In the Brief Eternal Silence

by Rebecca Melvin

  Then Dante turned once again, scanning behind them, and he secured his pistols, leaned up against her back and his hands came around her to take the reins. “I think that has done it for now,” he said, “and perhaps we should get off this stage before any one further recognizes us. I am afraid, Miss Murdock, that your reputation will be quite ruined after this little escapade.”

  “Oh, it no longer even matters,” she exclaimed, close to tears as he directed them down another mew and they left the raucous cries for fish and fruit behind. “I assume that we are just supposed to die in a respectable manner rather than do what is necessary to save our own lives!”

  “Why yes, Miss Murdock,” he replied with dry amusement. “You understand precisely.” And then he pressed his lips to the back of her neck that he found through her half undone hair before adding, “But do not fret too much, for this is all going to be finished very shortly.”

  And rather than filling her with relief, his words only made her all the more frightened.

  “You know then?” she asked over the drum of the horse's hooves. His arms tightened about her as he reined down yet another street, followed it for a short distance and threaded into another mew that was taking them north and east.

  “Yes,” he told her. “I have been a great fool, and I have put you in danger because of my foolishness, and the only thing that keeps me from turning this horse back now and taking care of the two knaves in pursuit of us is the fact that you are with me.”

  “So you are taking me to Chestershire after all,” she perceived.

  And he hesitated, filling her with even more unease before saying, “Yes. After a brief but necessary trip to Gretna Green, my dear.”

  And she stiffened and flushed with sudden anger, nearly as much anger as she had felt when he had pointed a gun at a seven year old in order to gain his way with her, and she could only say, “Damn you, Dante! Damn you!”

  But he said nothing to regain her trust, and she realized that perhaps there was nothing he could say to regain her trust. And his silent admissions were damning.

  The longer the silence stretched between them, the more irrevocable it seemed his actions were. Her thoughts shut down, and for hours she was only aware of the horse moving beneath her, slowed to a trot and laboring now, and of St. James' hard body pressed up against her back; the strength in his elegant, pale hands as they controlled their mount, and the arms that were wrapped about her. His breath enveloped her hair and her neck, and every so often, as though he could not stop himself, he leaned his head against hers and smelled her hair, or whispered his lips along the lobe of her ear.

  And she fought the tears that threatened to come from her eyes, first in frustration and anger and then as she realized that they had in fact left London well behind and were traveling the North road, and that he had, if not relaxed, at least seemed to have lost some of that dreadful, tightly wound tautness, she cried in hopelessness.

  And instead of upbraiding her for crying when they may still be in danger and he could not afford the distraction, he only said, “Go ahead, Lizzie, for I know you have held off as long as you could.” He directed the horse into a deserted lane off from the main road and after following it for a small ways he dismounted from behind her and pulled her down into his arms. She buried her face into the tight steel of his chest and sought comfort from the very person that made her in need of comforting.

  But she only allowed herself that gruesome weakness for a bare moment, and then she rejected him.

  “Oh, no, Dante,” she told him through her tears as she pushed back from him. “Do not think that I will allow you to maneuver me in that manner any longer. For you use the very love I have for you as a weapon against myself, and love should not be that way.”

  And his face closed to her in his hurt as it had not for a long time (but she had only known him for five days so how long could it really be? Half of eternity, maybe. And how does one halve eternity?) and his eyes shuttered down to heavy half masts, and he turned from her. And she realized that they had traveled much further than she had thought for most of the day had gone, and it was in fact that bloody sky time of dusk when the day died and the darkness enveloped it.

  His profile was bathed in this dimming, winter, crimson light, and now that his eyes were from beneath her scrutiny, he raised his lids to watch the sunset, and they glistened very gold in the soft bath of that day's death, and she had a sudden certainty that he would not be alive to see another ending of a day, and that he was watching his last twilight.

  To the very core of her being, she did not know whether to be mad with anticipated grief, or to be turned loose with bittersweet relief. And she only felt a numbness that she could not shake off, as though with his coming death, she could already feel herself dying. She wavered there as she watched him. Wavered between going to him and sacrificing herself to the full long pain and the full short bliss that he offered her, or of cutting him off from her in a last desperate bid of saving what she had left of herself, before he encompassed her so completely that she would never remember who she had been without him.

  But at that moment he turned to her, the full, steady divineness of his gold eyes beaconing out to her and he gave a small, twisted, bitter smile, and said with quiet finality, “But, Miss Murdock, you promised to marry me.”

  Thus the sacrifice was made, not by her but by him.

  But she would not understand this for a time. She only understood at that moment that she hated him.

  “I beg that you release me from that promise made, sir, as it was made under duress,” she told him, and how many minutes had passed since his reminding of her, she did not know, only knew that they stood in the lane and the sun was quite gone and there was only a dim lingering of its spirit to the west of them and that the air had grown colder.

