In the Brief Eternal Silence

by Rebecca Melvin

  St. James, for once, could find nothing to say to this, and he only flashed his groom a warning look.

  Steven pointed out, “But I was here, keepin' watch, so he were safe enough.”

  “Indeed, lad,” Tyler encouraged, “and damned lucky of it too, I dare say.” He dismounted and put a large hand on that youth's shoulder, but his next words were aimed again at St. James. “You can be angry with me if you wish, milord, but you're as sick with her as I've ever seen 'em come.” He turned to unfasten a small bag that was tied to his saddle, and he threw it into the curricle to join the one Effington had sent down. “And now's a damned bad time t'be entertainin' an affection for t'young lady.”

  “T'is not your concern, Tyler,” St. James told him, his voice dangerous.

  “Aye. I'll shut up,” the groom agreed. “But you best be aware of it and get control, milord, or t'only letters you'll be reading will be from six feet under, studyin' yer head stone.” And with force he spat tobacco to within an inch of milord's boots and added, “Her's too.”

  “Enough!” St. James told him. “What took you so bloody long? For I expected you to be here before me.”

  “I saw the filly of course. Which I gather now comes as no surprise t'you, but I spent a deal of time tryin' t'determine why Miss's filly should be there and where she was. No one knew, of which I was relieved as well as concerned.”

  “You did not have the ill-conceived notion to set up a hue and cry did you?” St. James asked.

  But Tyler shook his head. “No. Only asked Bedrow, and advised him not t'mention that the horses were there unexpectedly and t'say nothin' of it if someone were t'ask other than that you had sent over two of yours that you suddenly found yourself short of room for. Then,” he continued, “I come to find your grandmother not in residence.”

  “Damn it, Tyler, you can not be serious!”

  “Oh, 'deed, I am, milord. I've never seen anythin' going as badly as this seems t'be. She's gone to Chestershire.”

  St. James pondered this, then said, “Little matters. I should have expected she would do such a thing. And I'd rather she not be in her home here now at any rate. Lady Lydia did not accompany her, did she?”

  “No.”

  “I did not think she would. Did you speak to Andrew then?”

  But Tyler shook his head again. “No, for damned if he has not gone to Chestershire also, and in his carriage of all things, rather than on horseback.”

  And St. James, taken aback, rubbed his lip at this point and admitted, “That surprises me and I do not know what to make of it as of yet.” Then he glanced up, a little bemused. “So how did you get the bloody bag?”

  “Ashton is sympathetic t'our cause. And he'll not say anything t'anyone of it.”

  “Ah. Very good. Steven, has your mother told you where your father is to be buried?”

  “Aye, m'lord. And she asked that I extend her thanks, our thanks t'ye, for she said t'is quite decent of you an' all.”

  “Well, she will be able to thank me in person, however little I may deserve it, for we will wrap this business up and then, Steven, we will be going to your home. That is, if you would be so kind as to invite us?”

  Steven nodded, “Coo, m'lord. Be right honored to have ye. 'N' I'm glad to have time to talk to ye at any rate, for I've a meetin' at Red's Pub t'night.”

  St. James closed his eyes for an instance for he felt if he had one more piece of unexpected news he would crack, and when he opened them again he could do nothing but meet Tyler's eyes over Steven's head, and although he had not had chance to tell Tyler that part of the tale, evidently his own expression was enough to tell the groom that this was a significant announcement, and that St. James was not sure what to make of it.

  “Lord help ye, St. James, but if you don't look as though you just swallow'd a whole cud of chaw. What's in t'works? And where is Miss Murdock?”

  “Miss Murdock is sitting no more than around the corner, I would lief wager, from the very men that would kill her, and Steven here, has managed to make sure that they have been delayed from following her believed movements to Chestershire. And although they may not yet be aware that she is in their midst, they are very much gathered nigh about her. And this could be a very fortuitous circumstance, or a very bad one.” He turned to Steven, told him with earnestness, “We must finish very quickly, lad, and make haste to your home. And you must think of some route to get us there that we will not be seen.”

