In the Brief Eternal Silence

by Rebecca Melvin

  “That bein'?” Tyler asked. He mounted and leaned from the saddle.

  “They were told before hand that there would be three occupants riding in the coach that night.”

  Tyler looked at him in momentary incomprehension, then his face tightened and his eyes became very hard. “No one t'would have known that, milord, except for someone inside Morningside.”

  St. James nodded, said with a cold twist to his mouth, “You are so right, Tyler. For if it had been someone outside the household, they could not have anticipated anything but my father traveling alone, as he was expected to be traveling lightly and quickly and through the night. Only someone at Morningside could have known that my mother would not be put off and was returning with him and that they were taking their son as well.”

  “Do you know who—?”

  “I have a very good idea.” St. James stepped back from the horse. “If you return before I, wait for me. I will be taking the curricle and going for a brief visit to my barrister's, for there is something else I need to investigate and if it is as I suspect, then it is the final nail in the coffin. All I need figure out then is how to go about it, and damn it, there are all sorts of complications upon that head.” And his frown was deep and dark. Tyler held in his mount and with concern watched him, and St. James finished by saying, “And all sorts of complications upon what to do with Miss Murdock.” He raised his eyes with sudden savageness and added, “for I fear that she is no longer an innocent bystander in this and that she will be a target as well.”

  Tyler nodded, said with sudden grave understanding, “The hanky's what did it then?”

  “Yes. One damned, careless mistake on my part, and it has turned all of this totally upside down. I have no need to tell you, Tyler, that I had planned to elope with her immediately and secretly, get her with child if God had been willing and then hide all of this circumstance by launching her and courting her. In that manner she would have been perfectly safe. If I had died, I'd still have an heir and both of them would have lived very comfortably indeed with her in control of my estates. At the same time, I would have been putting pressure on who I wished to put pressure upon without any fear of endangering her, for they would have thought her no more than my betrothed.”

  “I'd figured that was what went on in your mind,” Tyler said.

  “Now,” St. James said with an embittered, tight smile, “I fear that I have not married her, and that my little indiscretion with her that night in the carriage will lead someone to believe that possibly God may have blessed us at any rate. And I ask you, Tyler, if you were to stand to gain by my death, would you leave her alive long enough for me to marry her and make a possibly coming babe a legitimate heir?”

  “Yer dealin' with someone who has gone to great lengths already,” Tyler agreed. “Much easier to be rid of t'one afore t'marriage an take no chances, than to wait 'til after and it be born and then need to be rid of two!”

  And St. James said with uncompromising fury in his voice, “After all, my mother was with child at the time of her death. So I should say the precedent is there.” He stepped back from the side of Tyler's mount. “Go,” he said. “We waste time.”

  Tyler put his heels to his horse and trotted from the stables. St. James turned and bellowed into the depths of the stables. “Groom!” A younger one came half-running from far down the aisle. St. James moved toward him. He stopped outside the two stalls that held his bays, told the undergroom, “I'll be needing my curricle, lad, without delay. Get someone to help you, for if I am not out of this stables in five minutes, I shall flay you and your co-hort.”

  “Aye, m'lord,” the younger groom tugged his cap and was off running again. And as he had not been employed there long, but had oft heard tales of the duke's foul and frightening temper, he could now quite believe it.

  It was not a very great deal of time later that St. James strode into C. Edmund Bickerstaff's office.

  “Milord Duke,” the Barrister rose in surprise from behind his desk.

  “And good morning to you, Charles,” St. James returned. “No, thank you, I shan't take up more than ten minutes of your time,” he added as Bickerstaff motioned for him to take a seat.

  “I knew it,” the Barrister replied a little piqued. “You now wish me to reverse everything that I have changed in regards to your will.”

  And St. James was diverted enough from his problems to give a thin smile. “Not in the least, Charles. So put your mind at ease. You have completed all of that, have you not?”

  “Only needs that certificate of marriage, milord.”

  “I will get it to you if I have to crawl the length of England on my hands and knees,” St. James told him and if he noticed the sudden surprised and somewhat gleeful lift of the Barrister's eyebrows to imagine any man, let alone the infamously immoral Duke of St. James, going to such lengths to secure a female's hand in marriage, St. James only ignored it. “What I need from you now, Charles, rather promptly, is to know what holdings are in my uncle's estate.”

  And Charles frowned, for to have someone show such blatant interest in what they stood to inherit upon the death of another was frightfully crass.

  But St. James only ignored this look also, and prompted him by saying, “I would think you would have a listing of his assets along with his will, would you not?”

  “Yes. Of course. Standard procedure.”

  “Then simply look, man,” St. James bade. “As I said, I will not tie you up for more than ten minutes. East India Company holdings is what I am interested in, if that should help.”

  Barrister Bickerstaff, understanding, of course, that St. James' reference to not tying him up for more than ten minutes was in fact an advisory that it had better not take him longer than ten minutes to find the required information, only said with disapproval, “I shall endeavor to see what I can find, milord. Please have a seat and I will have it momentarily.”

  And St. James gave a maddening smile and said, “I shall remain standing, thank you.”

