where the drapes remained drawn, and pulling them back saw that it was night, and still sullenly raining.
She wondered where St. James was, was very much afraid that without her to stop him, he had gone out into that cold and rainy night with his wounds far from healed and his strength far from back, to meet whoever had written the letters asking for a meeting at some odd hour of the night and requesting that he come alone.
But he could not be so stupid as to go alone? Surely if it were this late already, Tyler and Andrew were back and they would have found Steven, so they could have gone with him. Or Bertie. Or maybe, but more doubtful, Effington. But surely, he did not really go alone?
As if in answer to her questions, there was a light, perfunctory tap on the door, and then as whoever it was did not seem to be expecting that she were awake or even in the room, it opened. And she turned in time to catch Effington's surprised expression at seeing that she was, indeed, awake and present. He closed the door before either of them spoke. “You found your dinner, Miss, and your clothing, I am glad to see,” and he did look pleased.
“Yes. Thank you, Effington. Where ever did you obtain such a fine habit on so short of notice?” Then she could have bitten off her tongue, for she was not all that certain she really wished to know.
But his words relieved her of the sudden thought that St. James, being St. James, perhaps had an endless supply of women's clothing tucked away in some odd corner of the house for just these occasions. “I took the liberty of looking at your clothing bills in milord's study that were to be sent on to his barrister for payment,” Effington explained with some pride at his own resourcefulness. “Then I merely went to the same shop that you had patroned and had a word with the shopkeeper. It took a bit of delicacy, but I managed it with my usual discretion and as she seemed to remember you quite fondly, she was very happy to be of assistance to you. I, of course, suggested the silk, for although his lordship suggested dark (and I very much thought black would be far better than brown for you, don't you agree?), I could see no reason why it could not be flamboyantly dark and she agreed quite readily with me, which shows she has impeccable taste.
“As she already had your measurements and a good deal of notes on what should suit you, and as she was assured that every expeditiousy on her part would of course be amply rewarded, it turned out to be not at all difficult,” he finished and his somber face radiated self-satisfaction.
Miss Murdock, wondering what embellishments he must have dreamed up to convince Dora of the Mystique Boutique that there was nothing at all odd with a young Miss needing not only a riding habit on short notice, but the accompanying intimate apparel, only said, “You are uncommonly canny, Effington! Has Tyler and Andrew returned with Steven?”
His face lost its smugness and his voice turned grave, “Earl Larrimer and Tyler have returned, Miss, but they were unable to locate the lad.”
“Oh, that is terrible, Effington! And I am sure they are feeling very disheartened after searching for so very long. Were they able to discover anything at all?”
But he shook his head, dashing her slim hopes. “Nothing, Miss. And they are indeed very concerned. As is his lordship.”
“Of course, he would be,” Miss Murdock agreed, her words faint. Then with a fragile flush, she asked, “And his lordship? Is he. . .?”
“He's gone, Miss,” Effington told her with sympathy.
And she turned from him so that he would not see the expression on her face.
“I imagine he did not. . . delay. . . for he had to attain a certain. . . mind set for his night's activities. . . and I am sure he did not wish for you to see him in that manner.” He hesitated before adding in a low voice, “And I fear he can not afford the distraction tonight.”
“Did he go alone?” she asked, and turned so that she looked at him over one half-defensive, half-vulnerable shoulder, but her eyes were very steady, if somewhat solemn.
“To my knowledge, yes, Miss.”
“Damnation!” she said, sounding as bad as Effington's employer. “Why did he not take Tyler or Andrew? Or Bertie even, though Lord knows he would be, I fear, of poor help.”
And if Effington were a bit taken aback by her sudden vehemence, he made no indication of it, only said, “They are quite done in, Miss, and he would not expect them to be in such a. . . such a situation when they were not fully capable of defending themselves, if that unlikely need were to arise.”
“But it is fine for him to go out there in less than a capable condition!” she exclaimed with wrath. “Oh, I do not mean to bluster at you, Effington, for I well know no one can do anything to stop him. It is just so blasted senseless of him. But Bertie?”
“Lord Tempton will be up shortly to escort you out Miss, for St. James expressly told him that he was not to delay beyond midnight, but that he wanted to be assured that you were safely away by that hour at the latest.”
