In the Brief Eternal Silence (46 page)

He looked at Andrew. “Take her out of here,
Earl. His lordship will kill us all if he finds she is even aware
of this state of affairs, let alone here in the midst of it.”

“He's alive then?” Andrew asked.

“For now,” Tyler returned and began again to
scrub as though if he managed to clean the blood up, then it would
magically return to his lordship's body. “Now you know. You better
go. I'll send word 'round as soon as I can.”

Miss Murdock was very disturbed, for she
noticed that Tyler had not even asked how they knew of St. James'
injury to begin with. It indicated just how very distracted he was,
and hence, how bad off the duke must be. “No, I'm not leaving,” she
said. “For I can not see how you are going to get along handling
this yourself.”

“I've Effington to help. We'll manage,” Tyler
returned, but there was a great deal of doubt in his voice.

“Take me to St. James,” she asked and placed
a hand on his shoulder.

His relenting was brusque. “All right Miss, I
haven't time to be arguin' with you, but you'll see he is
unconscious and therefore yer trip wasted. All t'same, if you'll
leave after seeing him, then see him you shall.”

“Thank you, Tyler,” she said.

He got up from his knees and she realized
that he was getting too old for these shenanigans. He seemed to
realize it also, for he looked very tired. Then he led them into
the hallway and to his lordship's rooms where he tapped on the
door. A furtive voice said, “Tyler?” and then they heard the click
of a key turning in the lock as Tyler whispered to the
affirmative.

The door opened with caution and a very tall,
thin man in a long sleeping gown, smeared with blood, and a
crumpled night cap upon his head said, “I nearly have all the
clothing burned as you said, and—oh, heaven! Who are these
people?”

“T'duke's cousin, Earl Larrimer, and Miss
Murdock,” Tyler answered. “It's all right, Effington, let 'em
in.”

Effington said, “Ah, the slapper,” and he
grinned a little, but his face was concerned and his smile died
quickly.

“Yes,” Miss Murdock replied ruefully. “I fear
it is I.”

Effington opened the door wider and admitted
them into milord's bedchamber. The clock began to strike the hour,
three strokes, and then settled into ticking again. The fireplace
crackled and an unpleasant smell came from it, a mixture of fabric
and blood. A pair of scissors were set on a table, and the remnant
of what had been a red wine velvet jacket was on the floor. It was
a dark, unsettling color, not at all as Lizzie remembered it being
just a few hours ago.

St. James lay in the large four poster bed,
his eyes closed, his face and torso as white as the linens that
were wrapped around his shallowly breathing chest. The sheet of his
bed was pulled to just above his hips, and Miss Murdock saw that
his skin was papery thin and dry. He had been sponged, but there
was still a great deal of stiff, dried blood in the dark hair that
lay in a brief pattern down his belly. His face was still welted
from her hand, but instead of being red, it was now a washed out
purple. Most alarming, she could see that blood had spread through
his bandage, the source of it seeming to come from just over his
heart. And his left arm was also wrapped.

She moved toward him, removed her cloak and
the bundle she had kept stuffed in the upper part of her sleeve,
laid them both aside. She had tucked her billowy night costume into
the breeches she wore, and now she lacked only an eyepatch to
complete the illusion of a rather small pirate. She was not at all
aware of how ridiculous she looked, only reached two fingers to his
lordship's throat, found the pulse that was there and was not
reassured by the erratic faintness of it. His neck was very hot and
her fingers burned.

“What happened?” Andrew asked Tyler.

“An assailant plugged him from the alley
beside Almacks,” Tyler explained. Lizzie flinched at the fact that
she had been so close by and so oblivious.

“Is that where Steven's father lies?” Andrew
asked.

Tyler's tired eyes shifted and he didn't
answer. Miss Murdock filled the silence by saying, “This is not
right. I fear he needs a doctor.”

Effington said in a doleful voice, “As I had
pointed out, miss, an hour ago.”

But Tyler gave an adamant shake of his head.
“No, miss. We can't do that to him.”

She turned her anxious brown eyes to him. “We
can't let him die either! He's still bleeding. He's running a
temperature which has me quite baffled for surely he can not have
the infection already and I fear that he is fast dehydrating
also.”

