In the Brief Eternal Silence (57 page)

“Tell me, mother,” he demanded. “Whatever it
is, you must simply tell me, and I will tell you if you have reason
to fear.”

“It is just, oh, I am so ashamed to tell you
this. Ashamed of your own father, my husband. Ashamed of St. James.
Ashamed of myself for thinking. . . But, oh, the possibility is
there, and what else am I to think if he suddenly is to marry in
such an odd manner?”

“What?” Andrew asked again in growing
annoyance. “Whatever are you talking about?”

And his mother gave a brave sniff, choked
out, “Your father's will!” and she managed to point to the top
drawer of her small writing desk in the corner before collapsing
into uncontrollable tears.

Andrew, feeling a good deal exasperated, but
at the same time very concerned, jumped to his feet and went to the
top drawer of the desk. He pulled it open, ruffled through the
stationary and found a legal looking document that proclaimed it to
be a copy of the last will and testament of his father, Earl
Mortimer Larrimer. He flipped

the pages, scanning, searching for something
that would explain his mother's puzzling, bizarre behavior, and his
eyes settled at last on a part of a paragraph, reading: . . . 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.

He looked at it in shock for a moment, and
then let out an incredulous little laugh. “Rot, mother,” he
pronounced. “Is this what has you beside yourself?” and he pointed
to the paragraph he had come across.

Her eyes searched his before glancing at the
page of the will he held out for her. “Yes,” she said, but her
voice quavered a little. “You think I am just over-reacting?”

“Of course, you are,” he told her. “It is not
uncommon to have an older male relative hold the estate in trust
for an heir. My father held St. James', did he not? I trust St.
James to handle it adequately until such time that I marry or he
deems me of enough experience to handle my own affairs.”

“Oh,” she said and gave a watery smile. “I
suppose I was just letting my imagination run away with me.”

And he knelt by her again, and half laughing
asked her, “Did you suppose that St. James would bandy a pistol at
me from beneath the cover of dark in order to kill me for my
inheritance?” But even as he said the words, he realized that it
was very odd that the will had been written in such a way as to
seem to encourage such foul play in someone of less moral character
than St. James. But he smiled for the sake of his mother, for of
course, he had implicit trust in St. James.

But his mother said with worry in her voice,
“I have never wished to upset you, Andrew, but I do have my doubts
about the manner in which your father died.”

“It was a simple accident,” he reassured her.
“A hunting accident.”

“Your father was always most careful. And I
always thought it very strange that the same shotgun he had used
for years and devotedly oiled and cleaned should suddenly become
defective and back-fire on him.”

“It is very strange,” Andrew agreed, “but
these things do happen at times. And St. James was not even in the
area at the time.”

“But, still,” she insisted, weeping, “it is
possible that he sabotaged it in some manner, and then went away
with the knowledge that Morty would die the very next time—”

“Oh, mother!” he exclaimed. “You are being
quite ridiculous. For whatever reason would he do such a
thing?”

“Why,” she said, looking at him as if he were
missing the entire point, “for your inheritance. Then there would
only be you between he and it!”

“Mother,” he told her with strained patience.
“He doesn't need it! Why he could probably buy us out several times
over.”

“No, he couldn't,” she said and he looked at
her with incredulity. “For I know for a fact that when I—your
father invested quite heavily in the East India Company Stocks,
that his own father judged it too risky, for it was before the war
with China, you know. He already had, oh, perhaps ten percent of
the company as did I—your father and I, also. But then your father
decided to take the risk and where other people were getting
nervous and dumping their holdings in the company, for there were
rumors of, oh! I don't know. Something unsavory about the company.
But your father bought it all up quite cheaply, and now your
inheritance, among other holdings, is nearly thirty percent of the
company. And St. James still owns only ten because his father was
too conservative. And now of course, with the new treaties that
came from the war, each share is worth a fortune, and quite
difficult to come by. So you see, Andrew, just with those stocks
alone, you own more than he does with his entire holdings.”