And Miss Murdock's reply was bitter. “In case he is shot again, or even killed.”
Effington, damningly, did not contradict her.
It was only half an hour before Bertie came in to the room. As most of the house
hold had retired, there was not much worry of their being seen as long as they were quiet in their departure, which rather relieved Lizzie's mind, for she had half feared she would be expected to make some awkward escape from the bedchamber window. Effington, understandably even for his preciseness, had forgotten to procure her a dark colored cloak, but he remedied this by taking one of St. James' coats and draping it about her small shoulders. And if it were somewhat heavy, it was also snug, and smelled of him, which comforted her.
She said her goodbyes to Effington, who touched her very much by telling her he would look forward to the happy day when she would be the lady of the house, and if they both had their doubts that it would ever come about, neither dared express them.
Then Bertie offered her his arm, and though he may seem for the most part rather ineffectual, he did display now an underlying core of steady nerves, and she found herself counting on him a great deal, when before she was afraid that she would have to be the strong one. And although she had experience with that role, on this night, knowing that St. James may even now be confronting his nemesis, she was just as happy to be weak.
They didn't speak until they had left the house, and then she only made a small exclamation to see the fine, coal black filly she had admired the night before side-saddled in readiness for her.
Bertie whispered, “St. James bade me to tell you she is yours, Miss Murdock, whatever comes out of all of this, for he expressly purchased her for you yesterday. He says he knows she's no Gold Leaf, but he hopes that she will do adequately until such time as you are at Morningside and are able to be reunited with your horse.”
“Oh, she will do splendidly,” Miss Murdock breathed. “And he should not have been worried about a mount for me when he has so many other matters on his mind.”
“Well, that is St. James, Miss Murdock. Forever unpredictable,” he told her, and if he sounded a little off-hand, his next words showed her that he was not nearly as flighty as she had first assumed that he was. “And as I can see from the look on your face that you are predicting that he will come to harm tonight, just remember that he will surely come out unscathed just to be contrary.”
And she gave a sudden laugh, finding a degree of comfort in his words that she had been unable to produce for herself. “Is that how you bear it, Bertie?”
“But, of course!” he laughed with her. “However, there is a rather nasty flip side to that coin.”
“Meaning that when you least expect there to be trouble with him, that is when you need to be the most on your guard?”
“Alas. But for tonight we shall not dwell on that little unpleasantness,” and his blue eyes twinkled at her in the darkness of the courtyard between house and stables. “If you are ready to mount, Miss Murdock?” and he threw her into the saddle and mounted his own horse with less difficulty than she would have guessed from the size of his girth.
The filly danced beneath her, and she had her hands full for a moment in controlling her mount, but somehow, that natural activity, and the fresh coldness of the damp air after the previous rain helped to clear her mind. Or perhaps it had been Bertie's words, also. But whatever the reason, she now felt as though she had spent the last hour sleepwalking for her mind had been so numb, but now she began to feel quite calm and purposeful.
Bertie, unaware of any change in Miss Murdock's bearing, started out, and she allowed him to keep them to a walk until they left the mew along side the house and also a short distance down the main street. But then as he turned them down a side street, she only continued until they were out of sight of the main road, and then brought her horse to an abrupt stop.
Bertie, with some surprise, halted his horse and looked back at her. “Is something amiss, Miss Murdock?” he asked.
And she had to bite back a grin, for she could see that he was looking pained already, as though he had not expected the task set for him to be so easy and was not all that surprised when it now seemed that it may not be. “It is just that we are going in the wrong direction, you know,” she told him.
He frowned at her with annoyance. “No, no, Miss Murdock, I assure you, it may not be the same way we arrived, but we are headed for the North Road and Chestershire.”
“Indeed, I am aware of that,” Miss Murdock agreed, “but it is not at all the direction I wish to go in.”
He turned his horse and came back so that they were facing each other on their mounts. “Now, Miss Murdock, you are trying to get me into a great deal of trouble, I can see! Now, mind, St. James told me he had settled all with you, and I have even already visited the paper's office so that the banns shall be in tomorrow. And although I know that you are not happy about any of this, I assure you, that he really does have your best interests at heart—”
“Of course he does,” she agreed, and Lord Tempton looked a little bewildered at this ready admission, when he had seen for himself her complete reluctance earlier that afternoon. “But although I agreed to the banns being posted, I really do not recall expressly agreeing to returning to my home. Now, we are headed in the wrong direction, so we must turn our horses back, at this point, and onto the main road. And if you wish to avoid the main road, then we must take a side street headed not northeast, but south and west.”
