In the Brief Eternal Silence

by Rebecca Melvin

  What was her grandson about? And surely he meant that child no harm. Did he? But where was Miss Murdock?

  Everything she had encountered since arriving had unsettled her to the core.

  She had arrived at noon as she had spent the night in an inn and her traveling had been slow. Mrs. Herriot, her own housekeeper from Morningside, had been there to greet her, and that had come as a great surprise. And that lady had seemed nearly frantic and a great deal relieved to see the Dowager. The housekeeper spoke in disjointed sentences of a drunken Squire and the unexpected arrival of Ryan Tempton the night before, who had, most regretfully, begun drinking with the Squire upon arising that morning. And that they were both even now in the parlor drinking without compunction.

  And although Mrs. Herriot did not say so specifically, the Duchess was given to understand that there was a great deal of dire and foreboding talk about her grandson and his intentions, or lack of them, toward Miss Murdock. “But now that you are here,” Mrs. Her-riot had beamed, “I am sure that you will be able to tell the Squire exactly where his daughter is, for neither of them seem to know, and reassure him that of course your grandson means to marry her.”

  And so the Dowager had been apprised of the mood of the house and the fact that Miss Murdock, of whom she was responsible for, was not where she was supposed to be, upon the very moment that she had been helped from her coach. And she had leaned on her cane and the forebodings had washed over her in heavy waves. She could not believe that Dante had intended this circumstance. It was too damning. Something had gone wrong.

  But she grasped tighter the gold handle of her cane, allowed Mrs. Herriot to assist her up the steps and into the house, and so forewarned, prepared herself to defend her grandson until such time that he could give adequate enlightenment to every one on what was happening.

  And defend him she had been forced to do. For Squire Murdock was of the mind that the repairs and the generous allowance he was receiving was a buy off for him to cause no trouble. And young Ryan Tempton was of the opinion that St. James had induced Andrew to elope with Miss Murdock, just as Lady Lydia had told him, so that the duke would not be forced to live up to his responsibility.

  “Do not be ridiculous, Squire,” she had told that man with tartness at his accusation. “For I would certainly not be here if I thought that your daughter were merely one of his lightskirts! And as for you, young Ryan Tempton, you should not be such a boob as to believe any thing my daughter-in-law has to say.”

  And so she bullied them into a semblance of patience, for she did not doubt that St. James would send word or that Miss Murdock would appear, and that there would be adequate explanation.

  But then Andrew had shown up that evening.

  Oddly enough, he had ridden in his carriage. His double team of horses were blown, and his driver and footman were tired, but none looked as bad as he upon alighting. And when he found that Miss Murdock was not in residence, he looked a good deal worse. And as it had been Andrew that had left with Miss Murdock the night of her disappearance, and even he had no idea where she was, it only served to bow the old Dowager's back further. He refused to speak of where he had last seen the Miss in question or what their business had been, but he swore that his cousin had better have a very good explanation for misleading him into thinking that Miss Murdock had been on her way home to her father.

  And the Dowager had been too flattened by this latest development to even argue further. For with Andrew's angry disillusionment, the Squire and Ryan's simmering discontent of course boiled back up. She had left them then, to their drinking and their growing dissatisfaction, and only retired to her bed at that point, with very different worries on her mind.

  Something had gone badly wrong, she was certain of it.

  Now, hours later and the house in silence, the Dowager lay in the dark and thought back over these events and she was old and frail and feeling very helpless. She worried that St. James was into something so deep and so dangerous that even she would not be able to help him. And that in some manner or another, Miss Murdock had become enmeshed in it also.

  So it was that she was still awake when she heard the sound of horses' hooves on the lane outside her window, and her faded eyes widened, and she struggled to sit up in the bed.

  She had brought Soren with her, that poor lady, for she was nearly as old as her employer, and Jeannie also, for she had expected Miss Murdock to be in need of her lady's maid as well as a good deal of Miss Murdock's clothing. But she called to no one, only looked at her watch upon the night stand and saw that it was after four in the morning.

  She took her cane from where it leaned, put her trembling legs upon the floor, and struggled to her feet, something she had not done without assistance for several years, and then stumbled the few feet to the window, caught herself on the sill of it, and peered down between the drapes and into the drive below.

  And there was St. James, as recognizable to her as her own husband had been so many years ago, for they were very much alike in stature and build as well as in eye-color and temperament. He slid from his saddle, his great coat opened, and he raised a hand to Miss Murdock who sat with primness upon her sidesaddle in what appeared to be a man's coat, and with black silk falling from beneath it in the form of a riding habit that the Duchess did not recall being one of their purchases (for hadn't they agreed on red velvet?)

  With considerable relief she saw a third rider, and from the size of his girth, and the shock of red hair gleaming in the moonlight, she recognized him as that faithful partner in the nefarious deeds of her grandson: Bertram Tempton.

  “Thank the Lord,” she whispered to herself. And then more techtily, “But why they must insist on dragging that poor child around in the middle of the night, I will never know. I could cane him for this!” And she knew that her old heart could not take any more uncertainty, and that whatever Dante thought he was protecting her from could not be as bad as worrying over all the possibilities. She would get it from him in some manner if it were the last thing she did.

