In the Brief Eternal Silence

by Rebecca Melvin

  But she seemed a great deal pained and his words hardly reassured her. “What if they see fit to try burning us out again?”

  “There are only two left,” he told her. “I do not think they will be so bold, for there are far too many people in residence, and even they must see that they would be swarmed, if not by people leaving the house, then by the grooms in the stable.”

  And the Dowager cried in sudden fear and exclamation, “What ever has been going on? Do not mean to tell me that you have managed to put Miss Murdock in danger as well!”

  St. James sighed. “Yes, grandmother, I have. Through my own blindness and stupidity and one damned, wayward handkerchief, I find that Miss Murdock has been made a target also, and if not quite as satisfactory as my own death, hers is still greatly desired, for my enemy can not take any chance that we marry.”

  And the Duchess felt very much like that child hiding beneath the bedclothes again. “Who does this?” she demanded. “Who dares to threaten not only my grandson, but his betrothed? How long are you going to be forced to delay this marriage because of this fiend that dares to interfere in our lives once again?”

  But St. James went to his grandmother and crouched in front of her. “I will not answer your first question, but as for the marriage being delayed, I expect that Miss Murdock and I will be celebrating that very occasion by tonight just across the Scottish border.”

  The Dowager, stunned, looked to Miss Murdock for guidance, and was just in time to see an equally stunned look on that young lady's face. “Miss Murdock?” the old lady asked. “You were unaware of this circumstance?”

  But Miss Murdock did not even appear to hear her, but stood motionless in the middle of the room, her and St. James' coats that she had picked up clutched to her chest, and her face was paled with more than tiredness as though she were in shock.

  At her lack of response, St. James turned his head to observe her also, and slowly her eyes sought his, wide and frightened and filled with sick dismay. “The handkerchief?”

  The Duchess felt St. James' start of astonishment through his hand upon her arm, and his face darkened, and his only answer was a stream of soft curses that ended with, “God damn it, Lizzie, you will put that notion out of your head immediately.”

  But with his cursing she regained her composure, although she was still very pale, and she only said with calm faintness, “I nearly had it, you know, that very day in the mew. Something so clear and obvious that only its very evilness made it seem impossible—”

  “Shut up,” St. James snapped and it acted like a slap to her face.

  Miss Murdock with a flinch quieted. “Of course. I apologize.”

  In unison Miss Murdock and St. James looked to his grandmother, but she did not notice, for her own eyes had narrowed in

  thought.

  St. James asked Lizzie, “Does she know of the handkerchief?”

  “No. For I expressly made sure that she did not.” But Miss Murdock's voice was worried all the same.

  St. James did not answer, only kissed his grandmother's hand and held it to his cheek for a moment until the concentration left her face and she looked at him. “It is not your concern any longer, grandmother,” he told her, “and you should not worry about it, for you will know nothing until it is over, and should not know anything then if I can help it.”

  The papery lines about her mouth went back into a tight smile. “And, tsk, St. James. What are you afraid of an old lady such as myself doing at any rate?”

  St. James had no answer for that and he only helped her from her chair and the three of them went to the old lady's room next door. There was the bed and two chairs, but no chaise lounge for Miss Murdock to sleep upon and the Dowager told her that she must sleep in bed with her, if she did not mind the slumbering ravings of an old woman at any rate, and Miss Murdock fretted that she was sure she would only make the Dowager uncomfortable, but in the end, the bed was large enough for two, and they both lay down.

  The Dowager did not sleep but lay upon her side and watched her grandson draw up a chair before the window. He did not sit for a time, but paced along the floor behind it. The Duchess heard Miss Murdock's breathing turn deeper as she slept. She saw Dante finally sit in the chair, draw a pistol into one hand and place his booted feet upon the sill. At last, he appeared to doze, but even so his eyes opened with regular frequency to evaluate any small noise he may have heard that had escaped the Dowager completely.

  But she herself slept no more that night, and her mind spun in her head, and although she could not be sure, she had her suspicions.

