In the Brief Eternal Silence

by Rebecca Melvin

  “Oh, but you would lie down and die, wouldn't you!” she accused, her voice ravaged. “For although you hate her with a passion for what she has already done, still does, you would in the end decide that if it kept Andrew happy, and your grandmother at peace, that you would merely allow yourself to be sacrificed!”

  “God damn you!”

  But she continued even though she knew she had pushed him to the edge and quite beyond it and that he was beside himself with fury. “But you will not now, because of me. Because they threatened me, and you can not be certain that if you die promptly and courteously that there will still not be some element that has escaped you to make you think I should still be in danger. That your aunt will fear that the marriage did somehow secretly take place, and that I even now carry a legitimate heir. Is that not right, Dante? Can you, dare you deny it?”

  But he gave her no answer, only held her roughly, his eyes blazing.

  “So this is how it shall be. I will go as I have said. I will wait. And if I get word that you have not survived, I will follow you in death with no regrets! No regrets and no hesitation! Do you understand me, Dante! If you don't wish to marry me after this, I will not blame you! If you despise me after this, I will not blame you! But unless you wish to see me dead as well, you had better get through this alive. Tyler and Steven be damned. Andrew be damned. Your grandmother be damned. For I have become as you, and I would sacrifice anyone to protect you. And since I can not rely on any one to protect you to the degree that I know you are capable of protecting, then I can only make sure that you do what ever is necessary without any thought on your part of whether your life is worth it. For it is worth it to me and I will bear the guilt of seeing the others die, for I well know that if it were up to you and it came to the ultimate choice, you would choose your own death before allowing any one else to be hurt.”

  With an incomprehensible roar, he pushed her from him, hard, and she fell back upon the ground. But she did not flinch or even blink her eyes, but only raised herself on her elbows and stared at him from behind her brownness.

  He turned from her, his back rigid, his hands on both butts of his pistols as his initial response was always his weapons, and then without looking back, he caught the reins of his horse and went to mount it. But before he put his foot in the stirrup, he paused, his taut shoulders bunching beneath the cloth of his coat, and then with ferocity he flung himself away from the side of his horse and leaped at her where she still lay upon the ground, raised only on her elbows.

  He dropped to his knees and straddled her, and she had no idea if his intention were to love her or kill her. He stretched his body down the length of hers so that her elbows collapsed and she lay beneath him.

  His hand went to her face, held her jaw, and he looked at her very deeply and exposed for one second and then his mouth was on hers with no gentleness or consideration if he hurt her but only filled with desperate need. She wrapped her fingers in his dark hair and pulled him closer and the kiss lasted for far too short a time.

  Then he pulled his head back, and he told her with curtness, “We play in hard earnest now, Lizzie, for I am past the recall and you have pushed me there. You had better be in Gretna Green as you say, for the next time I have you beneath me, it will not end with a kiss. Up!” And he stood and yanked her with urgency to her feet.

  He released her, mounted quickly, reined his horse in a swift circle, turning his head so that his eyes did not leave hers but for a second, then he kicked his mount and its hooves tore up the sod as he pushed it into hard canter around the corner of the stables and he was gone from her sight.

  Lizzie put a dazed hand to her lips, but she did not cry.

  “Mrs. Herriot!” the duchess yelled and banged her cane. “Damn— Soren!” But there was no response, which annoyed the old dowager, for they had surely heard the shot as well and should know that she would be wanting up from her chair.

  She heard the front entrance door open. “Miss Murdock!” she cried with relief. But it was not Miss Murdock. A dirty lad peeped around the door frame at her, her only impression of him besides dirtiness: two large gray eyes. “Lad! You shall do! Come in, come in.”

  The boy came in, wiping his nose on his sleeve as he did so, a filthy habit, and the duchess was tetching a little at this sight. “Yer t'duchess, ma'am?” he asked her.

  “Indeed I am and you will help me up from my chair so that I may see what has become of my grandson,” the old lady said as she once again leaned forward and attempted to rise, but the legs that had obeyed her in the middle of the night refused her this morning.

