In the Brief Eternal Silence (53 page)

She gave a soft laugh and then her hands
dropped from supporting her face and she cried into the seat of the
lounge, her hands clawing at the fabric as she made an effort to
restrain her great, gulping, heart-wrenching sobs, for she would
rather die than have him hear her crying for no other reason than
that he loved her and she was terrified.

Strangely enough, when her sobs subsided to
some degree, and the silence in the next room told her that
Effington must have in fact dressed St. James and helped him below
so that he and Bertie could discuss whatever plans St. James had in
mind now while she had been in the midst of her fit, she thought of
Lady Lydia.

She certainly was not dense, as Miss Murdock
had discovered once before. She had proclaimed it her duty to help
Miss Murdock elude the improper attentions of St. James, and
spreading the rumor that Miss Murdock and her son had eloped must
have seemed the perfect way to go about it.

But at the dreadful blow to Andrew's
reputation? No. Miss Murdock could not believe that Lady Lydia
would warrant any crisis serious enough to sacrifice her son, not
for Miss Murdock's virtue or anything else.

So, in the end, Miss Murdock concluded, she
must be a great feather-brain, after all, and all that had come
about had only been because of Lady Lydia's foolishness and not
from any cunning plan to save Miss Murdock from a Fate Worse than
Death.

Chapter Twenty-one

At some point, Miss Murdock's mind and
indeed, probably her heart, just refused to dwell on all the
horrible possibilities that her active imagination could create for
it any longer, and with her head still bowed on her arms, she dozed
there resting on the damp seat of the chaise lounge.

She awoke with a start sometime later, but
she was not disoriented as she had been before for it felt as
though she had not slept at all, but had spent the entire time
running. She was certain that St. James had been in her dreams but
whether she had been running toward him or away from him, she could
not be certain. In some manner, it seemed she had been doing both
things at the same time, which only showed how curious dreams could
be, for that was quite impossible.

She got up from the floor, her knees stiff
for the room had grown chilly and the fire in the fireplace had
burned low. Her first instinct was to go to the connecting door.
Opening it, she noted that the room was indeed empty, and in all
honesty, she felt nothing but relief, for she felt if she had to
face St. James again at this minute, or even Bertie or Effington,
that it would be the final straw and it would kill her.

She noticed a pile of clothing in the chair,
and another tray of food had been left for her. The curtains were
drawn closed and the fire was not as low as the one in the sitting
room, showing that someone had attended to it recently. She
investigated the food, ate so mindlessly that after it was gone,
she was not even sure what she had eaten. She stared at her plate,
saw that it had been something with gravy, and the empty bowl
beside it seemed to indicate some manner of soup, but there was not
even any lingering taste in her mouth to give her a clue. Her mouth
was only dry.

The fire crackled and the shadows of it
danced across the walls, the furniture and the now neatly made bed.
And if she did not know any better, she could believe that nothing
had happened to St. James the night before, for there was nothing
out of place to indicate otherwise. Except for her own presence, of
course.

She sighed and rose from where she had sat at
the secretary to dine and again noticed the clothing in the chair.
The amount of material that was neatly folded seemed to indicate
something other than a man's attire, and she went to it, saw that
it was, indeed, a splendid riding habit. It was black, as Effington
had followed St. James' direction on procuring something dark, but
it was also a very fine, gleaming silk which made her smile for the
first time since she had awakened. And although it would not really
suit her coloring, it did suit her mood.

Folded beneath it was a lacy chemise, clean
stockings and garters, a bustle (as a crinoline was not appropriate
for a riding habit), a split slip and to her consternation, stays.
“Oh, good heavens,” she said to herself, “and whoever did Effington
think was going to tie them?” And with the realization of who would
probably be most happy to do that task for her, she hurried and
took the pile of clothing into the sitting room, returned to pour
water from the pitcher and into the basin, located his lordship's
soap and towel, and then retreated once again through the
connecting door and closed it with firmness behind her.