  When dawn came, St. James turned his head as movement came from the bed behind him. He met his grandmother's faded eyes in the fresh glow of the not yet seen but rising sun. And if he looked tired, she looked nearly as tired.

  But she only bade in a hushed voice, “Help me to the other room, Dante, and send Soren to me.”

  And he rose to do as she bid. Once in the hallway, she asked, “Your man has not arrived as you anticipated?”

  “No, damn it, he has not,” St. James answered. “I will give him but another hour before we go on without him.” He gave his grandmother a rueful smile. “You did not rest well, grandmother,” he chided her.

  “I never do at any rate, Dante, so do not blame yourself and Miss Murdock. And you had better get a clean shirt from Andrew as your clothing has not arrived, for if you walk about looking like that, you may as well put out a billet proclaiming your injury. Does Andrew know of it, by the by?”

  “Yes. For of course, he was with Miss Murdock when she came to nurse me. Which was a damnedable circumstance I could have never foreseen, but then there has been much about this I have failed to foresee.”

  But she only patted his arm. “You have done well, Dante, and your only job now is to marry the lass and see that she remain safe a little while longer.”

  “Yes,” he answered. “And this will be over on the morrow, I expect, and she will be safe after that whether I am here to see to it or not.”

  The Dowager frowned, but she did not argue, and he left her in Miss Murdock's former bedchamber and returned to the hallway. Before closing the door, he asked, “Which room is Andrew in?”

  “The Squire's. Across the hall.”

  He nodded. “I shall have Soren in to you directly, grandmother, so do not become impatient and attempt to dress yourself.”

  “Humph! As if I have not already been the most patient of people,” she replied. “Get on with you, Dante, for the hour only grows later.”

  He went to the Squire's room, was not surprised to find that man not in residence as he remembered Lizzie saying that he rarely came above stairs because of his gout. Andrew was sleeping in the old bed, the blankets tossed in disarray about him as though he had spent a restless night. St. James found his clothing set neatly out, as Andrew did not have the deplorable habit of treating his attire as though it were some unforgivable nuisance to be tolerated as his cousin did.

  St. James pawed through a surprising variety of shirts for someone on a short journey, and had selected the plainest and least adorned of the lot when Andrew spoke from the bed. “Bloody hell, St. James, but you've managed to rumple the whole lot of them!”

  St. James turned to the bed as Andrew sat up. “I apologize, Andrew, I did not wish to disturb you, nor to have you in a state over your clothing,” he told the younger man with a grin.

  “When the hell did you blow in? And where is Miss Murdock?”

  St. James removed his bloody shirt. “About three hours ago and Miss Murdock is currently sleeping in our grandmother's room.”

  “Have you been shot again?” Andrew asked as St. James tossed his ruined shirt into the lit fireplace as though it were so much old news-print.

  “No. Only tore the stitches of Miss Murdock's previous endeavors, of which she has been kind enough to sew me up once again.”

  “Well, I hope you know,” Andrew continued with indignation, “that we have all been in
a state wondering where she was and what should have become of her! We had decided that we would travel to London today to demand explanation from you!”

  “You should have very well known that I would have her with me,” St. James countered, “and that I would not let any harm befall her.”

  “No,” Andrew replied, petulant, “for how was I to know that, when you assured me she would be here in Chestershire, a little late perhaps, but here all the same.”

  “And so she now is,” St. James said, buttoning his pilfered shirt. “And get dressed, Andrew, for I can not waste time and if you wish to know the story you shall have to ask your questions while I fetch grandmother's lady's maid, for she is waiting, you know.”

  “Hell and Damnation upon your soul, St. James, for you are the most aggravating of cousins!” Andrew threw back his covers and stood entirely naked from the bed. “I need not tell you that you have a good deal of explaining to do and not only to me but to the Squire, who is convinced you have ruined his daughter and are buying him off with this display of improvement in his home, and to Ryan also, who is livid that you should have in any way besmirched Miss Murdock's name further.”