“De-what?” Tyler asked.

“Not enough fluid in his body,” Miss Murdock
tried to explain. “He needs to drink and with his being
unconscious, I do not know how we can endeavor to get anything into
him.”

“Well, that should not be the problem,” Tyler
told her with relief in his voice, “for I saw to it myself that he
had quite a bit of whiskey before I soddered him.”

Miss Murdock gave him a very strange look,
the same look she gave her father before launching into an acerbic
attack at some utterly foolish, irresponsible, lamebrained, idiotic
action of his that had managed to set her back two steps for every
one she had worked so hard to go forward. But she reminded herself
that he had done what he thought was best, and indeed, in the older
school of thought that he was a product of, had been accepted as
the proper action to take. So she drew in a breath, said with a
great deal of control, “I see that you took every necessary
precaution, but I still think he should see a doctor.”

“Can't do it, miss,” Tyler said reverting to
a certain obstinacy that his lordship had seen many times but that
Miss Murdock had not yet encountered. “He'd rather die than risk
having whatever enemy is out there find out that he is laid up and
helpless, a sitting duck. And there's other factors involved too.
He'll not have no doctor and I won't go against his wishes.”

Andrew broke in. “You seem to know uncommonly
much about this sort of thing, Lizzie. I mean, dehydration. I'd
never heard such a word.”

“I do have a knack at vetting,” she admitted,
“but surely you must see this is far, far different.” But as they
only stared at her, she said, “You do see that, don't you?” Then
she sighed, for she could see very well that they did not. She sank
into the chair at St. James' bedside and put her forehead in her
hand for a long moment, chewing on her lip. It was madness to even
consider it. He was not a horse or a cow or a pig for heaven's
sake. But she could not just leave him as he was either. “All
right,” she said less than graciously when she looked up to the
three men that had unconsciously put her in charge. “This is what I
should need, and this is what we should do.”

She stood up again, but her hand fluttered
down to rest on St. James' brow. “Tyler, you know the stables best.
I'm supposing you have supplies there for minor veterinary
incidents.”

“Oh! Aye,” he nodded. He picked up his cap
from where at some point it had been tossed onto a chair and placed
it on his head.

“Bring me up some clean needles and suturing
thread. Also an antiseptic agent, Borax if you have it.”

“Yer gonna stitch him then?” he asked.

“Yes. I fear with his wound being constantly
aggravated by the breathing movements of his chest that your
method, a very good method usually, mind you, is not holding.”

Tyler nodded but he looked worried again.
“I've the carriage t'see to first, miss, if you think he will be
all right in t'meanwhile.”

“No. There's no sense cleaning out the
carriage until you and Andrew go and retrieve the body of Steven's
father from the mew. I can not think that his lordship would wish
to abandon that man who gave his life helping him to lay there
until someone finds him in the morning. It will be a miracle if no
one has stumbled upon him already,” she added, then shook off this
horrible thought. “So gather what I need and then Andrew will
accompany you to fetch the. . .,” and she stumbled a little here,
as she realized just what she was discussing, “the corpse. You
shall have to wake an undertaker and assure him that he will be
settled with upon the morrow, and that he will receive extra for
his discretion.”

Tyler looked at her, his eyes unreadable, but
he only said, “As you say, miss,” causing Effington to shift and
fumble for the scissors. Andrew glanced at the groom, but Tyler
shook his head at him in warning.

Miss Murdock did not notice, for she turned
to Effington to continue. “That leaves you to clean up the mess on
the stairs and anywhere else in the house that there is blood,” she
said to Effington.

“Yes, miss,” that man said without
inflection.

“But first I will need a great deal of clean
linens, and fresh water. You may go ahead, if you would please, and
fetch those now. I will finish what—what you are currently occupied
with.”

“Yes, miss,” Effington said, dropping his
work and giving her an approving glance. “I would be happy to,
miss.”