  “No,” he said without reasoning or arguing or any sign of being moved. He did not even take affront at her using the word duress as though he had beat her into submission rather than poured his heart out to her. He only added, “I expect Bertie or Tyler to be along before too very much longer with fresh horses, if they are thinking at the speed of which I think they are capable. I will not tolerate any desertion on your part, Miss Murdock, when those mounts arrive.”

  And Miss Murdock let out a small, cold laugh. “Indeed, you need have no worry on that head. Your only worry, milord, is in how you shall react when you at last put me in front of a minister in Scotland and he asks if 'I do' and there is only a great, damning silence for answer.”

  But he would not be provoked into arguing.

  “Stand warned,” she told him. “For I will not change my mind.”

  But he still said nothing, and his silence frightened her and she drew the coat she wore (his coat) about her more tightly over the now rumpled silk of her riding habit that he had purchased for her.

  And he at last acknowledged her words only by taking her own words from the day before and misquoting them, “I have tried to point out to you, Miss Murdock, that if you see fit to become involved with me, then you will suffer the consequences of your involvement.” Then he added ever so softly to the end of them his own words, “As do I.”

  He turned and loosened the girth on the saddle and removed the bit from his horse's mouth, and she was given to understand that such was his faith in Tyler and Bertie, that they would move no further that night until one or the other of them arrived.

  As he saw her standing there, looking forlorn, he removed the saddle, tossed it to the ground, and pulled the saddle pad from the horse also and threw it on the ground a few feet from her. “Sit, Lizzie, if you do not mind a sweaty saddle pad, for it may be some time and it is better than sitting directly on the cold ground.”

  And she did sit, not minding in the least a sweaty saddle pad, but very much comforting herself in the warm odor of horse that came from it. But he did not sit, nor did he pace, he only walked a small ways toward the road, leaned against the trunk of an ancient tree, an
d with his back to her waited for the arrival of one or the other or both of his trusted friends.

  “You do not think,” she asked as a way to distract herself, “that we will not be overtaken by those—those men?”

  “No,” he said, and turned to look at her in the darkness. “For they will have in all probability gone to my home expecting us to run there in some foolish belief that we would be safe. But if they are willing to shoot at me from outside Almacks, they will not hesitate upon shooting at us at my own home.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  “But I do not expect it to take them long to perceive where we are headed. Or for them to be turned in that direction by someone who will certainly anticipate it upon hearing that you were not in Chestershire but apparently with me all along.”

  “Oh,” she said again. Then almost against her will, “You are very certain who has been behind all of this, then?”

  “Yes. As certain as I can be without having a smoking gun in their hand.”

  “Will you tell me—tell me who it is?”

  And he smiled with gentleness down upon her from across the small space that separated them. The horse had begun grazing and the only sound was its teeth ripping off the grass and the murmurings of the night about them. “No, Lizzie.”

  Being unable to help herself, she asked, “You would have shot Steven's father at any rate, would you not have?”

  His answer was almost calm. “Yes.”

  “Even knowing it was his father?”

  The briefest of hesitations, and then, “Yes.”

  By rights, she should have left it go at that, for he gave no indication that she should pursue it or that he was holding anything back, but she persisted. “If you knew of him then what you know now, would you have still shot him?”

  And he rubbed his upper lip for a time before answering her. He came to where she sat and knelt and met her solemn brown eyes with his gold ones and told her, “No, Lizzie, I would not have, but that is much like asking Lucifer if he would have still reached for heaven if he had known then what he knows now. Some actions can not be made better on retrospect. Don't look for any righteousness in me, for there simply is none.”

  “But you are honest,” she countered, desperate.

  And he gave a soft laugh. “Yes, Lizzie. For only someone ashamed of their actions will seek to cover them with lies. Does that not tell you something?”

  She closed her eyes, hiding from him. “And Steven's brother?” she choked. “Would you have shot him and the others?”

  “Do not ask me questions that I can not answer, Lizzie, as I have reminded you before.”

  But at least he had not answered her a flat yes. Nor no.

  He took her hand then and raised it to his lips. “Let me just say that there is only one pure thing I have ever done, and that is to love you. And the very presumptuousness of my loving you, I am afraid, has made it impure. Do you understand, Lizzie?”

  But she shook her head, and opened her eyes to look at him. “It didn't have to be like this,” she said. “For I—” but she could not go on, could only lean into his ready arms and hold him with desperation. And he gathered her into him, opening his great coat and wrapping it about her and hiding her within it, within him, and as she wept, his gold eyes did not close but remained open and aware of all that went on about him, and of the pain that was inside of him.

  But he did not kiss her, even after her crying subsided and she snuggled down within his coat against him like some furtive and insidious restorative in his blood. For he was afraid that if he kissed her she would go from half hating him as she did, to loving him beyond recall and he would not do that to her. For it was perhaps better in the hours that came that she did hate him, for he could not do what had to be done if he feared that his death would destroy her. And if he lived, she was as like to abhor him by the time he was finished at any rate.

  So they sat in that manner for what could have been hours or could have been only minutes, and then he heard his horse's head lift, and it nickered, and there was a soft answering nicker from the lane, and he moved his hand and revealed the pistol that had lain in his grasp all along.