  But St. James, diverted by Andrew's complete lack of clothing when sleeping, only said, “My God! But how do you get away with it, for my own valet is in horrors that I sleep in only my shorts!”

  Andrew blushed at these laughing words, snagged some clothing to don. “I would not have expected you of all people to bring me to task over the way I sleep!” he grumbled. “And Miss Murdock, by the by, gave me quite a fright the night she came in to wake me to tell me of your injury. I only thank God that I do not sleep with my curtains open and the moon shining in as you have said on occasion that you do.”

  “Well, you really should wear at least shorts, you know, Andrew, although even they are a great bother. For one night you may have a visitor bent on doing you harm and it is hard to concentrate upon defending yourself when you are mindful that if you should fire a shot, the whole household will be down upon your head and you shall be standing there in all your glory. Or worse, dead upon the floor with not even a stitch of clothing on.”

  Andrew turned thoughtful at this advice and admitted, “Had not considered that, I confess. But I can see where it could be a distraction.”

  St. James went to the door, Andrew's plain white lawn shirt drooping overlarge at the shoulders, but even this careless look made him seem only somehow more dangerous. “I shall see you below for coffee for I dare not make grandmother wait any longer than necessary or she shall be banging her cane and we will not get even a moment to talk quietly before every one else is up and about.”

  Even as he spoke these words, there was a loud banging from the closed door across from them that reverberated through the floor and throughout the house. “Damn it!” St. James muttered and left the room.

  He met Mrs. Herriot in the hallway, looking a little less crisp than was her norm. She curtsied her large figure and her face was a creasing of rapturous smiles. “Oh, milord! You have arrived at last! And is your Miss Murdock here also?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Herriot, and Lord Tempton is with us also. Will you fetch Soren for grandmother? And send her to Miss Murdock's old bedchamber, as she has gone in there so that she may be dressed without disturbing my betrothed?”

  “Oh, yes, milord! It is true then that you have become engaged?” and he would have been pleasantly distracted by her joyous response if he had not so much upon his mind.

  “Indeed, yes, Mrs. Herriot, but I must go below—”

  The door down the hallway opened and Miss Murdock appeared from the bedchamber, and since she had slept in her riding habit she was looking very deplorable indeed. St. James cut off his words at sight of her and stood grinning in the hallway, and Mrs. Herriot, perceiving the expression on his face, turned with a great deal of anticipated delight to see at last what young Miss could put such a look of devotion upon his lordship's face.

  And the smile froze upon her face for the sight that met her eyes was so far from what she had been expecting that she nearly burst into frustrated tears. The young Miss that turned to her was of small stature and inconsequential figure. Her hair was a mass of tangles that she was even now trying to distractedly arrange. Her face was much too tanned and her eyes were of no particular shade of brown, but were rather solemn and a great deal dulled by fatigue (and, Mrs. Herriot noted with something akin to horror, bloodshot!), and she did not have any laudable feature that Mrs. Herriot could determine but was frankly, quite plain.

  And the Duke just behind her, rather than being put off by this lamentable picture, only said, “You are looking very well this morning, Miss Murdock,” in a teasing voice that for some reason made Mrs. Herriot's comfortably round face blush.

  “And I am certain that I do not,” Miss Murdock said with tired annoyance, “and I can not understand why you insist upon saying I do when I dare say you have not seen me at my best for even one moment since we have met.”

  “But you were looking very fine at Almacks,” he replied.

  “Do not remind me of that, milord, or you shall have me angry at you already this morning, for I need not tell you that I am still most unhappy with your behavior of that night.” Then she turned her attention to the housekeeper that stood rather stunned between them. “I am sorry, for I can only guess what you must be thinking to find me in such a pitiful state and arguing with milord at this early hour of the morning.”

  And Mrs. Herriot, touched somehow by this tired sincerity, clucked and said, “And I am sure that you are quite done in, Miss, and should return immediately to your bed and allow your lady's maid to bring up chocolate to you! I am Mrs. Herriot, by the way, and you are—you are Miss Murdock?” and there was such question in her voice that milord behind her burst out laughing, causing Miss Murdock to give him a quelling glare.