  But St. James was handing his reins over to Bertie, and Miss Murdock's reins over also, and there was an extra horse, unmounted, and she saw that Lord Tempton was receiving the dubious honor of riding to the stables with these three horses on lead and rousing a groom. Then Dante took hold of Miss Murdock's elbow and escorted her to the steps and the old Dowager lost sight of them.

  She remained where she stood for another moment, and then struggled to turn and stumbled back to collapse in the bed, and although there had been nothing to upset her or to exalt her in that little show, there had been something about the way that St. James had taken Miss Murdock's arm that had the old Dowager's heart hammering in her chest.

  She was desperate to go below, to demand explanation, and to observe the two of them together, to settle in her mind once and for all what was between them, but she did not think she could manage the steps alone, and she was so loathe to have someone help her. But as she half sat, half lay, debating, she heard quiet footsteps come in tandem up the stairs, and then soft treading in the hallway, and then the door next to her own room opened and closed with softness.

  Surely they had not both entered the same bedchamber?

  But then Miss Murdock's muffled voice came to her from the other side of the wall: “I can not believe you had the temerity to order staff hired and improvements made! Bad enough I am in to you for the expense of my coming out, but this is beyond all bounds of decency.”

  “And so is my being in your bedchamber, Lizzie,” Dante's amused voice came to his grandmother. “But I do not see you throwing a fit over that.”

  “Oh, do shut up, for you are trying my patience again, as you are so wont to do. I had not known you for more than two minutes before I wanted to box your ears over your highhanded manner,” she admonished him. And then, shocking the Duchess, “Well, do not just stand there but you shall have to remove your coat and your shirt.”

  “You have what you need on han
d?” he asked, causing the Duchess to raise her eyebrows at this odd question.

  “Yes. For I keep a supply in my room for household use. So please just hurry so I can get this done before the house awakes and finds you in my bedchamber. I can not believe that in my own home, of all places, that I have to worry about a gaggle of gossiping servants! My father must be beside himself.”

  “You were worried of who should take care of him. I was just seeing that he were taken care of.”

  “You presume too much. Oh, here, let me get those buttons, for frankly you are making a mess of it!”

  “Damn it! My arm has gone numb, you impatient lass.”

  “And it is no wonder, for although you have lost no where near the blood you did two nights ago, you have been bleeding steadily for hours now. You should have never been out of bed, Dante, and you very well know it.”

  And the Duchess, perceiving that there was nothing untoward going on in the other room, struggled to her feet with renewed vigor, and picking up her cane, shuffled to the door, for even she could make it the short distance down the hallway to the next room, and she did so, heart pounding but refusing to be denied. If Dante were injured she would have the how and wherefore of it, and if he were helpless beneath the ministrations of Miss Murdock, it meant that he could not avoid her easily.

  She reached the bedchamber door in time to hear Miss Murdock saying, “This will hurt, as I am sure you remember, but I will be as gentle as I can.” Then the Dowager opened the door, and the sight that met her eyes made her face redden.

  Dante lay naked from the waist up, half propped on pillows on the bed, one arm stretched above his head in more relaxed languor than was seemly for a sick room. Miss Murdock knelt beside him and as she tied off a strand of thick, black suturing thread to a needle, his hand caressed down her face in such a tender and intimate gesture that the Dowager nearly retreated. But at her entrance, Miss Murdock looked up, her solemn eyes startled and big, and her face flushed rosily, and St. James made a quick movement with his other hand and a pistol appeared from beneath the propped pillow behind his head and was pointed with disconcerting swiftness at the Dowager.

  And that old lady, recovering quickly, only said, “Rather difficult to make love to a female with a pistol in one hand, Dante,” and for the first time in her life, she saw St. James blush.

  Miss Murdock bowed her head and said in a small voice, “You had better come in and close the door, ma'am, or I'm certain the rest of the household will be in here as well.”

  The old Dowager did as was suggested, and settled into a chair across from Miss Murdock with her grandson between them.

  “What the devil are you doing up at this time of the night?” St. James asked, and then added, “ouch,” as Miss Murdock ran her needle through him with perhaps more force than was necessary.

  “Lying awake worrying,” the Duchess told him, her hands crossed over the head of her cane. “As I am sure you realize is quite my normal occupation when it comes to regards to you, but quite a new experience for me to also have to worry about Miss Murdock,” she chided.

  “I am sorry, grandmother. It was not my intention for you to worry at all. I should have guessed that you would come traipsing off here after her.”

  “But of course,” she returned, taking some satisfaction from the pained look upon St. James' face as Miss Murdock continued her stitching. “For I did not believe for an instant that she had eloped with Andrew. I did expect her to be where her letter placed her, however.”

  “Things went rather awry,” St. James said with what the duchess could only deem a good deal of understatement considering that he was even now having his chest stitched.

  The Duchess was silent for a moment, and St. James only lay frowning in concentration to not voice his pain. The old lady said, “You had better tell me why Miss Murdock has need to sew up your chest, St. James, and I will not be put off for I gather that you have reopened a prior injury.”