She disrobed, bathed as best she could in the
cold water (which was quite a shock from the pleasant hip baths she
had enjoyed at the Dowager's but since she was returning home at
any rate, she may as well get used to it again) and dressed. Then
she returned to his lordship's warmer bedchamber, found her riding
boots she had worn the night before stowed in the bottom of the
wardrobe with a mass array of St. James' boots, and put those on as
well. The stays she had of course left out of her ensemble and for
lack of anything better to do with them, stuffed them into one of
St. James' drawers. The clothing she had taken off she wrapped in a
pillow case from off his bed, which she trusted that Effington
could replace. She put this and her mint green cloak in the
wardrobe where they would be out of sight but where Effington would
find them if she by chance forgot to tell him they were there
before she departed. Then she brushed out her hair, knotted it into
its normal bun and secured it with another ribbon from the handy
supply on milord's dresser and at last dared to look at herself in
the mirror.

Her eyes were more solemn than what they
normally were and the black silk of her habit made her appear as if
she were in mourning. She did have to admit that Effington had
sized her with incredible accuracy, for the clothing was a perfect
fit and she had to wonder where he had procured the items she wore,
for they looked as if they could be new. And as she was unusually
short and her shape accordingly slighter, it could not have been
easy to stumble across something that was as though tailored for
her.

Her face was rather washed out, as though all
of the night-time activity she had been involved in since meeting
St. James had managed to fade her sun-browned skin, but other than
that and a slight puffiness under her eyes from all the crying she
had done that day, she did not look too terrible and even dared to
admit that in fact, she looked rather handsome in a modest way.

She was surprised out of this minute
self-examination by the clock striking the hour, and as she counted
the tolls, she turned with incredulity when it reached eight and
continued to chime nine, and fastened her eyes on the face of it
just in time to see that it read ten of the clock and the tenth
hour was struck also as though to alleviate any doubt in her mind.
“Oh, it can not be that late!” she worried to herself. “Or is it
still morning? Oh, I am so confused!” And she went to the window,
where the drapes remained drawn, and pulling them back saw that it
was night, and still sullenly raining.

She wondered where St. James was, was very
much afraid that without her to stop him, he had gone out into that
cold and rainy night with his wounds far from healed and his
strength far from back, to meet whoever had written the letters
asking for a meeting at some odd hour of the night and requesting
that he come alone.

But he could not be so stupid as to go alone?
Surely if it were this late already, Tyler and Andrew were back and
they would have found Steven, so they could have gone with him. Or
Bertie. Or maybe, but more doubtful, Effington. But surely, he did
not really go alone?

As if in answer to her questions, there was a
light, perfunctory tap on the door, and then as whoever it was did
not seem to be expecting that she were awake or even in the room,
it opened. And she turned in time to catch Effington's surprised
expression at seeing that she was, indeed, awake and present. He
closed the door before either of them spoke. “You found your
dinner, Miss, and your clothing, I am glad to see,” and he did look
pleased.

“Yes. Thank you, Effington. Where ever did
you obtain such a fine habit on so short of notice?” Then she could
have bitten off her tongue, for she was not all that certain she
really wished to know.

But his words relieved her of the sudden
thought that St. James, being St. James, perhaps had an endless
supply of women's clothing tucked away in some odd corner of the
house for just these occasions. “I took the liberty of looking at
your clothing bills in milord's study that were to be sent on to
his barrister for payment,” Effington explained with some pride at
his own resourcefulness. “Then I merely went to the same shop that
you had patroned and had a word with the shopkeeper. It took a bit
of delicacy, but I managed it with my usual discretion and as she
seemed to remember you quite fondly, she was very happy to be of
assistance to you. I, of course, suggested the silk, for although
his lordship suggested dark (and I very much thought black would be
far better than brown for you, don't you agree?), I could see no
reason why it could not be flamboyantly dark and she agreed quite
readily with me, which shows she has impeccable taste.