  “St. James, ma'am?” the boy asked and then went on without waiting for confirmation. “'E's fine. An' t'other one, too, t'tall gent with t'red hair.”

  “Young Mister Tempton,” the dowager supplied, but she leaned back again in her chair, her face very pale and her childlike chest breathing hard and closed her eyes. “And t'is milord to you, lad, as far as the duke is concerned.”

  “Aye, m'lady,” the lad agreed. “I's forget's sometimes, I do, but he hasn't boxed me ears yet t'over it.”

  “You are acquainted with my grandson then?” the duchess asked, her eyes opening and filling with interest as she thought of ways to grill the boy in front of her.

  “Aye,” he said. “But Tyler, he warned me 'bout you. Said I was t'deliver 'is message and get out right quick. An' stay outta reach o' your cane, too!”

  The dowager gave a low chuckle. “A message from Tyler? Well, lets have it, lad!” and she held out her hand.

  Her other hand, however, had not left her cane, and Steven, seeing this, bethought himself to take no chances, and he pulled out the folded missive with its atrocious hand-printing upon it, and threw it to her from several cautious feet away. It landed in her lap, and as he saw that his mission was fulfilled, he bolted for the door, a stream of curses ringing in his ears at his neat escape.

  “—bloody, insolent, young ruffian, beggar boy,” the duchess finished, but her hands were unfolding the note, and there was an unconscious prayer in her mind that for once, just one time, Tyler would have put St. James' wishes aside and perhaps done something out of duty to her, his original employer.

  She read the missive slowly. Indeed, she could not have read it quickly, for deciphering it was a challenge in itself. But at last she had the whole of it, and she read it through again, and her thin lips tightened, and the wrinkled flesh of her face sagged and her doll-like body stiffened.

  Milady Duchess of St. James, it read a good deal unevenly.

  I've been plugged on t'road to London, gone to take care of t'piece of the business that I can't rightly reckon St. James can have t'stomach for. The one behind the foul deed is none other than yer daughter-in-law, Lady Lydia Larrimer! I don't entirely know how milord arrived at this conclusion, but what I knows of it is damnin'. I stand on it as correct at any rate. After twenty-three years of searchin' I can't hardly see where he'd be wrong at this late date.

  I won't be makin' me appointment, I don't think.

  I 'spect ye know what he'll be about. Too many good people have died already fer him t'let it go.

  I leave this knowledge in yer hands, which I know to be capable.

  Tyler

  She closed the heavy, creased lids of her eyes, and remembered the old adage that one should be careful of what one prayed for, for one might have it answered.

  But she allowed this weakness for but one moment, and then she banged her cane again, and this time, as the news had spread that no one had come to harm with the pistol shot heard, Soren arrived by her side in an instant. The dowager bade her, “Pack, please, Soren, for we shall be going home now.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  “And send someone to the stables to have my coach made ready and to fetch my grandson.”

  “Milord Duke, milady?”

  “No. Earl Larrimer.”

  St. James caught sight of Steven driving the cart before they had reached the end of the lane.
He pulled his horse to a sharp halt beside the lad. “I'll have some answers, Steven,” he began. “Was Tyler or was Tyler not driving the curricle?”

  Steven, looking guilty, allowed that there had been a slight change of plans.

  “And will I find that man on the road between here and Morning-side, or am I to be looking for him somewhere along the route to London?” St. James asked.

  Steven hung his head, unable to meet those gold, damning eyes. “'Twixt here and t'junction, m'lord. But only 'cause we doubled back from t'main road to London and shot across this way t'warns ye when's we run's into trouble.”

  St. James was very still, even his horse seemed leery of moving and he did not curse nor rage. He only snapped out another question. “Is it possible you lost them at the junction?”

  “Tyler, 'e said 'e thought we 'ad. For t'time bein' at least. But won't take overlong for them t'get to yer manor and find ye not there, and then they'll sure to come here. That's what Tyler said, m'lord.”

