In the Brief Eternal Silence (24 page)

Bickerstaff shook his head. “I wouldn't know
that, milord. All we have is the most recent copy, which,” and he
flipped through many pages until he reached the end of the will,
“by-the-by! Is dated just two months before he died!!”

St. James raised a brow. “I wonder what the
one prior to this one read. Very well, Bickerstaff. To recap: if I
marry, I will have the added responsibility of overseeing my
cousin's inheritance in its entirety until he himself marries?”

“Yes, milord. And I do not mean to be in poor
taste but if something were to happen to your cousin, well, you can
see that it would benefit you.”

“My uncle must have had a great deal of faith
in my integrity,” St. James mused.

“Well, milord,” Bickerstaff interrupted,
shuffling that pile of papers to the side and replacing it with
another pile, “which brings us back to your own will. As you can
see, I need to know what provisions I should put in here concerning
your cousin if you should die and he is not yet married. Do you not
think it would be more prudent to hand control back over to his
mother until his marriage? Surely you do not wish to burden your
new wife with this responsibility in addition to all that she will
shoulder as it is? In fact, I would heartily recommend that you
place some trustworthy male in charge of everything, and simply
give her life's use of your homes, unless of course she marries
again, and a monthly allowance. It is how it is done, you
know.”

“Normally, yes.” St. James hesitated for just
the briefest of seconds, then said, “But I wish it to be as I had
written in my letter. Miss Murdock will have sole control and
ownership of my estates, to be dealt with as she sees fit in the
event that I have no heir, and to act as custodian over them, if I
do have an heir, until such time that she feels he is capable of
taking over that responsibility.”

“Milord,” Bickerstaff gasped, making his thin
chest rise and fall in alarm, “you realize what you are saying? Why
she could squander every penny you own! And God only knows, if
there is anything to pass on when she dies, whom she will leave it
to.”

St. James gave an infuriating grin. “Well, I
shall not care at any rate, as I shall be dead. But there,
Bickerstaff, I do not mean to send you into an apoplexy. Look at it
this way. Perhaps you will be able to woo her and wed her yourself,
and then you may keep a tight rein on all that I own for yourself
instead of for an unappreciative bugger like me.”

Bickerstaff could not quite see the humor in
his client's words. He drew himself up with indignation in his
seat. “I did business with your father for nearly twenty years
before his death, and I have done business for all these years
since his death with you, milord. If you do not know my character
by now, then I can only say that I am a great deal affronted.”

“Then you must accept my apologies,” St.
James said. “For I in no way wish to call into question your
principles or your honor.”

“Thank you, milord,” Bickerstaff said with
great dignity. “That means a great deal to me.”

“And it means a great deal to me to not be
forced to meet you at dawn when you called me out for besmirching
your name,” St. James added, deflating his solicitor's dignity.

That man said, “Well, uh, yes. Quite,
milord,” and his old hand shook for a second as he fussed with the
papers in front of him. Then with a defiant look from his old eyes,
he said, “You are very lucky, indeed, that I have such a forgiving
nature.”

“Indeed,” St. James agreed, “for then it
would be known that I am a coward when I was forced to flee the
country rather than meet my nemeses and possibly die. I do thank
you, Bickerstaff.”

“Bah,” the old man said. “You are as insolent
as you were when you visited my office still on your father's knee.
Now if you are through badgering an old and, I might add, busy man,
you may leave this in my hands. But about your cousin's
inheritance, milord. . . ?”

“That, as I had no prior knowledge upon it, I
shall have to think about. I will stop around tomorrow or the
following day to let you know. Is it possible for you to continue
with the rest as I have indicated?”

“Yes. Reluctantly, but yes,” Bickerstaff
agreed.

“Good. And there is one other small matter. I
should like to set up an allowance for Squire Edward Murdock of
Chestershire. A hundred pounds a month I should think. This will go
toward procureing him a proper staff for his house, the maintenance
of his household, and add any sum that is needed in order to
procure immediate repairs on his home. Should this cover everything
adequately and yet give him a respectable sum in order for him to
keep himself entertained?”