“As she already had your measurements and a
good deal of notes on what should suit you, and as she was assured
that every expeditiousy on her part would of course be amply
rewarded, it turned out to be not at all difficult,” he finished
and his somber face radiated self-satisfaction.

Miss Murdock, wondering what embellishments
he must have dreamed up to convince Dora of the Mystique Boutique
that there was nothing at all odd with a young Miss needing not
only a riding habit on short notice, but the accompanying intimate
apparel, only said, “You are uncommonly canny, Effington! Has Tyler
and Andrew returned with Steven?”

His face lost its smugness and his voice
turned grave, “Earl Larrimer and Tyler have returned, Miss, but
they were unable to locate the lad.”

“Oh, that is terrible, Effington! And I am
sure they are feeling very disheartened after searching for so very
long. Were they able to discover anything at all?”

But he shook his head, dashing her slim
hopes. “Nothing, Miss. And they are indeed very concerned. As is
his lordship.”

“Of course, he would be,” Miss Murdock
agreed, her words faint. Then with a fragile flush, she asked, “And
his lordship? Is he. . .?”

“He's gone, Miss,” Effington told her with
sympathy.

And she turned from him so that he would not
see the expression on her face.

“I imagine he did not. . . delay. . . for he
had to attain a certain. . . mind set for his night's activities. .
. and I am sure he did not wish for you to see him in that manner.”
He hesitated before adding in a low voice, “And I fear he can not
afford the distraction tonight.”

“Did he go alone?” she asked, and turned so
that she looked at him over one half-defensive, half-vulnerable
shoulder, but her eyes were very steady, if somewhat solemn.

“To my knowledge, yes, Miss.”

“Damnation!” she said, sounding as bad as
Effington's employer. “Why did he not take Tyler or Andrew? Or
Bertie even, though Lord knows he would be, I fear, of poor
help.”

And if Effington were a bit taken aback by
her sudden vehemence, he made no indication of it, only said, “They
are quite done in, Miss, and he would not expect them to be in such
a. . . such a situation when they were not fully capable of
defending themselves, if that unlikely need were to arise.”

“But it is fine for him to go out there in
less than a capable condition!” she exclaimed with wrath. “Oh, I do
not mean to bluster at you, Effington, for I well know no one can
do anything to stop him. It is just so blasted senseless of him.
But Bertie?”

“Lord Tempton will be up shortly to escort
you out Miss, for St. James expressly told him that he was not to
delay beyond midnight, but that he wanted to be assured that you
were safely away by that hour at the latest.”

And Miss Murdock's reply was bitter. “In case
he is shot again, or even killed.”

Effington, damningly, did not contradict
her.

It was only half an hour before Bertie came
in to the room. As most of the household had retired, there was not
much worry of their being seen as long as they were quiet in their
departure, which rather relieved Lizzie's mind, for she had half
feared she would be expected to make some awkward escape from the
bedchamber window. Effington, understandably even for his
preciseness, had forgotten to procure her a dark colored cloak, but
he remedied this by taking one of St. James' coats and draping it
about her small shoulders. And if it were somewhat heavy, it was
also snug, and smelled of him, which comforted her.

She said her goodbyes to Effington, who
touched her very much by telling her he would look forward to the
happy day when she would be the lady of the house, and if they both
had their doubts that it would ever come about, neither dared
express them.

Then Bertie offered her his arm, and though
he may seem for the most part rather ineffectual, he did display
now an underlying core of steady nerves, and she found herself
counting on him a great deal, when before she was afraid that she
would have to be the strong one. And although she had experience
with that role, on this night, knowing that St. James may even now
be confronting his nemesis, she was just as happy to be weak.

They didn't speak until they had left the
house, and then she only made a small exclamation to see the fine,
coal black filly she had admired the night before side-saddled in
readiness for her.