In the Brief Eternal Silence (23 page)

“Do you wish me to escort you up the stairs?”
Andrew asked as he got up from his knees and held an anxious hand
on her arm to help her up.

“No. That is not necessary although I thank
you for the offer. I

have enjoyed meeting you very much,
Andrew.”

“And I you, Lizzie.”

She left the room, a swirl of red and white
stripes, and mounted the stairs with no indication of weakness now.
But she felt rather cold, for although she had not wished to aid
the duke in his plans before she had not felt as though she were
going to betray those plans either, but she now realized that it
would have to be one or the other, and that she had no stomach for
what he offered. If she had allowed herself in some deep recess of
her mind to believe that there was some hope of miracles happening
and happiness somehow, someway waiting, she understood now that she
had been deluding herself quite completely, if only very briefly.
An old Duchess and an old dressmaker's romantic dreams had been
just a little contagious and she had caught them. But now, Miss
Murdock assured herself, she was quite, quite cured.

In her room, upon reflection, she realized
that deciding to leave and setting out were two different things.
Besides a few pence in her reticule, she had no funds. The only
horse she owned was, she assumed, at the residence of St. James
himself, and she would not pay back the Duchess's kindness by
stealing a horse on top of her desertion. Which thoughts led her
back to where they always began. She would have to convince St.
James for once and for all. It had been he that had taken her from
her home, and it would have to be he that sent her back.

With this thought, Miss Murdock kicked off
her slippers and lay back on her bed to think of what arguments she
could use. And she prayed that he would not be drinking this
time.

St. James rode into the stables of his
grandmother's house and dismounted. “Tyler, you scraggly old
scoundrel, where are you?”

An insolent splat of tobacco landing near the
high-glossed shine of his boots was his first indication that his
groom was on hand. “Aye, milord, right where you left me, and
damned unhappy about it, too.”

“Bah, Tyler. Spend a couple of nights away
from your own comfy bed and you are crying like a woman. You are
getting old and soft.”

“Soft in the head to be listening to the
likes of you, I agree,” Tyler returned with an impudent smile.
“What's in t'works now, milord? Mayhaps I can return to my rightful
position instead of spending my days saddle-soaping leather that
does not even belong in my care?”

“No. Sorry, Tyler. See anything unusual this
morning or last night?”

Tyler shook his head, spat another stream of
tobacco from his mouth, this time into the drainage ditch to the
side. “Not that I can

say.”

“Any visitors to the house?”

“None that I've seen.”

St. James rubbed his upper lip with his
gloved finger, his gold eyes looking up into the face of his groom
before him. “Odd. Very odd. I am nearly certain that a letter my
grandmother sent by messenger to my home had been intercepted. But
it had her undisturbed seal on the back of it, which convinced me
that if it were intercepted it had to be by someone who had access
to her seal.”

“Mayhaps some one has made a copy of the
seal, milord.”

“Mayhaps so, but who would go to the trouble
before hand? For it is not something that someone could whip up on
a moment's notice.”

“Perhaps they have had it on hand from
needing it in times past.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” St. James
agreed with dark expression. “Every staff member in this house has
been with my grandmother for years, and I have long since been able
to ascertain that there was none among them that would have done my
family harm.”

Tyler scratched his head. “There is the new
lady's maid that arrived in the wee hours of the morning, milord,”
he said.

“Yes. I had thought of that. I already have
someone working on her background. She is much too young, I gather,
to have been involved in a crime of twenty-three years ago, but it
is possible that someone has approached her, induced her to gather
information. But. . .” St. James pondered for a moment, and he
snapped his quirt against his boot, causing his horse behind him to
jerk its head up. He gathered the reins a little tighter in his
hand, then said to Tyler, “Who ever intercepted this has a very
good fist. Ask Ashton if he has any thing from this new lady's maid
that shows her handwriting. A letter of application for employment,
anything. I want to see it as soon as possible.”

