In the Brief Eternal Silence (63 page)

“Aye, m'lord,” the younger groom tugged his
cap and was off running again. And as he had not been employed
there long, but had oft heard tales of the duke's foul and
frightening temper, he could now quite believe it.

It was not a very great deal of time later
that St. James strode into C. Edmund Bickerstaff's office.

“Milord Duke,” the Barrister rose in surprise
from behind his desk.

“And good morning to you, Charles,” St. James
returned. “No, thank you, I shan't take up more than ten minutes of
your time,” he added as Bickerstaff motioned for him to take a
seat.

“I knew it,” the Barrister replied a little
piqued. “You now wish me to reverse everything that I have changed
in regards to your will.”

And St. James was diverted enough from his
problems to give a thin smile. “Not in the least, Charles. So put
your mind at ease. You have completed all of that, have you
not?”

“Only needs that certificate of marriage,
milord.”

“I will get it to you if I have to crawl the
length of England on my hands and knees,” St. James told him and if
he noticed the sudden surprised and somewhat gleeful lift of the
Barrister's eyebrows to imagine any man, let alone the infamously
immoral Duke of St. James, going to such lengths to secure a
female's hand in marriage, St. James only ignored it. “What I need
from you now, Charles, rather promptly, is to know what holdings
are in my uncle's estate.”

And Charles frowned, for to have someone show
such blatant interest in what they stood to inherit upon the death
of another was frightfully crass.

But St. James only ignored this look also,
and prompted him by saying, “I would think you would have a listing
of his assets along with his will, would you not?”

“Yes. Of course. Standard procedure.”

“Then simply look, man,” St. James bade. “As
I said, I will not tie you up for more than ten minutes. East India
Company holdings is what I am interested in, if that should
help.”

Barrister Bickerstaff, understanding, of
course, that St. James' reference to not tying him up for more than
ten minutes was in fact an advisory that it had better not take him
longer than ten minutes to find the required information, only said
with disapproval, “I shall endeavor to see what I can find, milord.
Please have a seat and I will have it momentarily.”

And St. James gave a maddening smile and
said, “I shall remain standing, thank you.”

Bickerstaff moved to where he kept the
further documents dealing with Mortimer Larrimer's will and began
digging through the protracted amount of paperwork that listed
properties, jewelry, personal assets, trusts, etc, etc, until he
reached a five page long listing of holdings on the Exchange.

St. James had indeed remained standing, and
had disconcertingly begun to pace, rubbing his upper lip with one
finger, when the Barrister was no more than a minute into his
search, and the Barrister may be forgiven if he felt that the duke
were breathing down his neck in impatience. He was on the third
page of the holdings before he was able to say with triumph, “Yes.
Here, milord. A thirty percent share in the company,” and despite
himself he sounded a little awed.

St. James stilled, and somehow his stillness
was more disturbing to the Barrister than his pacing. And then he
turned and when his gold eyes fixed upon the old man, the Barrister
backed up a pace from where he had been standing beside the
cabinet.

“Do you have a date,” St. James asked with
lethal quiet, “as to when those stocks were obtained?”

And Bickerstaff glanced down at the paperwork
to show that he was very certain, and said, “No, milord. They do
not have the date of obtainment, only the holdings upon his
death.”

St. James, frustrated, began pacing again.
“Damn it! I shall have to go to my uncle's solicitor and I can not
waste the bloody time!”

Bickerstaff cleared his throat. “If you don't
mind me observing, milord,” and St. James fixed his attention back
upon him with a speed that nearly made him stutter his next words,
“but East India Company Stocks have rarely been traded since the
end of the war with China. They are far too valuable, you know. I
would hazard to guess that for your uncle to have had such a large
share that he would have had to have purchased them before the war,
when they were being sold quite indiscriminately and, indeed,
cheaply.”