  St. James paused further, calculating the distance, the time, time wasted by Steven having to walk the last mile, time with—! Damn it! He spurred his horse, then yanked back on the reins so that it jumped forward and then slid to a halt again, and he turned in the saddle, asked harshly, “You have the gun I gave you, Steven? And extra loads?”

  “Aye, m'lord,” Steven said with more enthusiasm. “For Tyler, he said I may need it!”

  St. James nodded. “Very likely you shall. Remember that Red's seen you and by now he knows you were meaning to cross him. He'll kill you out of spite if he gets the chance.”

  “I ken, m'lord,” Steven said a good deal more somberly.

  St. James turned his horse back to the cart, knowing that he was wasting still more precious time, but he had to say it. “You can't count on me, Steven, do you understand?” he asked. “It's going to be every man for himself. If you're not up to it, turn back now.”

  And Steven looked stunned, but his eyes did not flicker, and St. James had no doubt that he was making an informed decision (for had not St. James seen to just that particular tutelage by in fact killing that boy's father?) and Steven only said, “I'm going, m'lord, for I know that Tyler needs me.”

  And St. James spared a nod at this. “He does, indeed, Steven. He does indeed.”

  And then at last, he spurred his horse forward with a great unleashing of power.

  He judged that it would be a very close thing, whether he would reach Tyler first, or whether Red and his hired man would find Tyler before him as they made their way toward the Squire's home. If the luck were really against him, they had found Tyler already, finished him off if he were not already dead, and could be waiting for him now around most any bend in the road.

  The horse that Steven had ridden to exhaustion had wandered quite a bit now that it had no rider on its back, and St. James did not see it until nearly two miles from the Squire's property. It startled him when he came across it, for the sun had become obscured behind fast moving and dark clouds, and it was becoming overcast and muted, so that he caught sight of it abruptly.

  He passed it by, but the unpleasant shock it gave him, combined with his thoughts of his foe being closer than he may anticipate led him to fill both hands with his pistols, so that he rode with the reins cupped between palms and butts, which could at times be as much a hindrance as an advantage. But for coming across someone heading toward him that was perhaps not as well prepared, it could be quite handy, if he did not shoot his own horse in the head in his haste to fire while his target was still reaching for his own weapon.

  It was less than a gentlemanly approach to combat, but St. James was not feeling particularly gentlemanly.

  It was not yet an hour before noon, but the sky continued to darken, and when the road led into a copse of woods, it was shadowy and dark. But St. James only put his heels to the horse he rode with all the more vigor, for he did not fancy Tyler lying out in the coming rain as well as being injured and mayhaps having unsought for company.

  And it was in this little copse, as the sky brewed with clouds above the naked branches of the thickly growing trees and there were the beginnings of vague flashes of lightning, that he came around a bend in the road and met the very men he had prepared for but had not really expected.

  His fingers moved in simple and automatic reflex to both triggers, and he raised his pistols for a clear shot over his horse's head. But his brain screamed warning and he jerked his horse to a halt and did not fire. There were three men on the two horses. One red-faced and blue-eyed on one mount and two men up on the other mount. The man in front was covered with blood, his hands were tied and only the rider up behind him held him in the saddle.

  And it was Tyler, bound and unconscious.

  As quickly as St. James recognized Red and Tyler, Red recognized St. James. He reached across the narrow space between the horses and tipped Tyler to in front of him. All three horses were now halted and danced with nervousness within only a few feet from each other. St. James, finding himself hindered by his unorthodox handling of both weapons and reins simultaneously, did some frantic working to keep his horse under control. Red's hired man, exposed to St. James' aim now that Tyler was half tipped in front of Red, dug with haste for his own weapon.

  For a moment only curses were heard. St. James cursed at his horse. The hired gunman cursed his employer for leaving him naked to the duke's gun while covering his own ass admirably. And Red cursed as he struggled to control his own horse, keeping it close to his co-hort's as Tyler's legs were still on that man's mount, and at the same time trying to bring his own weapon to bear on St. James.