“I'll take care of it, milord,” Tyler agreed.
“But you sound as if you are not hopeful in that direction.”

“No. I'm not. Something about it just does
not feel right. For someone to be able to orchestrate her being
here under such bizarre circumstances as we arrived is either
impossible or, more ominous, shows that we have been watched quite
closely and our moves had already been anticipated. Which would put
me very much at a disadvantage.” He gave a sudden curse. “Damn,
Tyler. Either I am up against someone that is truly genius, or I am
being blind on some point that I can not fathom. Which I can not
comprehend, for I have gone slowly and thoroughly and there can be
nothing I have missed. Nothing.”

Tyler moved uncomfortably. “Here, milord. I
know it. But take heart, for if your suspicion is correct about the
letter, then obviously you have moved someone t'begin taking
action, which is more than we have seen since you began
searching.”

St. James brightened at this observation.
“Yes. You are right, Tyler. What began as only a hunch on my part,
a last desperate measure, is suddenly appearing to be promising.
But I needn't tell you that it raises all the more questions in my
mind.”

“Such as why it should matter if you
marry?”

“Precisely. It would seem to point toward
someone whose inheritance is at stake, but that is impossible in
this situation.” He paused, thought for a moment, then shook his
head. “No. Utterly impossible. I have gone over this time and time
again. Andrew who is to inherit if I die without issue was not even
born at the time of my parents' deaths. And my uncle, who would
have inherited at the time, I had to mark off because of the
strength of his character and morals. In fact, it was he that first
set me to looking, and he had been searching all the years prior to
my reaching my majority. And now, if there had been any doubt,
which I had felt none, he is dead. So if he had been the purveyor
of these schemes it would be quite impossible for this present
action to be taking place. Endless circles,” he sighed at the end
of his words. “Always, if only I could deduce what had been to gain
by their deaths, and presumably my own, for I was supposed to have
been in that coach as well, then I would know, I am sure, who was
behind the all of it.”

“I know, milord,” Tyler said. “But we will
know, I am sure of that. I only hope that we know in time to keep
you safe.”

“And Miss Murdock. For I begin to fear. . .”
He turned, mounted his horse. “Talk to Ashton immediately, Tyler.
If this lady's maid is some sort of threat, the last thing I want
is for her to be attending to Miss Murdock alone in her
bedchamber.”

“Aye, milord,” Tyler said. “But I can not
believe that Miss Murdock would be very accommodating of any
schemes t'have harm befall her.”

To which St. James was forced to chuckle. “I
am certain you are correct on that point, Tyler, but Miss Murdock
does not have the advantage of being wary, so we must help her out
a bit.” He turned his horse, ducking his head to avoid a heavy
supporting beam above him, then stopped to add over his shoulder,
“I shall be back this evening for an appointment with my
grandmother, as she has quite imperiously demanded my presence. I
fear from her note that Miss Murdock has let rather more out of the
bag than I thought she would, but I can not really blame her for I
well know how much pressure my grandmother can bring to bear. At
any rate, I shall be here, to salvage what I can.

“You may inform me of your findings then,
unless it is something urgent, in which case you may find me at my
solicitor's for now. I'll leave word at my house where to find me
if the need should arise after that.”

“Aye, milord. Until tonight.”

“Until tonight.” St. James rode out into the
bright sunshine of the afternoon, but he did not even notice it, he
was so intent upon his thoughts.

A half hour later he handed his reins to a
young boy of perhaps thirteen who volunteered to watch his
lordship's horse for tuppence if milordship would not be above an
hour, that is. Which St. James, smiling at such audacity, flipped
him the coins in agreement and strode into the busy office of C.
Edmund Bickerstaff, Barrister of Law.

He was shown into that old gentleman's
office, where the gray haired, rather emaciated man rose from
behind his large desk and leaned over to shake hands. “Milord. I am
nearly as surprised to see you today as I was to get your message
of last night! Surprised and also somewhat relieved. Are
congratulations indeed in order, or have I been the victim of some
preposterous joke? Although I must tell you, it was your man
himself that delivered it!”