  He sighed. “I was shot, grandmother, if you must know. Two nights ago, leaving Almacks.”

  “Little wonder,” she replied, hiding her shock, “after the disgraceful show you put on with this young lady.”

  “A means to an end. Leave it at that.”

  But she would not be put off. “You know that you shall have to marry her, of course, for you can not not marry her after that public and scandalous display. Not to mention the fact that she has been missing for two nights and has apparently been in your company.”

  “I have every intention of marrying her,” St. James replied with impatience. “And if Andrew has arrived here as I expect, I am only surprised that he did not tell you of the banns posted in the paper.”

  “No,” the Duchess said in some surprise. “He did not apprise me of that development.”

  St. James said to Lizzie, “Excuse me, my dear, while I get my pocket watch,” and she drew back and allowed him time to remove that item, and then began stitching again as he handed it to his grandmother. “In the back clasp, grandmother.”

  She opened it with her old, arthritic hands and the folded announcement fluttered down into her lap. And she did not know which held more significance for her, the announcement itself, or the fact that it had been in the back of his watch for safekeeping, and she felt as though she had been in some long and grueling race and that at last the finish line were in sight.

  But she only unfolded it, scanned it and said, “Well, that is very good, St. James. I am relieved to see that you are living up to at least one of your responsibilities.”

  “Do not say it as though I have done something that forces me to marry her,” he advised his grandmother, “for she has not been compromised in any way.”

  “And I did not intimate that she had been,” his grandmother replied as she returned the watch and the announcement to him. “So you needn't look at me in that manner. Now you had better tell me the whole of what is going on, for I tell you, Dante, if you do not, you are going to kill me with the worry over all the possibilities.”

  “I can not, grandmother. Do not ask.”

  “Hold still, Dante,” Miss Murdock interrupted.

  “I am not stupid,” the Duchess cried. “For I have known what you have been about for years! If you have suspicion of who robbed me of my son and my daughter-in-law and my unborn grandchild, I have the right to know.”

  But he only sighed and shook his head. “I will not see your heart broken further,” he told her in a tone that brooked no argument.

  “Poppycock, Dante! For it can be no one close to us for I have studied the possibilities as closely, I dare say, as you have.”

  But damningly he made no answer.

  “Can it?” she asked with sudden dread in her heart.

  “Leave it be, grandmother, for ignorance is your ally in this matter.” He closed his eyes, the frown growing between their dark winged brows, and she knew she would gain nothing more from him.

  “Andrew was not even born,” she reminded him.

  “It is not him. That is all I am going to say, so do not ask me further,” and his eyes snapped open and he stared at her with finality. “Enough, grandmother,” he told her. “I do not intend that you ever know, although in the end you may have your suspicions. Just rest assured that it will be taken care of and that you may spend the remainder of your days knowing that it is done.”

  “I have as much right to know as you do,” she challenged him.

  “You also have the right to some peace. I will not compromise that peace by telling you. Leave it be.”

  “Damn you, St. James. You have always been too stubborn for your own good.”

  “I do not deny it.”

  “Do you wish me to grill Miss Murdock?” she threatened.

  “You will only waste your time for she does not know. Damn it, I need a drink!”

  “I am almost done, milord, so never mind about a drink now,” Miss Murdock told him.

  “Wretched lass,” but he said no more and the
only sound was of her scissors snipping through the final thread after she knotted it off.

  Then she got up and procured clean linens from above the wardrobe, and St. James moved to sit on the edge of the bed and raised his arms so that she could wrap his chest, and the Dowager watched this activity with her eyes stinging, and she swiped at them feeling very much an interloper.

  St. James took up his shirt, and the Dowager told him, “It is all bloody you know, Dante. Have you nothing else to wear?”

  “No. But Tyler should be here in the morning with the curricle, and I have a bag in it so that I may change then.” He looked preoccupied as he struggled into the discussed garment. As though coming to some decision, his eyes snapped to full attention upon the dowager. “Grandmother, would it be too much trouble for Miss Murdock to share your room with you tonight?”

  “Actually,” the old lady said with some acridness, “I think I would be relieved to have Miss Murdock in my room for the remainder of the night.”

  St. James, of course, understood her instantly. “Posh,” he said, amused. “If I were bent on ruining her, your presence would hardly deter me.”

  “I do not think that is funny, milord,” Miss Murdock chastised.

  “Nor do I!” the Duchess exclaimed, but her lips twitched. “For that is the most wicked thing I have ever heard you say.”

  “Be that as it may, I will not leave her to sleep unprotected tonight, and it would be rather better if you were in presence in case it is discovered that I am in the bedchamber also.”

  “You don't mean to sleep in there with us!” The Dowager asked.

  “Yes. I mean to do so. But do not look so scandalized, for Miss Murdock is far too tired for me to take any advantage even if you were not present, and I am hardly in better condition.”

  But Miss Murdock interrupted before the Dowager could argue further. “You can not think that they would come into my home!”

  “I do not think they will, Lizzie,” he told her with quiet reassurance, “but you must know by now that I will not take any risk where your safety is concerned.”