  The hired assassin next to Red succeeded in drawing his gun, as he had the least amount of confusion going on and had made full use of it. St. James straightened his mount, drew a quick bead on the accomplice and snapped a shot. That man toppled from the saddle. The horses squealed and spooked. Red was delayed in his own aiming as his horse danced to the side and Tyler's legs were left to dangle. St. James well knew that his groom was not light, but the muscles in Red's body that Steven had marked off as flab were not entirely gone to waste, and he managed to pull Tyler more fully in front of him on his own horse.

  Then he and the duke faced each other, Red using Tyler as a shield. There was a brief silence that was nearly loud after the chaos of before and Dante heard the wind picking up in the trees above them.

  His one loaded gun was aimed at Red, but although Dante was an uncommonly good shot, he dared not try anything of such precision from the back of a nervous horse and where if he were off by but a hair, he would splatter Tyler's brains instead of Red's.

  Red damningly had his gun on St. James. And St. James had no such protection as a hostage in front of him.

  “When you shoot me, are you going to let him go?” St. James asked.

  “T'won't make no difference. He's 'bout dead already,” Red pointed out.

  “Are you sure of that?” St. James asked. “For if he's going to live, there'll be someone along shortly to doctor him. If he's going to live that long, you may as well let him go and let him have his chance.”

  “Sure,” Red said. “If it'll make ye happy. Never want it said old Red didn't try to accommodate a man's dyin' wish. Don't think it'll matter at any rate. Plugged good and proper through t'leg there, ye can see fer yerself, and without no tight wrappin' he been bleedin' right an' proper. Did me heart good to know I hadn't missed.”

  St. James' horse sidled in unrest and his hand and unfired gun wavered with the motion.

  “May as well jus' drop it, now, duke,” Red advised. “For if ye be hopin' that I'll fire and by some miracle miss, or only wing ye, and ye'll get off a shot while I'm fetchin' another gun out, you'd do yerself a care to look at t'piece I'm holdin'.”

  St. James recognized it. “Samuel Colt pistol.”

  Red grinned, or at least the part of his face that St. James could see behind Tyler's unconscious head grinned. “Aye! Six shots, duke, and right quick
. If'n I miss ye on t'first one, I got five more to yer one!”

  “And you are but the first of a new era, I can see,” St. James said. “For I had not thought they were common any where but to the officers of the war going on in America. But my groom there, you'll let him go then?”

  “I said I would, did'n I?”

  “Even though you think he'll just die at any rate?” St. James asked. “You're certain he's going to die?”

  “Well, duke, I ain't no doctor, and I'd lay odds he's gonna live longer than you,” and Red chuckled, “and certainly longer than my man you done already plugged, but in t'end, I don't figure he'll ever wake from—”

  But his words were cut off as St. James snapped his pistol into line and fired with near carelessness. He could not be sure if he hit Tyler, but if he had, it did not deflected the shot to any great degree, for the side of Red's face that had been peeping from behind his hostage exploded outward. Even as he fell, his arm did not slacken from his grip on the groom but pulled that man to the ground with him, like a constrictor or a python that even though its head has been cut from it, still coils about its prey.

  St. James sat astride his horse and reloaded his pistols, and he nudged his horse around in a slow circle and glanced piercingly into the woods on either side of him. The wind blew the trees in hard earnest, and it was very dim except for when lightening lit up the copse, and that was even worse for it ruined his vision for a small length of time after each flashing. A faint groan came from on the ground beside the two riderless horses that nuzzled each other as though in consolation.

  St. James moved his mount around the horses, pointed his pistol down at the back of Red's head, but he was quite certain that man was dead, and the other he had shot as well, and so he stowed his pistol, dismounted and pried the dead man's arm from around Tyler. He had resigned himself to the fact that he had killed his groom as well as his man and his hands shook as he rolled Tyler over.