  Bickerstaff moved to where he kept the further documents dealing with Mortimer Larrimer's will and began digging through the protracted amount of paperwork that listed properties, jewelry, personal assets, trusts, etc, etc, until he reached a five page long listing of holdings on the Exchange.

  St. James had indeed remained standing, and had disconcertingly begun to pace, rubbing his upper lip with one finger, when the Barrister was no more than a minute into his search, and the Barrister may be forgiven if he felt that the duke were breathing down his neck in impatience. He was on the third page of the holdings before he was able to say with triumph, “Yes. Here, milord. A thirty percent share in the company,” and despite himself he sounded a little awed.

  St. James stilled, and somehow his stillness was more disturbing to the Barrister than his pacing. And then he turned and when his gold eyes fixed upon the old man, the Barrister backed up a pace from where he had been standing beside the cabinet.

  “Do you have a date,” St. James asked with lethal quiet, “as to when those stocks were obtained?”

  And Bickerstaff glanced down at the paperwork to show that he was very certain, and said, “No, milord. They do not have the date of obtainment, only the holdings upon his death.”

  St. James, frustrated, began pacing again. “Damn it! I shall have to go to my uncle's solicitor and I can not waste the bloody time!”

  Bickerstaff cleared his throat. “If you don't mind me observing, milord,” and St. James fixed his attention back upon him with a speed that nearly made him stutter his next words, “but East India Company Stocks have rarely been traded since the end of the war with China. They are far too valuable, you know. I would hazard to guess that for your uncle to have had such a large share that he would have had to have purchased them before the war, when they were being sold quite indiscriminately and, indeed, cheaply.”

  St. James gave him a profound look of understanding and Bicker-staff, thus emboldened, added, “And I do not k
now if this makes any difference to you, milord, but I notice that this holding is listed on the sheet that contains those assets that were brought into the marriage by your aunt.”

  St. James threw him off stride then by dropping into the seat that he had before refused, and placing one elegant hand over his pale face. Bickerstaff observed this odd behavior for the full minute that it lasted. Then St. James removed his hand, and his face was calm and immobile, his lids half drawn in secretive revelation, and he only said, “Thank you, Charles,” and rose and walked from that bewildered man's office. At the door he stopped, turned, added one last note, “About my cousin's inheritance. You may direct that upon the instance of my marriage to Miss Murdock and it comes into my control, that it be immediately released to him. I see no reason to wait until he is older, or until he is married. And I,” and his words were bruising in their contemptuousness, “have no use for it.”

  Then he was gone, and Bickerstaff numbly wrote this direction into his notes, the Duke's behavior beyond all comprehension to him.

  St. James mounted his curricle and sat upon the high seat for only a brief second before turning the horses about. His mind was very full, but even as he wished to do nothing so much as to find somewhere to pace and think in quiet, he knew that he could not take the time to delay and ponder his discoveries now.

  His eyes searched out around him, as much in a searching of Steven (for it had been here that he had first met the lad, and could that really be but three days ago?) as much as to be aware of anyone following or threatening.

  The urgency he had felt upon awaking had intensified, and he decided now that as the undertaker of Steven's father was not far, and that Lucy Crockner and Tyler may even now be meeting, that he would go in that direction rather than back to his own home to possibly cool his heels while waiting for his groom to appear.

  The address of the undertaker was not a savory one. But as people in better neighborhood's did not normally die anonymously and have need of their body being stored anywhere but the parlors of their own homes, it was not surprising. Tyler had merely found the nearest one, and so it was but a short distance from the mean streets of the waterfront of the Thames.

  St. James found the proper number, and the building itself was but a long, low-slung, crumbling brick that held the dampness and even had he not known of what went on within its walls, it would have reminded St. James of decay.

  Then a cheeky voice was saying from at the head of his horses, “Hold yer horses, m'lord, for tuppence,” and St. James brought his attention from the building and down to the somber eyed lad below him. There was an attempt at a smile across his dirty face, but St. James could see that it was very strained, and that he was quite unsure of himself and of the welcome, or lack of it, he was afraid he would receive.

  And St. James, with eyes glowing, replied, “And I'll give you a crown if you run a message for me.” He swung down from the curricle and turned to catch Steven by the shoulder. “Thank God you are well, lad, for I have been eaten alive with what may have become of you.”

  Steven swallowed under the intensity of St. James gaze. “I'm sorry,” he managed to choke out, but he did not shame himself by crying as he had with Miss Murdock. “'Been a right confusin' time for me, m'lord.”

  “I very well know it,” St. James returned. “It was your mother that found you then?”

  Steven shook his head. “No, m'lord, but Miss Murdock, and she were good 'nough to help me face me mother, for I don't know which I was more shamed to see, you or her.”

  St. James' fingers tightened on the lad's shoulder. “Miss Murdock!” he asked. “How can that be, Steven, when as of only twelve hours ago, she was set out for Chestershire?”