And Andrew's jaw dropped and hung for a long,
astonished moment.

After a minute, he managed to collect himself
enough to mutter, “It is still just so much rot, mother!”

But there was just that niggling of doubt in
his voice and Lady Lydia was satisfied that she had made him see
that perhaps he did have reason to fear, and she was not just being
a foolish old woman after all.

“And he does run through it as though it were
water,” she pointed out.

Andrew glanced at her, but now his eyes were
preoccupied. “He is still hardly a pauper, mother!”

But even so, an hour later when he stopped
back in her rooms (for her lady's maid was now attending her,
brushing out her hair before the vanity) he was not dressed for
turning in for the night, but more substantially, as though he
intended to be gone on a journey. “I'll be using the carriage,
mother, I hope that will not inconvenience you to any great
degree.”

“No, of course not,” she said as she watched
the progress of her hair in the mirror, “for I can have a hired one
brought around with no difficulty, and it is your carriage.” But
then she pouted and met his eyes in the mirror. “But, Andrew, where
are you going? You have only just returned and with your
grandmother gone to Chestershire, I shall be here all alone.”

“Chestershire also, mother.”

“You just came from there!”

And he flushed a little, but only said,
“There is something I was remiss in not speaking with Miss Murdock
about.” Then, as his mother turned in her seat to look at him
straight on, interrupting her lady's maid's work, he added,
“Nothing that you need concern yourself with for now, mother, I
assure you. Now, I must run, and do not fret, for I shall be back
in several days to escort you to any balls or dinners we are
invited to,” he coaxed her. And she smiled and was happy.

At about the same time as Earl Larrimer was
bidding goodbye to his mother, Ryan Tempton arrived at Squire
Murdock's home. He had considered staying at the inn five miles
away, had decided that he would instead journey to the manor and
see if the Squire, being a widower and thus perhaps used to keeping
odd hours, was still awake.

He turned onto the overgrown lane and rode
his weary horse to the end of the drive, and saw with satisfaction
that there were still lamps lit on the lower level of the
house.

He tied his horse off at the hitching ring in
the drive, making sure it could reach the trough of water that was
there, and then with still a great deal of youthful energy, bounded
up the well-swept steps to the door of the house. The wide stone of
the stoop, even in the dim gleam of the moon, was swept also, and
he thought that rather odd when he had been under the impression
from the Squire's speech at the inn that fateful night not even a
week ago that they did not have much in the way of servants. And as
Miss Murdock had, of course, been in London, he could not quite
wrap his mind around the vision of the Squire out sweeping the
porch in her absence.

The door knocker was well polished also, he
noticed, as he let it fall with a bang.

After a second knocking, the door swung open,
and he was faced not with a surly and rather unkempt Squire Murdock
as he had been expecting, but by a neatly dressed woman of
indeterminate middle years with a crisp apron tied around her
middle. Her hair, a shiny mass of coppery waves with a pronounced
streak of white through it, was pinned with precision and twisted
into a serviceable topknot on the crown of her head, and her rather
rotund figure stood formidable in the door, causing him to take a
startled step backward. Then he caught himself, asked, “Mrs.
Herriot?”

She looked him over with critical eyes,
holding the lamp up higher to better see his face that was a good
distance above her own, and then the soft wrinkles of her cheeks
fanned back into a wide and radiant smile. “Why if it isn't Mister
Tempton!” she said. “What a most pleasant surprise. You must come
in, of course, and I will tell the Squire that you are here,
although I dare say he was not expecting you, for he made no
mention of it to me.”

And thus bade, he followed her into the
house. There he stood for a moment, blinking, for if he had
pictured the inside of the house at all, it had not been this
vision of prim and immaculate neatness. There was not a cobweb to
be seen anywhere, nor a speck of dust, and the chimneys of the
chandelier, not much of a chandelier, but a chandelier all the
same, in the hallway positively sparkled, with not a hint of built
up soot or ash to betray use without regular cleaning.