St. James gave him a profound look of
understanding and Bicker-staff, thus emboldened, added, “And I do
not know if this makes any difference to you, milord, but I notice
that this holding is listed on the sheet that contains those assets
that were brought into the marriage by your aunt.”

St. James threw him off stride then by
dropping into the seat that he had before refused, and placing one
elegant hand over his pale face. Bickerstaff observed this odd
behavior for the full minute that it lasted. Then St. James removed
his hand, and his face was calm and immobile, his lids half drawn
in secretive revelation, and he only said, “Thank you, Charles,”
and rose and walked from that bewildered man's office. At the door
he stopped, turned, added one last note, “About my cousin's
inheritance. You may direct that upon the instance of my marriage
to Miss Murdock and it comes into my control, that it be
immediately released to him. I see no reason to wait until he is
older, or until he is married. And I,” and his words were bruising
in their contemptuousness, “have no use for it.”

Then he was gone, and Bickerstaff numbly
wrote this direction into his notes, the Duke's behavior beyond all
comprehension to him.

St. James mounted his curricle and sat upon
the high seat for only a brief second before turning the horses
about. His mind was very full, but even as he wished to do nothing
so much as to find somewhere to pace and think in quiet, he knew
that he could not take the time to delay and ponder his discoveries
now.

His eyes searched out around him, as much in
a searching of Steven (for it had been here that he had first met
the lad, and could that really be but three days ago?) as much as
to be aware of anyone following or threatening.

The urgency he had felt upon awaking had
intensified, and he decided now that as the undertaker of Steven's
father was not far, and that Lucy Crockner and Tyler may even now
be meeting, that he would go in that direction rather than back to
his own home to possibly cool his heels while waiting for his groom
to appear.

The address of the undertaker was not a
savory one. But as people in better neighborhood's did not normally
die anonymously and have need of their body being stored anywhere
but the parlors of their own homes, it was not surprising. Tyler
had merely found the nearest one, and so it was but a short
distance from the mean streets of the waterfront of the Thames.

St. James found the proper number, and the
building itself was but a long, low-slung, crumbling brick that
held the dampness and even had he not known of what went on within
its walls, it would have reminded St. James of decay.

Then a cheeky voice was saying from at the
head of his horses, “Hold yer horses, m'lord, for tuppence,” and
St. James brought his attention from the building and down to the
somber eyed lad below him. There was an attempt at a smile across
his dirty face, but St. James could see that it was very strained,
and that he was quite unsure of himself and of the welcome, or lack
of it, he was afraid he would receive.

And St. James, with eyes glowing, replied,
“And I'll give you a crown if you run a message for me.” He swung
down from the curricle and turned to catch Steven by the shoulder.
“Thank God you are well, lad, for I have been eaten alive with what
may have become of you.”

Steven swallowed under the intensity of St.
James gaze. “I'm sorry,” he managed to choke out, but he did not
shame himself by crying as he had with Miss Murdock. “'Been a right
confusin' time for me, m'lord.”

“I very well know it,” St. James returned.
“It was your mother that found you then?”

Steven shook his head. “No, m'lord, but Miss
Murdock, and she were good 'nough to help me face me mother, for I
don't know which I was more shamed to see, you or her.”

St. James' fingers tightened on the lad's
shoulder. “Miss Murdock!” he asked. “How can that be, Steven, when
as of only twelve hours ago, she was set out for Chestershire?”

“Nay, m'lord. She and Lord Tempton waited at
the Dowager's home for me, for Miss Murdock, she said she was made
sure I would return, and 'deed I did, just as she s'pected. She
said she weren't going t'let me down 'gain, for she felt most sore
bad leavin' me there by meself t'other night. But, course, I know
she had t'go t'you for you were in a bad way. An' I'm glad she did,
for I didn't wish t'see you die, milord, e'en if I did 'bandon you
when you most needed me.”

“Hush,” St. James told him with mock
sharpness. “For you were but a lad, and now I think you are fast
becoming a man, so it is your actions now that I shall judge you on
and not your actions of before.”