And he gaped at her, but as she only remained calm, he resorted to a rather pitiful pleading. “Now, Miss Murdock,” he whined, “you can not be suggesting that I take you to where his meeting is taking place?”
And Miss Murdock had the sudden insight that if this were where she wished to go, she could in fact induce him to take her, despite his fear of displeasing St. James, and his own common sense on the lack of this being in any way recommendable. This amused her a great deal, and rather than hold it against him, it merely made her understand why St. James put such a high value on Bertie's friendship, for there was nothing, in fact, that he would not do when asked of him, even if he felt it most unadvisable. And she felt sympathy for him as well, for she could only imagine the many scrapes that St. James had led him with reluctance into.
But that was not what she had in mind at all. “No,” she said, her voice decisive. “For if we did not manage to muck up whatever plans he has made, and perhaps get him killed in the bargain, he would murder both of us, I am sure. And although I have come to understand that he allows me a great deal of leeway, even I should not care to push him to that degree.”
Bertie looked somewhat relieved at these words. “Well, thank God, Miss Murdock, that you are indeed going to be sensible upon that point! Now if you will only see your way clear to understand that we must—”
But she interrupted him with a little laugh. “Indeed, not, Bertie! For if I am sensible enough to see that my presence is unwanted and unneeded for his activities tonight, I am also sensible enough to see that there is absolutely nothing I can do from Chestershire to aid him, whereas if I am here, there is at least one thing I can see to, or hope, at any rate, to see to. And that is finding Steven.”
Bertie gave an emphatic shake of his head. “That is hardly better, Miss Murdock! For if you think St. James will take a charitable view of my allowing you to wander the streets of London at night, then you are quite mistaken!”
“I am hoping that will not be necessary, and if you would but bear with me for one moment, I shall endeavor to explain.”
And Bertie, with a great sigh of resignation, said, “I am sure you shall, Miss Murdock.”
At about the same time as Bertie was fast losing his battle to Miss Murdock, St. James was but a half mile from them riding not south and west as Miss Murdock wished to go, but south and east, toward the heart of London. His horse was walking, and he was taking a route of side streets and mews, and he was quite alone as Miss Murdock had feared.
Contrarily, St. James found a good deal of satisfaction in this circumstance, and relief. Having company on a night such as this when his business was nefarious would have been nothing but a distraction and a nuisance. His greatest nightmare was not of his own dea
th, but the loss of a friend on his behalf. And it had frittered through his mind on more than one occasion that in some sort of chaotic misfortune, he may end by killing someone there to help him by mistake.
No. It had been no great hardship for him to decline offers of assistance that night. And although Tyler had taken the desistance of his help without complaint but with a great deal of disapproval, Andrew on the other hand had been more inclined to argue, and St. James had been forced to be blunt in saying that tired as Andrew was he would be of no use to him, and more than likely, a hindrance, perhaps even a peril.
Andrew had at last accepted this argument, but with a quantity of cursing that he should have wasted his energies looking for a messenger boy who by all appearances did not wish to be found at any rate, when he would have been of more use to St. James that evening if he had but conserved his energy. St. James had told him with sharpness that as he had shot that boy's father the night before, he felt rather responsible for him, and hence the searching had been as necessary, in fact to his mind, more necessary, than having his cousin acting as a nanny for him.
“And do not forget, Andrew, that I have managed up to this point without your well-meaning assistance, and you will forgive me if I am confident that I can manage tonight without it also. I have a rather more daunting task for you on the morrow at any rate.”
Andrew had been rather intrigued at this notion. “Indeed? Only tell me what it is you wish me to do, St. James, for you must know by now that I am your man!”
“You will need to convince your rather misguided mother that you have not eloped with Miss Murdock.”
And as Andrew had been a good deal shocked by this statement, St. James proceeded to explain Lady Lydia's assumption and the problems that it would produce. The first consequence of which was Ryan's well-meaning but ill-advised flight after the presumed eloping couple who had in fact, never left London.
In the Brief Eternal Silence Page 40