  “Coo, milord, in broad day? It willn't be easy.”

  “Well, think upon it, shall you, while we take care of this business in here,” and with that, he and Steven at last went through the doors of the undertaking establishment, and Tyler remained with the horses and the conveyance.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “I dearly wish,” Bertie complained, “that we could be away from here now, for despite what you may think, I know that ten to one he will come here if for no other reason than to dress me down.”

  The shanty that he and Miss Murdock were visiting had no panes of glass in the two small windows that looked out onto the narrow street, and so it had not much in the way of privacy, and Lord Tempton, despite the grievance in his tone, kept his voice quiet.

  He was seated at the table that with its two chairs was the sole furniture in the room, and he had pulled from his coat pocket a deck of cards, much to Miss Murdock's amusement, and had been playing solitaire for the past two hours since Steven's departure.

  Miss Murdock, also aware of the open windows, but rather less concerned, as she expected that the noise being made by Mrs. Crockner's other two young children would drown out her words before they could reach beyond the small house, replied from where she sat across from him, “Oh, Bertie, surely not! I am certain he has far too many other matters on his mind to come down here for no other reason than to scold us. And I explained, did I not, that I wrote that we would be going on to Chestershire at night fall? That must have mollified him to some degree.”

  One of Mrs. Crockner's children, the seven year old, was playing with nothing more than a string as he sat on the rough floor before the stove, which he occupied himself with by making differing and complicated designs between his spread fingers. This is naturally a quiet endeavor, but he made up for this deficiency in his entertainment by singing a rather bawdy tune that Miss Murdock was making a valiant effort to not follow the words of too closely. The three year old sat upon her lap and was crying despite her every effort to distract him. She spoke to him now at the end of her words to Lord Tempton, “See the pretty cards? See Uncle Bertie playing with the pretty cards?”

  And Bertie snorted at his new title and only said, “Do you care to wager upon it, Miss Murdock? And by the by, do you perchance play poker?”

  “No, I do not,” she returned. “And I would not expose young children to such even if I did.” Which seemed a rather lame expostulation to direct at him when she considered the song the elder one was singing.

  “Well, I still say we should leave now and take our chances. Only stands to reason that the drunks have to sleep sometime, and the more decent of them should be down on the docks at any rate. Can't see the necessity of waiting until night fall.”

  Lord Tempton, she suspected, was urging an earlier departure in order to escape the noisy children as much as any fear he may have of St. James' displeasure. “I shan't leave at least until Steven is returned,” she reminded him. “For I wish to know if St. James is taking any action to help this family as Lucy had said he offered, for I swear if he knew of their conditions he would not tolerate their being here this long.”

  “You can hardly expect Steven to explain to him all of this, Miss Murdock,” Bertie advised, “for it is something that is unbelievable unless seen for oneself.”

  And Miss Murdock had to concede that he may be right upon that head. She never would have dreamed that any one could live in such squalor and survive. It was no wonder that Lucy looked as though she were fifty when Miss Murdock had gai
ned from her that she was but thirty-nine.

  That exhausted female, after urging from Miss Murdock, had retired to the only other room of the small house, a long narrow space that held one proper bed and two straw filled mattresses upon the floor behind the large stove that acted as fireplace and cooking appliance. The room Miss Murdock and Bertie sat in now was hardly larger, and the light was dim, for although, as noted, there were two windows, the lack of panes in them had induced Steven's mother to cover them with worn canvas, and the only sun that came through was muted. It did have the advantage of keeping out the cold air, and at least a portion of the smell. But the home was still cold and drafty, and Miss Murdock had not even taken off St. James' coat, but remained huddled in it.

  The children seemed warmly enough covered, but their clothing was a hodge podging of layers of too large over too small, and though oft mended, there were many thin, bare spots of material that threatened to be yet another hole.