And Steven swelled with sudden pride, and St.
James knew that he had been desperate for reassurance that he had
not done badly. Indeed, St. James believed he had done very well,
for somehow he had managed to work through all the complicated
circumstances and arrive at some conclusion that allowed him to
forgive the duke even after the duke killed his father. And he did
not seem shamed either by his father's actions, as though
understanding that his father had made a very fatal mistake, but
that Steven were alive to learn from it at any rate.

He had worked all of this out for himself in
his thirteen year old mind, had matured to a great degree over
night, and now, had come to St. James in renewed friendship.

So despite St. James' great concern for Miss
Murdock, he could not deny the boy his words of respect, but he did
go on to ask just on their heels, “And where, by-the-by, is Miss
Murdock now, Steven?”

“At me house,” Steven said with some pride.
“For she was not afeared at all to go there in the wee hours of
this morning, and all to make sure that me mother should understand
that t'was not me fault that me father died.”

St. James took his hand from the boy's
shoulder, for he was afraid that he would clutch him to the degree
that the lad would be bruised to the bone. He fought the stream of
obscenities that threatened to come from his mouth at their rash
stupidity. He wanted to travel at once to Steven's home (and God
knows he knew exactly the situation of that home, as he had just
seen it the night before) and murder Bertie for taking her there.
And God help Bertie if that man had not stayed with her. And,
finally, he thought he would throttle his serene Lizzie until she
for once would think of herself instead of everyone but
herself.

He struggled for a full minute with his rage,
turning to the side and adjusting an harness strap so that Steven
could not be aware of how furious he was with all of them. When he
could control his voice and his emotions, he only said, “Well, at
least you have saved me a trip to Chestershire, lad, and I know
where she is, at any rate. Now, let us settle with this man in
here. I take it your mother is not coming and that she sent you in
her place?”

“Aye, m'lord. She thought you may be happy to
see me, and Miss Murdock, she was sure of it.” And Steven looked
guilty of being remiss, and added, “Oh, coo, Miss Murdock sent ye a
note also, that I was to give to you!”

Steven pulled a note from what appeared to be
a very fine pair of breeches rather worse the wear now from a
ruthless shearing of cuffs and a dirty rope about their middle. Not
to mention they were now extremely in need of a wash.

St. James unfolded it and as he read it, he
could almost hear that soothing, teasing quality of Lizzie's voice
as she had spoken to him when he had been in much pain and very
weak from loss of blood and she had been endeavoring to stitch him
back together again.

Milord St. James—Dante,

I know you will be angry to find that we did
not go directly to my home as you had wished. And I apologize most
heartily. I am only glad to say that my venture proved successful
and that Steven is well and accounted for, as I am sure you are
very, very relieved to see for yourself.

Bertie and I will be setting off this evening
as soon as it is dark enough for us to once again move about
hopefully undetected. And do not come down upon him too hard,
Dante, for I quite insisted, and I have found that dear quality in
him that I dare say you admire him for, which is that he is
perfectly pliable even when he is most heartily over-whelmed with
misgivings. No wonder you have managed to drag him, protesting all
the while, I am sure, through so many of your scrapes.

And I have found him to be quite steady of
nerve when the occasion demands it, so was most happily surprised
and appreciative. But I should have known you would have no use for
someone totally ineffectual, and that his comical helplessness is
but a great masquerade to protect him from more people taking
advantage of him as I so shamelessly did last night.

And do not blame Steven, either, for I was
most happy to assist him, and not only for his sake but for mine,
for I learned from Steven and Mrs. Crockner that it had been she
you met with last night, and thus you were quite safe. For I was
worried to the point of obsession and would not have rested easy in
Chestershire at any rate.

I know of course, that you are far from
finished, and far from leaving it be. I will be content to be where
you wish me to be now that I have taken care of this distraction,
so do not feel compelled to come and upbraid me now, for I am sure
you will do an adequate job upon our next meeting.