Miss Murdock moved from his lordship, looking
incongruous in the worn, tattered breeches and fashionable, new
riding boots, and tucked in, long sleeved night gown. She settled
on the arm of the chair Effington had just abandoned and picked up
the scissors and bloody jacket. “Andrew,” she continued as
Effington left the room. “Don't forget that after you have taken
care of—of Steven's father, that you will have to somehow get him
out of my bedroom at your grandmother's and bring him back here, I
suppose. And then, I am sorry to say, you will need to help Tyler
clean the carriage.”

“And you are not going to be back in your bed
in time to avoid detection at this rate,” he told her.

“And neither are you,” she countered, looking
up, and for the first time she saw just how stunned the two
remaining men were at all her firmly sure orders, and she blushed.
“So we had better come up with some idea to explain why it is we
are not there.”

But Andrew was not happy about this
suggestion. “You are going home, Lizzie. Whatever needs to be done,
we can handle it. If you are found missing, that will be bad
enough! If you are discovered to be here—!”

“Oh, I do not care!” she cried. “He has done
his best to ruin me at any rate and it is not as if I had any
notion of actually securing a husband, God forbid. If I am
discovered, then I will merely return home, which I was going to do
at the end of the week at any rate.”

“Lizzie—!”

“There you go, miss,” Tyler interrupted. “You
merely need say you got sick of t'duke's antics and have run home.
A letter will do the trick. Write it up and t'Earl here can place
it in your room when he fetches t'lad.”

Miss Murdock nodded approval but Andrew
rounded on the

groom. “You are going to encourage her—!”

“T'wasn't I that brought her here,” Tyler
reminded him.

“Oh, bloody hell! Write the note, Lizzie, and
you had better add that I am escorting you, so they will not set up
a manhunt for fear you are going by yourself. It'll explain my
absence, also, by-the-by.”

“You see,” Miss Murdock said, her heart
thumping a little unevenly. “It is all very simple. Now you had
both better go, for we have a great deal to accomplish and only a
few hours to do it in.”

They did go, and she noted that Tyler's face
had lightened and was now set with purpose rather than worry. She
finished cutting the cloth, fed the last of it into the flames,
then, hoping that Effington would knock before entering, stripped
off the ridiculous breeches she had been wearing, threw the
sleeping costume off over her head, and unrolled the bundle she had
brought with her. It was the brown dress she had been wearing when
arriving in London, for she had not wanted to crinkle anything just
bought for her by rolling it up as she had. As it appeared she was
going to get a good deal messy also, she was happy with her
choice.

She was into it in under two seconds,
buttoned it, and took a second to examine her feelings of being in
her old attire and acting as the old Lizzie would, calm, capable
and a little insistent. It felt very good, indeed, for she feared
that for the past four days that so much had been happening that
she had nearly lost track of who she was. But with the old dress on
and her hair quite down (which at that thought, she took a brief
second to quickly wrap it into the bun she had always worn, and
lacking any pins, tied one of his lordship's hair ribbons around it
to hold it in place that she found on his dresser), she felt a
great relief.

Effington did tap lightly on the door, and
when she opened it to him, dressed except for her boots, she
surmised he must have done it with his foot, for his hands were
filled with a fresh basin of water and over his shoulder were as
many linens as he must have been able to lay hands on. “Oh, dear,”
Miss Murdock said. “Whatever will the housekeeper think
tomorrow?”

“Linens day is not until Monday, miss. We
shall have to contrive to replace them by then. Though I am sure
she will notice.”

“Well, it can't be helped,” Miss Murdock
replied and took the water from him and carried it to the table by
his lordship. Effington closed the door, handed her the linens.

“Anything else, miss?” he asked. He also had
changed into more serviceable clothing and had rolled his sleeves
up like a man ready to tackle a difficult job.

“Just the floors, as I had said. I will help
you if I finish in here before you return.”

He left, and Miss Murdock had to wonder how
many times the door could be opened and closed before someone
inadvertently banged it in their haste.

As she was still unable to begin on St. James
until Tyler returned, she went to the small secretary in the corner
of St. James' room and finding a piece of paper and pen and ink,
sat down in the dainty chair and tried to word her letter. It ended
sounding blunt and hurried, which she was sorry for, thinking of
how upset the Duchess would be, but she simply could not put any
more time into it than she had to spare.