  The rooms were clean but lacked any adornment or comfort. Miss Murdock had sent Steven for supplies, after procuring funds from Lord Tempton, for there had been no food in the house at all, and she had spent much of her morning with cooking and feeding the grief-stricken household. She was very tired indeed, despite sleeping the day before, but it had been no hardship for her to persuade Lucy to get some much needed rest, as she was exhausted from her excursion to meet with St. James the night before, and Lizzie did not fancy sleeping on any of the beds at any rate.

  Now, she managed to shush the child on her lap and the other's singing petered off to a hum, and Bertie observed, “I am sure St. James shall do something, for I would wager these are company owned houses, and as her husband is no longer alive and hence no longer an employee, then they will be evicted.”

  Miss Murdock looked at him with dismay. “They would throw out a widow and three orphaned children?”

  “I'm not all that familiar with how they operate, but the houses are for the workers, I am sure. It will be none of their concern other than that she no longer has a man working for them.”

  Miss Murdock took a dispirited look around. “I would only say they were doing her a favor except that I am well aware she could not possibly have any place better to go. If St. James is too preoccupied to do anything immediately, Bertie, you shall have to.”

  He winced a little. “Miss Murdock,” he begged, “I am sure I can make some arrangements, but I hope you are not suggesting—?”

  “Indeed I am, Lord Tempton,” she replied. “When we leave, they must come with us, for I can not tolerate the thought that they be here another night, and she worrying of where they are to go when they are unceremoniously tossed out.”

  “But whatever am I to do with them?” Bertie asked with desperation. “Needn't tell you, I did not kill the poor woman's husband.”

  And Miss Murdock flashed him a disapproving look from her brown eyes. “That is a poor way to get out of your obligation, Bertie. For I am certain that St. James had no choice, and the very manner in which Mrs. Crockner is unwilling to bear a grudge against him only proves me right, along with the story that Steven told of how it all came about.”

  “But walking out of here with a woman and two small children? When you know very well how dicey it was last night coming in! It's not seemly they should see what we saw, what you should not have been seeing.”

  “Well, it will be a great deal more unseemly if they are living in the street rather than merely walking through it a final time, will it not?” she asked him. “No, Bertie, they must go and that must be the end of it. At least there should be no luggage. My only concern is what we shall do with them after we have them out of here,” she worried.

  But Bertie left off playing his cards and his eyes, which had remained on his game throughout all this conversation, now glanced up. Miss Murdock watched him, trying to discern what had disturbed him, for other than the boy on her lap babbling, she had heard nothing.

  “Do you smell smoke?” Bertie asked. She stiffened, sniffed. There was a smoky smell to the air.

  “Yes. Yes, I think I do.” She turned to check the stove, but there seemed nothing amiss there. Then she had no further time to wonder for there was a muffled sound of something falling, as though on the roof, and they both looked up. “I don't see anything,” she said with quiet hopefulness.

  “Neither do I,” Bertie said. “But the smell seems to be stronger.”

  There was a snapping sound from nearer the far wall, and as they both looked in that direction, a hot ash floated with whimsy to the floor. Then there was another snap, and another ash, and even as they watched this, they noted with sudden horror that the roof appeared to be burning.

  “Good God! The bloody place is on fire!” Lord Tempton rose from his seat. But even in his urgency, he had the presence of mind to slide his cards into a deck and pocket them.

  “I'll get the children, you wake Mrs. Crockner!” Miss Murdock exclaimed, rising also. She clutched the one child in her arms and hurried to the other in front of the stove.

  “Most improper for me to wake her,” Bertie advised, and Miss Murdock turned to exclaim that this was certainly not a time to worry about decorum, when she saw that his merry eyes were twinkling even as he moved to the back room.

  And she almost laughed, for it was apparent to her that Bertie thoroughly enjoyed whatever scrape he was dragged into. But although they should have plenty of time to leave the shanty without fear for their lives, she was much too nervous to find anything thrilling about their predicament. She took the seven year old by the hand and Bertie returned with a frightened Mrs. Crockner. He nodded to Lizzie and said, “Out the door then,” and taking Mrs. Crockner's arm, and Lizzie behind him with the two children, he pulled the door open.