  “Yes,” that Miss reassured the housekeeper. “I know that everyone is always most disappointed in me, of which I can hardly blame them, but I am Miss Murdock.”

  “Shame, Lizzie,” St. James teased, “for you will put even me to the blush at such a self-deprecating speech, when I am sure Mrs. Herriot will agree with me that you are quite the loveliest thing she has ever seen, even with your hair a mess and your clothing looking as though you had slept in them.”

  “Oh, botheration!” Miss Murdock returned. “I can see that you are looking nearly fresh this morning after only a few hours sleep, and so, as usual, are looking much finer than I. And for someone who has claimed to never knowingly lie, I have found that you do so on an appallingly regular basis when it comes to my appearance.”

  “Not at all,” St. James denied and added as his grandmother's cane could be heard banging again from behind the closed bedchamber door, “Mrs. Herriot, if you would fetch Soren?”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Herriot said, jumping slightly, for she had been standing somewhat dazed in betwixt them and she bobbed a curtsy to Miss Murdock. “Pleased to meet you, Miss,” and she bustled down the hallway.

  St. James said, “Come here, Lizzie, and let me fix your hair, for frankly you are making a mess of it.”

  He straightened and pinned her hair and when his finger smoothed down the vein in her neck, Lizzie leaned back against him and sighed. “I shall feel better, I wager, after I have had a cup of coffee.”

  Downstairs, they checked in on her father, who was sleeping upon the sofa in the parlor. The sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs forewarned them of Andrew, who came into the parlor, dressed and shaved.

  Miss Murdock gave an exclamation of surprise, went to him and gave him a brief hug beneath St. James' bemused gold eyes. “Andrew! What ever are you doing here?”

  And unaccountably he colored. “I came to make sure that you and Bertie had arrived safely, and found when I got here that you had not arrived at all.”

  “Well we are here now,” she told him. “And Bertie, also, but he must have found a room above stairs, for I have not seen hi
m yet this morning and he must still be sleeping. And I did not mean to cause worry but I was very concerned about Steven, you know, and could not in all conscious come to Chestershire when he was still unaccounted for.”

  “That is what delayed you then,” and he gave St. James such a look of accusation that Lizzie was taken aback with it.

  “Why, yes, of course. What else would I have been doing?” she asked a little puzzled.

  “We were not sure,” Andrew returned, “but I fear that between your father and Ryan, and yes, I admit, myself, we had jumped to some rather damning conclusions.”

  “Oh, you did not!” and she gave a peal of laughter. “For I assure you, we have been much too busy for any such nonsense as the three of you have dreamed up.”

  “I do not find it such a ridiculous notion,” Andrew huffed, “when one considers that St. James has done nothing but try to ruin you from the beginning. Even my mother told me that she caught the two of you riding in a coach in the midst of the night, of which I was quite unawares.” And he looked hurt as well as angry.

  But St. James interrupted at this point. “Indeed, Andrew? And she has put in your head the notion that I have compromised Miss Murdock?”

  Andrew reddened. “She did not 'put it in my head', she merely observed that it was most unseemly and if one were to draw conclusions, what other conclusion was there to draw. And then when you consider your showing up at Almack's with that damned handprint upon your face,” he added with growing anger, “which you made blatantly clear to everyone that Miss Murdock had placed it there, and it seems to me that my mother's take on the situation has not been inaccurate.”

  “Go carefully, Andrew,” St. James warned, “for you are very close to crossing the line. You may call into question my character all you wish, but I advise you most heartily against questioning Miss Murdock's virtue.”

  “If her virtue is in question, you have no one to blame but yourself!” Andrew exclaimed with heat.

  But Miss Murdock stepped between them. “Enough!” she cried. “For I have not even yet had a cup of coffee this morning and I can not take this sudden bickering between the two of you. Andrew,” her brown eyes flashed, “whatever has come over you, for I would have sworn that you knew your cousin well enough to know that he would in no way harm me?”