The hardwood floor beneath his feet was
polished to a high degree, as was the banister that wound up the
steep flight of stairs. And although the home still showed its age,
and a rather pronounced pitching of walls, floors and ceilings, it
seemed to be in the midst of some remarkable transformation that
promised that in but another five or six days, it could be a very
respectable home indeed. “How ever did you come to be here, Mrs.
Herriot?” he asked her somewhat mystified. “For I had not realized
that you had left Morningside.”

“Why, I was asked to provide a few house
maids from his lordship's manor until more permanent arrangements
could be made here, and I thought I should just come along to see
that all was being done right and tight.” And her voice dropped to
a whisper, “T'is rumored that milord is to be married at last!” and
she could not have seemed happier than if it were own son's
nuptials that were expected to be announced.

And Ryan frowned. “St. James set all this up
then?”

Mrs. Herriot nodded as she led him into the
parlor and returned the lamp to the table she had taken it from.
“Aye, indeed! The roof is under repair, the stables are being
restored, and a proper gardener has been retained to tear out the
vegetables and plant something more suitable for gentry to have on
display. The pigs and the chickens have been carted to market and
those awful sheds will be, of course, destroyed. I should not tell
you, I know, but the place was in the most lamentable condition,
but, well,” and her face wreathed into endless smiles, “it little
matters, does it? What matters is that his lordship has fallen at
last and I cannot wait to see what lovely creature has finally done
the trick. I daresay she must be the most beautiful of girls!”

“Indeed,” Ryan said, a little numb. “She is
certainly not in the common way.” But somehow, seeing all this
activity set to action on St. James' bequest filled him with a
great deal of unease. The banns hadn't even been posted, for
heaven's sake, and if it should get out that the duke was spending
what Ryan could only surmise to be an incredible amount of blunt on
Miss Murdock's behalf—! Well, the situation could be read in quite
a negative manner.

“I'll just let the Squire know you are here,”
Mrs. Herriot told him. “He is settled in for a little late snack in
the kitchens,” and she made a little moue of distaste, “which I can
not convince him is unnecessary as the dining room is now perfectly
habitable,” but she smiled and ended with, “but I shall have him
brought around soon enough, I dare say, although he has been
fighting me, and indeed, all the maids and workers, tooth and nail
since I arrived. Quite a card, he is! And such a temper! I daresay
his lordship's proposed fiancé has a gentler nature that must
surely come from her dear, sweet, departed mother.”

And Ryan stared at her feeling a great deal
disconcerted, for if he hadn't seen Miss Murdock angry (other than
the brief display at the Dowager's house upon their arrival in
London), he had seen the results of her anger on St. James' cheek,
and he had to wonder, just a little bit, what Mrs. Herriot would
make of Miss Murdock's gentle nature if she were to become aware
that Miss Murdock had clobbered the duke most effectively. “Quite,”
he said, his voice a little weak.

Mrs. Herriot held her hand out for his coat,
and he removed it in distracted motions and she took it from him.
“Just make yourself comfortable,” she told him, and then she
scurried off in search of Squire Murdock.

And Ryan was left with the sinking feeling
that evidently Mrs. Herriot had not made Miss Murdock's
acquaintance, and hence, Miss Murdock was not here.

He had no time to know what to make of this
discovery, for the hall floor boards creaked in protesting, and
then the Squire lumbered through the door. And if the house had
improved in its condition, the Squire had not.

He wore a worn dressing gown in need of
washing. One leg, bared from mid-calf down to his slipper, was
swelled beyond even its usual obesity, and as he lurched upon it
the pain it caused him was obvious. He held in one puffy hand a
bottle of rum, and there were stains down the front of him to show
he had been drinking at it for some time. His thick thatch of gray
hair was mussed and matted, and looked as though it had not had a
comb through it for several days. To complete this impression of
someone who has been on an extended drinking binge, when he spoke,
his words were slurred and pugnacious.