  There was a sudden sharp thud and a splintering of wood. A report of gunfire came to their ears, and it was very close, and with amazement, they looked at the door, saw the bullet hole drilled through it, and of one accord, they all fell back into the small house, and Bertie slammed the door. “Get down on the floor! Mrs. Crockner, is there another way out?” he asked.

  But she only shook her head. “No, m'lord! An' we're trapped in here 'n' all with me two young babies!”

  Lizzie met Bertie's eyes and she saw that the merriment had left them. The three year old began to cry and the older one said, “Ma, it's burnin', ma! Why canst we go out?”

  Miss Murdock soothed him as best she could. “We'll go out, we just have to wait a minute,” and she looked with helplessness to Bertie but he was already crawling along the floor to a window with his pistol drawn. He rose high enough to peer from it, but as he drew back the canvas to better see, there was another splintering of wood and a loud crack, and he ducked back down with a curse.

  “We shall have to try to break through the back wall,” he explained, but at the rate that the flames were fast consuming the wood the place was made of, Miss Murdock could well understand the sudden doubt in his voice.

  St. James learned from Steven that he knew of no better route to his home than the one he had taken Lord Tempton and Miss Murdock along in the wee hours of that morning. They were in his curricle, St. James driving and Steven up behind where Tyler normally would stand, and Tyler rode astride upon his mount. They were near the pool's neighborhood (as Steven's father had naturally been returning to that area the night of his attempt on milord's life, and hence, the undertaker Tyler had found as handiest was not all that far) with the imposing new London Bridge to be seen over the rooftops ahead of them. St. James scanned his memory of the street Lucy had led him to the night before and asked Steven, “There are the houses to one side of the street and warehouses to the other, are there not?”

  To which Steven nodded affirmative and added an “Aye,” with the realization that St. James from his position in front of him could not see his answer. “T'is between two warehouses that we'll come out into our street. But 'twill be some hundred feet or so from me own doorstep.”

  “You wi
ll have to let me know, Steven, when we are drawing close to this mew, for I did not come in this way last night and am unfamiliar with it.”

  “Last night?” Steven asked.

  “Yes, of course.” St. James gave him an impatient look from his gold eyes. “You do not think that I allowed your mother to go home without any protection, do you?”

  And if Steven had any lingering doubt that he were somehow betraying his father by renewing his friendship with St. James, his lordship's words of concern for his mother erased them.

  “Coo, then you'd best slow now, m'lord. For we'll be but t'length of t'warehouse from t'end of that mew when we next turn up here.”

  St. James slowed the curricle, and Tyler, who had been forced to follow behind because of the narrowness of the side street, did likewise. When they arrived close to the mew that ran at a counterpoint to it, St. James stopped the curricle, said to Steven, “Jump down, lad, and peep about and see if there is any one about, and if there is a door to the warehouse upon this side. Large enough for a curricle to fit through, mind you.”

  Steven did as he was asked, feeling a great deal trusted, and St. James was a little surprised when after just a brief second of glancing down the mew from the corner, the lad drew his head back as though seeing something to alarm him. St. James waited for no further explanation, as Steven seemed bent upon looking again with even more caution, but jumped down from the curricle with a significant look to Tyler, who was trapped behind the curricle and could do nothing but wait at any rate. Then he joined Steven at the corner, and ducking down so that he was pressed against the boy's legs, moved his own head to where he could get a take on the situation.

  He had expected a few children to mayhaps be playing in the mew, as it was afternoon by now, and although cold, it was clear. That in itself would have been a challenge, for they would undoubtedly be moved to some kind of excitement when seeing a curricle driven down an alley that did not see such sights on just any given day. But although such a situation would have been less than perfect, he felt that he still would have enough time to gather Miss Murdock from the house and be off again with her before any one of significance had a chance to investigate what was happening.