“I should say so, milord,” Bickerstaff said
as he jotted down these notes.

“These arrangements are to start immediately.
If you write it up quickly just as I said, I will sign it now.”

“Yes, milord. That will get us started. Of
course, I shall have to draw up something more legal for you to
sign on your return, including event of your death, or if, as I
take it you have not yet had that happy occasion you anticipated
having last night with Miss Murdock, there is some reason why this
marriage does not come off, the cancellation of this
allowance.”

“There will be no cancellation, Barrister. It
is as I have said until the date of his death. In fact, you can add
that if for some reason I do not marry Miss Murdock, which I find
extremely unlikely that I do not, but in that event, the allowance
will be transferred to her until her death.”

“What if she marries another, milord?”
Bickerstaff persisted, pausing in his writing.

“It does not matter, man,” St. James replied
in impatience. “She is to get the money with no exclusions. Really,
Charles, you act as though the money were coming out of your pocket
instead of my own. Which, by-the-by, reminds me. You will be
receiving bills from dressmakers and the such in her name. You are
to pay them, and anything else that is billed in her name. Oh, and
a bill for a new coat, I imagine, will be coming in from Lord
Tempton. Pay it also, please.”

“Anything else, milord?” Bickerstaff
sighed.

“No. I think that should cover it. For now.
Unless you have any further questions, I will leave now and be
around in a day or two.”

“Sign here, milord,” Bickerstaff advised,
finishing his writing for the Squire's pension with a flourish. St.
James scrawled his signature.

“Very well,” he said. “Good day,
Barrister.”

“Good day, milord,” Bickerstaff said, and
then muttered to himself as the door closed behind the duke and he
glanced over the two pages of notes he had taken in the past hour,
“I pray you know what you are doing. Ten to one all this work will
be for nothing for you will come in tomorrow and reverse
everything.” He glanced at the words he had written with a large
question mark after them. “Very odd, though, about his uncle's
will.”

St. James came out onto the street, tipped
the lad who had held his horse an extra hapenny, and mounted the
skittish stallion. Then glancing down at the boy who had held his
horse, he said, “I'll give you a crown, lad, if you run a message
for me.”

“Aye, gov'ner,” the boy said. “I'll run me
legs off for a crown. Clear across London if you wish.”

“No,” the duke smiled, “t'is not that far.
Can you read an address if I jot it down?”

“Aye, and I know's me way all right.
Gov'ner,” he added as a quick after thought and tugged at his hair
in respect.

“Good,” St. James said and pulled a small pad
of paper from one of his many pockets and a small lead pencil. On
it he wrote: Tyler, will be at Barrister Collins' office on Bedford
street. By the by, have the kitchens give this boy something to
eat, and as I can see we are going to be sending a lot of messages,
see if he would like a permanent post as my messenger boy, assuming
of course, that you receive this in good order. St. J.

He folded the paper, printed the address on
the back of it so that the boy could read it easily. “Read it back
to me, lad, so I know that you understand,” he said, handing the
note to the boy.

“Aye, gov'ner.” He squinted but his reading
was clear if somewhat slow. “15 Heffington Drive, home of the
Dowager Duchess of St. James. The stables. Groom Tyler, man of Duke
of St. James.” The boy looked up at the end of this and said, “Are
you him, m'lord? The Duke, I mean?”

“Aye,” St. James said in somber reply,
mimicking the boy's oft said response. “T'is I.”

“Coo, m'lord,” the boy said, tugging at his
bangs. “Coo. I'll run quick, I will. For me mother says you're an
evil one you are, and that you'll come for me in the night if I
don't do as she says!”

“Be off with you then, lad,” St. James said
with a laugh. “And here, do not forget your crown!”

The boy bobbed again. “Thank you, m'lord. You
may think of t'as already there, m'lord.” With that he was off,
darting across the street and causing St. James a moment of true
terror as he dove between oncoming wagons, causing several drivers
to curse at the imp running loose amongst them and startling their
horses. Then he was across the street, and as he was headed in the
right direction, St. James shook his head as he watched the slight,
dirty figure

disappear, and then turned his horse toward
Bedford street.