  But it was only Bertie, looking tired and out of sorts and with two fresh mounts in tow behind him.

  He pulled up a few feet from where St. James sat upon the ground with Miss Murdock huddled in his arms. “Thought I'd find you here,” Bertie said.

  “Thought you would come,” St. James returned. Miss Murdock pulled her head from where she had been half dozing curled against his chest. With his old teasing note, he asked her, “If you are quite rested now, my dear?”

  She blushed to be caught in such a position by Lord Tempton, but only moved to get up, and he opened his coat and she slid from him, and he rose and helped her to rise also. He asked Bertie, “Tyler?”

  “He's taking the Crockner's to his cottage at Morningside for the time being. He'll swing around from there and come across at Chestershire and follow you to Gretna Green,” Bertie replied and dismounted. “Miss Murdock, I am happy to see you came out unscathed.”

  “And you also, Bertie,” she replied with enough normalcy to her voice to surprise herself. “Everyone is unharmed then?”

  “Yes. For St. James was correct and when they saw their targets fleeing, they turned all of their attention to you and our getting out was an insignificant matter to them at that point. I fear much of that entire street will burn before they are able to extinguish the fire.”

  “The rogue tied in the warehouse?” St. James asked.

  Bertie shook his head. “Tyler saw to him. He knew nothing you did not already know and he will no longer be a worry.”

  “I did not think he would,” St. James replied, “but the one that has hired them, this Red, we will need him alive, for although I am certain who is behind this, I would prefer to have someone that may be able to confirm my deductions.”

  Miss Murdock was looking pained, for she had no idea of any man in any warehouse, and she could only conclude from Bertie's words that he had met a similar fate as Steven's father, and she began to feel like a conspirator to murder rather than mere fliers from harm.

  St. James asked, “Any sign of being followed?”

  “Can't say for certain, St. James. I went as circumspectly as I could and saw no one, but there is no telling. I wouldn't tarry long here, at any rate.”

  “I do not intend to. Are you riding on with us?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then we will set off now, and should reach the border by tomorrow afternoon.”

  Miss Murdock saw fit to interrupt at this point. “We shall reach Chestershire by early morning, milord.”

  “Stubborn lass! You should know, Miss Murdock, that I cannot accommodate your reluctance any longer.”

  “You shall have to, milord,” she returned, “for I have come to discover that your stitches have been ripped open, and although I will tolerate you going without treatment for another few hours, I will not tolerate you going without treatment longer.”

  He pondered this, then said, “I do not think it will matter much in the final outcome, Miss Murdock.”

  But Bertie reminded him, “Tyler will be swinging past there at any rate, St. James. You may as well allow Miss Murdock to stitch you once again and then set out when we have an extra person to help with any difficulty along the way. And although I know very well that you can go without sleep like some manner of vampire, I, and I am certain, Miss Murdock, can not.”

  And St. James gave a twisted smile of amusement at this reminder. “You are right, of course, Bertie, for I can not have Miss Murdock falling asleep on me on the wedding night.”

  “Oh, do shut up, St. James!” she told him, irritated that he could still make her blush hotly with only a careless sentence.

  St. James turned to her and snugged her coat closer about her. “Are we ready then, Miss Murdock?” he asked, and although she was given to understand that he was only asking if she were
ready to mount and set off, she had the sudden feeling that by answering to the affirmative, she was answering some other question in his mind.

  “Oh, botheration,” she said. “Fighting you is like fighting a maelstrom.”

  And he gave her an amused look at her abrupt exasperation with him. “But, Miss Murdock, you are winning,” he told her in glib response, “for I have not had a drink this entire day.” He took her arm, led her over to her mount, which turned out to be the black filly that she and Lord Tempton had left at the Dowager's the night before, and she noted that Lord Tempton's mount was his own horse of the night before also.

  “Oh, that is good!” she exclaimed. “For I have been waiting for five days now to catch you when you were completely sober, so that I may adequately voice my grievances!”

  And he threw her up onto her horse and grinned up at her. “Then by all means, Lizzie. Tell me your concerns and I will endeavor to come up with a solution that you may live with.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Saturday Morning

  She awoke in the dark for no real reason, that she could discern, other than that at her age one does not sleep well. The room was unfamiliar and that came as a shock, for she had not slept in any rooms but the townhouse in London and Morningside in Lincolnshire for well over the past quarter century. And of course, one inn in between, but even they always had a particular room reserved for her, and it seemed almost a part of home now at any rate.

  And she sighed in the early morning hour as she remembered that she was in Chestershire, at the home of Squire Murdock (a Squire, God help her) and that Miss Murdock had not been there as she was supposed to be.

  And she had her concerns. Oh, indeed, she had her concerns.

  The Dowager Duchess lay in her bed, with her faded eyes staring into the dark and her frail hands holding the coverlet up close beneath her chin, like a small child who thinks it has seen a ghost, or a very old woman facing demons in the night.