  “Nay, m'lord. She and Lord Tempton waited at the Dowager's home for me, for Miss Murdock, she said she was made sure I would return, and 'deed I did, just as she s'pected. She said she weren't going t'let me down 'gain, for she felt most sore bad leavin' me there by meself t'other night. But, course, I know she had t'go t'you for you were in a bad way. An' I'm glad she did, for I didn't wish t'see you die, milord, e'en if I did 'bandon you when you most needed me.”

  “Hush,” St. James told him with mock sharpness. “For you were but a lad, and now I think you are fast becoming a man, so it is your actions now that I shall judge you on and not your actions of before.”

  And Steven swelled with sudden pride, and St. James knew that he had been desperate for reassurance that he had not done badly. Indeed, St. James believed he had done very well, for somehow he had managed to work through all the complicated circumstances and arrive at some conclusion that allowed him to forgive the duke even after the duke killed his father. And he did not seem shamed either by his father's actions, as though understanding that his father had made a very fatal mistake, but that Steven were alive to learn from it at any rate.

  He had worked all of this out for himself in his thirteen year old mind, had matured to a great degree over night, and now, had come to St. James in renewed friendship.

  So despite St. James' great concern for Miss Murdock, he could not deny the boy his words of respect, but he did go on to ask just on their heels, “And where, by-the-by, is Miss Murdock now, Steven?”

  “At me house,” Steven said with some pride. “For she was not afeared at all to go there in the wee hours of this morning, and all to make sure that me mother should understand that t'was not me fault that me father died.”

  St. James took his hand from the boy's shoulder, for he was afraid that he would clutch him to the degree that the lad would be bruised to the bone. He fought the stream of obscenities that threatened to come from his mouth at their rash stupidity. He wanted to travel at once to Steven's home (and God knows he knew exactly the situation of that home, as he had just seen it the night before) and murder Bertie for taking her there. And God help Bertie if that man had not stayed with her. And, finally, he thought he would throttle his serene Lizzie until she for once would think of herself instead of everyone but herself.

  He struggled for a full minute with his rage, turning to the side and adjusting an harness strap so that Steven could not be aware of how furious he was with all of them. When he could control his voice and his emotions, he only said, “Well, at least you have saved me a trip to Chestershire, lad, and I know where she is, at any rate. Now, let us settle with this man in here. I take it your mother is not coming and that she sent you in her place?”

  “Aye, m'lord. She thought you may be happy to see me, and Miss Murdock, she was sure of it.” And Steven looked guilty of being remiss, and added, “Oh, coo, Miss Murdock sent ye a note also, that I was to give to you!”

  Steven pulled a note from what appeared to be a very fine pair of breeches rather worse the wear now from a ruthless shearing of cuffs and a dirty rope about their middle. Not to mention they were now extremely in need of a wash.

  St. James unfolded it and as he read it, he could almost hear that soothing, teasing quality of Lizzie's voice as she had spoken to him when he had been in much pain and very weak from loss of blood and she had been endeavoring to stitch him back together again.

  Milord St. James—Dante,

  I know you will be angry to find that we did not go directly to my home as you had wished. And I apologize most heartily. I am only glad to say that my venture proved successful and that Steven is well and accounted for, as I am sure you are very, very relieved to see for yourself.

  Bertie and I will be setting off this evening as soon as it is dark enough for us to once again move about hopefully undetected. And do not come down upon him too hard, Dante, for I quite insisted, and I have found that dear quality in him that I dare say you admire him for, which is that he is perfectly pliable even when he is most heartily over-whelmed with misgivings. No wonder you have managed to drag him, protesting all the while, I am sure, through so many of your scrapes.

  And I have found him to be quite steady of nerve when the occasion demands it, so was most happily surpris
ed and appreciative. But I should have known you would have no use for someone totally ineffectual, and that his comical helplessness is but a great masquerade to protect him from more people taking advantage of him as I so shamelessly did last night.

  And do not blame Steven, either, for I was most happy to assist him, and not only for his sake but for mine, for I learned from Steven and Mrs. Crockner that it had been she you met with last night, and thus you were quite safe. For I was worried to the point of obsession and would not have rested easy in Chestershire at any rate.

  I know of course, that you are far from finished, and far from leaving it be. I will be content to be where you wish me to be now that I have taken care of this distraction, so do not feel compelled to come and upbraid me now, for I am sure you will do an adequate job upon our next meeting.

  Know all that I dare not say. Not even to myself.

  Lizzie.

  And he stood for a long moment, letting her voice wash through him, and wondered how she could think he could read such a letter and not rush to her side? That even if he did not fear for her safety, he would have dropped everything he was about and gone to her and once again drew her into his arms and kissed her until her silly, sensible ideas all melted into nothing but so much soft caring that she could hold even the harsh, unyielding vengeance that flowed in him and soothe it into serene acceptance.

  With a sudden despair, he wadded the letter and went to dash it to the ground. But he could not, could not throw those words away, any more than he had been able to leave their announced nuptials to be tossed with the paper. And so he only shoved the letter into his pocket and realized that he had not noticed as he had been reading that Tyler had arrived.

  It pointed out damningly the completeness of his distraction.

  Tyler, with brutality, said, “Aye, milord, and I could have shot you and you would have not known you were dead 'til you reached t'end of your letter.”