Chapter Eleven

By tea time, Miss Murdock was feeling
composed, if just a little flattened by the depressing strength of
her now sorted out convictions. She was preoccupied as she entered
the salon, finding the Duchess, Lady Lydia, and Andrew already in
presence, by the problem of how to, in fact, beg audience with St.
James in order to put forth her carefully thought out
arguments.

“Miss Murdock,” Andrew said, rising upon her
arrival. He came forward, took her hand in his own and bowed over
it. “I am so very glad to see you feeling better.”

“What is this?” the Dowager asked as Miss
Murdock thanked Earl Larrimer and agreed that she was, indeed,
feeling better. “Have you not been well, Miss Murdock?”

“I had the headache earlier, but I am feeling
much better now, thank you,” Miss Murdock answered the old lady
with as much brightness as she could muster. “It was really a small
thing and a quiet time in my room was all that I needed. And I must
confess, I dozed, for I was still frightfully tired.” She paused
there, wanting to ask if the old Dowager knew when St. James was
expected to be seen again, but hesitating as she was certain that
the request would be construed in the wrong way.

Lady Lydia, however, interrupted the brief
silent spot by saying as she put aside her petit point and Ashton
brought in the tea tray, “Well, Miss Murdock, I must say that you
certainly look much more presentable than this morning. I am
afraid, however,” she said in her prim, disapproving manner, “that
my mother-in-law has chosen less wisely than I should have, for
those red and white stripes merely intensify how very unfashionably
dark you are.”

“Do you think so?” the Dowager asked. “We
have been hugely successful then. Thank you so much, Lydia.”

Lydia, frowning in confusion at the obvious
satisfaction the old Dowager had gotten from her remark, went on to
observe, “I do hope that Lady Lenora has something in mind for your
hair. That bun is much too provincial. Really, Miss Murdock,” she
went on without pause, “after reflection, I have come to the
conclusion that since St. James has not developed any sort of
attachment for you, then his motivation must have been for you to
come to London in the hopes that some lesser person would find you
attractive. It would only be prudent for you to make the best of
what little you have to offer.”

As Miss Murdock's cheeks burned at these
remarks, Andrew turned on his mother and exclaimed, “Mother! That
is the most indiscreet, unkind thing to say, and quite inaccurate.
I assure you, Miss Murdock is extremely attractive in her way, and
I see no reason why you would want to make her feel as though she
will go begging for a suitor.” And he glared at Lady Lydia from his
pale blue eyes.

“Well!” Lady Lydia said. “I am certain I did
not mean to give that impression at all! And I must say that I had
not realized fashion had changed so much from when I was a girl.”
She patted her gray streaked blonde hair and settled her admirable
figure into a better posture upon the settee. “Come sit with me,
Miss Murdock, and we shall see, at least, if you are capable of
pouring the tea in the proper manner.” She twitched her crinolined
skirts into a somewhat smaller pool about her to enable Miss
Murdock room to sit.

Miss Murdock glanced at the Dowager, as it
was, in fact, her place to designate who would pour the tea, but
she merely nodded to her and said, “That will be fine, Miss
Murdock.”

So Miss Murdock seated herself with her
normal serenity beside Lady Lydia, who, she thought with small
satisfaction, at least could not say that she was graceless as well
as unattractive, and went through the rather fussy, ceremonial
procedure without flaw and unruffled.

“Well!” Lady Lydia said, sounding surprised,
as the cups and plates were handed out and everyone settled back to
sip, nibble and converse. Andrew took the chair to one side of his
grandmother's large, regal, wing-backed one as his mother
continued, “At least you can not be faulted on your tea-pouring
skills.”

“Yes, thank you,” Miss Murdock replied. Some
imp inside of her made her add, “But I do have the deplorable habit
of getting sooty when I am cooking at the stove.” To which Lady
Lydia choked on her tea.

“Well done,” Andrew encouraged.

Lady Lydia said, “Most improper, Miss
Murdock!”

“But I think starving would be much more
improper, would it not, Lady Lydia?” Miss Murdock replied with
wide-eyed surprise.