“And have you begun the paperwork I
indicated?” St. James asked as he let go of his solicitor's hand
and, flipping his coat tails up, seated himself in one of the
slatted back chairs.

Barrister Bickerstaff harrumphed, said,
“Well, milord, I have begun to carefully research any and all
changes that will need to be made and to get the proper paper work
in order. Of course, I will need your signature upon everything.
And a copy of the marriage certificate.”

St. James crossed one leg over the other.
“There will be a slight, very slight delay on that document,” he
told the man across from him. “At this point, I wish you to
continue getting everything in order just as I instructed. I would
like to have it ready for my signature on a moment's notice, so I
would appreciate it if you made this an item of some priority.”

“I can do that, milord,” the Barrister said,
sounding relieved at this delay. “And you are aware that your
marriage will enlarge upon your responsibilities somewhat
significantly?”

St. James cocked his head. “No. I am not.
Please enlighten me, Charles.”

The Barrister straightened the stack of
papers in front of him. “I would not have known it myself except
that I had made it my business to review all of the provisions of
your will, your father's will at the time of his death, and as I
saw that we unexpectedly had a copy of your uncle's will, his
also.”

“Very thorough,” St. James agreed.

“Everything was as I had expected, until I
got to your uncle's will. I had not handled his affairs, you know,
and so I was rather surprised to see that we had a copy of his will
in our files. It had been sent to us by his solicitor, a,” and he
paused a moment, picking up his spectacles and holding them briefly
in front of his eyes as he read from the documents in front of him,
“Barrister Collins of Bedford Street, here in London.”

“Yes. I'm familiar with whom my uncle used as
his solicitor. Go on.”

“As I was saying, it was sent to us by
Barrister Collins as there are certain provisions in there that
concern you. Upon your marriage, you are to take control of all of
his affairs concerning, and I shall read it to you: . . . his widow
if still living, and his son, Andrew Harold Larrimer, if not yet
married. Upon Andrew's marriage, these holdings will revert to him,
as sole heir, and all affairs, holdings, properties, and otherwise
that were previously beneath the control of said widow, Lady Lydia
Francis Taylor Larrimer, will also revert to control of said son.
Until the date of son's marriage, and after date of Duke of St.
James, Dante William Larrimer's marriage, all these assets will be
in the possession and control of said Duke, and will be retained by
said Duke in the event of premature death of son, Andrew. The
Barrister looked up from the paper, dropping his spectacles and
meeting the eyes of St. James.

St. James settled a little deeper into his
chair, and his gold eyes moved to over one shoulder of Bickerstaff.
“If Andrew were to die prematurely and his mother were to live,
would not everything be returned to her?” he pondered. “Why,
indeed, would they be stripped from her to begin with on the event
of my marriage?”

Bickerstaff shrugged. “It is all rather odd,
milord. But there is no mention in the will of Lady Lydia receiving
anything upon her son's demise, if it were to happen. As I read,
all of the inheritance that would go to your cousin Andrew is to
instead remain in your hands and your future descendents' hands.
Including, and I do not know if it were made clear here, but
believe me, upon reviewing the will in entirety it is clear, are
several major holdings, assets, properties and accounts that were
brought to the marriage by Lady Lydia.”

St. James eyes snapped back to the Barrister
at this pronouncement and his eyebrows made a deep furrow in his
forehead. “That is preposterous. Archaic. It is still law that a
woman's holdings become those of her husband's, but it is normally
practiced that such holdings are held independent from the
husband's, and are returned to the wife if the husband precedes her
in death, am I correct on this? Regardless even of a male
heir?”

“That is the standard practice, milord, but,
as you can see in this case, still entirely dependent upon the
discretion of the husband involved.”

“Interesting,” St. James reflected. “Tell me,
was my uncle's will always set up in such a manner, or had it been
changed, perhaps shortly before his death?”